Best Weathermen Poems
The weathermen led me astray;
I canceled my plans for today.
Expecting some rain
I thought I’d refrain
From an outing an hour away.
Instead, there is sun in the sky
So the question I have to ask’s why
When they make their report
They may come up so short
Or, much worse, they might out and out lie.
We are fools if we always believe
What we hear, for the “facts” may deceive
And when Nature’s involved
Truth is rarely resolved
For she always has tricks up her sleeve.
Rainy and dreary with clouds overhead
Easy to start feeling down
But pull yourself up by the boot straps
Wipe off that ugly frown
When weathermen frown, smile right back
It'll chase all those blues away
No one can tell you what day to have
You're the one in control of your day
Please let me know if you're tired of hearing
My constant “be happy” stuff
Certainly don't mean to belabour the point
Enough is enough is enough
Just trying to pass on the things I've learned
During my 78 years of life
Perhaps it'll help somebody in need one day
To help them through times of strife
Well I don't hear you say, “We've had enough!”
“Write something else for a change”
So until I do, it'll be business as usual
Have a good day and I'll have the same
© Jack Ellison 2013
The weatherman predicts some snow;
He calls for about three inches.
Must be great playing god, to know
How much will fall, but that’s show biz.
I know one thing: if I were wrong
As often as the weathermen
I wouldn’t have my job that long.
They screw-up time and time again
And still manage to keep working.
Imagine a neurosurgeon
Working on your head one morning
As inept as the weathermen.
Perish the thought! Some comfort though
If they call for it, it won’t snow.
Winter Woes
There is snow and more snow and more on the way
As weathermen take over the networks today
There is a blizzard on the way
So the weathermen say
Excited to scare us today
The winds growl and whip
As we watch the snow blow and drift
Are those tombstones or our cars?
(Who wants to clear off the dead?)
Not me I will stay in my bed.
There is black ice tonight
Who are they trying to scare?
They warn drivers beware
Expect to flounder and flip
We scrape and brush and shovel again
The same the very next day
Oh winter woes
I think I froze my toes
Pat LeDuc
February 3, 2018
Going to a wedding -
We will watch them tie the knot.
It’s nice to know that younger folk
Still give this thing a shot.
I’ll get myself all gussied up
(That word is proof I’m old),
Although I’m not the dress-up type
Most times, if truth be told.
The ceremony’s out of doors,
A garden the location
And then we’ll head inside to dine
And dance in celebration.
Originally weathermen
Predicted it would rain.
The sun decided otherwise,
The worries all in vain.
I’m sure it will be lovely
But the main thing that I think
Is, with all the preparation,
It’s all over in a blink.
Walking on ice is not very nice;
In fact, it’s not pleasant at all.
So here’s my advice, be sure to think twice
Before you go out, or you’ll fall.
But if you must go, be sure to walk slow
Or you will end up on your rump;
For ice isn’t snow and will fool you although
You may think that such danger you’ll trump.
It’s much better to stay very far from harm’s way
Or to put it much clearer, inside;
If you thus disobey what the weathermen say,
Then all sympathy you’ll be denied.
Water’s wet, the yard’s not yet,
but I’ll bet the sprinkler’s set.
Right as rain, here goes again,
clouds containing deluge drains.
Car’s just clean, and man, I mean
they prance, preen, and soak the scene.
Wonder why weathermen weep?
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A short little form called the 'Alliterisen' - lots of variations, but the
rhyme pattern is aabbccd, and this one has 2 alliterations per line
and internal rhymes on a fixed length of 7 syllables. Frankly, I'm not sure
what I think about the 7th line after 3 couplets, but, whatever!
https://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/alliterisen/
Squalls in the head, the weather of observation.
Dreadful matters that may erase edification.
Thus, every prognosis is begotten in that way.
To dwell on the bewildered during the day.
The visible image appends our worms.
Weathermen may warn of imminent storms.
I endow the dream that is unfolding now.
The serenity of a blemished realm vow.
Explore the world as if you were a bird in the sky.
Savoring every time utterly of one's life way
Take a leap of faith and release your fear.
While you're still living, you may mend in dear.
With the passage of time, healing will chime.
Too many tears squandered precious time.
Written: April 10, 2022
The storm was called historic
Before it even hit,
The weathermen euphoric,
As reports they did submit.
They closed the subways and the schools;
Prevented cars from driving.
The pols used all their lofty tools
For snow not yet arriving.
The Broadway theaters shut their doors;
Museums followed suit.
The gyms were shuttered and the stores,
Decisions resolute.
And after all was said and done,
The blizzard never came.
Though all were wrong, there wasn’t one
Who’d shoulder any blame.
Defensively the bigwigs boast,
“We made the right decision;”
But I am one of quite a host
Who view them with derision.
I'm dreamin' of a dry Christmas
just like ones I use to know
where weathermen announce, all use our bypass
where you may go, all clear of night's white snow
I'm a deamin' of a dry Christmas,
just like ones I've used to know,
where tree-tops glisten an children listen
to hear my Harley roar, just for show
I'm dreamin' of a dry Christmas,
where my loved ones expect me, to show,
Home, where my heart is, at our Sunday-Mass, you know...
Ho! Ho!
Packin' gifts like Santa Clause, swiftly as a bike will go
Where treetops, an my Sportster crome glessions
each piston hummin' to, never missin' its tone,
True symphony, as she roams, with clean air without emissions
Tis Christmas, an packin' gear, with my Lady, have gone on home
Ho! Ho! Ho!
Have a Merry Little Christmas
People eh... absolutely no accounting for them
Expect the unexpected, just like the weathermen
Predicting is impossible
Being right's questionable
Surprise is the norm, finding out how things end
They closed the roads and subways, too
And Broadway shows went dark.
The weathermen, predicting this,
Were not far off the mark.
But since it hit on Saturday,
The children, I am sure,
Though thrilled, must all be wishing
It had come one day before.
I wonder how long it will take
To get things up to speed
And hope that Nature knows that this
Is all the snow we need.
The word is out – the snow will come,
The inches still in question.
Make sure you’ve stocked up all your shelves!
(Of course, just a suggestion.)
The hype’s begun; to ratchet fear
Some rules have been suspended
So you may neither shop nor park
In places you intended.
The weathermen repeat this news
At least six times an hour,
The only ones oblivious
Stuck in an ivory tower.
There’s not a lot to do but wait
To see if the prediction
Of what’s impending proves to be
A fact or merely fiction.
Irma Sunday Evening
By Franklin Price
9/10/2017 - 6:22PM
For six hours we've been watching
The eye of Irma twitch
As the winds and rains around it
Are making life a *****
Since I last wrote her actions
She has twice come to the shore
As some have indicated
Here to even up the score
She landed last in Naples
Eye overhead on land
Was determined with her wind and rain
To make a gallant stand
The weathermen stood with her
She tried to blow them to the ground
They grimaced and they squinted
As they were buffeted around
She sucked the water from the bays
To make the tidal surge
Then when she would pass them by
She would open up and purge
The surge already happened
And it made Miami flood
Covering streets and highways
With much debris and mud
Although the eye was never there
Miami got the brunt
Got much more than bargained for
More than they could ever want
Irma keeps on moving on
Without a full blown eye
Left the lower lid in Cuba
Tore it off when passing by
It did not seem to matter
Her focus still not bad
She saw to pummel Naples
With the right hook that she had
She's headed for the city
With the Russian sounding name
Saint Petersburg is waitng
To see how Irma plays the game
Putin is not resident
Nor is the POTUS Trump
If they were she'd do the same
And kick the city's rump
Half blinded, getting old and tired
She's traveled very far
Still searching for new lands to hurt
Irma's now a fading star
Still can do some damage
Although she's hurt and sore
If you are in the path she takes
Should hunker down a little more
The wounded beast still packs a bite
With her surge and wind and rain
Still able to hurt and end you
Or at least to cause you pain
Well hello good people, it's me again
Your friendly dude with the limerick pen
A wee bit obsessed
Goofy at best
Almost as faithful as the local weathermen