"meteorologists" poems
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart
with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,
**oh god not again,
have no mo' time**
for jes one mo' time
love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress
**better not to have loved,
better, better, better,**
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation
painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
*they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix*
see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
Our planets spin in revolutions only
science can explain;
like how meteorologists are magicians
when it comes to describing the rain,
or the way conductors know at which
platform, and at what time, your train will arrive,
or how doctors can look you up and down
and pin point, with accuracy, where you’re in pain,
like a miller creating silk wholemeal flour
from coarse capsules of beige and brown grain,
or like experienced pilots landing again
in LAX after 7 hours in the same seat in the same plane,
or how writers can sit down at keys
and make them dance into Steinbeck, Hemingway or the holy Mark Twain.
Last night you escaped early because the girl
you wanted to leave with left moments
before you did; and now you’ll be back
in bed checking if your horoscopes match
and if your love compatibility is worthy of a
‘I’m in love’ badge.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
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
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
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
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
the meteorologists predictions have been off key
their weather forecasts are proving to be faulty
yesterday they said rain would come in the eve
but none came to wet the back landing eaves
the direction of the wind they got wrong last week
it blew in from the south and was rather bleak
they need to check their wind vanes regularly
for a wind from that direction is so chilly
they've got modern technology at their finger tips
so you'd think with forward forecasts they'd make no slips
but alas meteorologists seem not to care
whether the weather is inclement or fair
instead of relying on their dodgy forecasts
one ducks outside to observe clouds and wind blasts
a more accurate picture can be seen
by one watching the unfolding weather scene
they've predicted sunny skies for this afternoon
with much anticipation we'll look for its boon
we'll be well astounded if that be the case
so often the meteorologists get the weather misplaced
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
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.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
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
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
prior to this day March 13th, (Friday) 2018,
the local climate (here in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania) did accord
with weather more aligned
more apropos with late winter so summery spike
of Mercury thermometers
for those of you old enough to remember
(Careful NOT to chomp
on fragile slender tubular glass),
whence silvery liquid metal would poison...
like sting of a scorpion, anyway
(regional forecast by meteorologists)
attested by the outsize
outside electronic bulletin board
(situated on the property
of Perkiomen Valley High School)
where space doth a ford
to envision a spectacular sight, this gourd
jess scenic tract, nonetheless registered
over eighty degrees, and hoard
of wives, sans special treasure re: bond
courtesy viz Mother Nature Spring time bounty
on the verge to yield ample harvest
to fill cornucopia horn of plenty
Omaha lore dee Lord
ah...the picturesque setting found me eyes moored
thus temptation pitched perfect game of LIFE
where fauna and flora sub woofing audio-
logically roared, and this **** Sapien
felt his psyche scored
with the golden radiant sear ching,
transcendent, transparent transient rods,
whereat thy face turned toward
cerulean vault - a cathartic, electric,
and fantastic panacea to ward
off lingering late winter moody blues
as many a lan yard
flush with excited children of a lesser god.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
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.
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
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.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
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.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
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 ****
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.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 6:21 PM UTC