Best Pitter Patter Poems
rushing waters fall
as of sweet rhythmic curtains,
draping moss and stone
Submitted for Raul Moreno's "Rhythm of The Falls" contest.
The pitter-patter of drops drum
out the beat of a broken heart.
As tears supply the rain and glum,
the pitter-patter of drops drum.
And we fear, there is more to come,
awaiting the sunshine to start.
The pitter-patter of drops drum
out the beat of a broken heart.
Awaiting the sunshine to start,
laughter can no longer be heard.
We sense the mood grey clouds impart,
awaiting the sunshine to start.
And as our smiles slowly depart,
we share the gloom without a word.
Awaiting the sunshine to start,
laughter can no longer be heard.
We share the gloom without a word,
watching the trees sway in the breeze.
As tears ensure our views are blurred,
we share the gloom without a word.
And the softest sound ever heard;
morphs into silence, of unease.
We share the gloom without a word,
watching the trees sway in the breeze.
Pitter patter, drip, drop, it’s not an April shower
Drip, drop, drip, drop raining hour after long hour
Suddenly the sun streaks through, javelins of sunlight
Then back to pitter, patter, and rain throughout the night.
In and out of doorways, trying to stay dry
Thunder crashing the Queens dead, the country seems to sigh
Edward the happy monarch will rule with fun from now on
Rain, rain, it never stops crying for the Old Queen is gone.
The sun breaks through the London grey, it sparkles on a tree leaf
Drops still dripping slowly, displaying all their grief.
Happy times are coming, skipping down the London streets
Children playing hopscotch, while the bobbies are on the beat.
A blossom opens a leaf unfurls, breathes the rain drops in
The first sup of clean water in these london streets so grim.
Pitter, patter, feel the rain - dodging in and out of doorways
Trying to keep dry in the summer rain as one does always.
The ringing of the bells, Big Ben strikes the hour
A begging hand from a pile of rags huddled in the shower.
The old queen is dead and gone, but wanders through her city
Looking left and right, she shakes her head in certain pity
Through London town she wanders where dirt and grime abound
She’s searching for she does not know - until it she has found
The thunder crashes the rain pours then drips slowly to an end
The queen is dead long live the King she prays his ways he’ll mend.
©~GG~ 2012
Entry for Tracie's Anything goes competition This is a Poem I have just done for a Magazine about when Queen Victoria died.
Pitter patter on my window
sun shine bright
Make me a rainbow to last through the night
I once met a Spanish high flyer
She wiggled and danced on a wire
Her pitter once pattered
Grew ninety pounds fatter
And now she sings bass in a choir.
Feb 4 2020
Daniel Turner
Evoke and pray to Gods Varun* and Indra*
And to Apollo not to go on long vacation
Play hide and seek with the earth as kids do
And bring a rainbow with its rich colors to see.
Do not bring mausim** in excess
Even Nectar consumed in excess
Or any overdose creates havoc.
Bringing epidemics and floods
Destroying infrastructures.
Let the earth look as fresh as
A young girl after her shower.
Let creativity bloom for poets
To write poems on rain, as I do.
As it did to Shakespeare and Kalidas*
To write The Tempest and Meghdootam*
Two masterpieces of the two bards.
I hear thunder, I hear thunder
Don’t bring misery and hunger.
Kids be ready with your raincoats
Find the papers to make paper boats
Wearing the gumboots.
The Eastern winds beat me
As does the storm of my soul
I know, the storm fades away soon
Monsoon is still inside and outside.
+++
September 9, 2014
Form: Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
First Place Win
Contest: Rainy Days by Leonara Ghalinta
*Varuna and Indra are the Aryan rain and storm gods respectively in Hinduism.
*The term 'monsoon' is derived from the Arabic word mausim which means a time or a season
*The great Indian dramatist Kalidasa wrote Meghdoot symbolically using clouds as
messenger. *Shakespeare too wrote The Tempest keeping thunderbolt and its implications in mind..
The rain is falling
Pitter Patter
I sit on my porch and rock
My Pinot noir slips and shatters
The angry winds mock
I retrieve my lighter from the kitchen
Foolishly expecting to smoke
The enraged wind is full of tension
A gush of rain blew in to soak
My face wore a blank expression
In hopes the storm would taunt another
Portrayed myself oblivious to its aggression
We had a rivalry between each other
The rain is falling
Pitter Patter
I lie in my bed and watch the ceiling drip
A pot to catch the fallen water
Determined to go down with my ship
The storm refuses to cease
Floods consume the bottom level
My home falls apart piece by piece
The very foundation begins to bevel
The rain is falling
Pitter Patter
It rolls off the sides of my face
The storm rolls on, but it doesn't matter
This is a deserted place
The pitter-patter of the raindrops
When storm clouds come rolling in and lightning fills the sky
And the wind begins to blow as the sun waves its’ own goodbye
The pitter-patter of the raindrops as they begin dancing in the street
Not caring where they fall and not caring who they meet
One drop rolls down my forehead as rolls down my cheek
Each one so cold and wet and yet each one is so unique
They join their hands together as they cover the world below
They make the grasses greener and they make the flowers grow
My friend you’re like the raindrop that I catch upon my tongue
Of all the many raindrops I knew that you were the only one
That would chase away the thirst and the troubles from my past
I searched a million raindrops and found the perfect one at last
You make the grasses greener and the flowers start to grow
You are the perfect raindrop and you make happiness fill my soul
So when you hear the thunder and the rain begins to dance
Run out in the street and don’t miss your only chance
I thank God for the storm that brought a raindrop in my life
She chased away the dryness and she chased away the strife
To catch that perfect raindrop is a treasure all its own
One that stays with you forever and makes your heart her home
You can read more of my poems in my book The Writings of an invisible man. Its on amazon.com. You can also watch my video on youtube just search for hlhsdad39 to understand my story and why i write
Form:
Pitter-Patter on my Heart
Do not believe that your size in any way
diminishes the depth of my affection for you.
Some may say you are mere eating-pooping machines
but ever since you traipsed into my life a year ago
you’ve been pitter-pattering high and low
weaving circles all around my heart,
and your joyful ‘popcorn’ jumps
bring color to my dreams.
From you I know I couldn’t live apart.
Even your failed escapes from
the kitchen into the lounge where
I in vain try not to lose sight of you
tug at my old forgiving heart.
My duties to you I do not take lightly,
and know, Coco, Phoebe, that you can always
nibble at my paws, just remember to pause before
any mild irritation you should cause. And please
forgive me if on occasion I stare enviously
at bits of carrots and apples for some
reason they won’t let me share;
but fear not, for parsley and
cilantro I do not care.
Now let me clear the air,
whoever thinks that love and friendship
reside in the human heart alone
has never met you and me
my chatty little piggies.
Your loving canine friend,
Sasha
P.S. Please, do no pine for your birthplace in the Andes,
that’s a smoke dream that could only turn you
into some deep-fried or grilled
Peruvian delicacy.
The Pitter-Patter of Rain
I sit here on the porch listening,
Watching the rain in the night.
Pitter-patter on my roof,
I thought about all I have gained,
Over all these years of life,
As all I have lost and gone,
As if water washed it all away,
Oh maybe it was all the people,
And the circumstance that did,
Never to be found,
retrieved nor replaced again,
The only thing to mend my heart,
To fill the emptiness within me,
Is Jesus as He had promised,
As the rain kept falling into the night,
as tears from my heart for you,
As I was comforted by the pitter-patter,
As the footsteps returning,
faces to see again,
Words left unspoken,
now are able to be said
In this life there is only once chance,
To fully make it right,
- Resolution and completion -
Only you know when it can happen,
A presence in life suddenly washed away,
Only to return in dreams,
When my eyes have shut….
To the pitter-patter of rain,
Falling in the night.
Rev. Dr. Samuel Mack
Copyright 2017
Pitter patter little feet
come to take a little peek.
Come to seek
my pain to eat.
Filling up with every weep.
Pitter patter come with me
look upon and you will see
all the pain that's inside me.
Pitter patter runs and leaves
always playing hide and seek
with the little ones that's meek.
Founders keeper little feet
you sure you want to stay with me?
Written: June 27,2016
5:31 am
Pitter Patter, pitter patter, pitter patter; I heard the sound of tiny feet
I turned around only to see the biggest spider you ever want to meet
If things couldn't be worse than to meet a spider that was that grand
With three pairs of gaited shoes and a black walking stick in his hand
I really don't want to trouble you Sir, but I seem to have lost my way
I have a good friend General Beatle, he's asked me to come and stay
He sent me a letter with his address; but I seem to have gone astray
On seeing the letter, I pointed South, then sent the spider on his way
Never in my life have I seen such a spider that stood over six feet tall
Who is off to visit General Beatle; down yonder, at the Fox Manor Hall
I found a bench where I sat awhile, whilst digesting this very thought
Then ran to the nearest public house, where a large whiskey I sought
When again did I not hear the sound of pitter patter of some tiny feet
With arms wide open; General Beatle and that spider did on me greet
Now, all of you may think, that this story is rather more than strange
But, when you are just an ant, I am far from thought of, as deranged
Indiana Shaw . . . ; )
Woke up this morning to the pitter patter of raindrops
Thought it was your heart beating next to mine
But alas, it was only the raindrops beating on my window sill
That had given me false hope of your presence
When I reached out you weren't there
So sad ..So sad ..So sad
Pitter patter …Pitter patter…Pitter patter …………
The grey boy wrinkles in the hands of greater things, wrinkles up like paper, Hands on
knees and knees on chin, the wrinkled boy trembles in the hand of his mind. The room is
dark, there is no light, and all he sees are shades of grey, his body of grey, the curtains
grey, the wooden door dripping grey, and then he notices: the red water beneath him. And
it makes him shiver. He hears them. Outside; He hears the pitter patter, the barefoot
running, the echoing laughter, and the feel of a cold breeze rushing down a hall. They
remind him of his past, running down the hall to his father’s room, and when the pitter
patter of feet stops he knows the child has fallen, the laughter is the father, the breeze is the
swinging of the child in the air, the whimper is his own, in this dark grey room; He lifts his
knees higher. Uncomfortable as the red pool grows around him, He knows it shouldn’t
grow, he wonders why, whimpers in the dark, and wonders why.
The cold creeps up and he shivers, his teeth chatter away at the night and his knees
knock heads in comfort; The pitter patter of feet comes closer, the wrinkled boy sways to the
ground, A grey feather stained in red. Wracking sobs pump grey into his once rosy
cheeks; The pitter patter turns to thunder. It rumbles down the hall, rumbles to his room;
It rumbles and he shivers and the growing pool of red ripples; He sees his distorted
reflection in the red: “Why am I grey?” He shivers again, he whimpers, tired of shivering
and the cold and the grey and wanting the red to go away. And yet he waits, shivers and
dreads, and the thunder grows louder yet. His gaze fixes on the door as the thunder comes
churning through. His eyes shut down, his knees lock up, and he trembles in the moment.
But as he yields open his eyes, the grey world melts away to the thunder of light, and he
forgets all colors dark or red. All he sees is a little boy, in his father’s arms, and he
remembers the car and the road, the sirens and the screams, and he smiles, thinking of
the laughing and racing of the pitter patter, and wonders why he was so afraid.
© Samir Georges
2010
P ropped up on my pillows
I n the attic room,
T inkling sounds of
T he soft rain on glass
E ngulfs me in the peaceful
R etreat that is my boudoir.
P laying a soothing tune.
A llowing me to drift off
T o dreamworld again.
T reasured extra hours
E nveloped in eiderdown.
R eveling in rainy days.
05/03/2017