I dress myself with rain

One of the 60 poems I wrote using the chapter titles in Susan G. Wooldridge’s poemcrazy: freeing your life with words. Last April–fittingly, since April is National Poetry Month–my muse went into overdrive, and I went from not contemplating the project at all to completing all 60 poems in less than three weeks. This past National Poetry Writing Month was tame in comparison (thank goodness). For more poemcrazy poems and some background on the project, click here.) Peace to your !

I dress myself with rain


kick off shoes
pull off socks
shimmy out of pants
wiggle out of shirt
fling underthings

Rain dance!

Poem title from chapter 30 of poemcrazy by Susan G. Wooldridge.

It’s Raining, It’s Pouring plus 1 more

NaPoWriMo22 Day 21– Two rain poems since it’s raining (again) here in western Pennsylvania. The first is a cascade poem for murisopsis’s poetry scavenger hunt. (Glummy in the poem is a mashup of gloomy and crummy.) The second is a belated response to the napowrimo.net day 13 prompt, to write a poem that states that everything’s going to be amazing. I wrote it as a choka, a poetry form I learned about this month. Check out the E. E. Cummings poem I reference here. Peace to your !

It’s Raining, It’s Pouring

It’s raining, it’s pouring,
The sky’s gray and boring.
Another glummy day
Here in western PA.

The newspaper is wet,
The house smells of wet pet,
Still you try to forget that
It’s raining, it’s pouring.

If it were up to you,
There’d be white clouds on blue
And a yellow sun too, but
The sky’s gray and boring.

It’s easier when dry
To keep your spirits high.
Till then you have to sigh—it’s
Another glummy day.

Keep your umbrella near,
Get used to faking cheer,
The weather may not clear. We’re
Here in western PA.

Most Amazing This Day

Have you seen the world
Storm-washed and sun-dried? Seen it
Afresh? Suddenly
The unexpected spoiling
Of your morning plans
Appears most beneficent.
B.R. (Before Rain
In the annals of your life)
You were a dullard,
An uncomprehending oaf.
A.R. you Wonder.
The solidity of stones—
How did that escape
Your notice? Were trees always
This sharply defined?
The sky so vibrantly blue?
Now you understand
Cummings, the eyes of my eyes
Are opened
. You want
To exalt the daffodils,
Raise them from the earth
And proffer their gold glory
To God. Most amazing grace!


All writers have their droughts, the rain gauge dry,
The page as empty as the plains; long days
When not a single cloud drifts in the sky
And inspiration fades to distant haze.
Be constant then in taking to the skies;
Be quick to seed each passing cloud you find.
Sweet rain will fall; ideas will arise
From this precipitation of the mind.
And if the rains delay? Do not lose heart:
A single lightning strike can set afire
The parched and lifeless page, and fresh new art
Emerge out of the ashes of desire.
Amid great dryness, writers, never doubt;
By fire or water growth will come about.

We recently had company from California, where pretty much the entire state is affected by drought. Meanwhile, in my part of the country, we’ve been having thunderstorms fairly regularly. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could shift rain (and inspiration) from areas of abundance to areas of lack? Peace to your !