"weatherman" poems
There’s a menacing chill
on the air
this evening.
“Had I the wherewithal
I’d leave this place,”
I think to myself
as the first warning is issued
by that unfriendly cloud
hanging low and dark
over the mountain.
While once I thought that
the rain would fall with purpose,
I’ve come to understand
that floodwater has no manifesto
except to place the scumline as high as it can.
We can stack these sandbags tall
around our hearts
without regard for what’s on either side of the dam.
They’re only transient monuments to ineffectiveness anyway.
An assassin stands at the corner
wondering if I’ll ever leave my house
and its warmth.
I have news for him, though…
There’s nowhere to go, and
the weatherman thinks we’ll have a storm.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
i go through this daily plot
waking, working, trudging
first world ease, office walls
wheeled chairs
afternoon run
tupperware lunch
dinner the night before
home again, dinner
dishes again,
play again,
daughter picks up
new phrases, new looks
vegetable strainer toy
"umbrella," she says
i see those eyes, my wife's
and i wonder
what is this place?
these walls, these roads,
those sitka pines and shrinking
glaciers?
how 'm i supposed to be a father
with all these things stretching out
vaster than reason, than comprehension
those talking heads, ranting this or that
liberty's ***** freedom's snatched,
the world warms, the world cools
Filipinos scream in the face of angry
winds, the prim cut weatherman wildly
gestures at a colorful map, powerful
he says, historic
he says
more dripping mouthes,
government want guns now,
more money to ****** our phones
to send unmanned drones
our president's muhammad,
or jesus, or kenyan, or raciest
a genius or incompetent
everyone knows
just back home
a tiny algae grows and foams
thrashing in the autumn water
brown oxygen choking life
never found on our shores before
kills fish,
i imagine so much more
i hold my daughter in my lap
reading mother goose,
run my hand through her
thin smooth hair,
sometimes afraid
of what she'll see and hear
with her mother's eyes
and her father's ears
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
Look outside and check the sky,
It's full of clouds - I wonder why.
The news said it was sunny all week,
Not a word of these clouds in which I speak.
Just when I thought all hope was lost,
A gale force wind came at no extra cost!
Pockets of clouds begun to go away,
Oh thank you wind you've saved the day!
The weatherman was right or so it seems,
As I gaze out towards the sunbeams.
Such beauty brought to these eyes of mine,
For where I live - it rains sunshine all the time.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
Few freaks
have such impeccable taste,
Singing Pagliacci, smoking a Cuban cigar,
And sipping L'Essence de Courvoisier,
As he lowers you into the shark tank,
To feed his hungry pet.
Forget appearances
He cloaks himself in affectations,
And feigned cordiality
But he will take you down at the knees,
And kick your face until he can hide his shoe in your skull
Or put a bullet through your brain,
Before you can ask why he has an umbrella
When the weatherman said
No rain
Cobblepot
A name as Gotham
As Chapman and Wayne
Always dressed to the nines
He drinks the finest wines
But he can humiliate four thugs
Who try to mug him
In an alley
Cut the fools down in a fury
Steel shod umbrella,
Razorblade shoes,
And a gun up his sleeve
Appearances deceive
The definition of The Penguin
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 8:17 AM UTC
1.
If black humour is a sign of intelligence then who is the most intelligent of all?
The hurricane that swept the weatherman away while reporting on a supposedly tranquil day?
The ravages of nature which left Ozymandias all alone in the midst of the desert?
Cruel cruel uncertainty,
2.
Cupid sneezed, and let his finger go,
A fiat lust led my way,
A golden love gone,
So,
Why, o, why
Do you plague me so?
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 7:06 AM UTC
Wellies crunch through the snow
Leaving footprints as I go.
Children’s laughter fills the air
Enlivening souls everywhere.
You can taste their ecstasy
As they slide down the hills next to me.
It’s a sugar-coated wonderland
I nearly slip, quick! Grab Mummy’s hand!
Pick up some snow and make it round
Flies as high as a bird before it hits the ground!
We build a snowman, up it goes
Make sure there’s a carrot for the nose!
Toes in wellies have turned to ice
Tea and biscuits would be nice.
But look at the beam on her face
Dancing around with so much grace.
Weatherman was right, more is falling
Heavier and heavier, warmth is calling.
Look! Look! It’s a blizzard
Maybe it’s the magic of a wizard!
Shiver, shiver, my lips start to quiver
The water has frozen, lets skate on the river!
Time to go, tummy’s rumbling
Mummy slipped! There she goes tumbling!
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
It snowed last night which pleased me - but hardly enough - it just teased me.
The thin, white sheet of snow looked bright and fresh
the dull, browned hedges of fall became holiday dressed,
the air had a sharp, chill perfume and the ground a new, sparkling flesh.
Lisa, a New Yorker who knows snow, gawked at me as if I were insane,
“You’re excited by NOTHING,” she sarcastically complained.
I replied, “When it snows there’s a quiet solace, and the world looks clean and flawless.”
The weatherman is promising us a blanket of snow this weekend
and that would be nice, a storm of ice, to lock us in as the week ends
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 12:17 PM UTC
Paint a stop sign green and GO away,
one way, says some arrow painted on
the floor. You know its only another
rule to break. Then paint this sign
magenta, another cerulean.
Just transform another street into
a Crayola crayon box. Go three times
the speed limit, stupid driver. Get a
ticket. Get a life. Give me your ticket,
but tell me its for the Train. Stomp on
the "T" in train, and stop to kiss me in
the rain. You're a weatherman now--
Flash Flood Alert!! Drown yourself. If
you survive the trainwreck, at least.
I'm still hungry, so I'll eat the "T" in hearT.
Hear me out- and read my lips. Read the
turquoise sign on my lips..oh wait, I ripped
out your eyes. Oops. Too bad you don't
know braille. I'll read it for you- it says
"Dead End, Straight Ahead." You're
STILL alive?? I've got an idea! GO paint
the red light green, run into traffic, and count
1, 2, Splat.
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
I didn't know that the weatherman would be so literal
The rain has fallen for the third time that week, typical
Left me quizzical
My mood was just like the weather, miserable.
Leaving this town would be a miracle.
(s.a)
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
day in, day out,
all the same
eating,
sleeping,
playing games
sometimes I look
at these **** walls
and in a way,
I hope they fall
but then I take
a look outside
and it just makes me
wanna cry
it's so **** cold
I'd freeze to death
so here I sit
and waste my breath
I feel so useless,
so **** lazy
I can't get out
i'm going crazy
I look outside
pray for relief
but the weatherman
says "wait a week"
but it has been
a couple days
don't think I can
go on this way
I have to break out
from my mind
or I won't make it to tonight
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 11:38 AM UTC
It is May Day
Not a sign of the tulips blooming
The sun won’t stay behind the clouds forever,
Said the weatherman
What the hell do they know”.
I woke up with the intention of burning
The African scented candle stick: forgetting
That I didn’t purchased them yesterday:
Darkness fell upon this May morn
The air is cold and gloomy: somehow my
Favorite visitors took time from the morning routine,
Landed on my window and sang to me
I texted my brother and reminded him
To water the roses,
Trimmed the dry leaves,
On my outdoor patio upstairs
I remember May Day long ago
When I finally broke the *****
I have pondered about that old lover
From time to time: with a genuine smile
So far my memories is kind to me,
There is a picture of a rooster on the kitchen wall
it reminds me of my grandmother kitchen
Where food wasn’t an abundant
Despite adversity:
but lots of love was there in that old house:
Dark sky can dampen one spirit.
However, a hot cup of coffee, a keyboard
Can boost ones energy,
Composing a poem, a happy poetess
Or a game of slots can brings out the art of creativity
As she takes on the morning with a few
Words, a few lines, hoping to put a smile
On the faces of sadness
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
Because the weatherman had forecast rain,
we all thought it'd be a pain
Thoughts of efforts going in vain
ran in our collective, clouded brain
Cough, gurgle, moan, splutter
my bike made such sounds in deep water
'neath my breath, I did mutter
God, please change me into an otter
Left and right, I twisted and turned
Acidic waters in my stomach churned
I wished that my office were adjourned
To take my raincoat was my lesson learned
Just when I thought that things won't get right
I got a chance to give a ride to Snow White
Day follows night; life has its seasons
Sometimes it rains for the right reasons
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 6:17 AM UTC
Rain forest warm,
predicting a storm,
hippos, giraffes and more
Parumping the water hole.
didn’t take us long, to slap a crown
on a fools heart.
Everything the light touches
made the lions cold.
had to many sad boys in your bed.
(To tune of: Nants ingonyama bagithi baba from: Lion king intro)
Moat of toys,
prey on canniballs,
venison visceral
Drop your bridge Shallow moat.
Midus touch,
rabbit didn't quite touch
lucky enough, your trust, bust
The weatherman cuts.
Can't fight a storm with a pack
Of lions, and djarum butts
Cool Cats don't like the water
won't splash,
might soil their tight pants
Sea captain called
old Horizen won't dance
"listen to your old man".
not worth a penny of your sand.
but if we weren't so green-headed,
A compas might save our hand
for marriage
we don't want plans
They don't understand
want to roll around with simba
Giggling in the butterflies
when they're gone, find another man.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 6:36 AM UTC
Why you got those boots on your feet
Are you the wandering jingle jangler
That heeled high feeling easy dreamer
Lending ears to become the audience
Marking antonyms like Julius Caesar
Trying to rise before the failures fall
Sublimely for the mad beauty of it all
In desperate dreams of the final curtain
Draping the fading drama in the folds
The weatherman never read the script
And left his quill on the top of the hill
When Romeo betrayed Juliet to the fool
Stealing his chance of everlasting fame
Casting shadows before his own naming
Everything in the lies of playing games.
At least that’s why he sold himself again
For *** and drudgery’s rotting role play
Once for the money and twice to show
That charity begins when gambling ends
Throwing dice at the shaming of the true
Believers in the obviously innocent song
That sang itself to deaths other oblivion
Dwelling inside the flickering footlights
Burning soles who tread the dollar less way
To stage their very own beautiful demise
Before a paying and praying audience
There’s no business like the dying business
That’s the dumb an’ smart career move
As death consumes all; here and ever after
The three ring circus hits the super highway
To heavenly pay days in the after math
That stole the souls of the leading actors
Wasn’t that just the smart career move
To die happily on the wings of disaster
Farewell sweet prince an’ princesses
May flights of angels love your music.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 3:04 PM UTC
sometimes it's a shuffle; sometimes a jaunty stroll
it depends what he's found that day
sometimes it's a smile he gives; sometimes a bit of a scowl
it depends whom he's seen that day
sometimes he does something new; sometimes the same old same old
it depends who's joined him that day
sometimes it's a warm evening ahead; sometimes a storm
it depends on the weatherman that day
but it's always a slow walk home...
… to his cardboard box … every day
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
we own teacups
of porcelain that
make up a couple
her always filled with coffee
mine with tea
this was what became
our morning routine
to spend time until the cups are emptied
we talk about irrelevant things
matters and thoughts that do not
have acquaintance with consequence
how it'd be possible to raise goldfishes in ***** bottle
we kept for remembrance or how many cookies could
the porcelain beauty we held so dearly possibly contain
sometimes we waste a good morning
watching wisps of steam rise and vanish
like the way people seem to get out of sight after bidding goodbyes
after a certain distance they'd be nothing more than a sihlouette
and after time slowly they get out of mind
one day you'd realize
that no longer can you conjure their sihlouettes in memory nor
can you remember the way they walked away
were they off in a hurry or their footsteps
heavy as the heart the carried that very winter morning
when snow didnt fall like predicted by the weatherman the night before
(and that was when you realised the weight of goodbyes)
these are the thoughts that occupy
my mind when I wash our cups
and notice (everytime) stain rings around the innerside of the cups
three quarters full of coffee and half a cup of tea
we'd store the cups after
hers always facing left
they would sit silently never a word of complain
as such nice mannered tableware, cups are.
they'd wait silently for every next morning
to be filled, coffee and tea.
I always thought of her as a hot chocolate person
until one morning I saw sunlight caught in the dark lazy curls of her hair
until how the dark coloured liquid resembled the colour in her eyes
and came to a silent agreement with myself
how she suited coffee on lazy mornings the way
coffee suited her when she tipped her cup ever so slightly
and sipped like she'd found peace in mind
now I smile when she asks why I stopped telling her teacups are meant for tea
(that there are no absolutes in the things we do)
there are mornings she would wake to find me
already awake and silently staring at the rain pelted windows
legs crossed at the foot of the bed and singing
singing softly in russian
I'd end
always at Дорогая
and asks if she
wants coffee.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 7:03 AM UTC
I can’t get the sand out of my shoes
It’s been weeks
And I’ve been hitting them
And shaking them
And knocking them around
But still
I can feel the grit with every step
So I still can’t get the beach
Or you
Off my skin
With you, there was no warning
I went from drifting languidly along in the sunshine
To being tossed against the rocks in a sudden hailstorm
Shocked and battered and lost
Disoriented in the downpour
When I’d had the promise of clear skies
I’m not sure I’ll trust the weatherman again
He’s got your eyes and voice and disarming smile
I’ve been trying to get the salt out of my ponytail
I’ve been trying to get the feel of rock out of my hands
I’ve been trying to get this ****** sand
Out of my shoes
But it’s so sticky
Everything
Is so sticky
And here I am in the biggest mess
With hair and skin and mouth
So full of you
That I don’t know how to escape
My tongue is still recoiling
From the half-truths you spilled
Tinged with sweat and cinnamon
And slime
And here I am still choking on them
Retching
Just to get rid of the taste
Gnawing at my lips
Just to break the skin that knows you
Scrubbing myself raw
Just to keep you from clinging
My ears are buzzing with your nonsense
And I am running from the noise
Bolting with everything that I have
As sand grinds against my feet
And I will be ****** and breathless before I stop
Because I need the distraction
As much as the distance
I can’t keep reliving your kisses
With every stubborn grain
I can’t keep wondering if you’re lying
Every time I turn my back
I can’t keep playing this game
Because we’ve all already lost
So I will not apologize for taking the high road out of here
And leaving you to sulk with your I-didn’t-mean-to’s
And your too-little-too-late revelations
There were a lot of ways this could have ended
But I never once imagined you would have brought storms to my doorstep
I never expected to be trying determinedly to peel my skin off
And I never thought I’d be sitting here wishing to forget your name
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
It's beautiful, he said.
Rain played its music on his thick, dark coat.
Look at this, it's beautiful.
The winds sprayed mist into his white hair.
He had seen her and it was beautiful.
He had seen her and danced with her.
He had to dance with her.
His thick lensed glasses fogged slightly.
They hadn't let it end, had they? he thought.
It was a beautiful darkness that she had fallen into.
One that froze their memories fresh in her mind.
He looked at the looming mountains in the distance, gray and gloomy with rain.
She had curled her short black hair on their wedding day.
They were in their church, in their city, and everything was how it was supposed to be.
Everything was still how it was supposed to be.
He had seen her blue eyes fade.
He felt her cold, pale hand.
He loved her.
It's just a beautiful day, he said.
Just a gorgeous day.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
The storm on the eastern coast will descend
into a grey day bringing showers
and thunderstorms
filling your picnic basket as you go about
finding shelter under trees and shrubs
gone on holiday to the south of france.
bring your brollies
raincoats and gumboots just in case
you day darkens into a cyclone
and your lover leaves you
abandoned with the sunrise
emerging in your life
take care as you meander through
the floods as the gates open
and your emotions spill out
in poetic metaphors
all over the page
******* readers into the whirlpool
of hidden symbols and mechanisms
that can choke you out
as you watch the weather swish by
without you noticing.
never be deceived by the weathermans wares
at times he may play god
with your days diary entries
but all he can do really
is work like a fortune-teller
using guesswork as a device.
Author Notes
One giant metaphor for what happens in your life if you believe in the weatherman!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Fan letters filled with hawk feathers.
Sticking them in paper like
Razor blades into wrists.
Drawing life from the abyss;
Weatherman predicts clouds
And rain.
Gray and
Grains in the camera; Dharma, I
And Karma took the photo
Of the millennia. Deep in the Congo
Jungle, we stumbled across a tribal
Ensemble praising Pluto.
Smoke rising from the tribunal pyre.
Through the moonlight you could see the
Galaxy swirling with each gust.
Their lack of attire made their skin shine
Brilliantly in the dark reflections of the fire.
The sweat. The song. The symmetry. The immensity
Of it all was entrancing. We dived into the celebration of
Existence with little regard of our path.
It was a step forward we'll never take back.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
a wishlist ten feet long that says 'make me feel love
make me kiss someone and like it'
but its a bit of a catastrophe and its not gonna just right itself
stars dont care if i shine the same way-
do they?
but no ones got the answer
or they do, a thousand
just have to find myself in the sea of intricate possibilities
(or the river of one- they never say)
yet im not there anymore-
am i?
reborn as a storm id say
there is nothing wrong with the way i dont feel
(they wont believe me; the weatherman says the storm was yesterday)
cut open my heart and youll find
a thousand swirling stars evading constellations
a galaxy of planets revolving around themselves
im a larger than life,
im an immortal-
are you?
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
A small storm is not enough
To upset a nation
But while others go about their lives
I've been uprooted.
A twister, destroying all in its path
Made of horrid mistakes and promises
Swept over my small world
And demolished it.
While others, free from grief
Sent only meaningless prayers,
I eagerly awaited a kind spirit
That was never to arrive.
So here I sit, on this solitary stump,
Wishing for it all to be over
But the weatherman said there's a big storm coming
In mid to late October.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
No weatherman warned me
About the downfall of you
About the pouring out of emotive soul
Which encompassed the morning
In a matter of seconds, falling
Like a haze of pensive dew
And now I cannot unseen the sight
Or the falling skies of you
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 10:15 AM UTC
I'm hoping you have no doubts I'm writing this to and about you. : )
Thank you for finally letting me know you know I'm alive.
Just thinking about talking to you makes the butterflies go crazy.
My heart beats then skips a beat when I see you around town and I
swear it's strictly by accident. I'm not actively following you around.
I haven't been to sleep because I'm up thinking about you
but not in the sick and twisted Bardo way of stalking then killing.
I haven't been searching for your address or where you hang
out like that anonymous lunatic posting that on Craigslist forum.
I still want your phone number but only if you want to give it.
You asked the impossible melting snow against weatherman's
predictions and you got this hold over me like I never felt before.
Are you a keeper of unworldly secrets of magic or someone who is
quite lovely and is just plain an extraordinarily special and gifted lady?
I'd like to discover that for myself if you would agree to meet me at
Little Bohemia it's aka Lil Bo's by us locals to hear a Jazz band.
It's a public place and I heard it through the grapevine you popped
in a few times but I can't say that's true, I wasn't there and it's hear say.
Person said you entered alone but didn't sing and it looked like
you were having a good time being a chatty patty and hearing the band.
The more I get to know about you lady the more I want to discover.
You got a wish and mine is not as impossible as yours I'm hoping.
I want in my life a lady like you who oozes confidence when she enters
a room and when she's being chatted up by complete strangers.
I will be in the parking lot watching the door and enter if you enter.
Hoping to see you Friday night and hoping to see that gorgeous smile.
Hoping you agree to meet me but if not I will keep on hoping for that.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 3:44 AM UTC
Through Rain, Sleet, and Snow
by Tom Mach
Drops of cold rain dot the landscape,
and the ice-glazed roads hate car
especially mine when
I have to pamper my tire
and coax them
not to slide off the road.
The grayish sky is also angry
as it continues to discourage me
so I turn on the radio
only to hear weatherman drone on
about a predicted historical snowfall
but I don't give a **** about that.
The hospital doors never close
and I may be needed in ER today
to save the life of a child
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC