They say to take time with wounded hands, because they like to feel
But who the **** listens to THAT anymore?
We live in a world where ambivalence is feared, instead of felt
In sickness and in health there are just some secrets hidden by stealth
but people
people don't keep promises anymore...

Could you look me in the eyes and honestly say, that you're aware of the creatures that will try and chase you away?
Demise promises to whisper them sweet songs
Chemical induced lullabies to keep them at bay
at bay
and out of sight
But only if you say to me just like they used to that " Hey, everything is going to be okay"
or
" Everything will be alright "
But I suppose all this **** is in my head
Day dreams sewn with chronic anxiety and manic depressive thread will only make the button eyes for a teddy bear better left for dead.
And this toy you found was already water-logged and torn
and little boys who claim to be 'all grown up' tend to get easily bored
because for a 'man' who said he could love me through any weather
you sure didn't put up a struggle when water made the veins turn blue
atrophy
through
and through
along with your 'forgotten' 'love' letters
But I suppose people just aren't meteorologists anymore
and for your sake
I'm glad you found someone so much better.
God knows I wont

This century spins wilder than prior gyres,
Racing backward, ever more efficient and spectacular,
Study finds.
 
The weather today, like every day, is
Immense and incomprehensible.
 
Election week is soon, and the Salv-nation Party candidate
Would like to remind voters of the Party of the Mysterious Robe's Mysteriousness.
Representatives for the PMR gave no comment.
 
****** digital performer @JezebElsa
Went viral with her leaks. #HollywoodNewz
 
An impressive number of people we know
Demand justice for all registered unrepentant killers.
 
A Meteor landed not ironically atop Selfiecomplishment Summit early this morning,
Injuring only the most dedicated hikers.
Confirming folklore, the Meteor disappeared once photographed.
Don't go out trying to find it.
However, you may still purchase a tincture of the liquid it contained
From us at OrganicH2.Org.Headfeed.com
No meteorologists were harmed.
 
Us vs. Terror: Terrorwatch!:
The Monsters we've been ignoring
Have taken the City and consumed the last of

They were like gun shots but softer,
They were like firecrackers
                                              without the crack or fire,
There were so many I could not count them all,
                     then they were stopped in their fall.

The cars driving fast by the house,
were louder than before, a woosh, with a splash,
there was rumbling in the distance and a flash,
those meteorologists were right,
sixty percent chance this night,
                               of showers.

It is good to be part of the majority
for a change of weather,
how strange,
                      my dog is now glued to me,
I take no solace in her endearment see,
even in the midst of the slight downpour with
pyrotechnic effects,
                                  she wants me to take her
out the door to do her *business, but not alone.

You have the personality of a sun
The demeanor of an ocean soothing and calm or powerful and commanding but always deep and full of Mystery
The patience of a mountain with the will of a great Redwoods roots, determined and selflessly for the sole purpose of providing shade for a loved one
The idiosyncrasies of weather multiple and variations and Beauty each indicating a specific season of mood
The presence of a bright full moon throned in a starless night and the wonderment of a butterfly Landing in a child's hand...

What I mean to say is that you are all lady, and if they say chivalry is dead then you revive it even in the most ill-mannered of men
if it does not then they are but animals

You see, you draw out not as a practice but is an instinct without having said a word from the innermost core of your soul, to the aura that surrounds you 20 feet in your circumference
You demand respect, boldly but with cadence and Grace
You need no rescuer, no salvation Nor Redemption from anyone but it will not stop me from attempting to be all of that for you just to add honor in my life
And you have been through hardship,,, but it has refined you like steel to Fire and most admirably is that you retained your elegant optimism through it all......
And yes you are all lady. And I?

I am that sunflower soaking up your raise
I am that ancient tribe Gathering from your abundance with great gratitude and respect
I am that life raft floating at your mercy and will
I am that climber learning as I ascend
I am that soil from which you can Pierce
I am that meteorologists, a keen Observer and I have made it my science to recognize your art

I am that howling wolf beckoning for you at night and when I'm with you
I'm that child with an open hand

to catch the rain on the grass crown,
bring the light closer
when
hides behind the horizon:
we also need sunset
arranging his collar,  like the lion's-mouth flower,
she looks at his chest as it rises up, down,
touches his face, soft fingers glide,
antarctica is just an ice cap,
beneath her springs flow, mountains sleep:
we must have a coincidence of floating clouds
like steam
humidity as far as embracing the desert,
calm storm,  leaves
the birds return to the nest:
- and that's all we need?

and look at the moon, see how it swallows its shadow,
to remain still until dawn appears
carolers of your *******
on my forehead
the sweat
with a thirst for death
to bury
at the root
of the grass blade
the sleeplessness

WINDS ACROSS MY SOUL  

Hearing the wind in half tones constant vibrato rolls across my bones

Fearless, lifted by the breeze, flowing as new sounds increase ,feeling as it's growing

Make a way no longer standing aside ,guts or gumption finding a new pride,being lifted as the next  insight blows

Meteorologists predict a storm rapid warning the new norm,with people it takes practice to keep the personality from choking

Hidden wisps flowing as it grows, gripping brings a new sight,grabbing at flesh brings new frights

Clouds rolling over marking the speed ,heart rate slowed as the sky is  seen swirling

Suddenly internal rushes increase ,a growing gust  sweeps just as fast bringing my minds mystery's to new heights

Calmness slowly feeding the Peace, as gails lifting find a way to leave us laughing

When we find a new way will it want to stay or the next  squall leave our life flying like so many kites

Rambling or gambling with days of my life left me lost as if caught in the rotations

Eternal now internal, left with no doubts,limited space left to pout ,will we be ready when the new gales roll over our lives blowing them to new elevations. R.C.

It’s easy to discern the who what where and when
Compared to the divination of why.
Why are we here?  Why are we alone?
Why are we tortured with foreknowledge of death?

Stop.

That’s the most important why, perhaps.
For it plucked us from the trees
And set us on course
To make some sense of our shortage of days,
To ****** the brass ring of eternity
If only in the collective memory.

(Let us here pause
And give a moment’s thought
To the countless anonymous
Who sacrificed all their
Fleet-footed hours
And all human joy
For attainment of eternity
In the memory collective
Only to have been
Promptly forgotten
In the first moment of
Posthumous silence.)

But this quest is amoral,
It does not specify
Whether fame or notoriety’s the prize.

This is the apple of Eden
The tree of knowledge.
It is the crux of sentience

(Poor sentience,
robbed by redefinition
of all salience and pride,
Left lying shop-worn and ill-used.)

It’s the fear of time, the root of crime
And our demand for assistance devine.
Are our whole lives a scream of protest
Against the known inevitable?
Can inevitability even be known
Without the benefit of hind legs?

(Why the quadruped bias?
(and what does this have to do with inevitability?)
Any more than four legs would render
‘Hindmost’ as opposed to ‘hind.’
Let us be specific,
Whether or not it’s
Neither here nor there.)

Why can’t we make peace with our fate,
And accede to the eventual silencing of that
Hated, feared, beloved voice within?
What does nothing feel like?
What does nothing sound like?
Who would be there to tell?

Imagine our lives
If foreknowledge of death,
Did not exist.
What would be sustained?
What would be lost?
What would have never become?
(I know that my ask is unreasonable at best,
The bell has already been rung.
But this is my poem and I’ll ask what I will.)
Could you live in such a state
Of innocence edenic?
Of course not; not as you are.
But then, who, what would you need to be?
If innocence were refundable,
What would that voice,
That lives in a certain place
Between your ears

(Would that voice still
be hated, feared, beloved
under the prospective circumstances,
or would it be otherwise?)

Have to say

(Does a voice ‘say,’
Or does it speak
For it’s master?)

When in quietest solitude?

Are you uncomfortable?
Will you turn the page?
Would you prefer to debate
Than to imagine?
Do we know which way the wind blows?
Are there any more weathermen?
Or are we all meteorologists?
Does it matter?
Did it ever?


For those who remain,
Let me welcome you
To the Realm of Poets and Madmen.
A distinction without a difference.

If it's Tuesday at Limehouse Basin
does a tree die in the Amazon?

Cause and effect without which we wouldn't be,
but I'll never be, said he, him not being optimistic.
back to cause and effect.

Meteorologists have a word for that,
and it's 'drip'

get a grip, they'll say as they waffle away
or you'll never be anything but,
but that's okay by me.

You're at a party when--déjà vu--
The music changes from out of the blue.
You might miss a step, but whatever you do
Keep dancing.

Meteorologists predict a storm.
But inside all is comfy and warm.
If you want to stay true to form,
Keep dancing.

All through the evening your friends come and go.
That is the nature of parties, you know.
Your feet might grow tired; even so,
Keep dancing.

Some say life's a party.
At least we can pretend.
We know that at some point
Parties have to end.

You look at the clock; the hour is late.
But your time of departure can wait.
Why leave the party when you're feeling great?
Keep dancing.

-by Bob B (10-17-21)

Already noticeably marked
increase in daylight
yours truly courtesy affected
qua heliotropic phenomenon
finds me noggin gently being tugged
upward and westward ** 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

February second - requires one
with acute hearing to ****, and ear
turnips tickling the nose nostrils
delicate hairs (instagram ideal outlook) subtly,
markedly, lively..., yet gently flair
soon harkening shrieks

of delightful analogous funfair
no stranger to Renaissance Faire
of pitch perfect gamesomeness
will seem as... otherworldly pleasant
ah heaven sent giftware,
where all creatures great and small

sing psalms, upon arrival when hardware
trappings of winter shucked witnessing
unrolled welcome Scottish mat so hare
and tortoise can race,
cuz vernal equinox, sports a linkedin
improvisational, ebulliently

educational, cerebral, audiological...
twittering melange I will hear,
and grateful no defect doth impair
ability to revel silence, slake, soak...
insatiable thirst even prodding junketeer,
panhandler, vendor...
the last named,
perhaps selling kitchenware
knicknacks, keepsakes...
to hippies (think yours truly)
with long wavy hair
interwoven with Kahila
Garden Lily, Laurel, Maidenhair...
profusion of sensual delight
brings Mother Earth near,
the body, mind, and soul

espying frolicsome **** sapiens
donned with minimal outerwear
infusing all living things
common native plants and animals
in conjunction with resident outlier
particularly those pining
to answer call of the wild overdare
ring and bee zee lee court'n prepare

ring to beget young as
singular requisite quintessential profiteer
fluttering, instagramming emoji,
sans shutterfly puppeteer
as audience visually already reddit
regarding acting entire scenes,

viz Biblical Genesis answering prayer
particularly if gnostic, heterodox, queer...,
finally relieved, sans polar vortex
albeit somewhat rare
atmospheric phenomena, how ideal
if said rabid Jack Frost

would sink icy bite - part
and parcel green gang
at much more favorably time reappear
during oppressive heat spell during
sweltering triple digits temperature
summer re: time of year.

Knee-deep water
knee-high socks
I hope it doesn't rise much higher

waist-high water
what a shock
all meteorologists are liars

They said it wouldn't rain
but then the flood came
and swept my cabin away

Now I'm up to my neck
but oh what the heck
I'm alive so I need not complain

I'm afloat on a branch
so I give thanks
to God above whom nature obeys

And though death surrounds me
the river can't drown me
if He says it's not meant to be

All those unlucky folks
who lost more than their homes
when the ultimate price they paid

Are singing in heaven
with their saintly brethren
if to that same God they prayed

Life is a mist
and man's time is short
on Earth where all is subject to change

And he's seemingly sport
for a non-gentle sort
of a natural world so strange

A boy and a girl went out together,
By a good weather and by a bad weather,
Because they both wanted to be meteorologists.

Overladen snow covered crackle and crunch
though, this skeptic owned a doubtful hunch
that such 24/7 round the clock whether coverage
would make laughingstock of forecasting
how Jack Frost feigned being out to lunch,
whereby inaccurate weather forecasters
outsmarted courtesy Mother Nature,
where snowfall accumulation tallied
one for the record books, a veritable blizzard
found meteorologists to scrunch

erroneous reports and quickly
retract how surprise Nor'easter
did quickly captcha  
and wallop unsuspecting
sleeping out of towners
whipping surprise out figurative sleeve
when dziadek mróz (Belarusian: Дзед Мароз)
in the Belarusian language
in league with Jackie Frost,  
both personifications getting last laugh

cuz women feel snubbed, shortchanged,
excluded, and being bossed
around feeling pinched at emotional,
physical, and spiritual cost
with million plus women marches
that did exhaust,
yet brought more equitable treatment,
and now risk being lost
in space at the outer limits
of the twilight zone or tossed

into the maws of Earth vis a vis
donning miner for a heart of gold,
where a frayed life line offers tenuous hold
nonetheless, despite risks to life and/or limb
females can experience em bold
dinned journeying
exposing them to in extremis cold
and worthy bets
at gambling halls upon casino bluffing,
thence, slapping (with poker face)

upon table a winning hand
abruptly forcing game to fold
grinning ear to ear while she scoops up gold
repudiating ugly rumors stereotyping women,
within which many other arenas
the devastatingly constricting mold
now upon many another proving grounds
non verbally, smugly,
and proudly assert" I told
you so" garnering, inviting, and

kickstarting kudos where,  
their overdue praiseworthy virtues extolled
which hard fight now pits
more gals to enter the scrum
letting actions speak louder than words
as bragging rights allow them to keep mum
though insinuating
rightful opportunity to whisk plum
ming access, where once (and still
to a lesser degree)

men didst unfairly prune
and hurl cruel names like hey
“scumbag," and/or other unflattering brickbats
versus increasing plaudits showered from
on high spelling victory
toward equality effacing glum
scowl into smile breaking out
finding more men grudgingly
bestowing deserved accolades
re-evaluating experiencing

the fairer *** lobbing smart
aleck nuggets of wisdom, now
despite being a youthful looking
roam'n lxv year old married heterosexual
underscoring, befriending opposite gender
making ladies in waiting
tubby a worthy chum
now, this ***
seeks Alma Mater dames
and graduates of
Hard Knocks School Alum.

Differentiating between
diagnosis and prognosis
is not dissimilar to Irish
climate forecasting when
meteorologists are forced
to separate good weather
from bad by the use of a
linguistic conjunction as in:

" We Will Experience Soft
Rain Between the Showers ".

where sorely needed precipitation
necessitates affected population
to perform a collective rain dance
(decked out in electronically smart frippery)
24/7 and 7/52 weeks a year
defies even the most adept meteorologists
(equipped with special magical powers)
to deliver nothing short of a biblical deluge
makes them (the weather forecasters)
appear as motley fools,
when mother nature

presents herself insync
(and well deserved
to be crookedly pilloried)
with handy dandy
blue skies as an affront
even garnering wrath
of Kong and sons of Kanute,
but more horrifically
evincing absolute zero happenstance
to release bucketfuls
of sought after requisite

moisture from the sheltering sky
prodding conspiracists
to put earth in the balance
with the uncomfortable truth
to beg the military intelligence
to draft schematics
to ***** at least one humongous lance
fired away with a half sashay
subsequently poking holes
in the cloudsource,
or as an extreme measure

firing nuclear missiles
high in the atmosphere perchance
hitting hard and knocking
sense and sensibility
in the mindscape of the gods
and goddesses of rain,
(needed to mill whole wheat flour,
raised in the rich bottomlands
of the Lake Wobegon river valley
by Norwegian bachelor farmers,
and are often described

being "pure, mostly"
and "good for you"
due to their whole wheat composition)
or more accurately affecting,
(albeit rendering, and delineating)
countless names representing
aforementioned invisible supernatural beings
(considered inviolable and sacred
and worthy of worship)
into dental sent trance.

In an effort to expound
upon intent to brainstorm
regarding an outrageous modus operandi
to quell the dearth for rain
or synonyms of said word
encompassing Earth, a planet third
nearest from the sun
I, a long in the tooth
and formerly indentured servant

also notate that
temperatures considerably warm
for November, October and September
rounding out two thousand and twenty four,
where climate change
(read warming) in full swing
(your partner round and round),
though mild temperatures
diminish heating expense,
(in conjunction with LIHEAP,

I qualify for PECO's CAP Rate program,
a discounted rate
for residential electric
and gas customers with low incomes),
thus far HVAC unit never turned on
only the LASKO
portable tower heater model 5144
accessed to take out the chill
in our one bedroom apartment
here at Highland Manor.