My baby brother is (finally) going to graduate with a degree in meteorology from the University of Oklahoma after nine years of study. You see, his big problem is that he’s even more interested in experiencing weather than he is in studying about it. So, he’s missed studying for tests and finishing projects because he’s out chasing tornadoes; he missed finals one year because he was stuck on the third floor of a police station in Slidell, Louisiana–surrounded by flood waters. (Not sure why you would, but IF you want to learn more about my brother Simon, check out his Web site at http://stormgasm.com.)
Anyway, why am I mentioning my brother who is obsessed with weather? Because today’s prompt is to write a poem that is either about the weather or incorporates the weather into the poem. Whether you make it about a crazy storm or a cloudless summer day, you gotta give the weather report.
Here’s my attempt:
“The Weather Report”
Expect a high of 75
and a low around 60.
In the afternoon, light
showers may develop,
followed by abundant
sunshine. In the early
evening, prepare for
heavy kissing and
a full moon.
Thunderstorm
Standing, where I should not,
In the drenched foothills near the Pacific,
Unable to go inside
Mesmerized
By thunder that buzzes in my chest.
Close, very close now, and
The frequent lightning bolts
Javelining earthward -
Illuminating the night
In blue-white abandon.
The gods play Taiko
On the stretched canvas of the planet
Where I should not be standing…
Interesting prompt, Robert. I’m watching a drama about London being flooded and as I look out the window, the sky is getting dark & the sea rough…. Back later!
Thunder Moon
storm warning
child of lightning
daughter of thunder
angry skies
churning winds
call me home
I have to say I envy your brother. I would love to accompany storm chasers just once in my life. What a rush it must be, how thrilling to see that…fury…up close and personal.
I will work on a poem in his honor.
First Driving Lesson
She is
Fifteen today
Learner permit in hand
“But it’s raining outside Mom,”
She says. I pass her keys
“Yes, it does that
Let’s go.”
janepenlandhoover
It’s Weather
Heat melts glaciers
Cold refreezes them
The sun warms the earth
The dark cools it off
Rain brings life
Droughts reduces it
Blizzards blow
Typhoons destroy
Tornadoes obliterate
Hurricanes devastate
Then God gives us a sunny day
And we realize
Weather happens
Just as He meant it to
Nothing we can do about it
Nothing we can change about it
It is as it is
As God designed it to be
It’s weather
Rainy Days
I never knew why
he loved rainy day,
but on the soggiest mornings,
we woke with a bounce,
lingered longer over coffee,
reading snatches of news
out loud, an eye to view
outside our picture window–
mud puddles and hanging clouds-
before heading to work.
Then once day "Rainy Days
and Mondays Always Get Me Down"
played through the car’s AM radio,
and he said, ""I always loved
rainy days, growing up.
Those were the days
we couldn’t pick cotton.
–Nancy Posey
(Well, here it is. I gave the storm chaser idea a try.)
Storm Chaser
There it is, on the horizon. Storm clouds
have gathered, lightning flashes. Is that
a funnel beginning to form just on the
edge? I have to see clearer, have to get
closer. Can’t get a good picture from
here. Is it a supercell? It is. Supercell.
Left-mover. Video cameras are running
as my team gathers readings. I take still
shots, capturing lightning as it strikes out,
reaching for the ground, or whatever stands
the tallest. The funnel fully forms, stretching
its long finger to touch the lives of those
living below.
Whether
Nature wondered
What to do today
I could tell
It really happened
Nature debating, thinking
Rain falling through the
Wash of sunlight sparkling the pond
And in that mix we watched
The rainbow grow
Aglow
Amidst the faces of the watchers
Wondering below
janepenlandhoover
May 7, 2008
Finding the Minotaur
It was 110 degrees on Crete
the day we walked into the labyrinth,
S. telling us the story
of the minotaur, hands-waving,
lost in the battle,
as we walked
through the white dust,
looking for the bull’s horns
under a bright sky.
There is no blue like
the sky in Greece, late summer,
when S. was ten.
Feels Like October
A light crisp wind
rattles broomstick branches.
Moments of gloom
chased by sun and blue.
A quenching sprinkle for
brown grass and emerging tulips
Daylight
Blessed daylight
Five a.m. to eleven at night
Ironically, I wrote a weather related piece yesterday. I’ve been trying to keep up the one a day pace, so I’ll probably post another one later.
29 & falling
A sudden lack of energy,
my patience wearing thin.
Through the haze of apathy
I see the change begin.
There’s something missing from the air
obscuring who I am.
As much as I may try to care
I just can’t give a damn.
It’s all that I can do to keep
from splitting at the seams
All that I want to do is sleep
and surrender to dreams.
Although I know that it can’t last,
it just won’t go away.
Can I face such a grim forecast
for yet another day?
OK, I’m cheating this time. I wrote this poem a couple of years ago and it is one of my favorite fun poems. It includes weather.
I laugh because my husband looked at the poem saying it needs some work. He just did not "get it"–the title explains the fact that it looks that way. Some of the format is not exact because this space is a bit different from the spacing in Word.
This April is a Ragged Poem
This April is a ragged poem
I don’t quite understand.
Its rhythm, rhyme, and meaning
don’t seem at all well planned.
It started out all lyrical
with trees and ponds and such.
But soon its form was upset and uneven,
and Dean got soaked, and I was stuffed in a closet.
And the horse was road kill and Bill Hayer died.
Now I am home and keep getting tired, even though I was feeling better yesterday–
good enough to unclutter for Matt to enter a reasonable-looking-house.
And yesterday when I called my fellow small group gal–
the professional organizer
who had offered me a ride her mind had been so unorganized she forgot the meeting
and it didn’t help that I had sent her e- mail to the wrong address, using a 2
not a Z and she told me to remind her this week to come to the meeting
and so this month-poem has neither energy nor organization.
One of its stanzas poured and poured and poured rain and whirled wind around
and created chaos all over some towns.
Last week’s stanza one day
was sunshine, drip, drip, sunshine, drip, drip.
My guess is a later stanza will be filled with mud
and track its unwelcome, unmetered mess
onto a newly metered floor,
leaving unwanted muddy melodies where cleanliness was desired.
I’m sure
there is
some kind
of a segue
into May.
(Here’s one inspired by the day I left my last job. It was actually two friends helping me, so I may even expand this further later on. The rainbow really was there. Great prompt today, Robert. Seems to be taking care of my withdrawal.)
Last Day
I step outside, the contents of my desk
in a box carried by a friend. “I hate
this,” she says. “It’s not fair.” I smile as
we walk through the parking lot, the
bright sun shining down, warming up this
usually chilly December day. I lift my face
to the light, letting the warmth fall on my
closed eyes. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not
worried.” She places the box in my car, and
we quickly hug. “Look,” she says. “It’s a
sign.” I turn to see a rainbow in the cloudless
blue sky. Bright, colorful, perfect. A sign?
Maybe she’s right.
TREES IN THE WIND
Swaying of news
Whispered and passed along
Talk floats from city to town
In all spaces it goes
Growing—blowing
Until at last
It—howls
In laughter at us
For conversations unknown
Secrets swept by them
Rumor kept by them
Them alone
Tornado Alley
Every Alabama April and September,
unnatural heat waves
bode ill. The drills in school–rows
of student seated facing inside walls,
heads down, only confirm
what we already know.
Here in tornado alley we know
first hand the power that takes two house
and leaves one, topples trees like pick-up sticks,
drives pine needles through oak cedar siding.
When the Storm Center part-timers
broadcasts out of doors
with tarps and limbs and garbage cans
hurtling through the air, we watch
with awe-tinged respect.
We don’t laugh at survivor accounts
in trailer-park dialect of crouching together
in the bathtub as something overhead
sounded like a dadburned freight train.
There, but for the grace of God, we think, go we.
Nancy Posey
I’m giving exams today, my best time for poetry drafts. I thrive on their potential energy and the firing synapses through the room.
Hurricane Rita
She came along,
mighty and strong,
one moist September day.
Her name was Rita, and all she said
was, "GET OUT OF MY WAY!"
So my family made plans to evacuate,
to Dallas, we had relatives there,
willing to house us through the storm,
they were waiting to greet us everywhere.
Two cars we took, my husband and I,
when we ventured out.
I got the three kids, one a baby;
he got the dog, no doubt.
Eleven hours did it take,
to get us from here to there.
At normal times, only five hours,
so what’s the problem here?
The problem here, I did find out,
was miles and miles of cars,
running out of gas-
nowhere to stop, hotels are full,
when will this crazy day pass?
My kids are tired, hungry and cranky;
the baby, performing a Houdini act,
escaped from his carseat, crying and spent,
while I try to drive and keep my cool,
when all I want to do is run away and vent.
My husband is behind me,
peacefully, with the dog;
waving encouragingly…and smiling,
while I am lost in a fog.
We finally arrive at a spot for the night,
the last room we are lucky to get.
We haven’t made it to Dallas yet,
but we are grateful we can have our pet.
As I lay down to sleep,
I wonder about the weather,
this hurricane named Rita
is a real go-getter.
How would tomorrow be,
after the storm is gone?
We will be stuck in Dallas with relatives,
wondering about our house from dusk to dawn.
Thanks for continuing with this Robert! It is a great motivation- I have been waiting for hump day!
I did a check, and my formatting worked correctly once it was posted. Hooray. I’ll read the poems later.
Mother Nature Takes a Bow
The sunlight left -
beaming
Raindrops danced
on the rooftops
Thunder clapped
The wind whistled
and the ocean roared
as Mother Nature
let her hair down
slipped into her heels
and sashayed
into the night
And today’s weather poem …
Reflected light glows.
The frozen veil falls, ceasless.
Footsteps are crunchy.
Changeable Skies
On the weekend, you were a steady rain.
Yesterday, when you were mostly cloudy,
it was hard to read your sky. But today
you’re bright sunshine and warm
with a light southerly breeze
and a high in the 80’s.
Everything blooms around you
and fragrances follow your path.
I want to meet you on the veranda
as lemonade glasses sweat the afternoon.
Let’s generate a strong Bermuda high.
Tonight, let’s make a little thunder
in the bedroom, and glisten afterward,
twisted in dampened sheets.
It’s not your heat, baby,
it’s your humidity.
Not sure I like the title of mine – maybe something more like "Swelter" or "Dew Point". Wish we could edit these after posting.
Poniente/Levante
“Don’t need a weatherman to tell
which way the wind blows…” Bob Dylan
Almería: land of two winds
‘twixt Desert and Sea vying for dominance
and sway. Like ancient gods set in battle.
A gentle ocean breeze takes the edge
off a scorching hot summer’s day.
‘Til it starts to whip the sun into frenzy
as the masts in the marina rattle and screech.
Date palms bend double, lesser trees break
scattering debris across the town and beach.
The fierce south-westerly Poniente has come
and stays, they say at least four days.
‘Til peace and tranquillity return and the marina
once more is still and idyllic as a millpond.
Hot, dry and dirty filled with sand and grit,
the next two days are battered relentlessly.
The masts rattle again, houses fill with
the desert’s sands, the grinding north-easterly
Levante now holds forth. Headaches abound,
tempers fray and bad moods cling desperately
to the hope that the morn will bring the return
of its fresh sea-bourn adversary
And no-one knows, quite why it is that,
such a change can be seen in the blink
of an eye, no warning ‘cept a slight dropping
of the wind, only to be replaced in an instant
with the breath of an angry god who hails
from the cardinal opposite…
… ‘til tomorrow…
Apologies… in the second stanza it should be the sea that is whipped into frenzy, not the sun! Doh!
Weathering
Three cavities later,
I gum out objections.
Outside it is heating up,
Flares of pollen,
The first bees in my weeding.
Our neighbor thinks
We’re brewing malaria out back,
A mosquito breeding ground
In standing water from neglect.
Far worse to be unseemly,
Show the wood grain
Under faded paint,
Show our politics in banners
Or prayer flags,
Display the bicycle that travels
More than our standard transmission.
Our stairs are crippled and cracked,
My flower bed fights thick green.
How can amend this
When my head begs for hiding?
Too bad I must leave
And bide hours outdoors.
Weather Report
Today, expect
a 100 percent chance
of sarcasm,
foul language sprinkled
with occasional bouts
of fist pumping road rage,
a more than slight risk
of alcohol consumption
followed by moments
of depression and self-doubt
interspersed between
showers of random
meaningless conversations
about the government
or pop culture
or how much
everything just sucks,
expect messy hair,
eyes that squint
in sunlight despite
transition lenses,
expect infrequent smiles,
singing along
with sad music played
at insane volumes
alone in the car,
expect storms
of anti-religious sentiments
and misanthropic phrases
such as “I hate people”,
expect unanswered phone calls
and sleepless nights
overcast by the knowledge
that nothing
will ever really change.
‘Weather I Do My Work or Not?”
The ideas were gushing forth
like Lava from a volcano
I knew I should be working
on my budget report
but a downpour of inspiration was
gushing down on and into me
pouring through my fingers tips, as I
thundered away at my keyboard
I could not stop the flood
I had to keep up with
the hurricane pace of thoughts
in order to capture them
lest they be washed away
in the flood of my budget numbers
To stop would be a disaster
of astronomical proportions
in my mind
The storm was slowing down
just a few more sprinkles and the air
would clear, and then
I could get back to that budget report
In the meantime
my Doppler was on high alert
tracking any boss activity
that might linger in
the low lying areas of my work ethic
As I tapped away, my stomach was a
flurry of butterflies caused by the
nervousness that I’d get caught
up in a torent of spyball action
with no umbrella to cover my
non-workingness
Tap tap tappitty tap
……Whooosh,…..
a sudden chill
of cold fingers
crept up the back of my neck
like a spider edging towards its prey
I dared not turn around
for I knew that the Cold Front
hovered behind me
with her pinched face and
bulbous nose
her arctic stare firing
icicles through the back of my head
My useless frost heave of
a keyboard was of no use
as I tried to switch to my
budget worksheet program
My heart felt like a
frozen tundra of doom, as I
prayed for an earth quake
to swallow me up
rather than face the blizzard of
condescension soon to
heap down on me
I slowly turned into the cold wind
to face the gust that awaited me
What’s Up? I meekly smiled
hoping to appear innocent
as the the rumbling cloud
above roared to a boiling crescendo
I was done for
and I knew it,
soon to be sucked into
the cyclone of
reprimandation
I wrote this a couple weeks ago as well, thought I would share as it fits the motif.
Thunderstorm
The wind may tear this place apart,
the joints creaking with every gust,
nails holding boards together
like fingers gripped to a ledge,
lightning flickering in the windows
and the thunderous timpani
of the giant train rolling
across the darkened sky
that shakes the dust loose
from the eaves and keeps me awake
through the night.
I remember staying at my grandma’s
house, wrapped in the scent
of dryer sheets in freshly washed blankets,
falling asleep to the metronome
of my grandfather’s snores
and the chiming clock
that he never built,
but I loved to watch the mechanical
wheels and cogs
spinning in its guts
through the glass door
and marvel at the golden precision.
Being jarred awake
by thunder and thin hands
shaking my shoulders,
my eyes opened
to my grandmother’s face
and the blue sound
of water against panes,
her worry lines stretched thin
with panic, she says its time
to go to the cellar, to put on
my shoes and jacket,
and there’s no arguing
with the tone in her voice
that stutters on the brink of cracking,
for even at this age,
barely old enough
to like the thought
of holding a girl’s hand,
I know the terror
of a Tornado Warning.
And we nearly run
around the left side
of the house, being pelted
with stinging drops and gales,
feet sploshing and splashing
through the wet grass and mud,
down into the concrete crevice
of shadows and stairs
and the damp darkness of safety.
She lights a candle and prays,
turns on the radio
that rasps through the static
and cuts through the quiet
in an ominous, robotic voice
that seems strangely inhuman
and calm to my over-sensitive ears,
the music juxtaposed
with a haunted absence of sound
and the smell of mildew and jars,
the adrenaline and fear
prickling the skin of my lips
and giving me gooseflesh shivers
as we wait for the next weather break,
the long dissonant tone
followed by the NWS update
issuing the all-clear
and the hallelujahs.
I’m still awake now,
listening to the rain
beat itself
against the windows
and the giant train
rolling across the darkened sky
of the night,
through the night.
Sunny with a Vanilla Wind
In winter it snowed cotton balls.
We used the leaf-blower to clear the driveway.
The March winds blew them out to sea.
In spring it rained frogs.
My neighbor Joe opened a restaurant.
His speciality was frog legs.
In summer the rainbows are made of popsicles.
Banana is my favorite.
Cherry is a close second.
In autumn the ground is covered with orange, red and yellow pillows.
We love to have pillow fights every fall.
We had to get rid of the couch, too many pillows.
Today is sunny with a vanilla wind blowing in from the south.
Tomorrow is supposed to be overcast with grey construction paper.
Weather Haiku
Sunny with no clouds
Oak trees just starting to bud
Sixty degrees now
Awake all night as the wind blows–
Will I be counting shingles in the yard?
There.
What was that noise, interrupting
the noisy ideas of gardens that keep me from sleep?
In the upper 60′s before 5:00.
Abandoned irises taken to sanctuary
I’ve replanted them too deep!
In the darkness robins sing their territorial pride on third shift, while a raised garden bed crowds out rest in my bed.
Cool air crosses the border
and rain washes out my
fantasy retaining wall.
Needed: Equal amounts of sleep, concrete, and earthy reality.
I forgot to mention that I read a book to my second grade challenge reading class this spring called "Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs" which is a book of exaggerations. This was my inspiration for my "Sunny With a Vanilla Wind" poem. – Michelle
Rough Waters
Docked
At the shore of unreleased acquisitions
We remain afloat but barely
The obnoxious foam of sour gasoline
Committing us to once held dreams
Buried
Not below but far above
The crested fluff of misrepresented longing
Opposition sits
Sucks at air no longer pumping beats
Moved westward toward conjectures past
Only the wet of spit
Upon the blisters festering
Between the fear of shore or open water
We hold
Buckled blue at this rocking dock
Of blowing storm, drawn misdirection
Soaked losses, this holy umbrella we are holding
Cold drippy mess sure sign
We’re off our course and desperate for
Detachments’ warming, drying air.
janepenlandhoover
The rain drums on the roof.
Thunder rimbles; lightning brightens
the darkened sky. Yet I am
safe, warm, and dry. Embracing
my mug of tea, I inhale deeply
And smile.
Doggie Report
My dog is hiding beneath my husband’s chair
I predict thunder storms around us everywhere
My dog is scratching at the door
I predict it’s not storming anymore
My dog is drinking from each puddle that she sees
A mild flood I do believe
Weather Report
This is a severe weather bulletin:
A cloud of shady characters
will descend upon the city
around seven o’clock this evening.
Philosophical haziness may develop
as moral storms mount in the west.
These storms could produce innuendos
up to sixty miles per hour – a small
hail of accusations and recriminations
could develop. If you are in the path
of this storm, seek shelter immediately.
Stay away from windows, as they produce
opportunities to escape onto a wayward path,
And there’s no turning back after that.
Elizabeth Keggi
STORM
Hot-wiring the horizon,
Lightning accelerates skittish clouds
In a breakneck, thundering frenzy
While twin suns on tangerine fire
Crackle in our eyes.
Holding hands on the sofa, we watch
The late-afternoon sky show
Through our backyard window,
Electro-etching one more
Memory in the making.
When I look back at you again,
You are still there.
#
Robert, your brother has an awesome web site.
Elizabeth
Early Golf
The flags stand straight out
tonight, the Stars and Stripes
and the green one that
must have some kind of
meaning concerning
the golf course
wind is from the
northwest, looks like
that means rain
from here
I see the carts
Bumping hastily
over rough terrain
with one eye
On the sky they
try to get in
a few last holes
played sloppily
in this part of the world
memories of winter
are vivid
it is a long time
between eighteen holes
played in October
if a golfer is lucky
and eighteen holes
in April or May
the first slashing
drops of rain
fall and the hole
pennants wave
one last swing and
a race for the clubhouse
as fast as the batteries
in the carts allow
and maybe sun, tomorrow
Storm Damage
"It is not a question of if
it is a question of when
the big one is coming"
Weathermen don’t knows
what it will do today
if the chance of showers
means showers of rain or sun
but my insurance company knows
the big one is coming
the big one used to mean hurricane
now I’m not so sure
does it mean the storm
or the size of the shaft
that comes after your home
has been washed out to sea?
Arizona Weather
Searing sun scorches
the asphalt street
till it oozes.
Heat slowly swells
in undulating
waves of haze.
The slightest trace
of a stifling
breeze stirs.
Tranquil under
the pomegranate
tree I sip iced tea.
Whether . . .
I used to have a thing for weathermen,
those young, smart boys with goofy charm and a
beautiful arsenal of words at their
disposal–virga, graupel, lenticular.
I dreamt of lazy tornadoes, swollen
fingers trudging over mountains and
across the plains, and always headed west.
I chased dark, brooding storms, ate ice cream as
lightning spark purple, pink and green.
And then I flunked meteorology.
Excuses
Any change of weather
can be blamed for a host of ills:
hair standing on end,
skin dry and flaky,
Kindergartners acting as though
they have never before
been inside a classroom.
Plant Life
There are always trees and trees and trees.
No escaping them. They arise like weather,
my hair should float like a cloud
entangled in them, topic of conversation
when all else fails. Often, failing provides
its own solace, cloudlike, trailing off
to the sky while I lie here and lie and lie and lie.
The plane was en route from New York
to Mississippi; my stomach was en
another route. Deep breaths in the
darkness, afraid to look out the
window, afraid not to as if I had
some control over the plane’s steady
course. Then, in the middle of a
breath, CRACK! My head whips
around like howling winds are blowing
through the body of the plane. It is
possible to see streaks of skinny purple
lines of lightning in a black sky. Thunder
roars in my ears and kicks up a storm
in my belly. Drinks fly from tray
tables as we attempt to follow the
instructions of the flight crew. Tray
tables in an upright position; tighten
seat belts. I am flying alone, terrified, my
hands shake. I turn back to seek a
source of comfort. There—two rows
behind me—three nuns are bent in prayer.
5/07/08 A Wednesday challenge
If I Reach
Eighty three is the high,
the same high
I hope to reach, if
the sun can stay away from
fragile tissues that
act like a magnet, for rays
that chew away
the layers, dotting them with
black kisses of death.
Maybe I will just reach the low
today of sixty-three, I’ll
feel tired after mulching my garden,
I’ll sit to ease the pressure
in my chest, while watching the
ground become moist by
natures tears. Slowly folding my
head I’ll slip out of my
self and slide into the light.
STORMLIGHT
Late afternoon
stormlight
when a cold
sun reaches
for the warm
underbelly of
iron clouds
too heavy to
weep
Heron stands like
a barrister on
the dock
shoulders robed
with opinion
silhouette of
jet on pewter
The water like
silver still
warm from
the shining
Reposting, with a better title:
Sultry
On the weekend, you were a steady rain.
Yesterday, when you were mostly cloudy,
it was hard to read your sky. But today
you’re bright sunshine and warm
with a light southerly breeze
and a high in the upper 80’s.
Everything blooms around you
and fragrances follow your path.
I want to meet you on the veranda
as lemonade glasses sweat the afternoon.
Let’s generate a strong Bermuda high.
Tonight, let’s make a little thunder
in the bedroom, and glisten afterward,
twisted in dampened sheets.
It’s not your heat, baby,
it’s your humidity.
Wind out My Window
Wind out my window
Jingle the chimes go
Blowing the fluffy clouds
Up in sunny sky
Temperature is just right
Take a moment, I think I might
Sit on the glider
And watch the cars go by
Sky’s a little darker
Wind blows a little harder
Raindrops hit my cheek
Walkers scurry past
There’s a chill in the air
Breeze blowing in my hair
Now it’s time to go inside
The moment didn’t last
Rain in Popular Music (W#001)
Yesterday you were "singing in the rain"
and I thought "isn’t it a lovely day to
be caught in the rain?" but today "I get
the blues when it rains" but you know
to "Let a smile be your umbrella" and
you don’t worry about the rain because
"April showers may come your way" but
then "Somewhere over the rainbow" you know
that here in the mountains you won’t
get wet because "The rain in Spain
falls mainly on the plain."
Kim Loved your words–I can practically taste the weather–Robert wonderful!! I LOL now here’s mine (a veteran hurricane survivor)
Unexpected Winds
Hurricane watch
Followed by compulsive
Viewing of the Weather Channel
Frequent frantic trips to the store
Increased hammering of plywood,
The whine of power tools and
A high pressure system
Will lead to a flood of cursing
With an extreme patience low
The storm will be followed by
Sudden power outages
Flashes of anger
And occasional gusts of goodwill
Weather Report 2050
The second hurricane
to hit New Orleans
this season completely
decimated the Big Easy.
It is officially
no more.
The third straight
week of plus 100
degree temperatures
in the Midwest
has brought the
death toll to 10,000.
It was four years ago
today that the worst
tsunami in history
swept Indonesia
under water
for good.
Finally, the last
polar ice cap
melted today. There
are none left.
Today’s breeze blew in a warm front of cool prose. Who knew how interesting a little weather could be. Great job everyone.
Thanks, Robert.
Rain Dance
He really loves the rain
wants to get in the car when
the first drops appear.
He likes to drive in the rain
so did his father.
He likes the mystery of
cloudy days and the gray clouds
and buckets of rain falling all around
while he tries to concentrate on the road..
I like to crawl into bed when the
first hint of rain is in the air
I like to make love all day
and even eat dinner in bed
strawberries and yogurt
with popcorn for dessert
I like to cuddle up and
feel safe and loved in the rain.
He said he likes my idea better.
First of all I’m not sure if this was post during April; I originally thought so but couldn’t find it so thought I’d use it for the weather prompt since it works here, but – I’m having trouble posting it here (I think) – maybe it’s cursed…
In the Heat of It
July heat
Births spectacularly
Loud, vivid
Feats of nature
Too extraordinary
To be described
As common
Thunderstorms
These energetic
Extravaganzas
Occur at dusk
Or just after dark
Preferring to dance
Their wares –
Sheet fork and chain
Lightening -
To the greatest advantage
Against the inky palette
Of the night sky.
Even thunder seems
to prefer to
Echo its roar
Down the canyons
Of the hallways of Morpheus
As unlike its interesting
But not nearly
As impressive
Diurnal counterpart
The heart pounding
Excitement of the July storm
Somewhat infrequent
But always sought-after
Especially by those who would live –
Or die – on the edge
Is an event
Once experienced
Can prove addictive
The memory of it savored
Treasured then yearned for
Praying to nature to recreate
Such excessive energy
Leaves one
Dizzy
Its infusion
Outside the norm
Beyond heady
Leaving
One’s feet
Barely touching ground.
S.E.Ingraham
Rainbows
It rained
Well it poured really so
She stayed
Inside her shell,
Afraid of what
Might happen
If she danced outside
With the storm still coming.
After all, lightening might strike
A puddle might be disturbed
Or worse yet,
A smile might
Brighten her face with color
At the lovely end.
Haiku version:
With rainbow smiles she
Danced because she knew the end
Was worth waiting for!
And it was all of that! Hello! I’m so glad to have a prompt, so fortunate to have this blog!
Wednesday’s rock! And roll!
In both ways!
Deluge
How about this rain?
Crumpled my umbrella.
Turned the streets to puddles.
Nearly drowned my dog.
Like someone tore
A hole in the sky
And kept pouring
Down buckets of water.
Thought about
Building a boat
But it finally stopped
And look there, the sun.
Well, we’ll dry out
In a day or two.
Besides, it gave us
Something to talk about.
On a Clear Night
Arm in arm
Along the winding path to forever
The night hid us from the nosy stars
As the seasons of our lives were exposed
Hmm, not exactly about the weather as such, but this is what came when I started writing.
The Most Beautiful
For Amanda
The most beautiful autumn,
calm and golden, full of light,
and warm, just warm enough,
the days unfolding
in a long stretch of perfection
and on one of these days,
one just like this one,
I sat with her in her bedroom
so that her cat could hear her voice
and be comforted
and I spoke of men and marriages
and my sons, and she listened,
listening to me and listening
for the cat, lying on her side
on the floor, on a drip
one leg bandaged and
the thin plastic cord going in,
not much soothed
by our touches, our voices,
our nearby smells, because she growled
and tried to lift her head
and now that it’s later,
two days later, this friend
who offered herself to listen
phones me in tears
seeking for clarity, what to do
for the old cat who is struggling
to walk and can’t, claws
curling under her, whether
to give up and get the injection
and I teach her to test with her breath
as I test with mine, already
knowing the answer which I do get,
and I tell her and she weeps
and thanks me and I leave her
to put down her phone
and gather her cat
and say goodbye to this tenderly loved
child of long life, on this
most beautiful day of autumn.
Rosemary Nissen-Wade
Very touching, Rosemary. Thank you for sharing!
PEACE
Blue gray sky
Bye-bye
I sigh
Quietly
As I lie
Calmly
Beneath the lime green terrace
Perched high
Above the lush green
Serenity
I find lying
Heavily
Upon the grass
Watching clouds pass
Lazily by
High
In the brightening sky.
Robert,
Your brother’s website…WOW.
Great prompt!
Yoli
From Heaven to Earth Came Down
This morning I left the fog
cloaking untidy house, neglected yard
and drove into sun
ten miles away.
When I looked out a little while
later, the office-window view had itself turned white;
the busy intersection stilled, the jarring car colors
in the parking lot muted and blurred.
How quiet:
the grounded cloud
the softened
day.
Weather Signs
Could you see the storm clouds gathering?
Did you watch as the romance rose up
on a gusting gale and blew over the hills?
Did you see the mid-day sun disappear
in the thickening swirl of our life’s dry dust?
Have you closed your eyes to guard
against the tearful tempest brewed from
the hail of harsh words,the lies raining
in torrents throughout our every day?
No. Wrapped in your cottony cocoon
of self-indulgence, all you saw were
the blue and cloudless skies of your content.
Signs, signs and portents all around you,
And even now you cannot see the weather’s changing.
###
Storm
A storm cloud brews
Getting darker and more
Malicious
Tumbling and growling
Growing increasingly more
Sinister
Perpetually pelting
Tears of the gods
Drumming past your skin
Drenching your very essence
Crackling decibels
Spliting the thoughts
Darker and darker
Meaner and meaner
More and more vicious
No end in sight
No relief to be brought
Everyone shies away
from the eternally
growing cloud
So threatening
Hades himself would be
Frightened
There is no connetion
Between this
Thunder storm
And the dazzling day.
I hate bad moods.
PS i wrote this as I am in a foul mood (not without reason)so I am now actually feeling a bit better
Yay for the challenges being back! I will look forward to every Wednesday from now on. Robert–thanks for all of your work.
"100% correct"
I knew it.
I knew that this guy would get it right.
again.
how can he be so cocky?
so confident in his psychic abilities,
looking into his cloud-colored
crystal ball?
I wanted him to be wrong.
I prayed for him to be wrong.
crossed my fingers, even.
but,
he got it right again.
for the second weekend in a row.
yep,
Wednesday was sunny and clear.
Thursday was bright and beautiful.
Friday was perfect.
and Saturday?
it started at 5 a.m.
and didn’t stop until Sunday was over.
the bottom dropped out.
the cats and dogs fell.
my daughter sang the "go away" ditty.
and there went
the park,
the ballgame,
the plans.
and so,
this week I’m hoping
that he’ll be 100% correct again,
but only about rain on
Tuesdays.
"Sparkle"
When the wires shed their ice skins,
between midnight and the dawn,
it was as if Winter knew
her pretty party was through.
She dropped the gelid husks,
turned to jewels in the scatter
of headlights and neon glare.
Or maybe she just tossed her
empty Corona bottles from on high.
The Weather Report
High of 85 degrees
Low of sixty six
Humidity 78 percent
Winds are calm
As I watch a silver bird wing
Across the blue horizon
With only a handful of hours to go
Before I, too, soar to 38,000 feet
Fly several hundred miles
North
Where is feels like
Forty four degrees
With a high today of
Sixty two
We meet almost in the middle
Coming from both ends
Welcoming the 60’s
For coolness at night in the south
And some warmth in the day
Up north
For six days
My toes will be hugged by cotton and leather
Longing again for their freedom.
I wear two different hats
For shade
Or to keep my ears warm
Bouncing back and forth between two climates
And always paying attention
To the weather report.
lol Mike Barzacchini–Really enjoyed Deluge
Wow, great to see everyone back in action. Some nice poems here – lots of rainy and foul weather ones. Just back from traveling and was not able to access the prompt until now, so I’ll be back – later – with a ditty.
I ASSUME since these come out once a week we have 7 days to participate ;^)
Hope all are well… Peace, Linda
Rosemary, you made me cry today. What a touching poem. I have four cats who are family, and my thoughts of course went to them. You touched my heart.
-S-
Surprise
The weather today they said would be cloudy
however, it turned out to be sunny.
Yesterday, they said it would rain
but instead it was only cloudy with a
little bit of the sun poking it’s face through
the clouds.
The day before they said sun but
it turned out we had 6 inches of snow.
And the day before that, it was perfect.
Wonder what the purpose of giving
us a weather report is since a lot of times
they miss entirely what is going to
take place during the day.
I often wonder if they are unaware that
Mother Nature sometimes changes her
mind on what will happen …whether
she will let it rain, sun come out, hail
or snow.
I must say though I do enjoy a surprise.
And each day I get up, the weather
surprises me. It keeps me on my toes
and prevents me from getting bored.
Yes, I do enjoy the weather.
seven year old soccer players
dark forboding front moving in
cold
short practice tonight
Will Be The Wedding Day
Groomsmen’s cummerbunds mirror the blue of the
bridesmaids’ dresses
hanging silently in closets
waiting to swish down the aisle
making way for the bride,
a vision in white
on the arm of her father
giving her away
to the man of her dreams
at a castle built in passion
on a heart-shaped island
floating in the majestic St. Lawrence River
witnessed by those held dear,
serenaded by songs of devotion,
whispering promises of forever,
forecasting blue skys
sunshine
gentle breezes
temperature rising with the heat of love,
will be the Wedding Day.
Weather Authority
I am the weatherman,
the one you know from TV.
I stand in front of a national map,
and forecast weather with authority.
Expect dense fog in California,
Sunshine on the Plains,
Look for heavy snows to blanket the Northeast,
While the South will be drenched in rains.
And all the weather watchers
plan accordingly,
grabbing hats and coats and umbrellas,
all because of me.
I am the weatherman,
studying Doppler RADAR all day long.
Faithful weather watchers listen to me,
even though my predictions are usually wrong.
I wanted to pop in and say that I took this quote and wrote about a memory I wanted to share with my children. Then I had a realization about a project I have been forestalling on beginning since . . . well, since forever. But because of this prompt I am now inspired to move forward with a project I had never begun because it was too daunting and/or too redundant. (You know how it is–the excuses we find to keep ourselves from starting something new.)
In any event, you got me started and I’m on a roll now. Thank you!
Fickle
With darkened brow, you scowl
whispering soft, sweet nothings
then turn temptress with your tease
of sweet drops kissing the windshield,
but barely brushing brittle earth.
—
Better late than never ;^}
Hope all are well… Peace, Linda
Escape
She presses her nose
against the cool window pane
imagining Dorothy’s tornado
taking her away from here
The here she has come to know
is filled with pain
as she hears the screaming
of her parents downstairs.
Could that be a tower
hidden behind the foggy mist
she wonders as the sky
explodes into a flash of light
She smiles imagining
the aways blissful fairy tale
She gives a sigh of contentment
holding her teddy bear close
She feels her eyes drooping
as her dreams called to her
I’ll be there soon my friends
as she gathers her Toto Teddy.
Clearing
The sky cleared as if the devil
momentarily looked away. The black
peeled to Atlanta blue, hope in
the shape of the newly met sun’s rays
beamed down and touched each and every
one of us; touched us like the warmth
and calm that an embryo feels, newly
conceived growing in the safety of
the womb.
Winter Light
Autumn shadows grow smaller
as leaves fall
to allow the soft winter light in
and in the warmth of the day
our embrace grows longer
as our clothes fall
to allow soft caresses to begin
and in the after warmth of passion
our breath grows slower
as the evening falls
and soft sleep sets in.
Maureen Sexton
Clearing
Over the river
Sheet metal shimmering dance
…Thunderous applause
Oh! I could spend all day reading and re-reading these. Every one brings something special.
Bruce, your Changeable Skies is just terrific! Love it!
Joe, I’m a fan every day and today is no different. I loved your Mother Nature poem.
Susan, Last Day was so real and full of hope. Things really do happen for a reason, don’t they?
Elizabeth, Let us know when you put out a chapbook. I’ll be in line to buy the first copy.
One of the great things, for me, about this "event" has been the gift of being able to read so much fantastic new poetry from so many talented people.
Thanks to Robert and to you all!
Hey, great stuff everyone. I probably won’t get the read the prompt until Friday’s, so I’ll always be a little late. This one is a true story. Terrible weather that day…inside and out.
Grandmother’s Funeral
The clouds drifted in
with the black-clad crowd,
bleak and wet,
rain pouring down
as if Noah were beginning
his journey.
We mere mortals,
mournfully gathered
around the coffin,
were like the dark
of the deepest ocean.
Except for
me.
I stood out like
a beacon in the night.
As the gawks and gazes
rolled in at me,
my mother turned,
eyes the color
of my silk shirt,
and said, "She always
loved you in red."
Then I moved forward
to pay my respect
to grandmother
as she sailed off
to distant shores.
Linda H.
Deb Hill, your poem is wonderful.
Elizabeth and Jay, very clever (and true) with your Weather Reports.
Joe, Mother Nature Takes a Bow…I like it.
Tonya, yesterday we had very unseasonable warm weather here for Germany. My daughter said, "Man, this is like America weather!" When I read your poem, it made me think of home. Love the mind pictures it creates.
Thanks EVERYONE for posting such great reading material!!
WEATHER REPORT
Overcast skies
62 degrees
with an expected high of 82
Clouds will give way to the sun
around noon
Overcast eyes
at Hartsfield Jackson Airport
lookout for an outpouring of various emotions
We’re in for mild weather and moods over the weekend
and on Monday
On Tuesday the sky will be shining brightly
even if it’s raining outside
Tornado
In another life I know you’d be a tornado chaser,
you are the one who is always out front, forging
ahead while I’m the cautious one, holding back,
fearful. What wonders do I miss in those reluctant
moments, testing water instead of jumping right in?
I remember that time in Wisconsin, visiting
your brother, driving east from Madison pursued
by a massive thunderstorm. We stopped for pizza,
watching the dark clouds building behind us, we
drove on to your brother’s home to settle in before
the storm struck, his house perched like the proverbial
sitting duck atop its own hill, panoramic views of the
coming menace. I didn’t grow up in twister territory,
never had to listen for the town’s warning siren, huddle
in the basement hoping to be spared. Your brother’s
big screen TV was on in the living room, reporting
the storms’ wake of disaster; twisters had touched down
and blown apart thirty-eight houses in a sub development,
we were right in its path, a supercell they were calling it.
The thunderclouds were magnificent, massive columns
of darkness lit by lightening, filling the entire western
horizon. You and your brother raced around outside,
watching the advancing storm in awe, the radio squawking
that a twister just touched down in the center of East Troy,
only minutes away, while your sister-in-law and I cowered
in the cellar, where we waited with an anxious dog and wired
cat for the danger to pass, listening to hail rattling against
windows, wind whining in the vents, thunder cracking like
artillery overhead, praying that you’d come to your
senses and join us before the tornado swept you away.
When you came down to tell us the storm had passed,
Breathless and lit from within, I listened to your adrenaline-
laced report of the splendors you had witnessed, envious
again of your brave and reckless spirit.
Better late than never! I can’t figure out where the day goes, while I’m not working because of my ‘baby break’…
Memories of Rain
The spitting hail of rain drips off my poncho
as I lay in the bottom of the boat as it fills
with water. I cry because I’m cold and wet
and miserable ib this long anticipated camping
trip with father, sisters and the village boy or
two. I don’t care that I’m losing face with
them all. I’m eight years old and not having
fun as the Kuskokwim River winds its way
toward the interior. They’ll fish for salmon
as big as I am, but later with seine nets while
I stay on shore stomping through mud puddles
and wading to the sand bar near camp, to lose
lures in a vain attempt to catch trout.
Thanks Jane & Linda:) I love this site. The writing here is very inspiring to read and to try and emulate.
5-10-08
Lawn Forecast
All week he knew he was supposed to mow.
Early on, sunshine and warm dry air.
The front is steep but fewer obstacles.
He did that then nothing.
Rain midweek and now it’s Saturday
and our son is racing the coming thunder
bracing for clouds to release their droplets
as he pushes the mower around the vast sloping
backyard.
Endurance
Beyond my comfy perch
the boardwalk stretches
crossing marsh
turns
and disappears
into a copse of
live oak and twisted pine
dangling limbs
so many stands
held against wind blowing nights
sheltering
their only home.
Jane Penland Hoover
Behind Me
Another rainy day
delay that makes for slowing
flowing ripples seeping down and sliding
riding rivulets over and along the pane
mini trains colliding, joining forces
careless downward trek
I stare
despair endless wetness, imagining us
fussy desolation surfacing
face leaking
lustiness leaving silent spotted dampness
two lonely pillows there
Jane Penland Hoover
Forecast
Yesterday’s rain,
and tears,
are forgotten
dried by the
warmth of the rising sun.
Oh, what the heck:)
An Enlightening Review
Weather’s dynamic duo,
Thunder & Lightning, gave an
electrifying performance last night,
pounding out hit after hit in a dazzling
display that finally jolted this town
from its’ long winter slumber.
It was a loud, flashy show
that proved the ageless duo
can still perform brilliantly,
not letting up for close to two hours.
Local resident, Haywood Forest,
was the conductor for the outdoor show.
The omnipresent opening act, Rain,
played a somewhat dull yet steady
set to kick things off. In case you
missed out (believe it or not, some folks
slept through it), the show is likely to
return as Thunder & Lightning
roll out across the U.S.
all summer long
Rain
It’s about to rain.
I can feel it in the air
The pressure
The stickiness
The wind
And the way it
Blows all of the leaves
On the trees upside down
To greet the sky-tears
As they fall.
“It’s not raining yet
so get up and walk,”
she yells at me.
Not Yet
You’ll see a clinging mist,
mercury dropping into the blue zone,
settling into the high forties.
Unstable air,
good conditions for a storm.
Expect thunder, hail,
even snow in May.
If you have shortness of breath
or a tired heart,
stay inside whenever
you can. A ridge of high pressure
should hold this weather
over you another week. Walk out
only if you see the sun.
(This was the first start. Another came to me, but it needs a lot of reconsideration, and I’m looking forward to that. Thanks for the prompt and best wishes to your brother.)
The day it rained
It rained the day you went away
A bad omen they like to say
But you came back the next day
And this time it was to stay
Then it snowed and you had to go
I wondered why that was so
I’d really like if you’d stay
It’d be so much better that way
A few days later you reappear
Finally, I can let go of my fear
That one day you’ll go away
And gone you’ll be with yesterday
Especially with everything they say
I worry you’ll be gone one day
I can’t imagine going too long without you
If I didn’t see you I’d be quite blue
I listen to the weatherman say
50 percent chance of rain, but the sun will likely come out today.
Air Blown About
The openness of you
As it closes down for the night
The suspense that’s held
Until you awake once more
This then is what I think of
When I think of you . . .
Blue skies hidden behind the gray
That’s how I see you when storm clouds brew
I know that after the rant, the rave
Your gentleness will return
If I can just somehow survive the emotions tossed
Knowing the wind carries our innermost song
It displays the melodies tucked deeply within our hearts
The breeze always contains a silent word
It tells a story so often told
Of love gone to stay
The aimless wanderings of emotions lost . . . and found
These are the lessons taught by small distractions
The soft winds bring
Above overcast skies
Jim Lewis February 25, 2008
Trust
I don’t know if anyone’s actually counted
how many times you were right.
Or made a pie chart showing
the accuracy of your predictions.
I’m not sure I have any real reason to trust you,
but when you say
“windy and cool today”
I put on a jacket.
So why is it so hard
to follow the suggestions of One
whose record is established?
Ball of Dust
He awoke to the cool morning sky
There was not but a listless cloud
simply passing by
In the background,
the roar of thunder boomed loud
Every day was the same
on the ball of dust
He’d been there so long
he’d forgotten his name
if only he could get that ship working
if only, just
oh now, it’s starting to rain
each drop corroded the ship just a little more
He knew, a used ship trader
was no one to trust
if he ever got off this rock
he’d even the score
where to find parts
with naught but desert
each day he starts
but’ it’s always the same
first the sun,
then the cool air
followed by the rain
how could anyone
want to visit there
they’d have to be insane
then the heat
that unbearable heat
must be 110̊ in the shade
but, he won’t admit defeat
he looks at his wife and son
in a photo he’d brought
then a tear,
they were a galaxy away
in truth his fear
he’d forget them someday. . .
©Rodney C. Walmer 6/23/08 Inspired by prompt #1 a weather report. I decided to do a little
science fiction for the sci fi fan in all of us.
BOATMAN’S WEATHER
His dinghy’s pulled up ashore
beside the gorse and heather,
the gooseberry patch beloved of birds.
A gray mist has settled on the harbor.
One lit window in the cottage,
where neither speaks of his mission.
All those lines she memorized
long ago, when every poem was a heart
encircled with its rhyme, a suitor
swearing love ten years
before the Flood, and ever after.
Ocean lost now in dark,
on shore his dinghy waiting.
The outgoing tide;
on the horizon, storm incoming.