Short Weathermen Poems
Short Weathermen Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Weathermen by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Weathermen by length and keyword.
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
All weathermen cried, "This just isn't fair,"
When groundhog refused to exit his lair
Because he had heard,
Up here is absurd
And face this weird world, he's too scared to dare.
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
The icicles are dripping.
The branches lost their white.
The roads are back to blacktop.
Has winter lost its bite?
The drifts are slightly shorter;
The snowplows out of sight.
The mittens stay in pockets.
The sky has extra light.
The temperature is rising.
If weathermen are right,
There might be major melting,
Which will sure be a delight.
We hear about the hurricane
But we are miles away.
My family won’t evacuate -
They think they’ll be okay.
There’s nothing we can do from here
Except to sit and wait
And hope their instincts prove them right
And that they’re not too late.
So many storms are not as bad
As weathermen predict,
So maybe Mother Nature has
Got everybody tricked.
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.
Summer sun burning skin,
Ice cream cones are meltin’ in goo,
Weathermen have no clue,
Sunscreen dries while we stew on sand
No chilling breeze at hand,
Slowly roasting, suntanned we lie,
Baring all neath the sky,
Moaning temps are too high again,
How we need cooling rain,
To relieve the summer’s pain of heat,
Too hot, too hot we bleat
The sand is burning feet, oh dear,
Global warming I fear
When summer sun is here, such sin!
Form: Luc Bat
Here’s an observation that
You might consider funny –
If the weathermen predicted certain rain,
Many might be disappointed if
It turns out being sunny,
Though such disappointment
Goes against the grain.
For most welcome brighter days
To lift the spirits needing boosting
As opposed to those where clouds bring thoughts of gloom,
But for folks who lately feel
They’re better off indoors, just roosting,
There’s a preference
To stay inside the womb.
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.
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.
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.
End of summer whistles through trees,
Like skylarks floating on the breeze
Staying awhile, a month or more,
Until winds come in howling roar
Blowing sleet, snow, and bitter freeze.
Summer temps creep down by degrees,
Despite extremely humid sprees
I recall September’s rainy tour,
End of summer.
Weathermen give no guarantee,
Weather-watchers won't disagree
June and July sudden downpours
Can alter the league’s baseball scores,
But football hurts from early freeze
End of summer.