Explore Poems: Weather

 rain passed through

 just now
 rain

 chxósh

chxósh

 chxósh

 chxósh

 rain rained

now
 rainbow
 stretches

water   …

 ániid nahóółtą́

 ániidigo
 nahóółtą́ą

 chxósh

chxósh

 chxósh

 chxósh

 naanahóółtą́

k’ad
 nááts…

The city lies back in its winding-sheet
While little digits drum a steady beat

On roofs and terraces, …

Oh didn’t it """   """    """
                   ""      ""
                   ""      ""
                   ""      ""
                                "    
      ""                       "
           ""
                     ""
                     ""            ""
      rain
              ""
                                ""
                      ""    ""   ""
Oh did
           """      """       n’t…

From within my bodily singularity
I play at sending out gentle sunbeams.
I don't believe in myself, but…

O 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...

In 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,

Water

Cold as it sounds

Days 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...

A 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...

In 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.

the wing of the sea is the wave;
the wave of the sky is the rain;
the salt of the rain falls as hail;
and the hail of hate rains in shots;

the shot of the soul is the bell;
bell without time is the...

lightning 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...

He 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...

And 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...

On 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...

given 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...

Injured, 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...

1

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...

All 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...