Best Thermometers Poems
My heart was ripped out
Was ripped out of my chest
Leaving a hole
A bottomless hole
A black hole
Deeper than the great abyss
Wider then space itself
Where temperatures are so cold
Where thermometers cease to register
Where no sound emanates
Thought is impossible
And there's no ability to feel
Even if touch were possible
Things would just crumble as you tried
And vanish never to be seen again
A place where life ceases to exist
And no hope is possible
My heart is gone
Gone from my chest
Not sure if I will ever
Find it again
I bought a box of thermometers on sale
When asked how many degrees I have.....
I reply........ many
Too many to even count
When I explained this to a friend.....
He replied you are a very sick man
I smiled and said…… well
I have enough of my own thermometers to tell me that!
I met a woman who is in the army, we dated
She is English and has the rank of Major
I gave her a free thermometer......
Now I have a Major in English degree
This poem you see here is for sale
Written by me, with many degrees
Of witt and humor plain to see
Until you pay me
A Free Verse this shall be
I flow like the river and fall like a spring
Dazzling many like a pugilist on a ring,
Interact with many people and classes,
Making young men to raise their glasses.
Racism and apartheid are not in my book,
Even though I`m finer than a brook,
Making beautiful girls to dance like stars,
And dealers and entertainers ride in posh cars.
I make sorrow varnish like faint smile
Making sportmen to go the extra mile,
Causing the rise and fall of thermometers,
Brains beclouded for moving on few meters.
To help men solve their problems this I crave,
Yet I`ve led many into crime and the grave,
Scientists plan to wed me with gasoline,
Which makes me better than formalin.
So,what am I?
Ah! Four walls, one ceiling, one floor,
a window, two doors, one restroom
no bed, tons of roaches, one chair
no ashtrays, no TV, no radio
one leaking shower faucet
one clogged sink
one triple sofa
one fridge
one fan
Ah!
zero flip flops
one fire extinguisher
one bookcase, two forks
two glasses, three pencils
three termites, four knives
four magazines, five socks
five strange boxes, six pears
six rat traps, seven thermometers
seven years living here, eight hours to go
~*~
~~**~~
in the desert heat
coyotes scream so wildly
echo through the sage
~*~
mercury rising
thermometers replace clocks
the burning sky melts
~*~
sunrise to sunset
blue turns pink yellow and orange
colors to behold
~*~
Arizona heat
a hundred ten in the shade
eggs fry on sidewalks
~*~
sweats beads in seconds
blister and burn in minutes
my hair is on fire
~~**~~
~*~
I rise and fall like spring tides
And soothing autumn winds
Like effervescing chemical solutions
And gliding butterfly wings
I rise and fall
Like aeroplanes departures and landing
And emblems on flagpoles standing
I rise and fall like ocean waves
And the landscape across the land
I rise and fall like someone’s hand
I rise and fall like the sun and moon
Like equinoxes and solstices
I rise and fall like speed on speedometers
I rise and fall like summer breezes
And the temperature on thermometers
With the gentle sound of rainy days
I do recall the games I played,
while home from school, and when fevers brewed
when I was sick, and clouds ensued
to turn my stay in bed for days
Hands soothed my brow, and beads of dew
grew pearls of moisture, in rainbow hues
The window dripped, and I was sick,
but I didn't seem to mind a bit!
Sometimes I still can see it all...
the tiny dolls, and toys were strewn
upon the bed, around the room
where I was mending from the flu
Dampness on a counterpane,
thermometers and sounds of rain
will take me there......back home again...
The memory of childhood, lie
beneath a quilt of prose
stirs longing for that healing grace,
that comes again upon the page...
A mother's touch with vapor-rub
Some toasted bread, a tender face
A playground out beyond the dew..
The lonely swing, a misty view..
A shadow was my childhood friend,
those afternoons of sick-bed games
Imagination flew so high, a carpet ride to magic lands
I could look beyond the counterpane
Watch the sun come after rain
A tattered book of childhood poems, still holds me by the hand
.................................................
My first introduction to poetry...Robert Louis Stevenson's Childhood Garden of
Verses "The Land Of Counterpane"
(A sick-bed keepsake that kept me company)
For the contest: "Prose vs Poetry" sponsored by Jerry T Curtis
A mere whisper of a mortal is a card on a tree. Unopened. Oh what godly prowess is occurring at this time. At this the thistle of time where Theremins and terrapins catch thermometers in spins. Justification is rife. Short day is not a short night and a large whale in a pram or a cot cannot join large amounts of watered down conversation. Move not a mingling mangy moggy into a sack of potatoes as fish is the prefered diet for many of a meow meow. And next the time for the bouncy sun to call upon the planets laden with dinner trays. And all this whilst the giggling goo goo berries are in line formation. Monetary mingling making messy musical mirages. And pus. Yes pus. Oyster. Mr Oliver Oyster does not appreciate such dreadful catatonic category codes. So don't wash dishes in a four foot ball gown. Rapid is the eye that moves thrice. And circles a planetarium. Good isn't it?. Clever isn't it. Very structured isn't it? But when a ring donut carries a pixie on a hot day to a castle it is said there is much whistling. And a bird laughing in a tree. Dance. Good. Goodnight equals good afternoon and also good morning as an aura salutes an aura. Reconfiguration Z
A few hours of tittering on past glories of a planet,
Tsal, Pezal and the team see a screen still alive from sun's power,
Broadcasting (most likely in a loop) with partly dark LEDs
The news of a time when Nature hadn't turned entirely sour.
Tsal asks himself like a sharp stab to his chest:
"Didn't they read the signs?" Tropical rains coming early
Then late year on year, messing up planting and harvesting,
While thermometers lost touch with reality, doing exactly what wasn't said on the telly.
Floods washed away months of tilling and planting on estates,
While droughts washed away whole villages, leaving them empty,
And more nuclear disasters decimated whole cities and states,
But life went on disregarding the warning in Humpty Dumpty
Fiddling with the core's magnetic fields led to imbalance,
And the Earth struggled to shake off the destroyers,
Spewing molten venom and nerve gas to dance
Upon the lives of sons, daughters and fathers and mothers.
Yeah, Nature had long lost what was left of patience,
As the Ozone let in the rays so long waiting at Earth's doors,
To steal the seas and rivers out into space's expanse,
As if to say: "You have all, yet you don't recognize, and keep seeking more."
(c) Nyonglema
Ninety-eight point six is normal
In a human being,
Not though, on thermometers
Outdoors, which we’ve been seeing.
In people, anything above
Is fever, meaning sick,
But weather-wise, such numbers
Translate into one word – ick!
I much prefer the days in fall
Or wintertime instead,
When if my body matched
The temps outside, I would be dead.
When Henry's toy thermometer
Was used to check his bear
For fever, I was most surprised
That not the derriere
Nor mouth was where he placed it,
For he made it very clear
That the best place for a reading
Was inside the teddy's ear.
I was poised to thus correct him
But I realized nowadays
That we measure kids for fever
In some unexpected ways.
In my day, things sure were different.
Still, we wouldn't need a push
To insert thermometers
Into the ear and not the tush.
Ice Ages Come With Colder Days
By February March moves on to centuries
Still the sky comes laden with atmospheric vapor
As light as ice, clouds abundance falls to the ground
As thaw fails to gather life’s potential
If nature could take her pulse it would be cold
As it turns whiter in the depths of endless frost
It moves much slower
Birds fall from trees, snow dusted cotton balls
Frozen, wrapped in winter gowns
Ice laden, as thermometers grow longer
To accommodate the permafrost engaged
Temperatures plunge next to zero
Stretched, bound to solid rocks
But why bother with the calculus
When the net effect is O
Where can barometers go but down
Where zeros abound out numbered
Devices known to man stop time
Unwind realities effects on climate
Blizzards lay out the land with no regrets
With blinding wind and white theatricals
Lost directions and compasses offer no hope
No protection in the endless snow
Where are the strawberries this year?
Why do blueberries not come to crop?
Dropped out of boundaries is Spring
Colored butterflies fly off the wing
Adopted by Winter it would seem
Frozen leaves hold on to cold
As on the trees they cling to memories
Fall spinning into muddied puddles
Turned to ice by dim moonlight
Reflecting lake’s late midnight
Sounds so quiet, so serene, as if not audible
Make their way to invisibility, silent in the air
Drift silky into mysteries of crystal ice
To nowhere special, collecting what air has to offer
Which is somewhere around but where
Words can not describe the inside outs of Winter
Ice ages are unforgiving, lasting for centuries on
For eons, music is unheard where it once abounded
Unearthed to be recovered in melodies un-listened to
Songs remain unsung however without the living
A world has yet to be discovered colder than our own
No one sings a song with no one there to sing along
Winter’s captain, pompously struts his stuff, then
breaking tempo, alters the autumn rhythm;
slower pace is dominant, leaf dance dwindles;
nature's in rest mode.
Trees and bushes blanketed white by snowfall,
caps and gloves with heavier coats required now,
cabin fever, fidgety boredom, proves our
need of the sun's heat.
Shov’ling driveways, icicles dripping vex us,
tempers rise, thermometers plummet; hope says
spring is under climate’s control, so learn to
navigate winter.
Miserable Midsummer
‘Tis midsummer, and we have no choice;
The thermometers have reached a peak,
Three digits creeping and sticking,
Air conditioners running full speed.
We look at heat waves out the window
We wait for dusk and something cold
Hope mama remembered popsicles,
And little bathers splash so bold.
We wait for the big weatherman
To say there’s a break, I smell fall,
Midsummer comes, but it will go,
And gold and red will cover all.
Come Spring
Gnarled limbs know the pain
In the change that comes in the weather;
Once they were lithe, did graceful ballet
Tip top on a partner’s shoulder endeavor.
Thermometers climbed to new heights,
But fell frozen in the night,
Whispering, Whispering, “you’ll be all right”,
When the red buds return abloom.