#poetry with raine

[wedarkacademia]

"August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time."

-Sylvia Plath

[from-the-gray-spaces]

27 days until the first day of Autumn ❤️ FOLLOW ME ❤️

[happyheidi]

[shisasan]

"Things Pass", Hermann Hesse (1877-1962), Wandering: Notes and Sketches

[oldwinesoul]

[thedeadpoets-blog]

— rainy days are perfect for coffee and writing

[metamorphesque]

from Vahan Teryan's letter to Antharam Miskaryan (translated by Tathev Simonyan)

[petaltexturedskies]

Louise Glück, from “Vespers” in Poems 1962-2012

[fairydrowning]

"I am a very romantic person. I don't mean romantic in a flowers and chocolates kind of way. It's more like if it's raining, I'll go up to the window and press my nose against the glass and sigh at how beautiful it all looks."

– Amy Winehouse

[chipsy]

On rainy days like these, I miss you even more.

[feral-ballad]

Mina Assadi, tr. by Niloufar Talebi, from Belonging: New Poetry by Iranians Around the World; "Waking Dreams 6"

[Text ID: “After rain / there will be rain / After loneliness / loneliness / After you / a silence / that shall give new meaning to loneliness / After night / there will be night / After nightmares / nightmares / After you / a silence / that shall give new meaning to nightmares.”]

[apoemaday]

Rain

by Billy Collins

Some time after the books had been forbidden – The one about the woman and her daughter, The one about the boy who spoke poorly – And after the smoke from the incinerators had cleared, It was suggested that censorship be extended To the plover, the wild turkey, and the common moorhen. But these birds have done nothing, a few protested. That is precisely the problem, the loudspeakers announced. It rained that month day and night. Men with nets fanned out into the fields And shouted to each other along the shorelines. Teachers disappeared on the way to their cars. Then the committee came after the morning glory For its suggestive furling and unfurling And the ligustrum and the alstroemeria Because they were difficult to pronounce and spell. Then the pine tree for its tricky needles and cones And parsley and red and yellow peppers for no reason at all. You would think the lock and the gate Would be safe, but that was well before whispering, Shaking hands on the street, And hooking an arm around someone’s waist Became the subjects of discussion Across long granite tables behind dark glass doors. And the rain was constant and cold – fine days to curl up with a good book, someone joked – but there were no more books, just the curling up of people quietly in corners and doorways, bits of straw floating down the streets along the curbs into the turbulent rivers and out to sea.

[from-the-gray-spaces]

" I can hear Autumn in the breeze. The sweet smell of pumpkin and crisp Autumn leaves." FOLLOW ME ❤️

[hauntedbythenarrative]

I Will Tell this Story to the Sun Until You Remember that You are the Sun, Erin Slaughter//Snow and Dirty Rain, Richard Siken

[shisasan]

June-July , 1907 Aleksandr Blok (1880-1921), Selected Poems

[oldwinesoul]

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