Weather poems
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Casualty
© Seamus Justin Heaney
Dawn-sniffing revenant,
Plodder through midnight rain,
Question me again.
Death Of A Naturalist
© Seamus Justin Heaney
All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
How I Consulted The Oracle Of The Goldfishes
© James Russell Lowell
What know we of the world immense
Beyond the narrow ring of sense?
A Dish Of Peaches In Russia
© Wallace Stevens
With my whole body I taste these peaches,
I touch them and smell them. Who speaks?
What does it take?
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Is the current rate of global warming
a serious and cogent warning?
Do we need to think about the fact
that higher tides will drown Pacific island states
To The Rock That Will Be A Cornerstone Of The House
© Robinson Jeffers
Old garden of grayish and ochre lichen,
How long a rime since the brown people who have vanished from
Gray Weather
© Robinson Jeffers
It is true that, older than man and ages to outlast him, the Pacific surf
Still cheerfully pounds the worn granite drum;
The best days of my life
© Ivan Donn Carswell
What is it about Bryan Adams and his song
Summer of 69? Why do the lyrics linger? Was it
90° in the shade and the harbinger of the end
of the golden weather, or the impending closure
The beans were exciting
© Ivan Donn Carswell
I tried cooking in my new Quicksilver jacket, just
an affectation I assure you no, not the coat
or the cooking but me in the wearing of it,
a form of warped appreciation, and when I think
It seldom snowed Part III
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It seldom snowed they said, and they were nearly right. In all of nine eventful
seasons crystal white on average graced the place just twice a year. A smaller
fall, an over-night preceded heavy snow. And heavy snow remained a week,
blocked drains and closed the Desert Road; but no complaints, our children
It seldom snowed, they said - Part I
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It seldom snowed, they said, it might get cold but it wont be snow;
well, one should guess the locals know the weather best and I was new,
so when I left the warmth of the limited express and descended onto
a dimly lit, deserted siding I was not impressed to find the ground at
It seldom snowed Part IV
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It seldom snowed they said,
perhaps theyre right
although seldom was never
in that endless summer
For you secular needs
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Somebody please explain, can you help
me understand; Ive watched the weather
radar creep its colours on the screen
and watched out of the window for the band
Another barbeque tonight
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It rained throughout the night, a truly welcome sound
that eases sleep although we barely slept we were
distressed by other things. Today the kitchens centre ring,
the kitchen of Anitas dreams. Its had a long gestation,
Ah, that Murphy girl
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Lets talk about the weather then,
would that help you take your ease?
Gossip is so rare from you
the noise of falling leaves is louder than
your breathing; if breathing is whatever is
sustaining you.
The Black Cottage
© Robert Frost
We chanced in passing by that afternoon
To catch it in a sort of special picture
The Rainwalkers
© Denise Levertov
An old man whose black face
shines golden-brown as wet pebbles
under the streetlamp, is walking two mongrel dogs of dis-
proportionate size, in the rain,
in the relaxed early-evening avenue.
The Song of the Shirt
© Thomas Hood
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread--
