Category: Cloud Poetry

Why not send us your own cloud poetry? Remember to include your full name and where you live.

From Ged Wells in London, UK:

Grey matters

Send in the Clouds, that will never lift,
save the brain forest, grey matters and drift.

Islands of dusk, duffel coated with pride,
muffle the light, cloud cuckoo landslide.

No gloom at the Inn, when dimmer switched
tucked into horizon, and blanket-stitched.

As wrapped in cotton, wolves losing sleep,
snug, restless days, when counting the sheep.

True muted colours, relaxing the eye,
grease proof positive, Tupperware sky.

Our tones humbled, Bubble and squeak,
from cushions deep-fried, at solstice peak.

The jungle cook grills, to desert sand,
so eat your greens and pleasant land.

Our shifty shield, will save the day,
Sunstroke beaten, by battleship grey.

From Victoria Craven in Oxfordshire, UK:

rice

we have moments
when the sky comes closer
when we spot and feel the earth moving
faster like now as
she walks down the garden
her past-atmosphere is full
bare feet loving the wet grass
with no-one to ask…
what is she doing
she sits on the bench and
eats rice when we are alone
when we are alone

the beauty is bound
through peace amidst constant sound
she wears her hair down
it mornings her face
to whom it may concern,
please – just leave us in grey
for the morning
in the afternoon
with dull
please – return us to the sky
– to itself
under that yellow strip

From Anthony Lewis in Swansea UK:

Roller Clouds

High on this hill above the bay,
Waiting for the dawn of day.
“With head in the clouds”
Like my teacher would say–
Well now I am a silver surfer,
Browsing the sky, for gems above,
Doing most of all that which I love.
With cloud painters palette,
Of magenta and blue,
And roller clouds,you would love too.
So now as I descend this heady hill.
I see a gap, and walk right through.

(Kilvey Hill, October, 2005)

Jacqueline Mai in France:

The ‘Waiting for Me’ cloud

A train ride
To the seaside
In childhood
Just after the war
The black thundering engine
Rudely ejecting
Chuffed out clouds
Which drift lazily behind
Like streams of soap bubbles
Thinning and evaporating
Puffs of fluff
Contrasting greatly
With the rattle and roar
Of the engine’s ponderous weight
And then –
‘The sea, the sea
I can see the sea.’
And yes, there it is,
The same cloud
That was there last time
Has come round again
It must have gone all the way round the world
But there it is, waiting
At the same beach.
The adults with me laugh
Knowingly
How silly they are
I’ll never be like them
And I’m not…

(January 2006)

From Megan Webster

A selection from a series inspired by the US Postal Service ‘Cloudscapes’ stamps (now out of print):
Cirrus Radiatus

How your name sizzles!
Yet they swear
your heart is born
of windblown ice-
but look how your ivory fingers
caress the azure;
how they reach out
to the world
like a lover
begging her hand.

Cumulonimbus Incus

An Inca god no doubt.
Yet I mistook him
for a wild stallion
galloping across the Andes
in search of whiter snow.
On closer look,
I see he’s only a common cloud
puffed with pride,
pondering where and when
to drop his offering.

Altocumulus Undulatus

You win the prix d’or
for décor of
the ozone dome.
The human eye stares
in awe of your miracles:
sky of virgin smiles,
sky of unbearable joy.

Cumulus Congestus
On first glance
I shivered, feared
you held the poison of Hiroshima…
Grasping your name,
I breathe relief
you merely suffer a spell
of cumulated congestion.
Nothing serious –
nothing a dose of crisp air
and a brisk constitutional
across the moor
won’t cure.

From Simon Ellis in Hindley, UK

Wandering Lonely

The cloud that drifted by on the winter breeze
through a dead sky of pale white blue
has gone now

I remember standing and watching it float by
far overhead
as it changed shape and form heading for the horizon

It was a clear day
and I could see forever

or at least
I thought I could

I watched the cloud drift over patchwork fields
over subrural sprawls
over forests and roads
casting its multicellular shadow over the world below
as it slowly vanished
a victim of its own lightness
and transpiration

The world breathes out – lo, a cloud

The world breathes in – lo, ’tis gone

It seemed to vanish just in front of the sun
in a glorious sunburst
that was over before it began

After the demise of my cloud I went home
through dismal middle-class suburbs
to my dismal middle-class lodgings
and everything felt so peculiarly futile

Thank you for my cloud
whoever sent it

It was wonderful
while it lasted.

(2nd April 2001)

From Bill Greenwood:

Three Times One Cloud

Cotton florets hug the ground,
horsetails sweep the upper reaches,
and stratus snowdrifts layer
the otherwise space between.

Leaving land, one Caribbean moment,
low curdled forms sail
shadows on the silver
face of the water.

The same time, cumulus
manta rays travel the sand
floor in aquamarine. This occurs
every day under the sun.

(Written in Latin America)

From Kim Bugie:

Written in different languages ‘to reflect the changing nature of the sky’:
Solaris du Ciel

Si: they are real!
Uber Kopf, if you will
Meme: juste a prove
on a pris le pink pill
and pause et regard
mais on muste faire heed!
Peut-etre, le ciel’s Puck nimbus on speed
~~~~~~~~~~~~>>>>>>>

Ces Times pour un laugh
o guardian de skies
Sun reckless: They’re out-
D’spite long-locked disguise
Jack und Jill’s faces : ) : ) in sepia,
See! S-uggestible sight; O- M-orning G-lory

(2006)

From Brenda Mckone:

There are clouds oh! so white,
There are clouds oh! so grey,
They float back and forth
As the go on their way.
They billow so gently,
Or buffet and storm,
They come when it’s cold
And they come when it’s warm.
I can spend many hours
Watching clouds going by
And wonder why is it
They are up in the sky?

(Written in 1974)

From Glen Shorts in South Dakota, US:

How Humans Get to Heaven

Writing a formula for a cloud is pointless
When you think you have it right
It vaporizes and mocks your foolishness
Exposed and basking in blue light

Water is such a common thing for thus
It takes a cold day to expose our breath
Show us that clouds are spirits within us
Whose airy domain transcends our death

From Luke Sivertson in Denver, Colorado, US:

Whirling Dervishes

Whirling dervishes
Swirling, dipping, diving
Around the afternoon sky
In all their pure vaporous glory.
Weaving in and out
They sweep like ghosts
Forever intertwined.

Coming together
The dancers grow.
At first a white puff
Then with eerie silence
The color changes.
From white to gray
From gray to black
Ever growing into a hulking mass
A black heap of fury
Thunder is its voice
Floods are its footprints
As it tears through the plains

Whirling dervishes
Swirling, dipping, diving
Descend from the abyss above
Spinning in an ever intensifying circle
Down to the earth they plunge
Twisting, twirling, turning
The dervishes demolish and destroy
Intertwining with the trees and shrubs
Ripping, ravaging, razing
The dancers leave their scars
Disappearing to dance another day

Whirling dervishes
Swirling, dipping, diving
Forever dancing
Forever free on the breeze.

(Denver, 2005)

From Anthony Lewis in Swansea, UK

Sky

Beneath that lofty sky,
As leaden grey clouds drift by.
I want for nothing more,
Than to stand amazed.
And hear seas roar.
And on the far horizon,
A backdrop canvas bible black.
The stage is set
As I get wet.
And clouds move and stack-
In shapes and forms before the wind.
But beaten by the turning tide of time.
Retreat I must from this shore
Beneath that lofty sky.

(Swansea Bay, September 2005)

From Paul Doxey in Suffolk, UK

A poem inspired by hearing the music of The Cloud Harp

Your clear blue sky

Your clear blue sky
cannot convince
me
I see through your pretence
no stitch masks your emptiness
your godless perfection of void

Your deceitful black sky
transparent
betrayed by chilling phantoms
false mirage of harbour lights and homesteads
unreachable

You see
I have heard the music of angels

[Dedicated to the Cloud Harp]

From Maximilan Kleibeler in Hamburg, Germany:

(We don’t understand it, but he promises us it is about clouds)

Sie fliegen auf und ab, hin und her,
treffen alles dieser Welt.

Mal hell, mal dunkel, mal leicht mal schwer,
Und manchmal auch ein Farben-Meer.

Mal trifft man sie als Tiger, mal als Drachen,
Und auch mal steigend auf,
aus eines Menschens Rachen.

Mal sind sie Feld, mal sind sie Pfeil,
Und meistens gut fürs Seelen heil.

Mal regen sie auf, mal schön wie Poesie,
Mal verzaubern sie auch, wie Magie.

Man kann sie lieben, man kann sie hassen,
Doch eine Sache, kann man nicht unterlassen.

Man nimmt sie ewig wahr, ob man will oder nicht,
Denn sie gehören zum Leben, so wie das Licht.
(Hamburg, Germany 2004)

From Colin Goedecke in New York City, US

See the site for Colin’s poetry book, The Speed of Sight, here: www.thespeedofsight.com.
And buy a copy here.

 

Animale del Cielo

The gods are amusing each other
with topiaries. Questo pomeriggio,
a rampant lepre is cotton tailed
by a fluffed and puffing cinghiale;
Bacchus pursues a tiny ninfa
which he soon consumes,
only to re-form, a propos,
into a plump and plug-nosed porchetta:
each aerial act reflecting
the bestiary of this bel paese.

(Tuscany, September 1998)

Las Bocanadas

Of an evening
usually approaching cocktail hour,
when a good wind comes up,
the clouds over Cozumel
roll into Robustos and Churchills,
Imperials and Double Coronas,
light themselves with the first flames
of sunset, and puff off
to Havana.

(Yucatan, Mexico 1999)

From Leah Aronoff in Ohio, US:

The Banality of Blue Skies

They are serious about cirrus.
And stratus.
And cumulus.
Also alto.
And fracto.
.
There is the honored cloud of the month.
Clouds that look like other things.
Clouds that look like nothing else.
One kind looking over the shoulder of another.
They softly call attention to
News that rocks the cloud world.
Cloudspotters chit chat with other cloudspotters.
The Cloud Appreciation Society Badge Issuing Committee
Makes a stunning announcement.
Henceforth new members will receive
Only one style of badge. (Gasp!)
It will show the cumulus.
This makes old members instant collectors.
Ebay eligible.
With their leftover cirrus, contrail, whatever.

My suspicion is that one, Gavin Pretor-Pinney,
Coudspotter Extraordinary,
Is behind it all,
Churning out his little cumulus badges,
Waiting to sucker in people like me.
People with their heads in the clouds.

From Marianne Beasley:

Dear Clouds

I will
lie upon my back
and gaze up at you
and yearn to be with you
so that I could
roll around in you
delight in you
be free in you
I do
Love you.

From Dan Bloom in Taiwan:

Clouds

Like human fingerprints
No two clouds are alike
They soar in the sky
like majestic towers
”turkey towers” the weatherman calls them
beautiful,
splendiferous,
incredible,
spacious,
ever-mutating,
crying out for attention,
hungry,
passionate,
full of pizazz and verve.
Yes, summer clouds are a delight to the eye
white mushrooms of smoke
set against a blue, blue sky…
Are you a summer cloud?
Do you have summer wings?
Summer flings?
Of all the clouds in the world
(and there are millions of them)
Which cloud pattern are you?
Proud?
Content?
Happy?
Sleepy?
Ready to do battle?
Humongous?
Indecipherable?
Lovelorn?

Whatever you do, and whoever you are
remember this:
There is only one you,
and one universe,
of which you are an integral part
and while there are many summer skies
and many summer clouds
the cloud you choose to be
will transport you
to the realization of your dreams
Be the best you can be,
and live up to all your accolades.
Smile when the photographer says “Cheese!”
and give it your best shot.
Life, that is.
Summer clouds,
summer sky,
Bye and bye….
Hello! Goodbye!