Know how weather, especially humidity, can affect the movement of doors and windows.
quote by Marilyn vos Savant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Local on The 8's
Local on the 8’s
Weather for Trenton metro area
Current temp.87°F
Humidity.99%
Precipitation. Lots
7 day forecast
Sun. H=88°F L=79°F. Sunny
Mon. H=45°F L=32°F. Really crappy day
Tus. H=60°F L=50°F. Ok
Wend. H =45°F L=0°F. Rain
Thurs. H= 67°F L=71°F. Partly cloudy
Fri. H=80°F L=77°F. Sunny
Sat. H= 88°F L=84°F. Hot
Weather forecast provided by weather channel, sponsored by TD bank
poem by Greg Miele
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Books have the same enemies as people: fire, humidity, animals, weather, and their own content.
quote by Paul Valery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Books have the same enemies as people fire, humidity, animals, weather, and their own content.
quote by Paul Valery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wistfully Watching
They explore the world
through windows,
church windows,
school windows,
two up, two down windows,
castle windows,
large windows,
small windows.
They see it all,
from blameless to guilty,
from noble to treacherous,
through windows.
From skyscraper windows,
to basement flat windows,
from paupers windows,
and palace windows
they watch, absorb, suck it in.
Later when they have grown
they will remember,
try to empathise,
rationalise
decipher the coded metaphors,
but some day
they will be demoralised
by the windows of life.
There they sit __ wistfully watching __
the children
of our times.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As Said
As said I have opened
All my doors and windows
Lions snakes birds
Air rain all allowed
To come and go.
I am impartial
I am transparent
I am judicious
I salute the truth
I salute the beauty
And pious.
As said I have opened
All my doors and windows.
I catch true words
That is there
Within the seven colors
Within the rainbow
Within the life
That is going and going
Like Times honest arrow.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weather The Storm
Our city's foundation - the bricklayers job
To safeguard the man and the mob from the mob
The violent, the furtive, the wasteful, the crass
Weather the storm, the storm will pass
Hide and abide by the rule of the clan
And the policies made by the kings of man
By the stocks and the whips and the chain and the farce
Weather the storm, the storm will pass
From the gaze of the twisted and frauds, be sure
You bolt down your windows, you lock up your doors
Wait for the gauntleted sword to swing past
Weather the storm, the storm will pass
You know the squalls calming, the culprits exposed
by a new air you'd heard some experts proposed
Southerly storms and high pressure bars
Possible flooding, riotous winds
Collapsing towers, hurtling cars
Walls of granite, gates of brass
Doors of oak and bars of iron
Covering the window glass
Will weather the storm til the storm will pass
In fifty years, will I instate
My peace, or will it be too late?
In time that's spent, is anger asked
To savour calms that never last?
In a drying day in a drip in time
When the bolts have fled to a cleaner clime
When you emerge from your shelter, at last
The skies are still - your life has passed
In This House
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the windows
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the doors
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was your food
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was the word
in this house
where you stood
what you could
something say
in this house
you could open
windows doors clapping wings
in this house
you could open
soul that heaven upward sings
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Ashes!
break out the windows,
kick down the doors!
stack all the old furniture...
and set fire to it!
the windows....
...through which we stared at life
......safe from its touch!
the doors....
....we closed in our fear
......of who we are
.......and what we see
...........in each other.
the furniture....
....we sat on and laid on
.......while the cries of the struggling
.........and the hands of the hungry
.............reached out...
the fire....
...that burns apathy with pure compassion
.......burns the lie of self till we find
.........the faces of God in the ashes!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box
there are bomb? doors and there are revolving doors doors on the rudders of big ships and there are revolving doors there are doors that open by themselves there are sliding doors and there are secret doors there are doors that lock and doors that don't there are doors that let you in and out but never open but there are trap doors that you can't come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pull / Pulk Revolving Doors
There are barn doors
And there are revolving doors
Doors on the rudders of big ships
And there are revolving doors
There are doors that open by themselves
There are sliding doors
And there are secret doors
There are doors that lock
And doors that dont
There are doors that let you in
And out
But never open
But there are trapdoors
That you cant come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pull Pulk Revolving Doors
There are barn doors
And there are revolving doors
Doors on the rudders of big ships
We are revolving doors
There are doors that open by themselves
There are sliding doors
And there are secret doors
There are doors that lock
And doors that don't
There are doors that let you in
And out
But never open
But they are trapdoors
That you can't come back from
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Settling Fog
“Save, save, save me from the brutal hands, ”
The cries emerged early in the foggy morn,
In the month of December in frosty cold.
Then a volley of bullets was fired,
The cries instantly became silent;
The neighboring windows, the doors opened,
They seemed like black holes in the thick fog;
The lookers’ images appeared like phantoms,
Then smelling stinking smell of the foul game,
They shut tight the windows, the doors,
No one came to rescue the victimized being,
For the fog was settling before the sun rose.
poem by Shahida Latif
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Spring Song
ALL winter through I sat alone,
Doors barred and windows shuttered fast,
And listened to the wind's faint moan,
And ghostly mutterings of the past;
And in the pauses of the rain,
'Mid whispers of dead sorrow and sin,
Love tapped upon the window pane:
I had no heart to let him in.
But now, with spring, my doors stand wide;
My windows let delight creep through;
I hear the skylark sing outside;
I see the crocus, golden new.
The pigeons on my window-sill,
Winging and wooing, flirt and flout,--
Now Love must enter if he will,
I have no heart to keep him out.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Smelling the Day: Father and Son
Here is a time-tested weather rhyme:
'If with your nose you smell the day,
Stormy weather's on the way.'
There is the rhyme, and here is the reason:
As Andy Dappen wrote,
'Plants release oils into the atmosphere,
'And research indicates
That the higher the humidity,
The more oils the plants give off.
'This produces the distinctive odor
Many of us recognize when we say,
'Smells like rain today.''
When with his nose he smelled the day,
My father, a seasoned farmer, would say,
'Heads up, son! Smells like rain today.'
poem by Monty Gilmer
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for John on his first frustration
let me draw you a house
with an entrance gate
leading to an entrance
door and some windows
to let in air.
just that, there will be no
exit doors, no exit gate,
all the windows open,
not designed to close,
that precisely is success
and failure.
there is a sense of
entrance triumphant
ditto an exit for some
ordinary and even
inevitable failures of
our lives.
the windows are some
of our other options, we
let in air to breathe
for a while. we must.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Could Not Sit...Still!
From me,
I had to remove the blues.
Too uncertain became my needs.
I could breathe...
But it was not done freely.
From me,
The moods would shift.
As if a splitting away of focus,
Had been permitted.
And I could not sit...still!
From me,
Excuses I would give...
Others refused to accept.
The actions I had taken next,
Were to sulk and brood.
From me,
I began to see energized light.
And inspite of my self centeredness,
There was something within me that existed.
I could not resist it.
And I knew then,
From me that darkness sat.
And I alone welcomed it by invitation.
No other fingerprints were on the doors,
And windows I chose to close.
I could not sit...still.
Until the doors and windows,
Were again reopened...
Onto a world I chose,
To keep closed.
And...
I could not sit...still.
Remembering,
It was I who had consciously...
Did this.
Remembering,
My own footsteps I chose to quiet.
And it was I who now grew tired,
Of the darkness I inspired.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Root Beer Float Afternoon
It was one of those
kind of afternoons
When ball games were heard
From open windows
And houses had porches
And porches had swings
Where voices murmured softly
Into velvet humidity
It was the most precious of things
In the most treasured of times
It was a root beer float…
Kind of afternoon
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Georgia Country Store
Mama said she saw you-
At the general Store-
Said you came swinin' through-
That ole dusty screen door.
Fireflys and gadflys following.
Filling a handbasket with-
Apricot preserves and bakery biscuits-
A dozen eggs and a handful of grits.
You hurried, mama said-
Back into the heat drenched afternoon.
Humidity of early Georgia swelter.
Your footsteps home melted the concrete walkway.
Flower's and weed's withering-
Dying of the semi-drought-
Sorta like jelly beans melting upon the kids-
On Sundays after church when everyone -
Was dressed Sunday best but soaked all about-
For a hot Fellowship meal but the thick air always won out!
All that survived were the Magnolia tree's.
They like the humidity and rain.
But could survive-
If the humidity was as heavy as a warm summer
Sprinkle -On the Stores window pane!
poem by Theodora Onken
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Bus Poem #14: Materialism
Question: How does cold weather affect subway service?
Answer: It makes it colder.
poem by Robert Dickerson
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Good Weather
This good weather ruined me,
I resigned in such a weather
From my government job.
I got used to tobacco in such a weather,
I fell in love in such a weather;
I forgot to take home bread and salt
In such a weather;
My disease of writing poems
Recurred in such a weather;
This good weather ruined me.
poem by Orhan Veli Kanik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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