Arizona Monsoon
Posted by Belle on 10 Feb 2007 at 10:21 am | Tagged as: Uncategorized
Since I don’t have photos of Arizona monsoon in Payson, I lifted this picture from Yahoo!Photos of himanshur-tyagis photo.
I conceived the poem below while delivering mail on a rainy summer morning.
The much Anticipated Rain
It was a gloomy morning
way cooler than usual,
comfortable,
breezy
nice for a change
Then,
came a lightning
followed by a big roar
it went on for a while
while I hurried
to get my job done.
Until at last
it slipped into rain
gentle at first
light as a mist.
Gradually a little heavier
and heavier
pouring down
lots of it
soothing the parched lips
of the barren land.
It went on
until I could work no more
all vehicles doors shut
and watched in awe
the much anticipated rain.
It kept pouring,
lightning,
thunder reverberating in my ears
scary
its robustious noice
had left me
idled
and silenced.
Trees seemed happy,
contented
grounds soaking deep
water gushing,
gutters racing
creeks busy once again
filling up
our reservoirs.
I couldn’t wait no more
to work, I must resume
the rain had let up a bit,
grabbed my raincoat,
torn and old,
good enough
to protect the mail,
your mail
from getting all drenched.
Wow belle! You’re a poet pala. That was a nice one.
thanks niceheart! for some reason, I like rain especially here in Ariz where rain is scarce.
Thanks for the visit. Sure you have a milder winter there than us here in the north. Been as far California, but not gone to any other states, expcept the northeastern states like new york, michigan, n.j. and more. Want to visit las veags sometimes. again thanks for the visit.
hi Vic,
you are right about our weather here. reason why we have many retirees who would want to live here. las vegas is just slightly warmer than here.
thanks for dropping by.
why, Belle! that’s a lovely poem. i love the rain, too.
thankd dine. my daughter S loves to watch rain from our back porch. in fact, she wrote a poem of rain while sitting down on a white wicker chair in our porch.
here is the poem:
rocking back and forth
on the white wicker chair
each sting of the glassy pearls
pricking the sheltering porch rail
humorously magnified
by the motionless of the wind
restless
weariness,
soaking in the rain
ba-rum-pum-pum only
by the drumming of my fingers
tapping the white wicker chair
so only the rain,
the welcome pitter-patter of the rain
the ching-a-ling-ling of the wind chimes
and my drumming echo
beyond trenched coat clouds
a broken resonance
as the steel droplets cut through the wind
leafy plumes reach out,
streched, and trembling
from so many dry days
so many seasons glanced over
swishhhhhhh…
a last enamored wash of rain
until nothing
but slowly sleeping morsels of dust
leftover droplets disguised as glass
the thankful, satiated flora
and my discordant tapping
remain.