LPiA-22 Nov. 13
Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 13

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. 

Topic : Write a poem inspired by sudden change in weather.
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 or more
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

We used to have Blue Northers, 
where the northwestern sky would turn black 
like an enormous bruise,
the wind would suddenly change from south
to north and we’d feel the temperature
drop 20 degrees in ten minutes
with rainstorms, sometimes tornados, 
but climate change has put the bag on that. 
Now they come in like a cripple dancing a tango, 
in fits and starts, hardly any rain to speak of,
all the ferocity sucked out of them.

Or maybe I just don’t look to the sky anymore
spending all my time sniffing the ground
looking for a lifetime now mostly in the past.
Alternating chills and sweats
uncontrollable shaking
followed by drenching my sheets
then again back to freezing.
55 degrees outside,
Yesterday it was 80
My temperatures been steady
at 102.
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Curtain Fall (Blue Norther)

One fine, clear day in Grand Forks, North Dakota
a sky of peacock hue commenced to change:
from somewhere just above neck-craning height
darkness began.
Pellucid lightness turned to Prussian blue
along a line descending visibly
as if someone had layered darkling dye
in our fish tank.

That afternoon the temperature fell from 60F to 20F in three hours, and another 40F overnight.  The norther was so dry you thought you could hear the boards of the house creaking as they gave up their moisture.

The next morning, it got cold enough to mention.

(I find I've written about the same phenomenon as @TranquilityBase - impressive, wasn't it?  Mine was in the early 1970s, but I suspect they still happen.)
feedback award Non-practicing atheist
(11-14-2022, 05:34 AM)dukealien Wrote:  (I find I've written about the same phenomenon as @TranquilityBase - impressive, wasn't it?  Mine was in the early 1970s, but I suspect they still happen.)[/p.s.]

Possibly I've moved too far south (New Braunfels), to experience them any longer.  But we used to experience them in Austin where I grew up.  It seems like the line of cities along IH 35 have definitely altered our weather patterns.

Didn't realize it was a term used as far north as the Dakotas.

Despite the late season and the early dark
of the days, the wind still blew warm and light
across birthdays on the patio, allowed T-shirts 
worn on dog walks late into the evenings. Until
a winter chill turned summer’s green now
brown; leaves fallen silent, dry and brittle as 
words unsaid. The trees now turned in against 
the white of the coming storm, their bare boughs
raised against the bone cold of the sky.  Why?
Maybe a transgression small as the careless flap
of a swallow tail’s wing, a well-rehearsed
choreography of low pressure and cold fronts
fed by the warm waters of the past.  Perhaps
in the eye there is respite, for a time. 
Sunlight brushes along the
sore rifts on my back,
bastering them like a turkey.
My soles stick up from the sand
as I watch large doughy clouds
roll in from the north.

Just then,
a cold Siberian wind
whispers in my ear.
"Whenever is a really long never"
All of a sudden
big bags of leaves
appear along the curbs
around the high school.
So now, instead of crushing
mailboxes with bats,
kids blast loads
of those leaves
all over the roads.
Village Vanguard Drive

Crystals from a cloudless sky
fell to "Spiritual". To "Softly
as in a Morning Sunrise" the shower
paused, the sky kept blue,
but then the street, the avenue,
the highway darkened to the awkward
almost adolescent pleading
tenor saxophone in "Chasin'
the Trane"---
and the rest
of the rain
never came.

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