Ode to Philly’s Cyclone Alley

Don’t know whether to blame the weather on climate change or not,
That’s a politically sensitive issue like if we should legalize pot;
The left says yes and the right says no,
But does anyone really know which way to go?

Those nasty heat waves have begun in earnest,
I know it’s July, but hate when it feels like the inside of a furnace;
As my mouth gets parched, I start thinking of March,
When the cold weather back then made me wish for summer.

We’ve been getting a lot of tornado warnings lately here in the Delaware Valley;
Strange since this region is not considered a cyclone alley.
Severe-thunderstorm alerts also set off the raucous alarm on my smartphone,
Alerting me to seek shelter from the forthcoming, dangerous storms.

Been living here for almost twenty-five years,
Can’t recall the weather generating so much fear,
Except for an occasional nor’easter or hurricane,
Creating flash flooding from a lot of rain.

Lake Luxembourg Louie

Today I was at Lake Luxembourg,
Visiting the bald eagles whom I especially love;
Was able to get a few shots of Louie, the adult male,
When a severe-thunderstorm warning said to look out for golf ball-sized hail.

The sky turned dark and menacing,
Clouds clustered and winds started racing,
My smartphone blared with that tone usually heard,
When the Emergency Broadcasting System’s test blurbs.

Another warning, this time for a tornado,
Doth the National Weather Service send a whaling;
After packing my camera and tripod, placing them back in the car,
I took off down the road, wanting to get pretty far.

The tempest followed me as I headed away,
Blustery clouds kept coming my way;
Had to stop off for some bread and milk,
Before the storm was about to make everything tilt.

Made it home before the deluge hit,
As I exited the Cooper the rain began to spit,
And then it began to excessively pour,
As I made upstairs to my apartment’s floor.

The wind sounded like a lion’s roar,
The rain pounded against the sliding-glass door;
Lightning flashed and thunder clapped,
While inside my dining room safe and sound I sat.

When I read the safest place to be during a tornado is in the bathtub.

No tornado appeared thank goodness,
Neither did hail make dents in the Cooper;
Hoping for the heat to subside, I checked outside,
But steam rising from the pavement was all I did find.

The humidity is what makes it bad,
Feeling the sweat pouring from my forehead makes me sad;
The perspiration clings clothes to my body,
At my age, that’s the only way I’ll be considered a hottie.

I was going to post an old quiz,
About yesteryear’s trivia and show biz,
But somehow got tangled up with this little rhyme,
Talking about the weather and how it’s sublime.

So I’ll leave it until next week’s tirade,
Unless I’ve got something better about which to rave,
And then we’ll save it for a rainy day,
Not a sunny one when then we should make hay.

Thanks for stopping by, and for your continued support.




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About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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