Lorelei O’Connor of Beaverton, Oregon, recently sent us this cloud inspired poem.

Lorra Rudman sent us several of her poems but this one, entitled “Underdog”, is her favourite and was written in 1984.

Underdog

Cloudy is the underdog
Who dresses all in grey
But has she not the right to joy
As any Sunny day?

She reaches out her rolling strength
To charge me full and strong
To lift me high on passion arms
To nurture me along.

The rays of Sun are always warm
He’s simple to define
But Cloudy’s the romantic one
Whose dark deserves to shine.

© Lorra Rudman 1984

Holly Payne-Strange, Member 52,979, from New Jersey was enjoying the clouds at Thanksgiving when she dreamt up this poem.  We’ve paired it with an image of a Circumzenithal Arc over Broadway, NYC, US by Judy Schramm

To Have the Honor of a Cloud

Ice crystals in the sky,
Reflecting sunlight, conjuring shadow
An ever moving gallery of whimsy.

It sounds like magic.

Surely it should be, by all rights
This beauty we ignore, day by day.
I think it’s because they’re so far away,
Glory and valor we assume is out of reach.

There’s a certain proud nobility about them,
Stately and serene.
It all seems so easy, slow, even boring.
An illusion fostered by distance and assumption.

I can’t help but think
That if only we looked,
Really looked, and noticed, and appreciated,
Then maybe grace could be an everyday occurrence.
Maybe we would notice.

Lofty ideals, unencumbered and honest,
Could curl above us
Natural as the wind.
Maybe generosity would need no excuse
And sincerity would be easily accepted,
Suspicion and shame falling like shadow,
To some distant terrain we can’t imagine.

I have to say,
When I think of you,
I only see the clouds.

© Holly Payne-Strange

Writer and artist, Lorelei O’Connor, sent us this atmospheric poem accompanied by a photo taken by her son, Micheal.

David Oscarson, Supporting Member 40914, recently shared this poem which beautifully describes the image he captured.

Buckshot Dot, AKA Dee Strickland Johnson, sent us this poem reflecting on sky.  We’ve paired it with this mixed sky over the Sunshine Coast, Queensland, Australia by Ebony Willson, Member 53,124

The Sky Without Clouds

A day without clouds is the sky at its least.
We had one here just recently.
Be they piles, or wisps, or fantastic shapes,
they continue to fascinate me.

They pose, slowly move, or they change all the time.
They’re now like a scatt’ring of sheep —
hurrying, scurrying, playing around
just below tops of the high mountain peaks.

© Buckshot Dot, AKA Dee Strickland Johnson 2022

                                ~ ~ ~ ~~ 
                    *AKA Dee Strickland Johnson

Buckshot Dot, AKA Dee Strickland Johnson, wrote this poem in 1940 when she was 9 years old.  The image we’ve chose to accompany it is by Linda Holtby, Member 20,966, of faces in the clouds over the Hamble river, England.

THE OLD OLD MAN

His beard is so long it touches his toes.
If I were to paint him, he’d have a red nose.

He does not talk, nor gather a crowd,
For this old old man — is only a cloud.

© Dottie Jean Strickland* 1940, age 9

Ric Johnson, a poet from Liverpool, took this photograph and wrote a limerick about it whilst travelling North on the M6, somewhere in the Midlands, UK.  This particular kiss only lasted for a very short time before dissolving.

The Kiss

You may think this is just hit and miss

When two clouds have a moment of bliss

A collision of lips at height atmospheric

Left us loonies below in a state quite mesmeric

As giants melt in Cumulus kiss!

© Ric Johnson 2022 – Another Liverpool Poet

Chris Tetley, Member 10,338, sent us this poem composed to encourage us to wonder what our lives would be like without clouds.  The image was one he took locally of the sky over Devon, UK.

The Gladness of Clouds

The sky would be an empty stage without its cast of varied cloud,
Lacking daily interest with no shapes its sphere to crowd.
Though sunny bright and pleasant, days would lose what cloudscapes bring,
And all those kindnesses and insults that our way they’re apt to fling.

And what would we then talk about to strike up conversation,
Those introductory lines expressing joy or indignation?
What future, outdoor outfitters that count on rain and snow,
The meteorological media whose raison d’être cloud is to know?

And what of temperate gardens that enjoy cloud cover’s hues,
All who so much benefit from its shifting greys and blues?
And those who like the chance to snuggle up safely with a book,
When a storm is raging beyond brave walls and cosy sheltered nook.

And where would be our literature, much music and the arts,
Without the different cloud types and the influence each imparts.
Gone would be the rivers and lakes on which we so rely,
Not fed from heaving boulder-burdened blister-bursting sky?

Then what of useful reference; what becomes of cloud computing,
And that foggy place to have your head where absent thought finds its rerouting?
No ninth to share its happiness, or edged with silver lining,
Misty metaphor forever lost and in need of redefining.

Heavenward contemplation would be little but blue-sky thinking,
Much lost as a source of inspiration, if sky from sea no longer drinking.
And leaden would lose its meaning as dread divide of sky and land,
Weather from being moods arbiter, then little help and rather bland.

No more those clouds chameleon-like that mark days start and end,
As from and towards night’s sunless vault they with glamour arrive and wend.
Unnoticed as if not present for every hour then in between,
Horizon’s margin brief inflamed, in distant solitude serene.

Then what of this society that so appreciates their wonder,
From timorous playful newborn cubs to roaring lions of fearsome thunder?
Where every form and unique shape that commands its keen attention,
Acquires an immortal presence, and to the wide world gets a mention.

A sky without vast mounds of vapour, wind-jostled or scenic set,
Would be a lesser world for all where hope and rainbow never met.
And I could no more live without this flock that cossets Gaia,
Than I could its welcome shade; its forms, and fancy to inspire.

© Chris Tetley

McClain Homann (member 45082) is a recent member of the Cloud Appreciation Society from Mattoon IL, US. He loves to write and sent his latest cloud-inspired poem to share

Rachel Jacobs, Member 55,934 wrote told us she “created a poem for the firmly-minded purpose of the well-being of the clouds”.  We hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

The Clouds of Life

A round of life, and that of death

Who beckons those away.

Who steals the knife, who steals the breath

Of those who yearn to stay.

Of brevity, of shortness

Rather infant fresh demise,

Of lives and souls of drifting wisps,

Of youth with all but lies.

To them they are of Cirrus

Who crane their necks to see,

A faintly there, but there alas,

Of actuality.

Of those who seek revenge,

Who sought and seek and went,

To all the spitting measures

But never reached content.

Altocumulus they turn,

Their souls reach up and are,

Through hills and dales they try and fail

A moon without a star.

And gentlemen and ladies

With motives good and true, 

Who shine through after darkness

And honour through and through,

These noble ones at heart,

Who learned in the lore,

Become all the fair cumulus

In kindness evermore.

And it comes, by-and-by,

From solid, sinking, be,

To serene drifting sighs,

Of man dustpaned by me.

Swept away by rolls of clouds

With kerchief, breath and shroud,

For life nor death can sunder

All the love to man endowed.

© Rachel Jacobs 2022

Sherwin Berger, member 18,239, sent us his cloud inspired poem, “The Cloud Watcher”

Wiltrud Dull sent this cloud inspired poem

Take me high up to the stratosphere
to where the air is wonderfully clear.

Paul Davies, Member 28,330. wrote this descriptive piece to share with us.  We’ve paired it with an image of Zunderdorp, Gemeente Amsterdam, North Holland, Netherlands   © mercy

Staring out the window,
wondering why those cotton-wool balls
which look like mammoths
or a score of shrubs shoulder-to-shoulder
don’t over-fly my garden in smaller clumps
the size of cows or sheep or rabbits or birds

I mean
why are these clouds so large
is there some gravitational attraction
which keeps those visible water particles
together in bundles of roughly similar size

© Paul Davies