Short Forecasts Poems
Short Forecasts Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Forecasts by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Forecasts by length and keyword.
orange sunset clouds
forecasts feared trepidation
coco emerging
Example For Boogeyman Poetry Contest
5-24-2016
Love, with a spark of pain,
or pain, with a spark of love;
are like the summer - with forecasts of rain,
or like winter - with glimpses of sun.
a purveyor of pretend promises
duplicitous diatribe
fountains of false forecasts
----------------------------------
April 22nd 2017
Oh so long and pink and very hard
On the airer stood in my back yard
They looked oh so shocking
My frozen pink stocking
Weather forecasts I now disregard!
22nd May 2015
White blanket coats the valley
Dusk augurs hibernation
Icicles hang in home roofs
Chilled air forecasts frost
11-5-2015
March is Nature’s Halloween
treats us to a winsome Spring day
while she forecasts snowstorms on the way
In between a tornado or two
just to make you gnash your teeth
Winter’s parting trick bequeathed
Underneath a silhouette of stars
We confer futuristic forecasts
your skin blends with the ivory outline
of the constellation that envelopes our bodies.
Heard was the echo of
such an ever so pleasant sound
‘twas the rustling of sheets
to the rhythm of the rain
Tears from yesterday’s
ends in the clouds of both pasts
drowns pain in puddles
as this night’s moon burns through and
bathes a new love’s hope display.
------------------------------------------
Contest: Get Romantic
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Visual #2
03.02.15
A distant scream,
the future cries,
our past to burn
unclaimed
Predictions simmer,
forecasts stir,
denials rage
enflamed
All promise broken,
hearts on fire,
reasons singed with
pain
With love in ashes,
hope to scald,
and freedom left
—in shame
(Dreamsleep: October, 2019)
Orioles with mellow melodies
I consider each a mighty king,
A peaceful of old-time remedies,
In an enchanted wood, herald spring.
Seasonal birds blessed with mild weather,
Attract bird watching enthusiasts,
Come from far, lone by lone, together.
Time is perfect, good weather forecasts.
8/14/2021
I loved her sorrows.
We shared a mask
that we spoke through -
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears sensing
a Puccini last act.
She read herself in my face;
I gave her long-range forecasts.
She endured –
desperately believing
that I would always be there
to mop up.
I fell in love with her sorrows.
We shared a mask that we spoke through,
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears, sensing
a Puccini last act approaching.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her news;
long-range forecasts
of more disappointments to come.
She phoned her mom.
I loved her sorrows.
We shared a mask that we spoke through -
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears sensing
a Puccini last act.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her long-range forecasts.
She insisted, persisted –
a desperate belief
that I would always be around
to mop up.
Forecasts call for red clouds
with a chance of fate
as the people outside
are soaked in vermillion heart-shaped water drops
unable to escape from their match
when dancing in the rain with the other half of their worlds
forming into immortal stars
in this on-ground spiritual galaxy
to carry on the love to the rest in need of light
2/14/2018
Hence we see.
Voir de lire.
What is the sky, blue, black?
I dream forecasts.
The dream of forecasts.
I breath intensely
We see the lord.
Standing in this white ribbon.
He swirls like an angel.
But we remember he is the Lord.
Bredrin' 2015.
I come from religious times.
Neuro-linguistic dizziness.
I breath chocolate paste.
Embace the lord.
I fell in love with her sorrows.
We shared a mask that we spoke through,
a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears, sensing
a Puccini last act approaching.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her news, long-range forecasts,
but she insisted in her desperate belief
that I would always be around
to mop her up.
Long-range forecasts
predict outbreaks of pretty weather girls.
In the event of short-range predictions,
some ugly guy may be substituted.
In the case of an emergency,
mice may seek the sheltering wings
of owls and hawks.
By midnight, the total destruction
of garden gnomes is anticipated.
Survivors are asked to remain
in their bathtubs
until absolutely clean.
I fell in love with her sorrows.
We shared a mail-box for wordless hungers.
Passion maimed us,
even I shed tears, sensing
a Puccini last act approaching.
She read herself in my face.
I gave her news;
long-range forecasts
of more disappointments to come.
Lastly she phoned her mom;
she alone on that stage
she had erected for all such
one act
theatrical performances.
When
Will we accept our idealist indirection?
Deviated by selfish deviance;
byproducts of our own deceits.
Hope
Remains in anonyms who grasp moralizing concepts.
Courage must manifest promised tangibility.
Despair
Cripples forces of hope;
Sprinkling dreary forecasts, only to be left in doubt.
Questionable answers are found, such as...
Why do we be what we are?
1-16-2012
I have the tendency to fall for people like raindrops
on a stormy afternoon
And I refuse to watch the news
It's the nonchalant route that I choose
No forecasts or predictions
because love isn't predictable now is it?
I'll remember that when I get hurt
and want to throw a hissy fit again
But we either lose or we win
It's the chance that we take
when we put all of our heart in
What to do on days like these ,
Loaf around or stand under autumn trees,
On a rainy day , to stand under trees ?
Makes sense as much does talking to fallen leaves ,
What to do on days like these ?
Days like these are the heartbreaker's gamble ,
To the heartbroken the rains too must not show mercy ..
When you know to them forecasts are what matter,
you can spend a monsoon day as you please ..
Panic
As we see what may unfold
Focus
To plan what needs to be done
Nerves
Wrecked as the forecasts continue
Prayer
As we drive into the night toward safety
Denial
About the storm that could devistate us all
Hope
That there is something to return to tomorrow
Detachment
From the things I once loved, that may get destroyed
Acceptance
For what is most important can't be taken away in a storm
The air remembers.
It remembers the weight of cedar pollen, the long green exhale of forests that stood where highways now glitter like rivers of metal.
It remembers lungs that filled without fear.
My grandfather inhaled and tasted rain. I inhale and taste warning labels.
Yet every spring the lilacs persist, opening their small purple mouths against statistics, against forecasts, against the arithmetic of ruin.
The air remembers.
The question is whether we will.
Freddy Farkle, fumbling forecaster for Forestville,
friggin' fudged Friday forecast....fair?!
first florid felicitous, falling flurries followed,
froze flowers, foiled!
faraway farmhouse, furrowing farmland,
frigid fanny, furious, frustrated,
frumpy, frazzled!
furry forest friends furnished flannel frock,
finding Freddy's fails funny, frivolity,
fortunately frequent fallible forecasts
found Freddy flying faraway,
fallaciously forecasting for fermented folks!