Rain

I embraced the winter rain,
felt the mist upon my cheeks.
All day I watched the fog tumble
down the hillside from clouds
pinned on the backside
of a sleeping giant.
All the while warmed
by sweet mystery
of weather.

What is something you can embrace? Would you like to write a poem about it?  Give it a try.  Have fun writing.

A poem should not mean, but be. Archibald MacLeish

Autumn Mist

Cold 

wet,

is it

fall

yet?

 You bet.

Would you

believe

I can see

my own

breath?

     Watching a football game on TV last night, I saw the players panting and I could see the fog each breath made.  As a child, I remember walking to school and playing with this mist trying to blow smoke rings or just making interesting streams.  In my bedroom I'd blow that mist on my window so I could use it to draw pictures or write words. 

      What hints or clues can you find that let's you know that it will soon be winter?  Can you write a poem about that?  Enjoy your misty words.