Poems Archives - Asheville Weather Workers

Weather Poem 4

Shall I say

‘like’ or ‘as’

to enlighten your imagination

to the fabulous imagery

of the thunderhead looming over the

Swannanoa Valley as its depths lit

sweet peach, squirrelly salmon, slaty rose

when the sunset left the land and sailed miles high

How can I speak of the thunder as the

mountains and clouds electrically mated

with orgasms of lightning wrapped in the

veils with only the sounds demanding

attention while here on middle earth

between the drama above and the soil below

the cicadas hum their evensong

the ants consider calling it a day

and going home for a beer

and we watch with our own

body electric singing harmony

with the hickory tossed leaves

glowing a deeper green

By Asheville weather worker Andy Weatherly, who has had several of his poems published in national journals.

More poems...

Weather Poem 3

It is a strangeness how a little rain

can turn autumn woods from lovely to magnificent

sandy grass glassing to translucent

baby green oak trees grow on you

beeched yellow yearns deep to turn ultraviolet

sourwood salmon swim in bloody seas

and maples flame to their hearts’ content

dripping clear serum

It’s not just dirt washed away

but a new lens added to see that water runs our veins

even as leaves die

and trickle away

by Asheville weather worker Andy Weatherly, who has had several of his poems published in national journals.

More poems...

Weather Poem 1

Weather Poem 2

The clouds are calling

pinking my attention

slating for my ticket to ride

roiling along closing reaching stretching

a column of vapor for me to ascend

greet the clans

pay homage to the sacred peaks in their company

and light the sunset

into new imaginations

But the bear trailing my scent of

chocolate is intrigued curious hungry

politely requesting me to pay my toll

for my sojourn in his woods

to honor the treaties we wrote

in the time before time

So honoring the sovereignty of my body

and the gravity of the black bear

I surrender

and return home

by Asheville weather worker Andy Weatherly, who has had several of his poems published in national journals.

More poems...

Shall I say...

Shall I say

‘like’ or ‘as’

to enlighten your imagination

to the fabulous imagery

of the thunderhead looming over the

Swannanoa Valley as its depths lit

sweet peach, squirrelly salmon, slaty rose

when the sunset left the land and sailed miles high

How can I speak of the thunder as the

mountains and clouds electrically mated

with orgasms of lightning wrapped in the

veils with only the sounds demanding

attention while here on middle earth

between the drama above and the soil below

the cicadas hum their evensong

the ants consider calling it a day

and going home for a beer

and we watch with our own

body electric singing harmony

with the hickory tossed leaves

glowing a deeper green

By Asheville weather worker Andy Weatherly, who has had several of his poems published in national journals.

Weather Poem

It is a strangeness how a little rain

can turn autumn woods from lovely to magnificent

sandy grass glassing to translucent

baby green oak trees grow on you

beeched yellow yearns deep to turn ultraviolet

sourwood salmon swim in bloody seas

and maples flame to their hearts’ content

dripping clear serum

It’s not just dirt washed away

but a new lens added to see that water runs our veins

even as leaves die

and trickle away

Weather Poem

rain tinkles on tarp overhead and feeding the fire not in challenge or anger but feeding the night even as the rain rocks it to sleep

Weather Poem

The clouds are calling

pinking my attention

slating for my ticket to ride

roiling along closing reaching stretching

a column of vapor for me to ascend

greet the clans

pay homage to the sacred peaks in their company

and light the sunset

into new imaginations

But the bear trailing my scent of

chocolate is intrigued curious hungry

politely requesting me to pay my toll

for my sojourn in his woods

to honor the treaties we wrote

in the time before time

So honoring the sovereignty of my body

and the gravity of the black bear

I surrender

and return home

rain tinkles on tarp overhead
and feeding the fire
not in challenge or anger
but feeding the night
even as the rain rocks it to sleep