Alternative Weather Fronts
(most not mentioned in the shipping forecast)
Erotic fronts are twerking
round both poles
whipping their hailstoned g-strings
into every nook and cranny
of the coast.
Erratic fronts have forgotten
to take their medication,
consequently it’s raining gin
and the snow is lemon sorbet
with water biscuits.
Exotic fronts are offering
a massage service
to ship wrecked mariners
who it’s likely will decide to stay
Esoteric fronts have discovered
surprising facts that are now written
for everyone to read
in towering cumuli
Ecstatic fronts are dizzy
with delight, causing spontaneous
dancing in the streets
spreading blissful havoc
Emetic fronts vomit –
they’re best avoided
by staying indoors.
I’m in love with Paul the weather man.
Never miss Look North, must get my fix
of orange shirts and pink ties.
I would kill to have a man with his laugh,
that cleft chin, those dimples. I love it
when he tells himself a joke
and laughs so much he can’t go on.
The way he says isobars does it for me,
that sweeping gesture to indicate
the direction of the wind sends shivers
down my spine. I have to take an extra sip
of peppermint tea. Every day I tweet him:
selfies of me in sun and rain,
me in fog and snow, me in sea fret and drizzle.
(first published in The Stonegate Devil)
Carole Bromley lives in York where she is the stanza rep and runs poetry surgeries. Winner of a number of first prizes including the Bridport. Two collections with Smith/Doorstop, the most recent being The Stonegate Devil, October 2015.