I see a crystal city all of blue moonlight and fashioned out of air;
I see the men who walk there and they are beautiful and wear gold on their hair;
I see their ships of Elven light
Sailing in the silver night,
Calling to me ….
Above the hills of Heaven, and I’ll climb them when my soul is ready to fly.

Oh listen to the starlight as it whispers through the canyons of the clouds;
Moonsilver stairways, soft-echoing to the lilting singing sounds;
Laughter and feasting there,
Voices as clear as air
Singing to me ……
Oh am I dreaming in my longing for the legend to be real?

Oh I can dwell no longer in this shadowland where the rain is coldly falling;
New moon on Magonia, ethereal, to my heart is calling;
Oceans of clouds away,
Songs of a brighter day
Call me away …….
I hear the Elfin music of fair Magonia, and Earth is nothing but a dream;
I cannot look behind me, for Earth is but the dark side of a dream.

© Indrani Ananda

What wouldn’t I give to be ‘The Sky Painter’
My canvas as vast as the heavens.
My brush strokes commanding the weather.
Delicate washes
Extravagant oils.
A rainbow pallet exploding with joy.
What wouldn’t I give to be ‘The Sky Painter’

© Sheila Sansom

I’ve seen
Dolphins, ladies underwear, a dragon and a vampire bat,
Cupid with his quiver, Abra’m Lincoln in his stovepipe hat,
Giant rabbits, puffin head,
A laughing man sat up in bed,
Pteranadon above the shed;
An owl and a pussycat.

Numbers, letters, symbols – all these hieroglyphs mean nought to me.
I see strange faces in the sky and creatures from mythology.
I’m not the only one to spy
An ironing board go flying by.
(And all these doodles in the sky
Have got their own taxonomy.)

The Queen feeding her corgis and a lady with a powder puff,

Neptune coming up for air, a muscle man who looks real tough,
A saucy lass sunbathing,
A Spitfire, a hare, a raven,
More wild creatures that need tamin’
And a stratosphere of other stuff.

Each day you’ll see another cloud; A camel or a pig in flight.
Make sure you photograph each one or folk will think you’re not ‘quite right’.
It really is addictive
And the walking keeps you fit, if
You don’t fall into a ditch or
Wrap your dog around a traffic light !

© Sue Shaw 2011

Every once in a while
elements plot
in the steam
of someone’s sight.

And there grows something so fragile
that it becomes transparent.

It is so transparent
that one can take a deep glance.

An in the depths it is white…
so white
that it’s simply pure.

Every once in a while
throw your heart
to the sky,
a dream
could be
ready to condense.

© Ernesto Vargas Rueda

Context

The sky is hung with clouds
like some great stage
while we wander below,
too often unaware of the play.

© Patricia S Brown

Gliding through puffy white
On metal wings of wonder
Patchwork quilt o’ glorious sight
The ground that passes under

From my window I scan the sky
For clouds on high and low
Searching endless as I try
For objects I may know

On and on my gaze intent
The shapes amongst the blue
Many hours I have spent
Scanning the infinite view

This winged journey soon will end
My daylight ride fun fest
Sad am I nil time to spend
Terminating this joyous quest

© Michael Davis

If clouds were blue and the sky was white,
Would ‘Singin’ the Blues’ mean you’re ‘Feelin’ Alright’?
Would elderly ladies be the ‘White Rinse Brigade’?
And would ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ come in some other shade?

Would little white lies be Turquoise or Prussian?
Would vodka and Curacao make a White Russian?
Would brides get married in Navy or Teal
And would you blue-wash things
You wish to conceal?

Picasso’s white period would have been dull.
The ‘boys in magnolia’ wouldn’t have the same pull.
Blue milk in bottles? It just isn’t right
And think of those poor dwarves without their Snow White.

Chinese ceramicists took great pains to demonstrate
That blue and white glazes work well on your dinner plate.
Likewise, Mother Nature knew just what to do,
When she made the clouds white and the sky…… sky blue!

© Sue Shaw

Oh those blue skies are very nice

but if you stop to think twice,
by clouds they are enhanced
and they keep us all entranced.

When fascination takes root
photographs we must shoot,
and with camera in hand
we will wander the land.

When we start to obsess
of cloudscapes to possess,
life takes on a new meaning
and there’s no time for cleaning!

The weather may be foul or fair
but there’ll still be clouds up there,
and we can take photo’s galore
then stop, to take just one more.

Of our collections we are proud
especially that elusive cloud,
and to catch an optical effect
can really make our day perfect.

© Jackie S Brooks 2011

Through the shapes in the clouds
I see you sleeping
As your eye lids flicker
You must be dreaming.
The stars that surround you
Covers like a blanket
The soft shine of the moon
Dimly lightens your room.
The sharp air in the breeze
Cuts butter like a knife
But I stand there looking
Admiring life
So much to see
In so little time
As I watch you sleeping
On cloud No9
Your hair draped gently over
Your soft white cloud
You sleep so peacefully
I feel so proud.
Your soft white pillow
Under your weary head
You look so life like
On that cloud as your bed.
I see you, on cloud No9,
I see you, smiling all the time, on cloud No9.

© Jaycee MacNaughton

Constantly changing shape,
lovely cumulus clouds
A fluffy and white skyscape
tinged with grey, and sometimes pink,
All foaming and frothing
like the suds in a sink.

A gallery of soft sculpture
forms up at great height,
And the watcher for sure
who has an imaginative eye,
Will be delightfully rewarded
With such sights to espy.

Sea Otters basking
on a sea of white foam,
Bottle nosed dolphins
happy and free, swimming home,
Riding the bow waves
of ghostly Galleons that roam.

A towering castle
overlooking wide streams,
A fair maid and her vassal
talking over their dreams,
A Knight on his war-horse
in armour that gleams.

A dragon up yonder
who abandoned the deep?
The Loch Ness sea monster
prefers now to keep
Well away from dark waters
and on soft clouds to sleep.

An old man is racing
to capture his hat,
A fat piglet is chasing
two dogs and a cat,
A graceful swan glides
with her brood on her back.

An elephant baby
his tiny trunk outstretched,
I wonder if maybe
you think it’s far-fetched?
Look up to the sky
Where God’s finger has sketched.

© Jackie S Brooks