By Andrew Frisardi
The city lies back in its winding-sheet
While little digits drum a steady beat
On roofs and terraces, …
While little digits drum a steady beat
On roofs and terraces, …
Explore Poems: Weather
Showing 1-20 of 423 poems
- By Russell AtkinsOh didn’t it """ """ """
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rain
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Oh did
""" """ n’t… - By Julia FiedorczukTranslated By Bill JohnstonFrom within my bodily singularity
I play at sending out gentle sunbeams.
I don't believe in myself, but… - By Emily BrontëO transient voyager of heaven!
O silent sign of winter skies!
What adverse wind thy sail has driven
To dungeons where a prisoner lies?
Methinks the hands that shut the sun
So sternly from this morning's brow
Might still their rebel task have done
And checked a thing... - By John TickhillIn a sesone of somere þat souerayne ys of alle,
Þat was þe myry monþ of May when many myrthys spryng,
Þe sonne ys somnore and syre and sendyth tyl vs doun,
And byddyth vs bisy for to be oure bodys for to glade;
Man for to myrth hym in al maner wys,
Bestys for to buske ham on bentys tyl abyde, - By C. D. WrightWater
Cold as it sounds - By Ruth AwadDays of rain. The drey outside my window would keel
and the wind would plunder. My heart was valent
with possibility: I could be anyone now, half woman,
half asterism. Fragmental as a new year. Patron saint
of the rutilant and cindering. I could... - By David TaitA week of autumn snow, and today the sun,
the buildings fizzy with melting, the beggar
draping his sheets over the bank's homeless-spikes.
My daughter runs under the sycamore trees,
shouts look it’s still snowing, it’s still snowing,
clumps of old snow falling around her.
Who... - By Rachel Tzvia BackIn the south we are busy now
slaughtering each other, there's no time
for flowers––
Slowly summer will
scalding pass, autumn will
arrive unnoticed.
If only rain would come to
send us all indoors––
There to stand
at ruined thresholds and
watch the yellow sky
weep and weep
for all our dead. - By Khairani Barokkalightning strikes the sky
for women.
it skins clean air
to show earth's mantle:
no place
where purity lies
without danger,
cleaving,
a mouthful
of alarm,
feet gone to
thunderous
precipitate
in one dead blink,
at the drop of a
minor squall.
breasts on a statue
by the herb garden
dampen as its face
grits harder stone
fangs for protection.
horizon... - By Cheryl SavageauHe is wearing a fisherman’s raincoat
a floppy rainhat with a long back brim
or he is not he is the boy standing under
the drainpipe in the full gushing
waterfall his eyes are closed
his head lifted into the full flow
or they are... - By Kevin YoungAnd after 3 days rain
the frog songs stops
—which had wimped
& bumped loud like a distant
chained-up dog—
and the birds
begin—mockingbird,
wren. O Susanna
don’t you cry fo me—
an unthumbed string
of days, dis-
cord. A few toads lie
splat in the road & find
I am counting blessings... - By Simon J. OrtizOn the West Coast, days of rainstorm wrestle
the Coast Range, their wet fury driven landward.
We never quite known what the sky promises,
and there is certain assurance in that fate.
It is for that we wait. We’ve already weathered
more than promises. They’ve... - By Ed Robersongiven to
look into the bowl
of sky
for it to fill
with future
see it turned
upside down on the grass
see the ladle pass
hear the god underneath
calling his inside
the heavenly vault eternal
how that bump
reminds me how we saw it
once
from the underside of
Nut a mother's... - By Luke KennardInjured, sleep-deprived, sorely tested, Adah, Cain, and Father K are falsely imprisoned in a shallow cave
with other unfortunates seeking refuge from their war-torn homeland. It is hard to blame the writers’ room
if “Unlike All Other Empires” felt as cynical and... - By May Swenson1
A smudge for the horizon
that, on a clear day, shows
the hard edge of hills and
buildings on the other coast.
Anchored boats all head one way:
north, where the wind comes from.
You can see the storm inflating
out of the west. A dark hole
in... - By Robert CreeleyAll night the sound had
come back again,
and again falls
this quiet, persistent rain.
What am I to myself
that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often? Is it
that never the ease,
even the hardness,
of rain falling
will have for me
something other than this,
something not so insistent—
am I... - By Simon J. OrtizA diesel freight truck
roars toward us.
A precipice is no mirage
for its metal plunge.
It is headlong nevertheless.
"It carries its own storm,"
I say dryly, feeling
my tongue wet my lips.
Trapped steel storming,
the faint line just so,
just inches
just split time,
just nothing more
than luck keeps... - By E. E. Cummingswhat if a much of a which of a wind
gives truth to the summer's lie;
bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun
and yanks immortal stars awry?
Blow king to beggar and queen to seem
(blow friend to fiend:blow space to time)
—when skies are hanged...