The Sound of Rain

rainI cannot stop the rain

it pours straight into me

through lightly-stabbed holes in my clingfilm.


I despise the British drizzle,

that mealy-paced drip

of convictions skin-deep.

There are obvious parallels

with acknowledged tear drops,

cycle of perdition, repetition, hum-drum…

Give me bursts of whip-flash

boil over gurgling of resentments

in fierce downpours

drops as big as fistfuls

punching to my gut to bring back

the smell of paddy fields,

that eternal wombish damp.


rainstormBe Latin! Uncontained! Dramatic!

Misunderstood                 theatre                 maligned

Be a storm of epic sounds:

sudden, surprising, outrageous!

Stop being

safe gully to the stars.

10 thoughts on “The Sound of Rain”

  1. What a powerful poem, Marina Sofia! I love the passion in it, and you’re right about the different kinds of rain. Did you know that in the Navajo culture, there are two kinds of rain: male rain and female rain. Those different kinds of rain reflect the kind of thing you discuss here, and it’s very interesting to see the parallel.

  2. Ah yes, but one can walk quite comfortably in drizzle.
    How do you feel about Scotch Mist 🙂 ?
    I have never read a poem about the variable stages of downpour before. Nice.

    1. Mist? Atmospheric, but perhaps better at a distance… That is the first thing I noticed about the tropics – rain really knows how to fall there!

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