I’LL FOLLOW THE SUN
(Clouds Need Not Apply)

The sunny days in Buffalo,
Are few and far between,
So when one comes I rue the clouds
To me they are obscene.
I turn my nose up to the sky
To blow off Cumulus Nimbus,
And tote the SPF for now
So old Sol doesn’t crisp us.
These clouds can come another time
I mean not to be rude,
Just let me enjoy it while I can
(as long as I’m in the mood)
Blueness in the sunny sky,
All you clouds, need not apply!

Clouds are Confusing?

Partly cloudy? Partly sunny?
Tell me,
What's the difference, honey?

Okay, okay ... so I'll write something better later... :)

HA! Good one, Walt!

CLOUDS

Obscure vision,
block light,
and provide
necessary moisture.
Make me appreciate
clear days.
I think I’ll keep ‘em.

Clouds of December

Clouds of December,
painting paths and rooftops white.
Peace in the village.

Clouds my mind

Doubt sneaks in
When I'm longing
for his voice
his touch, his arms
wrapping me in his warmth

It makes me cloudy
with a chance of tears
and strikes of
grumpiness are likely

His smile is the sunshine
that clears up my fears
His laughter and mine
the umbrella
to ward off the tears

So hurry, hurry, darling
back to my arms
A storm is a-brewin'
and I need my rock
to hold on

Clouds of Memory

Thoughts of you drift away
like clouds on a windy day,
breezing by one by one
covering up my happy sun.

Dark and menacing thoughts of you
haunt me the whole night through,
as I wonder if tomorrow
clouds will hide my every sorrow.

laurie k.

Marie- you crack me up =)

Hey now, Walt....
I'm in Buffalo, too...
it's not so bad

Pamela, I'm a lifer for sure, but jeez, it's wearing me out. I guess one woman's paradise is another man's LIVING HELL! JK ;)

Day 16 Clouds:

Clouds the View

He clouds the view
with rainbow hues,
dotting the sky blue

Apologies in advance for multiple days' postings.... I've fallen behind was away for weekend... This posting from Day 11 CONSTRUCTION I could not and still cannot get to post on correct day..comes up as a server error so here it is... I will do my best to get caught up today and put postings here and also on days where they belong! Hoping this doesn't create any annoyance or inconvenience for anyone........



Construction


There on the shore
my father and I
sea breezed blown
he tanned and
black haired
waiting at a sanded
mound
I ferrying
Fantasia's beach
buckets of sea
water
He drizzling
into magical
being a castle
three quarters
as tall as I
All afternoon
we worked the
sun lowering in
the sky
people walking
by and stopping
to look to smile
a trio of tow-headed
siblings watching
for long minutes
thumbs in mouths
dumbfounded
until they were called
away
Finally sand golden
sun setting
He drizzled
wet sand
through his hands
squeezing a draped
doorway into life
a small fuschia flag
posted and waving
in the salty air
and I
watched
my father
my castle
and the sudden
unnoticed inexcorable
creep of the tide
lapping at its sides
I leaned against him
inhaling the scent
of him - cigarettes and salt
we bought creamsicles
from the man who came
around one last time
In the orange light
the bittersweet taste
of citrus and cream
on my lips
the gentle tide
turned - rose and pushed
waves closer - inch by inch
until in a sudden lurch
of powerful spray
all that remained
was a tiny fushia flag
floating out to sea
My fathers arm
stayed around my shoulders
as we sat in the chill
of bittersweet
inevitability

Marie Elena - that was hilarious!!!

Looks like we're off to a great start!

Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Hair

It’s cloudy, rainy,
wet and dreary.
It causes bad hair –
that’s my theory.

Clouds/At An Ungodly Hour

He leaves for San Francisco, at an ungodly hour.
He’s supposed to come back home later in the week.
The pilot receives instruction from the air traffic tower.
as he leaves for San Francisco, at an ungodly hour.
O keep him safe; please let no cloud devour
him, as he speeds towards that possibility, I feverishly speak.
He leaves for San Francisco, at an ungodly hour.
He’s supposed to come back home later in the week.

Walt.....
LOL!!!
After a stroke and recovery,
every day on this side of the daisies is good,
but I can't stand the cold anymore.
Warmer parts are calling my name!
:)

I hear you loud and clear, Dear!

CLOUDS ATE
JANE’S WISHES


jane says all her wishes
aimed at the night stars
somehow get trapped
in the clouds that hide
in the shadow of the moon

they eat them up
she tells her grandpa
who plays along
with tsk-tsk and oh my
they swallow them whole

and the day clouds
what about them
but she laughs and says
grandpa, don’t you know
anything about clouds

the sun keeps them good
jane says to the old man
the sun burns away
what they might hide
in their cotton clothes

but those night clouds
oh grandpa all my wishes
they snatched from stars
and that old lazy moon
just closed its crater eyes

#

Clouds on sidewalks

She runs for a dandelion
intent on yellow
unaware
her tiny rubber boots
ripple
the very heavens

Linda Voit

"clouds in my coffee"

Carly says it's about
the confusing aspects
of life and love.
So I ask, is there
something about those
which would not be
confusing. I'll
take my coffee
with cream, please.

FOR YOU BLUE
(Cloudless Skies)

Azure is the morning sky,
a tint that's so serene,
quite a lovely sunrise
as this, I've never seen.

I awoke to sounds springtime,
birds high in the trees,
the gentle rush of leafless branches
flutter in the breeze.

My calendar is surely stuck,
as sure as I remember
the date upon my newspaper
says the middle of November.

Internal clocks have gone amiss,
I should be hibernating,
as winter come to the Northeast,
why is this weather waiting?

A constant tease with clearer skies
is starting to get annoying,
the weather guys around this place
are on the screen enjoying

malaprop's of meteorological mayhem,
although extremely warm,
they make no sense with their pretense
of fair to partly thunderstorm.

I love the four seasons, I'll admit,
(Swearin' to God, every song!)
But I cannot keep from having fits,
when their "models' turn out wrong.

So make it easy on yourselves,
and please for crying out loud,
Just make with the sunny days
and ashcan all those clouds.

For shortly here, the snows will fly,
and bury us in white,
but until then, I'll ask, 'my friend'
to keep the clouds from sight.






Reports call for a decent day,

Clouds- Defining Literal Mystification


There are a few things that
exist
that are nothing but mist
but those things are
wet and clearly
are what they are
you can see them up
close you can see
them from afar
these misty type things
can rise from a teapot
to hang in the air
these misty type things
coalesce in a
a low lying fog
here and there
these misty type things
swirl on moors, floors
and doors
lending wet life
to many literary
and not classic metaphors
But standing alone
and on high
up up way up there
are the cirrus
stratus, nimbus
and cumulae
Forming shape
and texture
oft cotton candied
puffed fluff
that floats
them beyond
all other more
prosaic wet-bound
misty stuff

Metaphoric of course
in their own right
is true
But a cloud clouds
its essential essence
in a self
transformation
A cloud clouds its
mist to exist as
a poignant proclamation
that even the humblest of
droplets and dew
gathered together
few upon million few
Can take what is mist
and create something
colossally, phenomenally
celestially new

Linda Voit - what a lovely little watercolor

Cloud Commute

Once I tried to do yoga outside, on my pallet like wooden deck. Assuming, everyone else would be at work or school or certainly not in the back yard. I was in triangle pose and I was staring up at the sky, surprised at how fast clouds can move, remembering my old commute to work, thinking we never moved that fast. That really large cloud was an SUV and changed lanes without signaling. Next to him an old sedan, probably an Oldsmobile but I can’t tell from this distance, driven by a tiny old man – see the puffs of his hair? – is going well below the speed limit. Someone honks. Not a car honk but more like the horn you might add to your bike, one that is on a bright blue bike being ridden through my neighbors back yard. Their grand son. Maybe 6. He is turning in circles and I can’t bring myself to go back down to complete Triangle on my other side. I stretch my arms above my head, act like I am done. I don’t even take the time to roll up my mat. Instead, I step back into the air conditioning of my house, blinking away the floaters in front of my eyes as I re-adjust to being inside.

Clouds Above Too Often

It's cloudy again
Here in Syracuse
No surprise
I wouldn't mind clouds at night
Providing a blanket
To keep in any warmth
But clouds all day
Every day
No thanks
That little bit of sun
Peaking out now and then
Is quite a welcome sight
More sun
Less clouds, please

Clouded Judgment

When Nimbuses
meet Cumuli
it’s like a storm
with Incubi

They tango
tall and fastigate.
If you are out -
absquatulate!

Do not hang out
in their tempest,
unless your judgment’s
cloudiest.

(1. fastigate - tall, erect, in a column
2.absquatulate - running away, often with something or someone)

Cloud Bank

The God of Odd Ends
wistfully demands some
attention. Aching to be
taken as seriously as the
sweeping blank fog, or
the questions behind clouds,
or even steamy Old Faithful
worshiped at Yellowstone.
But belief has drained off.

Quietly ensconced in blue
pebbles of glass, strewn across
the grocery store parking lot
without complex doctrine, the
Unexplainable God hopes to
re-group in an unshattered state.
Clouds, after all, still shape
and reshape. Their silence
sparkling in water, clearly rises.

Clouds Float By

As I lay upon my back
I gaze up at the sky,
I wonder why
all the animals are floating by.

Clouds Overtook

Clouds overtook the clear, blue sky
and swirled overhead last week.
A menancing grayness appeared up above.
The threatening forecast was bleak.

Clouds overtook the colors of sun
and filled the air with a chill.
Too heavy to keep all the rain they contained,
they pelted my spirit and will.

Clouds overtook my lightness of heart
and replaced it with colors of sad.
But under the shadows, a beacon appeared
to illuminate all that I had.

White, puffy clouds overtook the gray,
giving way to an unyielding light.
From love that surrounds me and keeps me fulfilled,
The forecast within me is bright.

Cloud Bank

The God of Odd Ends
wistfully demands some
attention. Aching to be
taken as seriously as the
sweeping blank fog, or
the questions behind clouds,
or even steamy Old Faithful
worshiped at Yellowstone.
But belief has drained off.

Quietly ensconced in blue
pebbles of glass, strewn across
the grocery store parking lot
without complex doctrine, the
Unexplainable God hopes to
re-group in an unshattered state.
Clouds, after all, still shape
and reshape. Their silence
sparkling in water, clearly rises.

Thanks RJ. Thanks a lot! My thesaurus just blew a microchip. Do it in English next time! ;)

Clouds Intent

When life on the ground,
Brings us down.
And we pick up that coffee cup!

Clouds uplift us,
That is their business,
Giving us a reason to look up!

Sorry Walt! But yes - that was in English - even if it was somewhat antiquated and obscure and even (ahem) cloudy in meaning,
hehehehehe

CLOUDS BELOW ME, CLOUDS BEFORE ME
(Bellerophon)

They gather to watch me move in blessed trajectories,
parabolic master of my steed, superstar aviator with
all his eccentricities:
what won't he do for publicity's sake.
Whirlwind dive or an elegant loop always does the trick,
crowd goes wild, sonic booming on the ground.
It's not like the old days,
when behind every puff of sky-cotton was a dogfight,
and an overcast sky could rain fire on the city;
now there's no one left to shoot.
Climbing ever higher into that awful blue,
breaking records and setting your own,
nowhere to go but further up,
and the taste of ozone stings your tongue.
What glory is there now
for heroes to achieve?
Could fly all the way to heaven on this thing, this
aerodynamism, steel
stallion, this
challenge
to all the gaping holy spirits of the curious atmosphere.

Wonderful poems continue to grace these pages day after day. Thank you all for sharing your gift of words.

Hello to all and apologies again to all... I am finally caught up and continue to have enormous difficulty posting.... so here are my missing 3 and I will when time permits post them in their proper days.......

15 Hanging


By a thread
up ahead
pounding
pulse
in the throat
Is not good
Should could
would
tension
mounts
pulse a-banging
as cresendoed
terror
leaves
calm breath
hanging



14 Lines

It was there on
the page given to
task lines upon lines
what about them to ask
There are lines in sweet
faces and lines born of frowns
There are lines drawing ups
and lines just as well
drawing downs
There are lines that aren't real
and are drawn in stone and in sands
There are lines of white substances
that take some to faraway dangerous lands
There are lines upon lines of words
that are wrought
and are written
There are lines that are biting
and lines sweetly smitten
There are lines that are proper and
nicely parallel
There are lines that intersect
and those courteously do quite well
There are lines that are shouted
whispered and sung
There are lines that
drift and float in the air hung
There are lines
of full voices melodious
There are rough lines spat
in commissions felonious
The task of all lines
would have each taker
on que
for multiple life-times
of which I cannot
and shall not do


13 Renewable


Renew?
Who knew
love you
could do

CLOUDS BEFORE DAWN

Sleepy fog wafts over cold
damp grass, slick streets,
our roof. We breathe in
water vapor, breathe out
our own warm mist.
These earth-bound clouds
surround us with soft insides,
a cocoon against the sunrise
that creeps up with its
uncompromised light.
Sometimes I prefer
this shadowy vision,
this ethereal state,
this space
between what I dream of
and what is.

ENCLOSED

Long lean ribs of
clouds reach spaces
where I can see no
longer. Pale pink,
resembling the color
of baby, kissed cheeks;
awash beneath the cage,
a soothing back-drop.
Horizon meets tumbling
ledge, stunning contrast
of gray; rocks meet earth,
a sun-burnt, yellow field
waiting for its downy blanket.
Expanse of nondescript plain
becomes individual hardened
stalks of thick grass set in
motion by wind, just before my
feet. Feet that long to run.
Planted on dappled pavement,
unable to move. Astounded
by beauty, simple and pure.
Nature's gift everyday.

LUCY IN THE SKY WITH DIAMONDS
(Head in the Clouds)

Daydreams come.
Wide-awake wonder
in a neat little catnap.
Lost in the fog of
somnambulist ambiguity,
not thinking with my write mind,
only knowing that
whatever magic graces my page
will make as much sense
as a natty little jaunt back
through the sixties.
If you claim to remember,
Then you have your head up your…
Hey, look at the pretty clouds!

Day 16 – Clouds

Clouds in my coffee
Swirling milky white
foam of milk
Dark latte
smelling sweet and bitter

Clouds in my thinking
Swirling fog mist
wash of voices
Dark thoughts
feeling cold and vague

Clouds in my vision
Swirling colours
sea of tears
Dark sadness
colouring my heart

Clouds in my heart
Swirling open
burst of emotion
Dark joy
for all to see

Lol Marie Elena.
***


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DA

My eleven year old character wrote these. Blame her.


Clouds

C louds
L oftily
O ver
U s
D rifting
S ailing by

C ottony
L umpy
O minous
U ndersides gray
D rifting
S hifting, ponderous, bringing the rain

C ats pouncing
L adies smiling
O wls hooting
U nicorns prancing
D ogs digging
S oldiers saluting

GOOD MORNING, GOOD MORNING
(Clouds in My Coffee)

And another day begins!
Salutations to the sun
as it passed mourning
in its ascent.
I pass my daughter
on the way to the loo,
still hazed from a fruitless
foray into dreamville.
The brew commences
offering aromas strong
with Arabica’s sweet bouquet,
a steady drip, drip, drip
into the endless urn
of life’s caffeinated dream.
Mindless in my meander,
I pour to near the brim
to jump start my awakening
only to realize I poured cream
and sweeteners ad nauseum.
Just a spit-take away
from remembering,
I take mine black!

Connie, thank your eleven-year old character. Delightful imagery.

Clouds Beneath Our Wings

Clouds obscure all view
Of the patchwork earth below
Trapping us above.

Chev, you and I were on the same wavelength:


Clouds in My Coffee

Carly said she had some dreams
and then gave us an amazing metaphor,
but what did she really mean?

When I pour cream in my coffee,
it makes clouds for a moment then diffuses,
smoothes out to a uniform tan.
I guess she meant she was once so naïve,
then he dumped her, and all the ephemera
of her hopes and dreams washed out
into a bland coffee-colored sky.

I still have dreams, but they’re puffs
of creamy cumulus that trundle overhead.
I worry though, that if those clouds
ever reach me on the ground,
they’ll dissipate, and I’ll be lost in the fog.



And here's a "bonus" poem I wrote a while ago:


Clouds in the Jaguar Window

Natural selection on the highway -
the Jaguar cuts in front of me at the light,
buffed and detailed, a sleek animal
the color of a Colt revolver,
its occupant, suited, cellphone to skull,
speaking to someone, no doubt,
more important than me.

But before the light changes,
before he gets another five-second jump on life,
cumulus clouds from the windy blue sky
reflect on his rear window.
They roll across like screen credits,
chiaroscuro on smoky glass,
steaming majestically to their next country.

And when we ply the road again,
I want to pull my unworthy minivan
abreast of him, and mouth these words
to his air-conditioned window:
Thank you.

Thank you for reminding me
that the clouds still travel untethered,
even over you.

Clouds of Character Consciousness

the book is closed, the jacket on

inside, like people caught in a 'freeze time' spell,
the characters stop what they were doing and wait.

Are they happy, reliving their stories over again?
Would the reader prefer they do something different?

Are they conscious of the world outside their pages?
Do their thoughts coalesce like clouds above the covers?

I picked up an Enid Blyton the other day – the same edition
I read as a child in the sixties with 2/6 on the corner
of the dog-eared cover.
And disregarding the upper-class hints of post-war racism,
I was transported back to an England where it was safe
to leave your door unlocked
and the postman always said 'hello'
where children could roam the countryside without fear
and the lady at the post office knew your name.

And I decided the it was better they didn't change
I don't think they'd like it here.

Clouds We Push Away

Finding a way to re-make
my heart
You come inside
a doctor
And slice open
my chest
Write across it
Your name
Using an arrow
you make
with busy hands

Lying on our backs
in recovery
Close to the sky
the earth holds us

You show me how to push them back

Clouds on the Saddleback

Clouds
Rushed
Danced
Pushed
Us as we traversed the land

Ghosts
Menaced
Tickled
Engulfed
Us high up in the hills

Vapors
Billowed
Grabbed
Hugged
Us as we traveled

With a bow to Mr. Murphy and his law this submission on its correct day 14 went through on the first attempt just as I noticed that I had written "que" instead of "queue" .... Everything is now in its place and FYI it did take 14 submissions to day 14 to make the correction! Sometimes you just have to laugh :) ........well the way things are going it is taking me far longer to post than to write.


Lines

It was there on
the page given to
task lines upon lines
what about them to ask
There are lines in sweet
faces and lines born of frowns
There are lines drawing ups
and lines just as well
drawing downs
There are lines that aren't real
and are drawn in stone and in sands
There are lines of white substances
that take some to faraway dangerous lands
There are lines upon lines of words
that are wrought
and are written
There are lines that are biting
and lines sweetly smitten
There are lines that are proper and
nicely parallel
There are lines that intersect
and those courteously do quite well
There are lines that are shouted
whispered and sung
There are lines that
drift and float in the air hung
There are lines
of full voices melodious
There are rough lines spat
in commissions felonious
The task of all lines
would have each taker
on queue
for multiple life-times
of which I cannot
and shall not do

Marie Elena, your poem made me smile. Portland weathermen have more euphemisms for rain, including partly sunny and partly cloudy. Why not just call a spade a spade? :)

Linda Voit, nice to see you again on this blog. What lovely imagery!

Clouds
Hide you
Shrouds
Of silence
Louder
Sirens
Wailing
Cry.

Clouds, like mist on the water, like rain on the land
Like misunderstandings and anger that stands
In the way of the brighter, the view
Clouds are hiding you still.

Clouds, like nymphs in the drifting of memory and lifting
The shadow reminds me and hallows the land
Of the future, to know you, I’ll hold
Clouds in memory still.

Clouds are the secrets we’re keeping the sorrows the weeping
The watching the staying remembering seeking
You seeking me seeking the world
Seeking life that fulfills.

Clouds of unknowing of growing the child makes his choices
The parent can shout but I’ll listen to voices
Of love and I’ll know that your future
Is yours in your will.

Clouds
Reveal you
Crowds
Retreating
Louder
Seeing
You’re still
Around.

CLOUDS OVER SMOKESTACKS

[It is a city of magnipotent chimneys.
- Elihu Burritt, A Walk from London to John O’Groats (1864)]

You spent an hour here, having tea with a Friend.
This industrial city famous for its textiles,
the “St. Peter’s of Coat-and-trouserdom” –
you noted the rivers, streams, canals
running blue and black with dyes; the chimneys
standing tall and thick as trees on the heights
and in the hollows, exhaling black clouds
of smoke. This was the kind of place you left behind,
two hundred miles away – London – seeking
cleaner air; your blacksmith lungs already
coal-smoked. It’s taken miles “by staff”
to make a sound walker of you again. Don’t
stay too long here.

Clouds of Words

The fog rolls in and clouds her mind
The words are shrouded from speech
It shouldn’t be happening to one so young
Yet the tumor still grows and takes its toll

Try as she may the words can’t come
The guessing game ensues, what does she mean
When she says coin and really means the keys
Compassion makes us play this game

Ironically scrabble is her favorite game
In this game of words she can’t be beat
She can’t say the words she spells
Or express how she feels when I am beat

But the delight is worth the price
To see the clouds lift for a while
While she beats me at words I freely speak
As sisters we play in a life she is loosing

One more for today...

Clouds Take Shape

C ats stalking
L lamas munching
O rangutans hanging around,
U nicorns running
D ingoes howling
S ilverbacks pounding the ground.

T apir’s snorting
A lligators seeking
K inkajou peeking, and
E lephants taking a bath.

S kunks sulking
H edgehog snuffling
A ardvark sucking ants,
P anther watching
E lk eating plants.

16 CLOUDS

My favorites are the pink and purple streaks
With golden rays pouring columns of light
Through a Midwest sunset over the lake

But the puffy cotton bales in clumps against blue
That mirror the sheep in clumps against green
On a brilliant yellow day
Can make my heart sing

The polished blank sheets of steel
Providing a stark backdrop to skeletal trees
Send me under the blankets

But the misty, wet thunderheads
Closing in on the rocky sea
wash my soul clean,
with inspiration and pure energy

Clouds, I Love Them

Clouds don’t amuse
most people. However, I love
it when these puffs appear, protecting
me, if only for a half-beat moment, putting
that dastardly sun in his place, my beautiful orbs
of white refusing to let that orange beast burn
my skin or dart fire rays into my eyes.
These buttermilk balls soften
my world, helping me make believe
I could run a marathon or dance
Swan Lake or write a masterpiece. If my shadowy
friends appear gray and angry, portending
rain and thunder and lightning, I become more excited
because, then I know I am the ruler
of the world as I storm across its vastness.

Kudos to you Chev. Apparently a few of us have taken inspiration from your murky caffeinated brew. Great lead.

clouds obscure thought,
memories which were
etched in stone,
thought permanent,
have eroded over time
(time our great
friend and nemesis)
are now mere
shadow puppet
theater.

Gave up coffee on april 13th.
Will try to start a green tea posse tomorrow ;-)

"Clouds Float By"

Darling lay with me
underneath the sky
upon a downy blanket
we'll watch the clouds float by.

The sun is shining
bright and warm
the birds are singing too
hold my hand
and lay with me
we'll watch the clouds float by.

My heart, my body,
and my soul
I place within your hands
Darling, keep them always
as the clouds float by.

Daniel, Clouds of December is a wonderful haiku.
Salvatore, Clouds Ate Jane's Wishes made me smile.
Connie, Michelle H. - nice work
Kumari de Silva, I liked Cloud Bank.
Susan Schoeffield, I like your poem.

Choices: Day 16: Clouds ___________________


Clouds intimidate

unless you’re Linus, lying with your friend
on warm and waiting ground, eyes skyward,
watching clouds drift and puff: Mozart
playing his piano, the Taj Mahal being built,
Madame Curie, in her lab, saving the world.

Charlie Browns of the world, when asked
what you see, gather courage and speak your
truth: “I see only duckies and horsies.”
Then realize: what our eyes behold is needful to
the heart of humanity: the miracle in every day.

So applaud, if you will, the brilliant dreamer who
floats in clouds above, but save some thanks for
the sturdy soul who, firmly grounded, day by day,
walks the earth, brave enough to bear witness to
the extra in the ordinary.

“Clouds Form”

Face up on the lush green lawn,
Returning to an easier time,

We watch, clouds drift, lazy afternoon,
Cumulus releasing energy, sublime.

Look, the vapor mushrooms and heaps,
Incredible, billowy, swelled forms.

See the “Rhino” his horn three dips
Resembling snow cones , or a unicorn.


Cirrus face, curly hair, piled so high,
Day is warm, puzzling to think, ice crystals hide inside.

Our imaginations build, we’re into our focus
Floating past, a new creature occupies its place,

Sunshine heats, taking its break, before
Sending down shadow, caressing my face.

Do you see the mammatus pouch,
Left after last night’s storm?

Wish we could lie here till life’s end,
Or from easy time when we were born.

Ninacarole
11/16/09

Clouds in his Head

He started off with his head in the clouds
(Oh you see where this is going, do you?)
Living for next year
(because tomorrow was just too close)
Making plans on the run
Never considering they wouldn’t happen
Until one day he woke up and asked me my name
And I had to explain that we had been married
Fifteen years.

Clouds gather

somewhere else
and turn black
and broil above the prarie
and bang shutters till the pins knock out
and rain so loud no one could hear any
pair of soaked and sudden lovers
cry out
the horses rearing
the tin buckets banging
and someone pulling safely into the drive
at just the right time

and here
it is almost always perfect
perfect blue
every day
perfect trees still
driveways dry and clean
no need to meet the neighbors
they're fine
their cat is fine
their car is clean
perfect life
still life
life without clouds

CLOUDS IN THE WEST

but not here, over this summer
mountain meadow abloom with lupine
and butterweed, indian paintbrush,
mules-ears, columbine, and larkspur,
hellebore and scarlet bugles. A chickadee
calls from the lodgepole pine,
a nutcracker scolds from a snag.
The willow thicket sings with warblers.
A brisk wind reminds of weather,
but the trail over the pass is beckoning
with promise of alpine lakes
on the other side. You’ve got your
jacket, camera, and a lunch. Oh, you’ve
heard of hikers caught by storms –
lightning strike and hailstones, even
snow in July. But look, those
clouds are a hundred miles away.
No chance, surely, it’ll storm here –
not today.

(Robert, you've got guts--tell a bunch of poets: start with clouds)


clouds gray as old fence
beyond the pale winter prowls
and growls at the light

November this year’s been bright blue
and copper shiny, peaceful as a well-fed cat,
fat as harvest, and as easy
on the mind as on the eyes.
Like company that washes dishes
you want to say: stay, through the winter.
Yet every day grows that much shorter.

Daniel Paicopulus and Cara Holman,
Thanks for the kind words. Good to be back. Just catching up!

For anyone interested, I have a small prose piece in the Readers Write section of The Sun Magazine's December issue due out in a couple weeks. I'm very excited about it. Love The Sun -- no ads, great reading, and includes poems each month, too.

Lori P. - clouds in his head is a very powerful poem.

Clouds backstroke across
the sky, changing from pure white
to blackened pillows.

RAIN
(Part Two)


concrete colored clouds
darkened and heavy with rain
forget your parade

Tag Cloud

Outside the phantom screen, the
sliding door partly opened, I know
the pool is warm and sun is kind
it's mid November and Tahquitz god
resides on the red-tinged hill
from where thunder rolls down
Chino Canyon, sometimes it wants
to rain but can't, we are the last
stop against the tall mountains
that separate us from the coast
where the ocean resides, a shadow
pain of some kind, you can save
yourself from drowning in sand dunes
by throwing a coat on your head
you left a paint stained white shirt,
they tell me the clouds will
dissipate, leave me behind, it's
winter, I shoud open the blinds

Ruth Nolan

For my son:

Blue skies, white fluffy
Clouds floating above, Tillman’s
Favorite kind of day

An unedited 3 minute poem, so do forgive.


Clouds of...

If there is one thing that plagues me
and clouds my mind,
stopping my pen and
stilling my fingers--
it is the doubt
that all writers face.

Do I have anything to say?
Is it...
worthwhile, interesting, engrossing...
enough?

Does anyone care about my...
words, thoughts, dreams, or
the arguments my characters have in my head
when no one is looking?

But like all clouds, doubt
may engulf me one day
to leave me singing under a blue sky the next.

"It going to rain."

I glance up,
clouds again.

breathe in,
taste the air,
eying the gray
cenizo bush
and the green buds
on the crepe myrtle
and the blue flash
of the jay scolding
squirrels in the
hackberry.

You know many
things perhaps.

I know only
the pitch and roll
and harsh heat
of this small scrap
of country and that
it will not
rain

not today, or even
tommorow.

"It going to rain."
You repeat it and
I shrug and leave you
to yours, and me to
mine.

Clouds, a.k.a. Fog

Sometimes clouds visit
Down on the street where we live
So, why change their name?

Daniel, this is my favorite of your Peace series so far. Love the image and feel of it.

Walt and RJ, you guys should do standup together! LOL!

Thanks for all the mentions about my whatcha-call-it Haiku. That totally took me by surprise. :)

Lovely, Pamela.
Salvatore, you put a smile on my face. Completely endearing.

IF ONLY I Were a CLOUD,

If I was SOMETHING NEW,
That easily SHOULD do!

I could CONSTRUCT,
ANOTHER ANGLE!

Where I'd be HANGING,
Or simply dangle!

I'd know LOVE,
Puffy and white,
Up above,

I'd generate,
Fear, anguish and (ANTILOVE) hate!
If I became dark, black and irate!

I could be small and gentle as a lamb,
Or as hard looking as a large barge,
Just know without any doubt,
I'd pack a POSITIVE/NEGATIVE charge!

My rain could provide,
New PLANT GROWTH,
Unless I took an oath,
To create a SLIPPERY slope . . .
Would I do that?
Nope!

I could whip up such a storm,
Causing destruction to any form.
LINES would be knocked down,
Snow would COVER them on the ground.

MAYBE then I would move,
ASIDE for the sun.
RENEWING that warmth for us all,
Would really be fun!

(For Robert L. Brewer . . . thank you for this poetic romp!
It is a sincere thank you for each daily prompt! :)

now this is just weird. I spent a year writing about nothing but clouds. This was several years ago. I guess I was stuck in a rut of some sort. Now, I have this prompt. Very cool. Oh, before I forget, tomorrow is Parent Teacher Conference, I will not be around. Anyone know why we teachers have to meet the parents?

Answer: So we have a reason to forgive the children.

Ok, it's a teacher's joke.

Ralph.

Pearl: Such a lovely and heartwarming memory. I'm glad you posted your construction poem today, or I might have missed it.

Clouds who are not there

Cloudy skies that bring no rain
A cure to this never ending pain
To some it’s all the same
as long as there’s someone to blame

Like clouds who are not there
they offer hope, when they do not care
but, for their own political gain
while others don’t even know their name

Who is this you might ask
those politicians, one and all
who claim to be up to the task
when really, only their shadow stands tall

This is just the way it is
the way it’s always been
nobody just up and gives
in any war, someone has to win

It’s always those with the means
hardly ever those with the dreams
their heads floating in a cloud
to far gone to make anyone proud

Sometimes, cloudy skies bring no rain
for some it’s always the same
to others, they have only themselves to blame
that they must learn to live with lifelong pain. . .

©Ralph J. Fitcher, November 16, 2009, here the term pain is a metaphor for the loss of dignity,
starving, begging, etc. To bring light to the lives of those who are not even in the low class, let
alone the middle class.

Clouds Loom

Overhead, blocking my vision
of the skyline hovering over the city
when skies are azure blue.

Dark clouds fill me with dread
of impending storms ahead
when nature rears its ugly head

with crackling lightning,
sonorous thunder, fierce winds,
leaving destruction in its path.

But puffy white clouds create
patterns in the sky of bears and birds
and balls— friendly and fun to watch.

With apologies to Robert, I wrote these cloud poems this summer when I was on a bit of a cloud kick...
With compliments to all enduring poets--really enjoying the words and the lines but can't keep up the pace like I managed to do in April. Still dropping by to read--everyone's poems have a magnetic appeal!


ODE TO CLOUDS

Sitting on the back deck
Coffee in hand
Feels like I am in Montana
Or maybe Saskatchewan
The cumulous clouds are rolling
Changing their shapes
Sometimes there are camels
Or elephants or apes
In the big sky like Montana
Or prairie wispy dogs of Saskatchewan


JUNE DAYS

I could sit and watch
Clouds
All day
First a “J”
Then a boot
It morphed into a butterfly
White and pristine
Transformed into a llama
Then galloped away.


Looking forward to enjoying the November poems by the PAD challengers!

Patricia A. McGoldrick

~Cloud Sheep Hiku~

Sky sheep playing tag
Frisking through the breezy blue
As fleecy clouds do

---

Clouds unfurl

like laundry on the line.
Two lost arts in one:
the only country fresh air
instilled in my sheets
comes from a box,
the only cloud-watching
with skeptical eye,
gauging the storm,
expecting the worst.

One of these days
I will find the time,
string up laundry with
clothespinned patience,
stretch out on green grass,
watch sheets and clouds
mingle in endless blue.

I’ll lose myself
in breezy wonder,
remember for once
to unfurl this tense body,
to drift away
in sun and sheets
and sky.

SEVEN MILES HIGH ON A CLOUDY DAY
(C) Rich Atwater, Major, USAF, Retired

Look! Look! Look! At the snow!
But no, it's not snow, it's clouds!
From 35,000 feet in the air
On my Lear jet roar engines aloud.

The view from down under
Is landscape of white,
A blanket that covers the earth.

The people below on terrestrial globe,
They can not see sky or the sun.
But here in my wondrous flying machine,
Celestial vision is won.

The view 'cross my wing
"Tis of gold, white, and blue;
Of sun, passing jet, and the sky.

Oh what a marvelous sight to behold,
The glory of God's universe.
Treasure the moments of time passing swiftly
As we journey on life's onward course.

Clouds Afar

Off the coast of Africa
a low in the air pressure
moves west-northwest, circle-ing
counter clockwise over
empty ocean, seen only
by satellite spy eyes.
St. Kitts and Nevis, St. John
and the rest, watch the monster
grow and hold their breath.



slow but steady, right? Day 5 is up, . Easy to find--last one :)

Clouds Comfort Me

Clouds comfort me
on hot summer days
when there is no shelter
from the relentless heat
of a scalding sun.
Clouds comfort me
when my eyes burn
with the salt of tears,
and I seek cool shadows,
and dark, quiet spaces
where I can curl up,
and hide myself in sleep.
And even when I feel well,
and the sun’s generous heat
fills me with passion and joy,
I love those wisps of drifting white,
and the whipped, creamy mounds
of fair weather cumulous,
how their small shadows
trace cooling fingertips
across hot and shining skin.
I am a lover of clouds—
Predictors of wind and weather,
a textured canvas overhead,
where nature paints her moods
in brilliant color and dazzling light.

J. Hugh MacDonald

"Clouds are Illusions"

Hope like lightening
quickens the night
my heart beats
to thunder
I stop
and turn my face
to the rain.
You said wait so
I waited.
You never said
you weren't
coming back.
I feel them
dark, heavy, wet
crushing each thought
with raindrops.
Hope like lightening
reveals the sky
I don't believe in clouds.
I can see through them.
I can see blue, just
like your eyes.
You're coming home.

Clouds’ Pictures

We lay down, you and I
In clover scented grass
And traced pictures in the clouds
Observing unseen fingers that
Pinched and pulled at corners
We shared dreams
And traced pictures of our future
Unsubstantial as clouds
We pinched and pulled at possibilities

Clouds Under My Fingernails

Today: let sky be earth and a dig in for a while.
Today is Monday. Earthworms ride the jetstream.

I have my gardening clogs on; a hoe leans by
the upended shed. The sky is full of roots.

Not a single bomb has fallen, because to fall
would be to rise, and the computer guidance

systems cannot fathom that raw error.
In a bunker in Idaho, a programmer suicides.

I’m sowing asparagus on a cumulus,
knee deep in little granules of moisture,

the sun in the pocket of my overalls,
the earth dripping earth into my eyes.

clouds from out of nowhere
subdue my fickle cheer
haphazzard, wayward wanton mood
to fall for such a hackneyed glossy line
and turn to gray sulks when its gone
fair-weather humor, only happy when you’re wooed

Oh Marie Elena .... Thanks for the mention, it meant as great a deal to me as when you commented on my hiding under the desks the April challenge. I hesitated posting all today but wanted a chance for some feedback out there in that wonderful warm void.... And there you were.... I've been hurrying to catch up and now that I have I am taking some time to savor and read...and hopefully have some time for some comments. Again thank you, your poems reflect a warmth and love of life that sparkles.

Clouds on the Edge

It’s sunny today, though the forecast called
for a shower sometime in the afternoon.
Perhaps the front that was coming stalled,
and the promised downpour will be here soon.

We’re taking advantage of the sun
to walk in the park. As we begin,
you take my hand, as you’ve often done,
but the bones are sharper beneath the skin.

Prepared or not, it’s never so
simple to move from day to night.
It’s sunny today, but we both know
the clouds are hovering out of sight.

Rhythm of Life

Clouds, wind-filled with ambition,
ride low across the prairie,
dark and light grays emerging
with remote light cast by a reluctant sun.

The clouds carry resurrection.
At any moment pregnant drops will feed
thirsty grasses, bur oak, and ponderosa.
Small pools will water wildlife.

I will lay on my bed,
dry and warm,
and listen to the rhythm of life
playing a melody on my roof.

Clouds Lie

Not still, but tumbling, a swirl of vapor
I thought was milk when we’d fly
at them in the Cessna. At five years old,
I couldn’t understand why clouds
looked smooth but could knock
a plane around like a boxer.

And the peach-salmon hue that makes
cars pull over to watch the sun go down:
mostly pollution. All clouds lie, but above all
the mammatus clouds, pendulous
as if to offer succor but a sign instead
of a big storm to come: no milk found here.

"Clouds Don't Care"

The wind wraps around my ears, body and face, freezing everything, I am unable to control my temperature. Gray color covers the Earths sky's on this day of high winds and the leaves give way to its power, ripping from their mother tree branches carried far from home.

I wrap myself in colors that match the day and emotion, grays, blacks. Holding a cup of hot chocolate it warms my hands, even if I can't feel much from the fingerless gloves I can keep smiling. My heart grows fond of these days knowing its always different, changing to it's own plans.

The clouds don't care, the people don't care for they have no choice.

The day is young and so am I, why fret anything.

Prepared for anything that comes my way.

Whether the weather will be kind.

No matter, I am still alive :)

Clouds Seduce Me

Clouds
Water masses
Crystals scattering light
Beckoning meandering thoughts
Charmers

Cycling Home from School
|
I remember drawing
the water cycle:
land,
water,
clouds,
and lots of arrows.

While other kids
drew rainbows,
I was tempted to draw
Cupid pulling back
his bow.

But I didn't.

I only drew
what the teacher expected.
I earned a lousy B
and cried.

Riding home
I can see Cupid there,
arrows quivering,
love amid the clouds.

Gulls mock me
as they form
the A
I still deserve.

I cry again.

Clouds That Kill

They say that Cignus Minor has rain
that means we can farm
Grow our own food again
not worry about the bacterial harm

They would be coming soon
Everyone had to leave the planet
What was once a home with room
now who could understand it
just meant everyone’s doom

So much technological growth
Meant death clouds of smoke
To man and factory both
now, it’s go outside, and choke

First the birds fell
as the poisonous began to descend
It was easy to tell
this was the beginning of the end

But, no one cared
Industry was making a profit
Scientist never dared
as they were making too much off it

Eventually, martial law went into effect
no one allowed outside
without something to protect
now, like cave dwellers we hide

Down in the darkness
afraid of the very air we used to breath
asking a long gone god forgiveness
after all, a man needs to believe

The big ships are here
soon we will look for a new home
It’s somewhere out there
until we find it, all we have left is to roam. . .

©Ralph J. Fitcher, November 16, 2009, A different kind of cloud poem. Leave it to me to think
outside the box. Actually, this was loosely based upon a book I read years ago, called “Natures End”. A
science fiction book that scared the crap out of me, only because it so can happen to us and in
this lifetime.

Clouds Weeping Silently
Sundown, quiet and peaceful in the city,
we walk along watching the clouds compose.
Reflections from the light soften the edges from the pallid core, to
the dark borders and then fade off to gray.
Gray perimeters gather the moisture and stripe down as a curtain before
the setting sun. Somewhere a child cries, somewhere a puppy howls, somewhere
death claims a soul. The clouds weep.

Cloud Moving On

for Jean


When the black cloud of close-to-death
slid to hover over someone else,
he staggered out to a puddle of sunlight.

He shook his head like a ragged dog,
shuffled feet wanting to dance,
waved his arms in the sudden fresh air,
wondered if his knees would hold.

Friends and family knew how near he’d been,
he only heard their stories.
That was enough to shiver his mind
into relishing each new moment.

CLOUDS ON HIGH

The miner knew which way to go;
his burro did as well.
To make it there ahead of snow,
they'd have to go like hell.

So upward on the mountain track
the pair kept eyes ahead,
for one misstep they'd not be back,
just given up for dead.

As winds swept down the mountainside,
dust billowed in the face,
while overhead the eagle cried,
they had to pick up pace.

Despite the setting sun behind,
in front an angry sky
brewed roiling clouds where winds now whined;
the storm fast drawing nigh.

Sudden hail fell from that gray height;
ice accomplished seeding;
red rain flowed through reflected light;
sky looked as if bleeding.

Crimson rain washed the clouds plumb out.
Their moisture had been robbed.
A storm no more, no snow to tout.
The pair began to sob.

Old miner doffed his hat; looked up
and burro tried to kneel.
"God, you have filled my empty cup.
I know that You are real."

Heads bowed, the couple plodded forth
with tears that still remained.
Once home they shared what Life is worth.
Thanksgiving's truth explained.

W

Clouds are

used to
being avoided,
dreaded,
cursed

No one ever says,
with bright voice
on the highway,
“Oh look.
I think I see some
clouds
breaking through
ahead!”

Still they persist
doing what they are
called to do

Like patient parents
of sullen teens,
usually managing
not to fly
into a rage
at those who suck down
vital moisture and shade,
still wanting
anything but them

Once in a while
the clouds look down
to see a,
craning neck,
cocked head,
silent watcher

“Look at that”

Someone sees
in them
a shape
a color
that gives pause,
someone wants to
reach up
to caress,
their soft
webbed skeins

That is when
they are most glad
that they are

a shadorma

Precipitation
(clouds her judgment)

She’s useless
when it rains, falling
drops erase
her anger
and chase false forecast: sunny,
with a chance of hope.

THEIR HEADS FULL OF CLOUDS

Why are we so desolate inside?
The soul is a desert-place.

The clouds float in our heads,
but the rain doesn’t come.

I lean toward you as if I could
cross the space between us.

I see the city behind your heart.
The sun shines over mine.

But no one sits at the tables. They aren’t
ready for the unexpected guest.

There’s just an empty cup in you,
and a dark moth in me, resting,

not far from the skirt
of the tablecloth, lifted,

but not high enough to reveal
what is hiding underneath.

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet.net

Clouds

Rain falling, dry lands gone
Clouds have gathered
Where sun once shone
Covering broken heart of mine
Ticker pattern jarred time
Space between a thudding beat
Tears have fallen, drenching feet
Have I hope to save this boat
Head above water, still I float.
Take those clouds, Lord draw them in
Spoiling a good life, now that’s a sin

Raymond Alberts

Clouds Are

Clouds are the kinetic art framed by my window,
feathered streams in flight, or piles of cumbersome cumulus,
bowling balls for thundering gods to toss up Puget Sound.
Clouds are alien lenticular ships seeking Mount Tahoma
to land and it's rain within forty-eight hours. It's raining right now.
Above, a pulled-up duvet, but that's today. I'll wake tomorrow to
the kinetic art framed by my window, a different day, a different movement,
a different piece performing between my heart and the horizon.

Clouds Can Cause Consternation

There are those for whom
cloud cover threatens
to spoil their day
with rain showers.
There are those like me
who sigh in delight
that they may write
under cover.

Cloudy to Clear
(An Ode to the Code)

I see you there,
Begging the dare,
Come on, you say,
Click away!

Just when I realize,
You again didn't go through,
Right before, I start cursing you!
You show me there's another,
Chance to edit the work.
So, I know you are helping me,
She said with a smirk!

Next time,
We submit our rhyme,
Let's give thanks to the code,
At least that much is owed.
Even if it is late at night,
We get another moment,
To make it right!

Some Sunday night highlights:
Daniel - Clouds of December-great haiku
Salvatore-Another winner on Jane's Wishes
Michelle - Clouds Float-funny, with a great last ine
Kathleen - Clouds Before Dawn - "a cocoon against the sunrise" (familiar feeling)
Laura Hohlmein-Clouds Gather- I can see your poem clearly (thru the clouds). Love the last 2 lines
Marie E.-Clouds a.k.a. Fog - Wonderful poem
De - Keep the Shardomas coming!

Clouds Clear

The rain has washed
Hate
Away

The clouds have returned to their
Normal shade of
Perfectly
Feathered
Pale
Billowy
Gray with the
Faintest touch of
Blue

The Stonecutter and the Wishing Mountain
© Rich Atwater Nov. 16, 2009

A Chinese fable, of a long tall tale, from years far gone by,
Tell of a stone-cutter who went to the mountain to do his daily employ,
With hammer and chisel, and leather gloves, he chipped away awry—
To the truth of his usefulness as a stone-block-builder of architectural joy.

Dissatisfied with his mundane task, to chip, chip away, each day,
‘Twas brought to his mind that the great old mountain held secrets to be known,
This was the place where “the Pied Piper of Hamelin” had taken the children away,
A magic mountain, with mythical wishes, but four, within the aspirant’s zone.

The sun beat down in the heat of the day, as he remained quite dissatisfied,
He thought to himself, the greatest power is the light of solar energy,
I must make a wish to be “the sun”, and thus he did, and sighed-
A relief to be released from the cutters task, to be what he wanted to be.

And now as “the sun” he shown down strong on the brow of many a man,
As “the sweat of life” swept across their face, he showed his strength and power;
Until one day there came a cloud to cover the sun, and ban—
“The light of day” for all around, from morning to the days closing hour.

So now we saw that to be “the sun” was not what he thought it to be,
For to be as a cloud seemed so much better, so he took a wish for change,
And as a cloud he covered the sun, and then began to rain, you see,
For a cloud can do what he wants to do, and cover a vast far range.

Until the wind blew across his course and drifted the cloud beyond—
The landscapes view, to another land, thus a rainbow came to view,
With sunshine, backed by a cloudy mist of rain, swept like a magic wand—
Sweeps a vision away, and brings a third wish to a dreamers cue.

Thus the prompt word “cloud” no longer will hold sway; Control---
Has shifted: I wish to be “the wind” today, to blow away the clouds,
He blew the clouds hither and thither, and also far and wide, his goal,
The strength of the wind blew ever so strong, the people were Wowed!

By the force of a hurricane, and with full gale force he blew,
And off in the distance he saw a mountain to test his mettle, strength,
So up against this mammoth, Olympian lofty peak, he made his due,
And sent a blast of air that swooped down upon her at full length.

But regardless of time and circumstance, the mountain stood firm and strong,
Immovable fortress of mighty rock, as Gibraltar on Iberian point,
The wind died out and settled down, and the clouds poured rain all day long,
“Til the sun came out and beat upon the face of the mountain joint.

And thus he saw at last to be a mountain, strong and true,
Is better by far than sun, or cloud, or even powerful wind,
And the last of four wishes granted by magic would place him among the few—
Who could rule and reign as a steadfast mountain pinned—

Against the skyline of a magical, rustic, favored land—
Whence the sun beat down upon his face but proffered no refrain,
And the clouds poured rain across the length and breadth of the mighty strand,
As the winds blew hard with all their strength but only with disdain.

Yet the mountain stood stalwart and true no matter what ever came,
Until one day, to his dismay, a stone-cutter began to chip away on him!
Bit by bit, piece by piece, blocks of stone were carved just the same—
As he had done so long ago in the strength of youth, fit and trim.

On into mid-age, and mid-life crisis, until completely dissatisfied,
Then realized he, the magical mountain offered four chances to change,
Only four wishes, and not one more, so he took them where they lied,
And they lay in the chance of his mind to choose, isn’t it ever so strange:

To be what we want to be, as “the grass is greener on the other side”.
Only to find that perhaps at home is where we ought to stay,
For “acres of diamonds” in your own back yard may be there, I confide—
If you only take time to cultivate until you hit “dirt pay”.

So remember my friend “the story of old”, of the Stone Cutter
And the Wishing Mountain; when ever you’re yearning to roam,
Perhaps it is best to “enjoy what you do”, to earn your bread and butter,
Remaining satisfied with faithful accomplishment right at home.

The Journey: Day Sixteen: “Clouds (blank)” as title.


Clouds Becoming

Cirrus, mammatus, asperatus,
cumulonimbus.
An undulation of flying rhinos
and marbled ponies.
A carousel of hump-backed camels
and fanged boars.
A mare’s tail tied
to a pink frog.
An illustrated fable
in words of sky
riding a chariot into sunset kaleidoscope.

Clouds Upon The Ocean (A Sailors Song)

Clouds upon the ocean Billow high in morning light
Gold and red the sun touched robes they wear
They rise to touch the heavens from a throne of salty gray
And in their regal glory they unite the water and the sky

If only we could climb them and obtain those lofty heights
And miles away we’d see the homes that we had left behind
Afloat upon the ocean mistress to a sailors heart
But a sailors heart is fickle and it pines to see the shore

So today we’ll kiss your frothy lips that beat upon our bow
While I long for your sweet ruby lips that wait for me abroad
With the fragrance of an ocean breeze that rises with the spray
I’ll imagine your sweet perfume as I place my lips upon your neck

The clouds upon the ocean see you better than I do
In the west wind drifting onward towards my departed home
If only I could climb them leave this ship upon the waves
Feel the touch of heaven that in your presence waits

For memories sink slowly beneath the ocean waves
In the wind they drift away beyond horizons lost
And with the passing of the day you’ll be but just a dream
While on the ocean I’ll remain beneath those lofty clouds

"Clouds Witness"

From clouds
to rain
to puddles
and lakes

we drink
and eat because of it,

giving us the strength
to sweat
to piss
to cry.

All of the drops
spilling to earth

and somehow they
find their way
back into the clouds.

This cycle continues
in an infinite loop

eternally,

the silent witnesses
to history.

Clouds of Other Inner Planetary


Only the goddess Venus could illicit
such a trysting of these tempestuous
atmospheres in her rapturous affairs,
that no mere mortal eloping can suffer
clouds smitten with such arduous passion.
But would be vehemently careless crushed,
under these enamoring tempting pressures,
in tumultuous heat and heart searing vapors.


Beneath the transparent plas-steel colony dome of Mars,
stand-off and staunch I stare onto its surface infarctions,
monitoring the biofeedback gauges for the god of blood’s
hypotension weak in atmosphere that beguiles aggression.
Ours is that new war of gigantomachy that now mobilizes.
Beginning with a martial martian reconnaissance that will
transfuse our terra-forming race of eager earth evacuees
as recipients pursuing new plasma donating star systems.
And I watch a rebellious cloud clotting on hemo-horizon,
waiting for archaic red reign of dried dust storming Ichors.

This is an older piece revamped abit to hopefully be ok for todays prompt...Be warned... it's very dark and not for the lighthearted...

Clouds of darkness

November moon
stealing
each breath
taunts inner being
with feelings
of dread
life without purpose
all meaning is gone
light turns to dark
serenade's
evil song
hopeless am I
to smell of a rose
fall deeper
'n deeper
into black hole
to see not tomorrow
would bring
greatest joy
watch myself
grimace
as spirit
deploys
to hear voices calling
'it's now time to rest'
lift golden goblet
taste...
kiss of death
watch me escape
deep into night
embrace your
aloneness
with mornings
dim light
dry your
fake tears
please...
touch not
of mine
our...
final farewell
when midnight
hand chimes
look in my eyes
now...
lifeless,
blank,
gray...
smell bloodied
sheets...
as body decays
slither beside me
kiss coolness
of skin...
make love
to my corpse
wear...
satisfied grin
then...
bring wilted flowers
dance at my grave
feed on cruel
aftermath...
buried ~ in clay

November 17th, 2009
(prompt..fill in the blank and use as title..."Clouds____________)

(c) Rose Marie Streeter

Clouds are Water

Grams is on her knees bent
over the washing basin, rubbing a
linen blouse upon the galvanized
steel ribs of the washboard. I try to
open the window, to holler, to ask
her why she doesn't just throw the
clothes in the washing machine, but
the window won't budge. I watch
her scrub--plunge, lift, plunge. She
is laughing. Her cheeks are
clouds and clouds are water.

Clouds of confusion.

"Clouds are nothing to be afraid of,"
I said looking you in the eye,
"carrying rain to water plants;
they can't hurt you, they're too high."

"Some molecules of H2O
amassed in gaseous form;
though admittedly they coalesce
and rarely start a storm."

"But even thunder as it roars
is nature at her rowdy best.
Lightning bursts, a visual feast
to stir excitement in your breast."

"So when you see those fluffy shapes
just think the circus has come to town."

"But that's the problem," you said;
getting a word in at last,
"I didn't say I was afraid of *clouds*;
I said I was afraid of *clowns*!"

:Clouds, sky temptresses of fickle whim:

Straining through a colander of lace, shade of coffee,
let the night undress your dainty figure.

Odor of a done day made useless before your divine laughter.
Only thing left now is your daydream, your shape shifted country

cast in the length of your delight. Your cheerful face lingers
where it’s ousted by the ultimate shade of olive, and you are undone

But you will return, under dreary overtones,
with a sudden clap of light.

Clouds In My Head


Candy floss clouds.
On stratus cloud nine when you call me…
Under a pileus cloud when you don't.
Altocumulus, altostratus, billows, cirrostratus,
Words that flow like cumulonimbus, mellifluously
From the text; as “I love you” surges from your lips
Ten thousand times: never enough.
Visible masses; condensed droplets; frozen crystals.
Congealed tears. Homogenized sorrows.
Suspended in the atmosphere.
Contrail spiral on the horizon; future beckons ...
Orographic silver lining is our love.
Cumulus heaps of good weather and
Cirrus curls cascading on the pillows
With a life of their own.
Mammatus-nimbus-orographic-stratocumulus.
My head in the clouds when I think of you.

Pamela: Love your work, but also thankful you are recovering from your stroke. Nicely, I hope.
Michelle H.: You should submit your “Clouds Float By” to a children’s magazine. Nice!

“Somnambulist ambiguity,” Walt? Competing with RJ, are we? ;)

An LOL from Daniel Ari? Made my day! Right back at ya … love your commercial. :)

Amazing, Shelly. An unexpected gift in an unwelcome situation.

Ellen Black: Love your different view. Nice work.

“shadow puppet theater” … truly poetic description … excellent, Chev.

Linda Voit: Congratulations on your published piece!

Janet: What a great imagination! I’m impressed at how you strung together the prompts to create a lovely piece!

Patricia (PM27); Enjoying your offerings, as always!

Barbara: I read your poem to my daughter last night. She loved it as much as I. ( the “subdue my fickle cheer” one) … Excellent job.

Pearl: What a kind and sweet response. You’re very welcome. :)

Bravo, Dawn Rocco; SusanB; Maureen Blake; Lori P. (powerful); Taylor Graham; Kimberly Pauley (Amen, and if only all 3-minute, unedited poetry fell so nicely to the page!); Patricia Frolander; Carla Cherry; Sammy; Patricia Hawkenson; Patricia Wellingham-Jones; (Is there something inherently poetic in the name “Patricia?”; Willy; Katherine Hauswirth; Mr. Atwater; Tim Snodgrass; Banana (LOL!)

Black clouds

With the energy of anger
she shoves open the gate
crumples into tears
‘they won’t play with me’
We go exploring, dragging
her feet along wet paths
‘this is boring’
even the glass house
flood of flowers
can’t calm the storm.

Apparently the main page of the PA blog was hacked? Just tried some of the others, and they won't come up either, it just says "Hacked By Cyb3rking / Türkish Hacker" hopefully fixed soon! :-(

Bruce: Just read your "Aliens in the Closet." Love it!

Thanks for the info, Khara.

CLOUDS MY VISION

My desire
for students to do well
clouds my vision.
Fluffy cumulus
puffs of white

make it difficult to
see the lightning
that strikes with thunder
crashes through,
pierces my heart deeply

with each red X
marked with reluctance,
corrections
noted on each exam.
Did they not learn

what I teach them each
and every
day in class? Was I that
oblivious
to think that they did?

Depression
is the weather forecast.
Another day
obscured by clouds. I
teach again.

Fluffy Pillows

Bartholomew Foggerty, the brilliant weasel
Had a work in progress on his easel
Whenever he felt down or blue
He knew exactly what to do
He’d paint the colour of his muse
And fill the canvas with various hues
Of blues across the spectrum wide
From top to bottom and side to side
But today he’d added to much water
And the shade was lighter that it oughta
Be at least in his weasely mind
And he struggled a direction to find
And so for sanity’s sake
He took a short well earned break
He stared out the window at the sky
And bit by bit he wondered why
The colours were not evenly spread
But varied very much instead
And as he stared at the wild blue yonder
Our favourite weasel began to wonder
If the painting much better might
Be if he added a touch of white
Here and there across the range
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so strange
And so he went back to work
For he is not one toil to shirk
He added white blobs here and there
And then returned out to stare
Of the window to catch the form
As the sun shone in bright and warm
He finally had done his best
And took some time then to rest
Before considering the white and blue
Then he knew just what to do
In one corner with green and brown
He added a distant piece of ground
And upon that ground he set a tree
Painted ever so delicately
And whilst all who viewed it only saw
The clouds and sky that stretched before
Their eyes attracted by fluffy pillows
Bart called it the Weeping Willow.


Iain.

Maria and Walt,

The two of you are so generous with your kind reviews of poems posted here. Thank you from all of us who join you in this November challenge.

Clouds Judgement
By: Meena Rose

Things that can cloud judgement are many;
I can name a few.

Competition can make you do things uncanny;
Race can make you dismiss someone without further ado.

Money can make you forget your morals
And love can make one turn a blind eye to you.

Judgements rendered by mere mortals
Are often compromised.

Judgements rendered by mere mortals
Are often greatly disguised.

Things that can cloud judgement are many;
Don’t be so surprised.

Things that can cloud judgement are many;
I dare you not to make any.

No Salvatore, we join all of you. Thanks for the appreciation though. Means much!

CLOUD-WATCHING

A clown, I say.

Don't make it a clown, you say.
Clowns are scary.

I think carefully about this,
comforted by the solid earth beneath my head.
High above,
the white shifts.

All right, I say.
It's not a clown.
It's a poet.

She considers and nods, says:
Poets scare me, too.
but not as much as clowns.

Our fingers touch
with an unshed smile
and then we're floating.

Clouds In My Mind

Clouds fill my mind
Every time I try to figure this out
And wonder where we are going
Sunshine evades my life
And nothing seems clear
I try to understand your actions
And make sense of what you say
I only get more confused
What I thought I knew seems wrong
Nothing about our situation seems right
I’m waiting for the storm to pass
And searching for that elusive rainbow
In my heart.

Victoria, thanks to you (and Ralph and others) for being a caring teacher. We need more of those.

Iain: Keep 'em comin'! Great ending!

More excellence from Meena, Debbie, and Patty. :)

Salvatore, I ditto Walt.

Pearl, I loved the memory of your father building a castle on the beach. It was so poignant and full of imagery. I could almost taste the sea salt.
Barbara

Linda Voidt, I'll be looking for your writing in "the Sun," I absolutely love that magazine! Congrats.that's truly exciting!

Hello ALL, just a line to express how much I've enjoyed reading all of your offerings. As always! See you on the flip-side and happy writing today!

Clouds the Mind

Nebulous, dark storm clouds of thought
That in another space and time
Would have incited riotous rebellion
Now cloud the mind with fear, anxiety, self-doubt
Driving self-destructive pursuits
Wine, rum, sweets, and … ah yes… sweets
Light finally breaking through
Confusion giving way to meditation, prayer, peace

Clouds Streak

pink against the aquamarine sky
the world seems right. Often we don’t say a word
but sit here on our lawn chairs facing south
to catch the honey golden grasses bent low
in the unmown field. The trees change color
as morning becomes evening, the sharp emerald
turns to celadon and finally verdigris. Sparrows
race through branches of a crooked loblolly pine
near the fence. Are all these passings an indication of failure?
Why do I ask you this when you have already
recognized it? How naturally we speak to each other
about the obvious. It’s the way we love in this part of our lives.

Clouds and a Dopplar Radar

Understanding the parental weather vane came with instructions.
Pages from Dr. Spock, stained with broad spectrum medicines,
was a handy reference, as did reading his dated insanity of placing
wet towels on radiators to pump up our “apartment’s” steam.
Of course, laughter’s always a great remedy, for parents anyway ~
and humidity's beneficial for colds, that’s true. But for children
brewing their emotional blasts of hot air in a low-pressure system,
best is an instinctual sense for oncoming, inclement weather,
like the gauge of pain flaring on a rheumatic joint. Inclement
clouds hovering in a house can be exhausting as the flu. Low
pressure areas frequently circled off our front door like a hurricane,
my eye a radar preparing for those dark skies, an unstable front,
or rare gale-force winds. Tying down valuables a training of sorts
for the next storm. Umbrella collections mandatory for the unaware
new-parents’ wish lists. But when the storm blows over, there’s
a blue sky, clouds have disappeared, snow blankets the home,
and snowmen replace Bruno Bettleheim, snow being much more fun.

Clouds

No death, no tears, no night—that’s fine by me,
but when they tell me of an uncloudy day,
I think not of storm clouds, but wisps
feathering the sky, plumb pillowy clouds
outside my airplane window—before I became
too jaded to stare out in wonder. I imagine
my view of Grandfather Mountain, socked in
by snow clouds, and I dream of heaven where,
unfettered by earth, by gravity, I will soar
up into the clouds, from whence cartoon
angels have been watching all our lives.

Clouding my vision

A Yorkshire summer sea-roke rolled in low
along the clay cliff-edges where I walked
one summer when I was eighteen, hiking
the trail from Robin Hood’s Bay to Whitby.
The dense clouds blurred the boundaries of land;
although I heard the North Sea waves erode
the ground I occupied, I stood afraid
to walk the path, afraid that some collapse
would send me tumbling to the beach. And yet
I was afraid to step away in case
I trespassed land beyond the fence that marked
a farmer’s field. At my feet, sea-thrift foamed
its tiny blossoms carelessly, hanging
from the landslips by its roots while I
sat on the fence avoiding any risks
until I clearly saw the way ahead.

Jenny Doughty

Clouds drift down the river 11-16-09

surface reflections
ripple with the current
mirror the puffs or shadows
of the sky.
Like the ones in life,
draw my creative side from me,
trap out sunny warmth and light.
They summon my true nature and send
me skittering to find the Son and muster all
resources He provides
to see beauty in the clouds,
however stormy.

There's only one way I remember to deal with "Turkish Daffy". Smack it and crack it. Nice job Tech dudes!

Day 16 Clouds float over me

I wish someone had told me
how fast life passes by
I would have enjoyed the lazy summers of youth
That much more.

I would have walked along the shore bare foot
From morning till night
I would have collected more sea shells
Or sat on the dock feet splashing in the water
Fishing pole in hand and talked to my brother
Just a little bit longer.
Maybe it would have saved his life
If I had sat with him made our bond stronger,
watching the clouds roll by.

I would have lain in the hammock
And watch the clouds float over me
I would have named each one
Discovering what shape it could it be.


I wish someone had taught me
how to relax and shoot the breeze
how to stop time by
watching the clouds float past the trees

Instead I’ve rushed through life
Running to and fro
Now I want to wander the earth to see
And see just where the cloud go.

"Clouds Live"

Clouds
kiss
my cheek
good morning,
kayak sea blue skies,
drift off without saying goodnight.

Marcia McLees Bogaert

Dakota Clouds

Clouds are in their names.
Red Cloud, Storm Cloud, Running Cloud.
I hate to say “they,” it makes me uneasy,
at war with myself or another “other” inside.
But it’s the truth. I am sitting on my couch
in my house, and they are out there on Pine Ridge,
huffing and drinking and not working.

I put down my Harper’s Magazine and the whole process
of my knowing something about them
has been paid for by the same machine
that put them there,
out on the prairie
stuck living on the cemetery
of Wounded Knee.

CLOUDS IN RESIDENCE

Earth is our traditional home,
but as writers,
we reside in the clouds.

We pull our lyrics,
tones,
and echoes
from multi-hued rainbows
and dappled mountaintops.

We derive certain timbres
from the ebb and flow
of ocean tides.

We choose our words
as carefully
as if they were a perfect rose
growing
in a sunlit garden.

Each writer’s voice
is as clear and flawless
as a dewdrop.

Once we have created and assessed our own work,
we offer it to the gods
for their approval,
and they send it back to us
in the form of a single,
pristine snowflake,
as individual
as the prose
each writer creates.

Meteorology -- an Inexact Science

Mom came downstairs
with the angry look this morning.

Forecast:
storm clouds at seven o'clock,
downpour expected by eight.

"Clouds are my minds temptation"

Clouds are my minds temptation
ruffled feathery
thoughts glisten at the tip
of sharp definition

undulations of current
rumbling sparks
checkered swirls
drawing me further in

jittering words
creamed into
puffy clouds
drifting over
moldering stagnancy
day-to-day
routinely bounded
work
bills
have to
must
responsibility

molasses melted
into smoky tendrils
burgundy rolls
of the tongue

crystalline drops
shatter
twinkling reminiscence
the labyrinth of light

translucent clouds
caress darkness
seeping along the edges

reality
a word
itself
truth of a kind
inescapable
definition

dusted by my ruffled
puffy
clouds
my mind
enveloped
by
the
unknown

the final temptation

Clouds

Majestic summer thunderheads
reaching toward Olympus:
becoming anvils for gods,
whose mighty hammer blows
ring and flash across the sky.

Huge billowing autumn clouds,
undersides darkened to black
by their own shadows
dispassionately watching the wind
hungrily tear spent leaves from their trees

Grey leaden winter clouds,
lying low against every horizon,
laden with snow
insulating the frigid world
from revivifying solar warmth.

Fast-moving springtime clouds,
silently sliding their enormous shadows
between the sunbeams
over a resurrecting landscape,
fresh, green, and moist.

Linda Volt - congratulations! I read that magazine cover to cover.

Clouds Before Breakfast


Her mind clouded by emotion,
she considers her options,
again

coming to the conclusion
there are no easy answers
still

makes them both a healthy repast
good for mother, good for baby,
thinking

everything will be clear
after breakfast
maybe

Clouds Over Kitimat

Obliterating brooding gray
Overcast damp day
Ominous

Hampering heavy weight
Heart sinking bait
Hate

Oppressive mood
Nothings good
Move!

Clouds peek

Clouds peek
out from behind
the umbrella my friends
have painted for
me. They want

me to see
pretty things
while I lie immobile.
But I want to sweep
through the
clouds

I see
beyond the
painted silk
parasol
above
me.

Clouds Across My Sky

Snow clouds scuttle across
the autumn sky,
oblivious to the grass still green,
the Christmas lights
with no twinkling snow.
They rush from the northeast
and hurry east,
devoid of meaning—
rain instead of snow,
morning frost mere fog—
They never stop to wonder:
--Why do I try?
--Where am I going?
--Will I get there
before I vanish
into the air?
Much as I wonder
about you.

.
Clouds On Fire

Hanging in the west
late summer evening clouds
torch the mountain tops.
.

Thank You Marie, apparently a lot of parents tonight seemed to feel the same way about me.

Ralph.

Above the Clouds

I cannot see above the clouds
today, but I know that above the
clouds it is always clear and one
can always see the sun. If only
I would be above the clouds today,
the sun seems so elusive.

Clouds of Green

The green fairy
Slides out of the bottle,
Alights on my spoon,
Puts on her sugar coat,
and softly gazes at me,
with those opal eyes,
She makes me talk
with a lisp,
Tangles my tongue,
So words are illegitimate.

Clouds Hover

They are over us day and night
Black clouds that lend themselves
To our plights of pessimism.

The billowy white clouds
Pure in beauty
Escape our sight

As we wait for black clouds
To form so we can exclaim:
I knew this was going to happen!

Clouds of Reprieve

I never realized what a blessing
clouds could be
Not dark and dismal
But a reprieve
For the parched soil
of my soul
After roaming
in the desert heat.

All I Need is a Steel Guitar

Clouds today
With a chance of pain
Since you've gone
It's not the same
Sun is gone
Tears remain
Clouds today
With a chance of pain

Clouds Danced

Clouds danced low across the sky
swinging misty skirts over rain-dark knees
hinting, flirting, asking without actually saying
what's being asked for

The woman watched and laughed,
and danced on the ground to match the aerial show
But still would not make love to the sky

Clouds of Shifting Doubt

Just when we think we
See the whole animal,
The wind corrects us.

Clouds in tomorrow’s sky


clouds
cover tomorrow’s sun

shroud the day, orange mist
to the edge of the world,

step off, float on pillowed dreams
like sky-boats above the water

or moored to the blue horizon,
still, and lending shadow

to the real world
the other side of dream

anchor here or cast adrift
wait for tomorrow or

run toward it
laughing


Carol A. Stephen
November 16, 2009
PAD Chapbook Challenge

Clouds Fill My World

Dark clouds block all sunlight
Whenever you are not with me.
Gloomy clouds and shadows fill my world
Until you are once again by my side.
As you approach me, the sun breaks through
And the nearer you come, the brighter my day becomes
Until only wispy white puffs of clouds float away
As you take me in your arms and hold me tight.
Clutching me against you as if I too might float away
With the tendril clouds into the solid blue of heaven’s floor.

Flurry

Three week vacation.
Mum feeds the fish, clouds water
Shake-shake-shake, shake-shake...

Clouds Go By

Clouds go by, I don't know why
they make my mommy sad.
She says that they are gloomy,
Because they block the sun.
They just fill up with water
and rain on everyone.

I like the way they float away
and skip up in the air.
Slowly forming funny shapes
I guess them in the sky.
Moving on, they'll soon be gone
Wave bye now; clouds, goodbye.

Clouds

hang over us today:
the same drops, the same grey
that touched the last mammoth.
The once and future drops
fling themselves to earth
only to rise again.

Clouds that don't know much about science

how they are supposed gather, grow heavy
and saturated and finally rain
up in the cool high air
The need to find a seed--to give each raindrop
its own tiny nucleus
until it grows from microscopic to the visible.
These clouds behave like a blanket
covering the mess that is the horizon
but everyone knows what's underneath
that dirty city full of trash and
cigarette butts, child molesters and
media magnates; God knows whats under there
That's why he made the clouds creationists.

CLOUDS RETREATED

He takes to calm reflection
of many a bygone year
No need for genuflection
in honor of youth so dear

that seasons of life were spent
protected inside a haze
of drunkenness to prevent
awareness of reckless ways

Until, one day at a time,
the clouds retreated from view,
and self-forgiveness sublime
allowed an outlook renewed

Infused with deep gratitude,
in service he makes amends
cemented with fortitude,
surrounded by countless friends

Though youthful eyes are obscured
by clouds that hamper his sight,
with faith comes greater reward:
much clearer vision of right.

(Quatrain)

Drawn and Quartered on the Wall

There you are serene on the wall
two dimensional, pigments arraigned on cotton,
stretched into straightness and some form of truth
framed, bounded, separated from other trappings.

Here I sit transfixed, solid, alive, thinking,
three dimensional, a living mass held by your stare.
Your simile lensing the light to my eyes,
distorting my senses as you did in life.

Are you still enigmatic wherever you are,
do you know that you have never left me,
does your reality attract everything too
and are you aware that I did it for you.

CLOUDS IN THE SKY

Clouds are like cotton balls
high above you in the sky.
Lie on your back in the grass
and watch them as they float by.

This is a child's past-time
but it doesn't have to be.
Just for once, release the adult
lie on your back and tell me what you see.

There are shapes and colors galore,
Let your imagination soar.
Lions and rabbits, elephants and bears,
flowers, rainbows, and so much more.

Set the child inside of you free,
look at the clouds and imagine.
Clouds are beautiful, open your eyes,
As they float by, wonder where they've been.

Clouds Happen

On a hot summer afternoon, a beach plastered with bodies
Lying head to toe, fringes of blankets, towels boom boxes
A lonely white lamb of cumulus pokes over the horizon
“No, no, go away!” and on the sparkling water a dark
shadow hovers, another blob of cumulus later to be joined
with nimbus, the afternoon sun drawing sweat all day,
slinking off the set, stage right.

Shoulders, protectors, helmets, at first the shade is
Welcome, but the coaches are studying the sky,
Someone checks the weather band, the clouds
Are united, threatening, a rumble of displeasure
And the football field is cleared.

The bases flopped down unattended on the base paths,
Those fans lucky enough to be under cover join in
The chorus of “Boos” , in the old days the organist
Would be playing a medley of sing-along songs and
The crowd would join in, today they reach for their
Stashed six-packs, the rain slanting as the wind picks
Up, in the dug -out the players make bets on when and
How long and how many make-up days.

For a moment the clouds are split as a stroke of
Lightning breaks above the crowded park, crashes
Through the atmosphere, shivering the empty frame
Of the Blue Streak as men, women, children walk
Away in disgust, kids kick pieces of trash, empty
Pop cans, everyone’s neck is tilted skyward, will
The clouds go away in time for the rides to start
Running again?

November Poetry Challenge Day 16 Clouds

Little things that shape our days

Every morning I look out, above the lake,
At a new picture—the sky has as many
Morning faces as there are mornings.
I like best when the clouds rise
Like a snowed mountain to ring
This flat expanse and I can carry
That lovely image all day.

Clouds of butterflies

Moving over the grasslands in
Clouds of color that rise and fall
In syncopation with the waves
Of grasses and wildflowers
The butterflies inspire artists
To musings of beauty, yet
Here, in the Highveld of Swaziland
They herald disaster for crops
Thirsting for rain.

Clouds of Illusion

The mist swirled around in the air
I swear that rabbit came out of nowhere.

The fog obstructed my view, oh so slightly.
I hope the bird on the stage doesn't bite me.

The magic continues, the mist comes and goes.
Hiding reality and curling my toes.

And now what is this? The end of the show.
The lady disappears and it's time to go.

Clouds Disappear

Once you are in clouds rather than looking at them
their form disappears to your eyes
and it is an act of faith that they still exist.
From a distance, on a hot day, say,
you can be forgiven for thinking
that they are as dry as cotton wool,
but if there are clouds on that mountain top
whichever path or track you choose,
pacamac.

Clouds of Smoke

Clouds of smoke escape my lips
One more drag and that is it
Clouded up my lungs are now
I know because of the cough I’ve endowed
Cloudy films I didn’t need to see
But still that’s what the doctor showed me
Today I’ll quit and go outside
And watch the naive clouds go by

Clouds None

Icy shadows grow tall and thin
Fill jagged canyons with rivaling rock forms.
Pine freckled peaks pierce the unprotected
Crystal blue without weathering shields.
Standing stiff and solid and strong
Claims victory and salutes the General
The surrendering blazing sun.

Clouds Fill Every Corner

At certain latitudes on certain evenings
Just as dusk kisses the horizon near the sea
There is a scent in the atmosphere redolent
Of newborns, one-eyed kittens, and dahlias

She sits in her window, pulling her knees
Tight against her chest and watches for the moon
Knowing if she can catch it cresting perfectly
It will keep the clouds from occupying her mind

As so often happens, she is distracted at the exact
Instant of moon rise; a sound so like a knock
But really just the rasping of a tree branch
Makes her turn her head for just a moment

And in that minuscule amount of time
The doors that she has manned so carefully
Fly open and her mind is as cavernous as any
Cathedral and the clouds rush in to fill every corner

Cloudburst
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

It was a lovely summer
morning when they first left
the front stoop of her mother’s
home, deep in the suburbs.
Woven picnic basket in hand,
they had gladly traded in the
asphalt jungle for a quiet meadow
rich with poppies, flaming
orange and goldenrod under
a stand of tall black oaks whispering
hundred year old stories.

It began innocently enough with small-talk
about work, friends, celebrities
which progressed to playful banter, then
by mid-afternoon, dreams & aspirations.
With stomachs focused on grapes and
ham sandwiches, and eyes upon one another
they failed to notice a horizon bruising
under the weight of clouds heavy with moisture.
When the cloudburst finally reached them,
it smiled and let go with precip that filtered
down through trees like a watercourse.

He noticed the way the rain
pressed the fabric of her dress
tight against her skin,
how the rhythm of her breathing
began to pick up speed, and
the sudden flush of color in her cheeks.
She noticed the way the rain
curled the ends of his dark hair,
daubbed his lips with temptation,
and left his eyes glistening with black ice
wanting more.

He grabbed for the picnic basket instead
and held it overtop their damp heads,
their giggles filling the instant cave
momentarily until she leaned forward
and suddenly kissed him
without warning,
her shoulders shivering
his pulse racing
her toes curling
his hands shaking,
each secretly glad for the cloudburst.

© 2009 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder