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Good Rain: A Night in Spring
The good rain knows its season
Come spring it comes to life again
With the wind, so stealthy in the night
Moistens all things so delicate so silent
On the wild paths clouds all black
lI morning’s glow, the red wet spots
Flowers weigh down upon the Brocade Mandarin.
Francois Cheng
New Moon
Narrow rays from the first slice of moon
slant from the trembling edge of the dark orb
which barely crests the ancient fortress
wallowing in the surf of evening clouds.
The river of stars is one eternal color.
Empty cold pours through the mountain pass.
The front courtyard is white dew
and chrysanthemums secretly drenched with dark.
Tony Barnstone
Rain, Four Poems
1.
Light rain doesn’t slick the road;
Broken clouds slack, then move again.
The foot of racing purple cliffs — black;
At the horizon the white birds — bright.
The autumn sun casts damp new shadows,
On the cold river, old familiar sounds of rain.
A brushwood cottage overlooks a rustic mill;
Half wet, the fresh-hulled fragrant rice.
2.
This southern rain nourishes the mossy stones,
As it slows news from the capital.
In mountain’s cold, a black bull lows;
By evening’s river, a white gull cries his hunger.
Patterned hairpins of the Goddess drop;
The mermaid, sitting by her loom, mourns.
Cares will not come untangled,
Streaming down all day
In silken threads.
William H. Nienhauser
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