Long Meteorologists Poems
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Yet upon another reflexive routine dash
skipping to Waterloo, I got emboldened
with idea praising basic vital functions
aware requisite elimination of liquid
and/or solid waste any obstruction
disallowing body to expel toxins would
prove fatal, thus gratitude toward
regular unpicturized, unhindered, and
unaided intervening measures undertaken
to experience thee nonpareil pleasures
actuated without purgative, yet should
instance arise finding impossibility
to exercise sphincter muscle
(constipation worse fate than
perdition) alleviating solid state brick
like blockage spasm inducing agony
within me bum, yours truly racks impound
did severely inconvenienced physical
self accessing natural remedy to soften
stool temporarily incapacitating peaceful
ease zee ex-lax feeling accompanying
experience that approximates how pregnant
mother inundated with contractions ready to
give birth, whereat merciful joyous crying
emanates courtesy this humble human, no
matter he never tested his steely ironic
mettle say completing wilderness survival
course, but rarely speculates such grueling
boot camp self inflicted challenges
pale in comparison to loosing bowel
movement big enough to sink battleship, and
mighty exertion finally dumps payload,
the toilet bowl hastens meteorologists to
issue tsunami warnings insync with "Damn
the torpedo" this ole windbag blasted clear
across contiguous United States, where
whizzing, sounding, jet setting like
speeding bullet (self Mach re:) puzzled
onlookers mistake me for some foreign entity
lost in space analogous to detect a stylish alien
(pants bunched around ankles - most definitely
tell tale clue, asper rating him hip hopping
longfellow), yea undoubtedly a messenger
from outer limits of twilight zone sent to...
wait...his trumpeting tush gaseous, an utter
farts feigning "FAKE" comet tee.
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.
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.
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.
A day of sunlight
Cascais has had a few good days with sunlight and no rain
already, the meteorologists are worried, interviewed on TV
They display concerned faces, more rain is needed.
I used to live in the Algarve every year,
the story was about
the lack of rain "seca"
The idea was to bring water from the North, channel it
down to Algarve, but to do this, and since we live in a democracy
every Tom, Dick, and Harry's opinions have to be heard
if the day comes when tourists have to bring drums of water
there might be a consensus to stop farmers in Alentejo
" no digging of drains in our land."
Sometimes our cherished
democracy needs a little push.
Our planet has been subjected to many climate changes
perhaps we are in the middle of one now and have nothing
much to do with oil and gas production
society needs oil products like petrol, diesel, and coal
the battery car is a fancy idea grasped by those who know
how to turn a shilling; as for wind farms, we have to dot
the whole country, to the expense of farmland, to get
capacity, but still, it will not cover all the world's needs
when a lake or a dam runs dry, it is caused by ~hydro
electric, and not by the weather, and for those with eyes to see,
spring is more lush now than it used to be
Yesterday as the sun was rising on our walk…what should catch our eye….but one humongous…elongated white feather…stretching across the sky.
Our weatherman is quick to inform us…that it’s a cirrus cloud and in it we will find…crystals of ice which means…a cold front will not be far behind.
But when I see a feather in the sky…so tremendous…so long…so white…my mind thinks back to my childhood…and 1001 Arabian Nights.
A Middle Eastern myth?…you might be asking yourselves…Why…
because in this myth the Roc was a huge white bird of prey that prowled across the sky.
Who was large enough to pickup an elephant…from whose arrival even the sun would hide…who, if myths are to be believed, once took Sinbad, the sailor, for a ride.
Meteorologists today will no doubt find my thoughts revolting…but when I see a large feather in the sky…I like to think the Roc is molting.
Besides in a world where we come face to face with harsh realities time and time again…it’s fun to fantasize…to stir our imaginations a little every now and then.
Which is why when I see a feather stretched across the sky…I allow my imagination and reality play….is it the molted feather from one enormous bird…or is there a cold front on the way….
Before you scoff at my ambiguity…as most people and certainly all weathermen do…
let us take a minute and thoughtfully think this through…
A cold front on its way…
or the largest bird one could conceive…
knowing I live in Florida…
which myth should I believe?
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)
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?
Already noticeably marked
increase in daylight
yours truly courtesy affected
qua heliotropic phenomenon
finds me noggin gently being tugged
upward and westward ho toward sun
after dark mine talking head
rests downward and eastward.
Soon very indistinct
environmental intimations
regarding onomatopoeic
ubiquitous murmurings,
whereby old man winter
ever so faintly
relinquishes, loosens, forsakes...
Judas Priest iron maiden grip
upon emergent biosphere
suddenly awakened when
Mother Earth generates
invisible signals transmitted
across world wide web
analogous to conductor
standing on podium
with baton in her/his hand
orchestra playing on cue
perhaps choice selection
Rite of Spring
work by Russian composer Igor Stravinsky
or Flight of the Bumblebee
written by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov.
Soon dormant species will exhibit rebirth
out their linkedin hibernation
flora and fauna tentatively
begin to issue forth out their slumbers
shoots poke thru across terra firma
insync with twittering tweeting creatures
hint viz verdant and/or fecund potential
ready to burst forth and proliferate
instinctively trumpeting joie de vivre.
Sensational show stopping, eye catching
breathtaking... parade of sights and sounds
await buzzfeeding eyes and ears
about six weeks hence,
within mine home box office
here at Highland Manor apartments
quite affordable rent
allows, enables and provides
radiant quiescence, preponderant observance,
nonresistant magnificence, jubilant innocence,
exuberant deliverance,
concurrent buoyant abundance.
Accordingly and allegedly other than
meteorologists plenti schooled
ascertaining onset of temperate air
more particularly otter den non humans
unassumingly (ferreted out), who bear
the tidings, when that season
of rebirth dawns with crystal clear
blue skies, and terrain where deer
and antelope eagerly play without despair
purportedly realized, reassured, recounted...drear
re: days vamoosed foretold by
Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day
I know that all of God's creation serve their good function and purpose,
but there are forces of nature and systems that add fuel to the fire.
They are many and various, and in my neck of the woods, we are
experiencing one presently. They usually come with a little bit of
tease that's never designed to please around late Spring, early June.
No one invites them, but they come anyway like they own the place.
They don't seem to wave goodby to Spring nor say hello to Summer.
They simply show up with a bang, hang around for a bit, and disappear.
But if anyone really knows them, they will surely return in energized bunches.
When the meteorologists forecast their coming, we must not take them for granted. In some places, they are harmful in the 90's, but in other places and regions like mine, we take them serious when their temperatures reach into the century zone. At that level, we waste no time preparing and building defenses against their onslaughts of heat. Heat Waves come, and Heat Waves go, but through the Summer, they are continually coming and going.
A couple of years ago, our air conditional went out in the heart of a Heat Wave. Not cool and Not good. I'm not a weatherman, but my best advisory for Heat Wave versus broken down air conditioners is, "Don't try this at home".
061821PS