Weather Vanities
The Peacock
His stained-glass taillights all a-glare
The peacock flaunts like jewels rare.
A snob, – when some slight breeze he feels,
He’ll snub you, – turning on his heels;
This jackanapes may jibe his sail,
And leave you talking to his tail;
Looks down his beak to show who’s plainest, –
Of all vane birds he is the vainest.
The Whale
Behold this pine Leviathan.
He sheds no oil for antique lamp,
He spouts a fountain in the sun,
Of all blow-hards he is the champ!
These mighty beasts all may too soon
Fall prey to Japanese harpoon,
Or Russian gun – they shoot on sight;
This vane reminds us of their plight.
And don’t mistreat this mini-whale
Or he may whop you with his tail.
The Dove
One winter night at Valley Forge
This image came to General George:
That if America finally won,
He’d fly a peace dove in the sun
Above Mount Vernon’s lofty peak
With olive branches in its beak.
Green Hopes across Time’s stormy sea
Still bear his Peace to thee and me.
The Swordfish At Night
Great fearsome fish, what north wind bade ya
Run your sword through Ursa Major?
Turning tail, he flips a flipper
And draws his weapon from the Dipper,
Swings glintingly beneath the stars,
And plants a fin on planet Mars;
Then greets the dawn with fishy eye
And stares at the wind most pointedly;
He soars through storms behind his sword
This swordfish sawed from Yankee board.
The Dragonfly
In some Dark ante-glacial age
When dinosaurs held center stage,
Winds bore colossal dragonflies
Draggin’ their torsos through the skies.
You don’t believe it? Well, for proof, see
That one roosting on my rooftree!
A replica all plexiglas-slick
Monster from the Age Jurassic
Less fly than dragon this fierce critter
Sets insect-eating birds a-twitter.
The Butterfly
Yon stained-glass butterfly, behold!
She rides aloft through heat and cold,
The wind’s her ever-fixéd mark,
She turns toward it, dawn to dark.
A tiny angel freed from some
Church window, Chartres or Notre Dame;
She filters sunlight’s rainbow hues,
And spangles roofs in reds and blues.
The Mermaid
All hail this mermaid of the air
So buxom, blythe, and debonair;
She breasts wild winds with bosom bare,
And braves the snow with savoir faire.
So floats my maiden-of-the-sea in
Gales that daunt the human bein’.
Just now a sailor (kite) flies by
Makes crude remarks with roguish eye…
“Beat it! Split! You lewd jack-tar,”
Cries la sirena de la mar.
How To Mount A Grasshopper Vane
This is no well-protected bug
Berthed snugly in the parlor rug,
Or nestled in some ugly jug;
-He’s braced against the stormwind’s tug.
So drill the shaft in good and proper
Lest your windvane come a cropper.
(Earthquakes have been known to stop
And even drop a copper “hopper.”)
The Vanes in Maine
The Mainiac,
whene’re the foghorns blow,
Can’t see his vane
for fog, or rain, or snow.
But weatherwise
he’s mainly in the know,
And well forewarned
by CB radio.
And weathervanes?
The fisherman with brains
Will hardly deign
To look whir way again, –
Those drizzly Down East
fogbanks make it plain
Why vanes in Maine
Turn vainly in the rain.
– All Poems © March, 1978 by John T. Coolidge
