Best Meteorologists Poems
I forecast: anticyclone set, unmoving
The descending air evaporates and dries
Over Wales and England weather is improving
We predict a full eight eighths of cloudless skies
Or in other words our God had blessed the land
In the field the grass transforms to flaxen chrome
Deep green the oaks surround in margin stand
Bearing up a perfect cerulean dome
On the lake the isle floats on its own reflection
Heron measures steps and swan flotilla glides
The stillness of a painted scene retention
Thus the image ever in our minds resides
Meteorologists may tell what future holds
I will bless the present image that unfolds
he is like the weather, inconsistent and unpredictable.
and we're like meteorologists,
always trying to predict when the rain will come and go.
but the truth is we don't know.
sometimes there's not a cloud in the sky yet the rain still falls.
Alacrity bespeaks entangled, entombed,
and entrapped Thai soccer team
diminishing strength barely allows,
but a whispered scream,
which rescue against all odds
(plucked out cavernous catacomb),
fast becoming a fading dream
vicariously agonizing to see
desperation and lads bravely brace,
helplessness predominating over initial
found alive break thru gain
promising grim destiny slowly doth erase
yet resignation impossible
to ignore written on every face
despite faux (cracking)
courageous front,
now severely testing grace
under underground solid state
rock geomorphology
necessitating stepped up pace
to rescue, sans race
against time encroaching threatened space
with predicted mon
soon meteorologists trace
with laser pointer predict
ominous incursion cave
at mercy of vulnerable flooding
worst case scenario, grave
nightmare predicament
in an attempt to save
youths with barely enough
strength to smile or wave
downgrading my own fear
being emotionally incommunicado
during prepubescence
pretending not to hear
clapping skeletal hands over each ear
to blot out hyper consciousness of glare
ring existence squelching
feeble effing dare
sputtering Nietzscheism at every turn
of the (ripped torn) page
airtight barricade against transformation
into manhood stage
fighting to the death
foaming at mouth dagger like
canine teeth savagely
evincing snarling rage,
no match for reinforced
rebar invisible cage
holding self hostage,
not enough money
to pay hefty ransom,
thus thine mental health
compromised, which
to this day still pay steep wage.
My cupboards are stacked with provisions,
six flavours of soup, plus baked beans,
thick socks and thick shirts for this amber alert
though I am not quite sure what that means.
The torch has got spare sets of batteries,
saucepans, jugs and the bath are all full,
emergency flares, logs stacked under the stairs
and Long Johns made from Alpaca wool.
I'm in bed beneath several blankets,
and trying to get off to sleep,
but it really is hard when I know in the yard
that the snow there is two inches deep.
( 'The Beast from the East' is the name that the meteorologists and the
media have given to the current cold front sweeping in from Siberia)
This long time doodling Yankee
(who calls Southeastern Montgomery, Pennsylvania LV
plus III four seasons visited
upon swath of topography to see
and hear flora and fauna over run
via industrialization he doth experience pity
sympathy, humanity deafening cacophony undermining
once abundant bounty, which mutiny
upon bounty outwits mother nature in this REAL LIFE “GAME” of jeopardy
where survival of the fattest dominates avast geography
thence a tempest in a global teapot doth brew
which phenomena Gaia foments, inducing meteorologists due
tee fully issuing catastrophic fallout asper category 5 carved foo
tang clan along Gulf Coast
reserving special vengeance (alas domino effect)
for oil derricks hue mans insatiably drill into
ever more difficult to access reservoirs sans fossil fuels, but Jew
blintz echoes across watery expanse when excavator loo
king for liquid gold hit a mother lode (or off shoot) exciting new
man hick pumps furiously fracking gnome hatter
watching grim faced absent magic spells such as phew
fi foe...aghast at the rapacious, pernicious, malicious....rue
th less ness heaped upon Planet Earth,
where tipping point
re: specifically *****Sapiens over population will true
lee interrogate meteorological altercations, conflagrations, and
exterminations of multitudinous botanical & animal genus or species
as wrath of monster storms akin to a oceanic brigand
wreaking loss of life and limb, additionally bringing destruction
as megadeath metal lick ha - monstrous maelstrom
mercilessly muscles itself when making land
fall, where record rainfall submerges once smug Texans man
dated to evacuate far from the pan
demon harum-scarum as retribution for incessant lambasting wan
ton ness exploiting terrestrial resources selfishly will eventually ban
hush the dominant primate requisitioned to become extinct – anon.
Whether the weather
necessitates to anchor
myself as a tether
when the frankenstorm
socks the east coast
shredding terrestrial
zone like soft leather
i may end up attired
in esprit de corpse
being tossed hither and yon
to and fro like a feather.
If...the forecast imbues
meteorologists flooded with folly
making a mockery
of humanity run amuck
in panic mode - by golly
this mortal male will don himself as
"the chief garbage" taster
with a garland of holly
shuffling along the
boulevard of broken
tin cans and rubbish
feigning to be melancholy.
This getup a throw
back to a costume
adorned this papa when
he attended grade school
eons ago, where corporal punishment
prevailed in case
student disavowed any rule
such as smoking in the boys' room
cigarette such
manufactured by Kent or kool
or lambasting any unlikable teacher,
(whose bookish face) at
receiving end of
pranks rather cruel.
So...presume that Halloween
will take place without any axe
of nature to grind monster
brewing at sea
and picture this poet decked
out dumpster diving
for the most fetid trash
and materiel with cracks
to be affixed upon
a heavy duty sack
with goop from
sullied foodstuffs -
a cause for glee
rotten meat infested
with maggots, shards of glass,
crushed metal cans,
et cetera to the max
will be haphazardly splayed
(Jackson Pollack like)
on this sturdy cloth
that will drape me
spurring a conga like of hungry beasts
ready go pounce – menacing
ferocious wolf packs
adding to the welter per helter skelter
of decayed detritus distributed
from head to knee
and a set of punishing
pronged antlers spiking out
in all directions upon
ma noggin-hence to tax
utmost fear in passersby, and quite
an abominable sight to see.
Close on the leatherneck well booted, high healed stormy, clip clop,
sans well fashioned faux shod Harvey didst stomp with heavy drop
ping like a furious ogre, and before classes even started
this early September 2017 nature maid maelstrom bid adieu
akin to movements indicative of fiendish flip flop
“he” (as if one could identify gender of said huffing puffing Hurricane,
gave the coast an unforgettable pan hand dilly sock hop
wrought desolation visa vis master card –
carrying uprooted trees like footballs, where whoosh of fury didst lop
many complex edifices plus stately trunked vaunted trees
felled like overworked mop
add where tongue shaped swath comprising Texas got cow licked –
or rather a major pop as if punched from boxing competitor
(already down for the doll finned count)
Hurricane Harvey continued to pounce without letup, and refused to stop
spilling profuse water until the steep pulled tippy top
of many tall buildings barely visible accompanying soundtrack mix
included the Furies of Agamemnon concomitant with ruthless
banshees, daemons, fable come to life monsters
performing corrupt version of do wop.
My perfect imitation of a pilot in motion
cautiously pushing forward, paying attention
to all details is a trick of the virtual imagination...
using agile hands, as if they actually were two fluttering wings,
focusing with vigilant eyes looking straight at scurrying clouds:
as he swiftly travels to his set destination.
Peaceful is our Earth below,
four oceans, four continents
and thousands of small islands...
while acres of forests burn, and rivers follow
their irruptive course as humans do...
but suddenly all vanishes into the amazing blue!
What I discover beneath, no eyes would see,
what I hear around and above nobody can hear;
only angels surveilling can anticipate dangers
and warn us through meteorologists what's coming;
many ships have sunk into the unpredictable sea:
the tragedy of the Titanic followed others of lesser scale,
who is really safe on unstable ground or even in the turbulent air?
garbage dumped into our oceans: tomorrow will kill many a whale!
This voyage carefully planned won't be my last ever,
the shorter ones are considered to be less dangerous:
attentiveness is a must, not excluding a tragic crash so loud
due to weather, or to a mechanical failure; could I surrender
when chaos is real and the humming airplane changes sound?
Should I allow the aircraft to plunge into the surging waves?
My perfect imitation of a pilot
allows me to feel good: flying is practice, not art!
Then, is the furthest sky the limit of all adventures,
of all aspirations an explorer turns into realistic dreams?
Are there rewards for his part?
How refreshing to experience
a reprieve from sultry weather
when hazy, hot,
and humid warm front
unleashes a very short sweaty tether.
Man hat tin dar overcast skies
hint potential rain on the way
perchance avast dastardly
flickr ring instagram
kickstarter linkedin shutterfly
Taurus headed soundcloud
skidding across celestial
(span hushed) rink
surprising forecasters by yowl
ling whimsically, unexpectedly oye vay
training (laser like),
Asian outsize dark cloud
climatological frontispiece
randomly making next stop Old
Rotten Gotham's Greenwich Village
zero wing in on
Poor (Chuck Keys) Uruguay
neighborhood possibly confidently
foretold by meteorologists today
pointing at map showing
cold air mass as it doth sashay
July twenty first 2018, though
Mother Nature defies pre
diction pulling out all (busted) stops,
vis a vis via "her" quay
zee bag of tricks nay
saying trained forecasters klan
hush all self importance
also to humble those mere mortals
getting paid a handsome buck
by anthropomorphizing viz cluck
king in tandem with duck
billed Baritone Horn
Trumpeting "FAKE" luck
trotting out obstreperous
Sunny Rays, who doth beam
with radiance a
diametrically opposed extreme
over zealous call for precipitation
instead raining one after another quanta
bright blinding meme
outsmarting the seem
ming airtight (cat in the bag)
prediction leaving once supreme
vouchsafing without a doubt forecasters
left holding the empty bag
large enough tuff fit the whole team.
It was a little after nine at night
when the thunder and lightning interrupted my concentration,
and the television program I was watching
became second best
as the rain pounded against the roof of my house.
After I went to sleep a second storm woke me up.
The thunder sounded like a giant fist
pounding against the wall of my house,
and the lightning made my bedroom glow in the dark,
and the rain drops made a flood in my yard.
That’s when my thinking started to make a lot of racket.
I thought about the difference between watches and warnings,
and thunderstorms that woke people up in the middle of the night,
and flash floods that killed people’s houses,
and tornadoes that blew away towns,
and the hurricanes that melted the beaches,
and snow storms that closed all the roads;
and realized that Mother Nature was in charge of the climate
but the meteorologists were in charge of what we dream about
right before the weather wakes us up in the middle of the night.
Fifty foot waves cradled the old wooden boat
A doomed speck held on ocean gale breath
About to become splinters at any moment
Hurricane forces understand fragility
A chance for destruction is an option
Two bearded men tumble about on deck
Exchange stories about death
While going over board
Fishing expeditions are unpredictable
Meteorologists called for a fifty percent chance of rain
Dust and sand move speedily up the sky,
As clouds darkened and threatened with great sound
Legs run,wind blows and swallows set to fly,
Tree branches bend and shed their leaves on ground,
Sky opens that farmers need not to cry,
Floods sweep across, toads mate;fries dance around,
Cool air flows through rooms to make heat to drop,
Hawkers and beggars pray for rain to stop,
Dirt from the roofs and plants are wash away,
The poor now collect aqua which they lack,
Meteorologists have nothing to say,
Vehicles with leaking roofs have to pack,
As drains need to be cleared without delay,
Ocean threatens at beach as waves attack,
While desert shouts for this season to last ,
Soil is now soft and hardness in the past .
8-31-2017
Life’s elusive beauty slips
But slips not quite away.
When there is nothing to hold on to on
This slate grey day when every voice is muffled
With nothing to say
When nothing is of substance all
Lines blurred in the wet and the
Moisture tastes of regret
And the only desire is to
Forget the things that
Haven’t happened yet
The street lamps are lonely in the
Rain and all colours the same drab
Drizzly tones of sorrow
In the bars they are drinking to
Tomorrow and I’ll join them if I can
Borrow the price of my retreat
From the grim misty cigarette butt streets
Where the sun did shine once so
The meteorologists assure us
Surely good fortune cannot
Ignore us forever it’s just held
Up by the weather
This does however feel like the
Very definition of whatever so perhaps
I’ll grow old and tramp
These streets like the ghost of
Vain endeavour in which case whenever
You find yourself lost in the mist
Or a cloud like this you think of
Me when the drains gurgle in
The gutter and this hiss of tyres on
Tarmac as my leather soled
Shoes slap cos I never said I’m not
Coming back Jack.
Meanwhile light is the word that brings the
Spring but winter’s song must still be
Heard and ice is formed within the voice
That opens now to sing it.
heavy legs cannot tell a lie
yellow spots with wings reveal the most truth
visions of black has a punch that can knock you back into reality
when the hand is in a toilet stool full of soggy wet used toilet paper, rock bottom feels like pebbles with incurable toothaches
icicles on eyelashes are the most accurate meteorologists
sweat stained shredded pillows are the pillars of an insomniac community
red devil moons seduce like temptation on angel dust
when a toboggan is over the feet as a wool blanket podiatrist, rock bottom feels like endlessness stopping for lunch but still in motion
heavyweight windstorm powerwalks expose stubborn tears
picnic table graffiti nothingness removes the veil
spinning clock lifestyle shows an age rapidly receding
when the triple layers plastic bag is at its full capacity, rock bottom feels like exactly what it is....rock bottom....
The October storm
In the valley would form
The rain and hail damage would perform
And meteorologists would predict another such storm
In the old house man is holding his wife’s pale hand
Hoping she and the unborn child would live not die and be buried in a woodland
For a doctor he has send with the voice that would both plea and demand
But before he gets here past the moorland
It will take long time doctor won’t be here soon
While meteorologist predicts in a couple days a typhoon
The man looks through the window seeing red visage of harvest moon
Even if his child will live it will die of hunger if man can’t harvest the grain soon
Before typhoon arrives or valley dries
As he is thinking that his wife dies
But the child survives
And on the bed it now lies
Man gives the child bottle and goes to harvest the grain
This entire situation is enough to make him insane
A miracle he now needs to attain
As he is cutting the grain his spirit is in great pain
The air is dense and muggy and expression of moon fills man with fear
When on it lines like scuffs begin to appear
The scuffs are representations of scuffs on Madonna’s facet he would hear
And when those reach to her heart means apocalypse is near
He walks through his field undaunted
Even though he fears it might be haunted
Something primeval whispering in the wind is last thing he wanted
But the echoes of Gods worshiped before man had grain now sang their ballad
Suddenly he saw visions of strange creatures from the past
But it was the goat walking like a human that appeared last
Its dismal shadow on the man it would cast
It said if he wishes his son to live his own soul forsake he must
The man was ready to do what from the devil he would hear
But suddenly huge owl would appear
Its presence filled the goat man with fear
And soon devil would disappear
The owl would suddenly transform
And less terrifying was her form
It was a man’s wife smiling at him against the storm
They embraced knowing what miracle divine would just perform