“Petrichor (/ˈpɛtrɪkɔːr/) is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. The word is constructed from Greek petra (πέτρα), meaning “stone”, and īchōr (ἰχώρ), the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology.” Wikipedia … we have John Anstie (My Poetry Library) and friends to thank for an introduction to this word: “Petrichor Rising” and How the Twitterverse Birthed Friendships that in turn birthed a poetry collection 

evening rain patters about, plays the
rooftop like a kettle drum, taps a code
on window panes, spills itself and
the scent of petrichor rises from
mud puddles and rain-carved rills

sly stars caper in a game of hide and
seek, shy clouds spoon in the smoky
quartz of a subdued moon, a late
dawn will rise in subtile pewter light

Oh!

how they steal our sleep
these, the beloved nights  
so rich in comforting blisses

© 2019, Jamie Dedes; photograph, U.S. Department of Agriculture, public domain

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

The challenge this week is to write about the emotions rain engenders in you. For me it’s joy (and perfect weather for writing), although I’ve never experienced rain to the point of flooding and I don’t have rheumatoid arthritis as so many of my friends do, so no pain or anger. For some people rain is depressing. How about you?  Tell us in your own poetry.

Share your poem/s on theme in the comments section below or leave a link to it/them. All poems on theme are published on the first Tuesday following the current Wednesday Writing Prompt. (Please no oddly laid-out poems.)

 No poems submitted through email or Facebook will be published. 

IF this is your first time joining us for The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photo to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com to introduce yourself to the community … and to me :-). These are partnered with your poem/s on first publication.

PLEASE send the bio ONLY if you are with us on this for the first time AND only if you have posted a poem (or a link to one of yours) on theme in the comments section below.  

Deadline:  Monday, May 27 by 8 pm Pacific Standard Time. If you are unsure when that would be in your time zone, we recommend using ​The Time Zone Converter.

Anyone may take part Wednesday Writing Prompt, no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro.  It’s about exercising the poetic muscle, showcasing your work, and getting to know other poets who might be new to you. This is a discerning non-judgemental place to connect.

You are welcome – encouraged – to share your poems in a language other than English but please accompany it with a translation into English.

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Poet and writer, I am a former columnist and associate editor of a regional employment publication. Currently, I run this site, The Poet by Day, an information hub for poets and writers. I am the managing editor of The BeZine published by The Bardo Group Beguines (originally The Bardo Group), a virtual arts collective I founded.  I am a weekly contributor to Beguine Again, a site showcasing spiritual writers. My work is featured in a variety of publications and on sites, including: Levure littéraure, Ramingo’s Porch, Vita Brevis Literature,Compass Rose, Connotation Press, The Bar None Group, Salamander Cove, Second Light, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Meta / Phor(e) /Play, and California Woman. My poetry was recently read by Northern California actor Richard Lingua for Poetry Woodshed, Belfast Community Radio. I was featured in a lengthy interview on the Creative Nexus Radio Show where I was dubbed “Poetry Champion.”

The BeZine: Waging the Peace, An Interfaith Exploration featuring Fr. Daniel Sormani, Rev. Benjamin Meyers, and the Venerable Bhikkhu Bodhi among others

“What if our religion was each other. If our practice was our life. If prayer, our words. What if the temple was the Earth. If forests were our church. If holy water–the rivers, lakes, and ocean. What if meditation was our relationships. If the teacher was life. If wisdom was self-knowledge. If love was the center of our being.” Ganga White, teacher and exponent of Yoga and founder of White Lotus, a Yoga center and retreat house in Santa Barbara, CA

“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.” Lucille Clifton

20 Comments

  2. Dear Jamie it’s now almost a week since I last posted here. It has been pouring rain. The wonderful part of it, is the trees. They are all laden with buds and bloom. The air smells fresh and the grass is lush and green. My thoughts still wander. Others have created joyful and beautiful words. My little attempt at Haiku I leave to you, It’s not exactly inspiring, so as I said I’ll leave it to you to decide.
    💜🌹

    https://starlightandmoonbeamsdotblog.wordpress.com/2019/05/27/a-promenade-through-sadness/

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  3. Hi Jamie, Lots of good responses here and I am adding mine this week. Hope you are well.

    Turtle Rainstick

    The tall piece of bamboo sets in the corner
    as though keeping the walls from colliding
    with the aboriginal turtle in mustard yellow hues
    keeping a silent vigil, a respite, as the rain
    signals a force of nature outside my window

    I am reminded that I am a creature of water
    my molecular being silent within a human shell

    the wonder of a million droplets from a cloud
    forming a single raindrop is mind boggling
    as they gather in rhythmic action

    creating puddles, streams, rivers, waterfalls
    cascading exponentially into vast oceans
    a home for other water beings living
    within a life-giving force

    and I listen in amazement at the symphony
    that brings life to the earth I live on
    where brilliant colors of flowers bloom
    in gardens tended and meadows flourish
    on mountains

    replete with nature’s abundance of creatures
    beasts walking the land and flocks of birds
    taking flight tenured with bird song

    am I not enraptured to know my heart
    still beats within its fluidic capsule embrace
    of the water that holds me ensconced
    in safe keeping

    that when the rain thus ceases its’ melodic sounds
    the bamboo stick awaits but my touch
    yearning to recreate rain’s wondrous music
    the timeless aboriginal turtle
    warm beneath my hand

    © May 2019 Renee Espriu

    Liked by 2 people

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  4. Hi Jamie,

    Pickatree Rainbird

    And the Boss said to all the birds,
    “Excavate all the hollows,
    release water to make
    seas, rivers and pools.”

    All obeyed, except Pickatree.
    who sat still, would not move,
    or flitted between branches.
    “It is dirty work. I can’t
    soil this bright golden coat,
    or silver shine of my legs.”

    And the Boss replied,
    “If that’s the case, from now on,
    your coat is sooty black,
    you’ll sup only rain,
    and your yaffles only heard
    afore downpours.”

    Liked by 1 person

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  5. Hi Jamie,

    another response:

    Pickatree Rainbird

    And the Boss orders all his birds,
    “Excavate all the hollows,
    release water to make
    seas, rivers and pools.”

    All obey, except Pickatree.
    who sits still, does not move,
    or flits between branches.
    “It is dirty work. I can’t
    soil this bright golden coat,
    or silver shine of my legs.”

    And the Boss replies,
    “If that’s the case, from now on,
    your coat is sooty black,
    you’ll sup only rain,
    and your yaffles only heard
    afore downpours.”

    Liked by 2 people

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  7. Responses like raindrops.

    Before the Storm

    the baptisms begin
    across all beliefs
    all nations
    first in drops
    across the tops
    of heads
    then gentle pour
    until
    full immersion

    bringing hope
    and life
    once more

    to the dry
    and weary.

    Liked by 2 people

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  8. I love your joyful rain poem, Jamie. Rain makes me feel good too. Here’s one poem.

    When The Rain Falls Overnight

    Perhaps that’s why
    I whisper
    “all shall be well”
    as a grey day
    shuffles to its end
    and I rest my head
    on the pillow,
    close heavy eyes.

    Perhaps that’s why
    I sleep
    so tranquilly,
    my dreams lullabied
    by clouds uncurling
    and spilling
    and bathing the stubble
    of new-mown grass.

    Perhaps that’s why
    I wake,
    stretch and smile
    at the sheen
    of wet roof tops
    where summer rain
    has pattered down
    left footprints in the dark.

    Liked by 4 people

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  9. suspense

    when you fly through rain in an airplane the rain does not fall. it is horizontal. and if each drop could contain a human soul, from any place or time in history, most of the drops would be human-soulless.

    but every raindrop has an aspect. if your lower legs are bare, and an early sprinkle splashes against your calf, it talks to you at the moment it ceases to be rain. it encounters you unignorably.

    if you ingest a quantum of “magic mushrooms” and then run in t-shirt and shorts barefoot on a sidewalk through cool summer rain, you seem to form thousands of relationships.

    that is all for now unless another headcloud bursts.

    Liked by 1 person

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  11. Hi Jamie, Here’s my response to the prompt.My first time here. Thank you.

    Petrichor

    The parched earth, fissures formed designs
    on the burnt umber landscape. Seeds dying
    of thirst, the harsh wind sweeping the dust over
    skinny cattle, goats that foraged on scrub.
    The rattle of the thunderstorm, the beauty
    of the threatening molten sky, leaden with
    moisture as the drops fall one by one, cool
    on the skein of a leaf. The shiver of excitement as
    petrichor arose, the olfactory senses heightened.
    Hope for new life as the tiny rivulets traced new
    patterns, muddy-brown wet lines. In a few days
    sprouting seedlings, the circle of life begins.

    Liked by 2 people

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  12. .it rained in the night.

    i woke, heard it, yet also saw the yellow moon.
    shining through.

    rain is noisy on the roof at huws gray,
    where we buy slate chippings and talk
    of log stores for the winter.

    it is made of metal.

    at the ironmongers we chat, buy bulbs,
    notice the chip shop is for sale, now.

    they sell night lights singly, at 20 p each.

    it rained on and off all day, while I worked,
    then,
    it rained in the night.

    sbm.

    Liked by 1 person

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  13. .the rain.

    talk about the weather, talk
    about the rain. cosy. we cleaned
    arranged the house, until it stopped.

    walked out, bare feet, looked down
    felt the wet slate, watched the snails.

    damped our hair, to rearrange on entry
    into the cleaner rooms. yet no matter
    how hard we work, there are still

    cobwebs.

    sbm.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  14. .rain comes lightly.

    watch, windows speck. days come lightly.

    heavy hearts at leaving here. we remember

    you. some times.

    with difficulty.

    some times.

    the sun shines,

    some times it rains.

    sometimes it looks calm when we can feel the wind.

    lightly.

    sbm.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  16. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my second response:

    Rain Is Awake

    when it falls
    hits the snuggled earth
    with wet caresses

    Conscious movement
    rippled determination
    to move forward
    once a route is found,

    knows it must find rest
    a place to sleep
    but other droplets insist
    on movement forward

    Liked by 2 people

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  17. Hi Jamie,

    Here’s my first response:

    Particles OF Rain

    strike spark off the hill
    tumble down charged, fall
    an electric river.

    Captured photon tracks
    dot glass, world atom
    accelerator.

    Lost particles,
    paper thin blanketed
    homeless huddle
    in doorways.

    Tiny explosions
    of heaven’s tears
    across the nailed lake.

    Day ends as fishermen
    fold up their green chairs
    by a splashed evening lake

    glowered, puddled.

    Navigate By Rain

    gobbets in motion,
    their rhythmic fall and beat,
    every drop a note,

    on pavement,
    tarmac, wood,
    tile, hollow metal,
    close your eyes,
    listen to the music,
    varied semitones,

    blind, you navigate
    by the landscape
    described by percussion.

    Can you hear her contours,
    tell the leather, lace
    and cloth she wears
    by arrangement of sound
    in the downpour?

    A time when you don’t
    want the rain to stop
    until you can inhale
    her sweet fragrance.

    And open your eyes.

    shadow breathes

    see how your shadow moves
    across the arc of her arm
    your shadow breathes to kiss
    away the cold up to her neck

    across the cool leather couch
    she lounges on to reveal more
    of her thighs than is sane
    for the blood pump inside you

    and your lips press into her neck
    and the rise of her breasts through
    her little black dress, and thighs
    that fall open as you kiss an ear.

    A Rosary

    of raindroplets down the window glass.
    Contemplate the mystery within
    each of these splattered dribbles.

    Each holds grains, dried sea salt,
    dust or smoke ascended skywards from water
    or land into swirling eddies of air,

    each holds dead cells sloughed,
    perhaps by lovers fingers, or
    by beasts slouching to Bethlehem,

    each holds a prayer for life,
    a hymn to its origins, a curse
    of flood, a blessing of light.

    Liked by 3 people

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  18. Beautiful poem Jamie. I was trying to pick a quote from it but I’d have had to re post it in its entirety. Lovely! I too find the rain inspiring. I’d like to give it a try. We seem to be getting April showers in May here. Thanks for the wonderful prompt. 😊💜

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Thank you!