Long Weathermen Poems
Long Weathermen Poems. Below are the most popular long Weathermen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Weathermen poems by poem length and keyword.
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
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
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.
To predict the weather do we need a meteorologist?
Not here, although this method by some is dismissed
Maybe not so scientific but time tested and long lasting
Welcome to the prairies and pig spleen forecasting
Call your nearest farmer when season nears December
There are a few key things when predicting to remember
Read from the top of the spleen (by read, I mean squish)
That is the next month, now count down sections to six (ish)
If the spleen remains even from top to bottom and through
It looks like a mild mannered winter is in store for you
Now, if the pig spleen in any section tends to thicken
Ready those months for a change or a cold spell to quicken
A very pronounced bulge? I'd recommend to hunker down
That's when a blizzard or nasty storm may come to town
Depending who you talk to there is method more than one
Some say temperature only, some predict rain, wind and sun
Not sure of the origin, seems each farmer learned from dad
Regardless of the history or oddity, the results ain't too bad
Some use weathermen or woolly worm caterpillar stripes
Here it's pig spleens to tell if there is risk of freezing pipes
Whether it is nature or science there is tradition underneath
Some true die hards even check thickness with their teeth
So find a trusted farmer or a copy of the farmer's almanac
And you can know what's coming as they always have your back
You can read their results if the DIY version turns you green
But don't knock it til you try forecasting with a pig spleen!
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
It’s rained ‘most every day this week –
Good news for all the flowers.
We can’t complain, ‘cause weather’s whims
Are not within our powers.
Umbrella sellers have been pleased
And stores which peddle boots;
Perhaps they and the weather gods
Have labored in cahoots.
I’ve stepped in puddles more like lakes
And dripped from each extremity;
For keeping dry, it seems like
Staying home’s the only remedy.
It isn’t raining as I write
But showers are predicted.
I hope the sun comes out
And weathermen are contradicted.
‘Cause raindrops hailing seem to be
Like bullets in a battle.
Another cloudburst and I’ll think
I’m living in Seattle!
Ilene Bauer (http://primetimerhyme.blogspot.com)
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?
----------
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/
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?
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