Rain

 - Kazim Ali

With thick strokes of ink the sky fills with rain.

Pretending to run for cover but secretly praying for more rain.

Over the echo of the water, I hear a voice saying my name.

No one in the city moves under the quick sightless rain.

The pages of my notebook soak, then curl. I’ve written:

“Yogis opened their mouths for hours to drink the rain.”

The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face.

The window trembles; liquid glass could shatter into rain.

I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled.

If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain.

I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me.

The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain.

from: The Far Mosque. Copyright 2005.

 

We Got Some Rain! Hey. In California that's a Really Big Deal.

{Photo Source}

Wishful Thinking

Winter seclusion -

Listening, that evening,
To the rain in the mountain.

- Issa

More Rain . . .

Spring rain
conveyed under the trees
in drops.

Spring rain
Leaking through the roof,
Dripping from the wasps' nest.

              Skylark on moor --
              Sweet song
              Of non-attachment.

                                                                                                         A mountain pheasant cry
                                                                                                         fills me with fond longing for
                                                                                                         father and mother

- Matsuo Basho

Photo by: PrettyMoment

More Haiku at: The Haiga Pages

Rain

   by Claribel Alegría

translated by Margaret S. Peden

As the falling rain
trickles among the stones
memories come bubbling out.
It's as if the rain
had pierced my temples.
Streaming
streaming chaotically
come memories:
the reedy voice
of the servant
telling me tales
of ghosts.
They sat beside me
the ghosts
and the bed creaked
that purple-dark afternoon
when I learned you were leaving forever,
a gleaming pebble
from constant rubbing
becomes a comet.
Rain is falling
falling
and memories keep flooding by
they show me a senseless
world 
a voracious
world--abyss
ambush
whirlwind
spur
but I keep loving it
because I do
because of my five senses
because of my amazement
because every morning, 
because forever, I have loved it
without knowing why.

from: Casting Off. Copyright 2003. 

Listen to the Rhythm . . .

Photo: Daniel Berehulak

Rain

        

by Claribel Alegría

Translated by Margaret S. Peden

As the falling rain

trickles among the stones

memories come bubbling out.

It's as if the rain

had pierced my temples.

Streaming

streaming chaotically

come memories:

the reedy voice

of the servant

telling me tales

of ghosts.

They sat beside me

the ghosts

and the bed creaked

that purple-dark afternoon

when I learned you were leaving forever,

a gleaming pebble

from constant rubbing

becomes a comet.

Rain is falling

falling

and memories keep flooding by

they show me a senseless

world

a voracious

world--abyss

ambush

whirlwind

spur

but I keep loving it

because I do

because of my five senses

because of my amazement

because every morning,

because forever, I have loved it

without knowing why.

from: Casting Off, Copyright © 2003 by Curbstone Press.

I know this is supposed to be spring break -
but I just ran across a good article on LD Online entitled, "On The Go: What Consumer Products Can Do For You ( If You Know Where To Look!)." It's about how our everyday digital, cellular, and hand held whatnots have the capacity to act as assistive technologies. It is really worth looking at. And I see rain out my window, anyway ...

I 'll leave you with a butterfly to help bring back the sunshine.