from Scarborough, UK

Clouds are not the cheeks of angels you know
they’re only clouds.
Friendly sometimes,
but you can never be sure.
If I had longer arms
I’d push the clouds away
or make them hang above the water somewhere else,
but I’m just a man
who needs and wants,
mostly things he’ll never have.
Looking for that thing that’s hardest to find–

I’ve been going a long time now
along the way I’ve learned some things.
You have to make the good times yourself
take the little times and make them into big times
and save the times that are all right
for the ones that aren’t so good.

I’ve never been able
to push the clouds away by myself.
Help me.

© Ian Mills

Oxford, UK

I know that you see me
And I can sense you are there,
Time to collect my thoughts.
A deep breathe in and I begin to stare.

You move so fast
You move with the wind,
But I want you to stay longer
I want you to be pinned.

You are almost gone now
Our time was so brief,
But thank you Mr Cloud,
You have lifted my grief.

I will sit here a little while longer
Collect my thoughts and continue to ponder,
I envy you in many ways,
how free you are and able to wonder.

© James Robson

Scarborough, UK

THE CLOUD COLLECTOR

“Where are you going,” a stranger asked,
“With your fine mesh net and cardboard box?”
I’m going out, collecting the clouds,
Across the field and over the rocks.

“What are you doing?” a student said,
“In your threadbare coat and woollen hood?”
I’m roving wide, collecting the clouds,
Towards the sea and into the woods.

“What are you planning?” the teacher quizzed,
“With your fountain pen and little book?”
I’m running off, collecting the clouds,
Beyond the hills and crossing the brooks.

“Where are you rushing” a worker sighed,
“With that open smile and gleeful shout?”
I’m racing on, collecting the clouds,
Throughout the land and further about.

“Where are you off to?” the master cried,
“With your fancy hopes and far-fetched dreams?”
I’m searching wide, collecting the clouds,
Along the banks and forging the streams.

“Why are you going?” the people asked.
“With your sights set high, you’ll likely fall.”
I’m living life, collecting the clouds,
Collecting, collecting, collecting them all!

© Matt Stradling 2011

From Winona, MN

Oh Cloud! How wonderful you are…
The way you look, from way afar.

I love the way you look at me,
a thought of you and my mind sets free.

Your shape and color tend to vary everyday,
Big or small, light or dark, I like you either way.

I know I can look up to you, at any point in time.
But, right now I’ve got to go, and end this silly little rhyme.

Thanks for all you do, and for always being there.
I look forward to the next time that you and I can share.

© Carley Clinkscales

Peace Harvest

On a country walk
you can grasp whole handfuls of fresh, clean air;
or gather up the birdsong in great bunches,
throwing it this way and that
as you flick your head from side to side.

The skidding plane of the blue vault
frightens you, and makes you cower in vertigo
as (lying on your back) you plunge deeply in.

Do you remember the times
when you could have reached up
and squashed a cloud,
letting it freeze your palms
as it dribbled through your fingers?

You, who flipped at such a thought,
who found your troubled edges smoothed away,
return to people-squeezing your days on.

“Enough” cries the country,
and weeps its merry heart away.

© Dr Stephen Castell

From Selva Malvezzi, Italy

Some Italian Poetry

Due cieli
Se guardo il cielo azzurro del mattino
e poi gli occhi li chiudo
m’appare un cielo blu, scuro e segreto-
è fatto di cartone ed è animato
come quei libri che se li apri
la favola è di carta ritagliata
diventa fondale dipinto e personaggi –
così è il mio cielo ad occhi chiusi
più blu, forse più bello
ma di cartone

5,30 del mattino
Ai lati della tenda
filtra una luce d’alba –
mi colpisce il biancore
di là dal vetro freddo –
è la luna che alta volge in basso
il suo sguardo muto e velato –
recondita e lontana
separata, sola, senz’anima,
persa nell’infinito cielo

© Dianella Bardelli

Cloud Haiku

Underneath a cloud
A person can understand
The fact of the sun

© Adam Davis

Northampton, Massachusetts, USA

Clouds
Over the high ridge
clouds blossom
from an emptiness
of flame-blue sky,
blossom and vanish
and blossom and vanish again
in a display
of planetary
prestidigitation.

Lamb White Days
It was fine today,
this fifteenth of May,
flocks of fleecy clouds
grazing in cornflower fields
watered by yesterday’s rain.

Islands in the Sky
Across a summer sky
too blue to be a sea
clouds form an archipelago,
not just mist shrouded
as those Islas Encantadas
that Spanish sailors first espied
out in the vast Pacific,
but made of mist itself.
What wondrous creatures dwell
on these shining isles?

© Richard Greene

Tremendous as a great primordial beast, you darkly arched
Across the Summer sky, obliterating warmth and light
From all the valley of the Trent, that lay drought-parched
Beneath you, swathed in dread apocalyptic night.

No countenance you had, but with your mighty concave belly glowered
Forth in grimly rippling shades of sombre black and grey
Shot through with jagged lightning streaks that disempowered
With paralysing terror all who fell within your sway.

Your drifting tentacles of indigo swept earthwards to the fore
To seize a landscape doomed to feed your devastating mystery
Of fear, till in a thunderous trice your seething belly tore
Releasing bounteous shafts of rain, as you dissolved into prehistory.

© Sanderson Nossai de Gagemon.

10th September 2006,
re a storm cloud seen over the Trent Valley on 17th August 2006.

Whipped creams,
Or God’s dreams?
High above the ground,
Hovering without sound.
Soared only by planes,
Or extremely high cranes.
A source of wonder for the young,
From places far flung,
But united in their joy derived,
From this white blanket knived
By blue or black sections
Depending on the suns projections.
Providing rain, sleet and snow
To all those below
Along with delight
To all those in sight.

© Stephen Casey

Clouds

Slippery bits of precipitation, curling and clamoring across
different levels of the atmosphere, they are
temporary fossils casting sedimentary shadows over
ocean, tilled earth and urban sprawl.

In the early evening and earlier morning, they become
chameleons confused against the darkened blue – instead
of hanging like oxygen rich bruises, black and swollen,
they oscillate from plum to blush to saffron.

Like a woman, their offerings shift, only a guess may
predict: cool fingertips of shade in heat,
tiny hard palms of water slapping the earth
or a million tiny Icaruses, ebbing ponderously down.

© Danielle Wick 2011

Winona, Minnesota, USA

Clouds in Ft. Lauderdale

Gigantic cotton balls,
Wonder if it tasted like
Cotton candy. If I could
Touch it, would it be wet?
Who knew they had names,
Other than “shade” or “fog”.
I always watch them
Float on by- I wonder
Where they have to go. Maybe
They watch us as they
Flow, waiting for us to go
Inside so they can come down
and play in our world.
Sometimes, we are too busy too.
When we look up, sometimes
They make shapes to remind us
What we are missing
Down here.

© Dana Serum 2011

Clouds haiku

Ribbons of pink clouds

Figure skating against the

sky, makes Monday melt.

© Katy Konrad 2011

Cloudsongs

Above me
on sunny days
cotton plugs
inconstant layer
crinkled
frail white lambs
grazing
on blue meadows
between
sky and earth
I am listening
to soft musik
of the cloudharp
and the sky
is presentig me a
pearl-coloured smile

* * *

White
dome shaped
cotton plugs above me
falling into pieces
cloudstreets
does appear
leading to the sky
miles above
I am building
a castle with towers
and windows
inconstantly
changeable
an eagle is carried by
the updraft of warm air
not any God
can live here
on these clouds
and later on
the corona of the moon
give light
bluish in dim light

* * *

The sky
covered with
closely packed
tufts of wadding
between them
hills wrapped
with a veil of mist
homeland from
eagle and
dragonflyer
without a voice
and clouds
make a row
time-lens
icecrystalization
glittering
during sunset

© Ursula Gressmann

Only A Passing Cloud

When darkness hides the sun from view and shadows move across the blue -never let it worry you.
It is only a passing cloud.

Don’t let people spoil your day by what they do and what they say, it doesn’t matter anyway,
they are only passing clouds.

And if a big blow should descend do not think that it’s the end.
You’ll see when once your round the bend
It was only a passing cloud.

© Wayne Rickard 2011

The Morning River

The river is flowing
The river is not big but rich
Rocky shore in water to wet
Reflected on the river is a scenic flock of clouds
Among them a bird flies
He was quickly across and disappeared
Into the mass of clouds
The river is flowing without sound
Clouds are flowing along the river
And slowly leaning

© Kazuhiro Tachibana

Cloud Haiku

Clear blue skies above
A jet’s bushy trail bisects
Divisions unreal

Stubborn clouds of fog
Long defy the rising sun
Few folded blankets

© Cheenu Srinivasan

PASSING CLOUDS

Have you lain on a bed of grass
And watched the pictures in clouds that pass
Large and small ones floating by
In that vast and azure sky

Here comes one, just what is that
Your imagination espies a cat
Then a break to reveal the sky
Before another comes gliding by

The shapes are varied, large and small
Maybe a fish or an animal
Puff-ball mountains of cotton-wool
Sailing by on a breeze that’s cool

Oh yes, I’ve lain on a grassy bed
And followed the clouds as each one sped
Their silent course, like a bird on the wing
And hope many more will be following

They come and go, some fast, some slow
As I leisurely watch this picture show
And enjoy the scene as it passes by
Of creative wonders in the sky

When next you have a moment to spare
And clouds are gathered high in the air
I m sure you’ll see, if you carefully look
Those images oft’ found in a picture book

© Olive Brown

Cloud Haikus

Clouds hanging around
Mistaking unscheduled flights
As regular dates

—

Cloud curtains part
Resplendent moon now reveals
Reflected glory

© Cheenu Srinivasan

Look up and See

The waves come rushing with their arched wall of power.
No earthly flight will carry you to safety.
Fill these moments with joy and wonderment,
while closing your ears to the deafening frenzy.
Look up and see the serenity above,
of shapes and colour no other eyes have discovered.
They hover and glide, as if forever,
their majestic movements, practised to perfection.
All as one, like floating geishas across a stage.
A choreographed festival, of light, colour and shapes.

Feel the gentleness wash over you.

© Marque 2010

Memories

Dawn gently rises from its distant pew.
The bright stars of the night dissolve from view.
A kaleidoscope of pastels, and shades, so pure,
appear and morph, while lifted by invisible hands.

Soon the rays will kindle maternity,
from the vapours of their eternity.
Close your eyes, carry the picture to your soul,
recalling the shapes, colours, horizon and burning light.

Now feel the warmth of the sun on your face,
while your feet stand in an icy place.
Slowly, open your eyes and wonder at the subtleties of change.
Those who looked with vacant stare, that earlier moment is lost.

For you, the beauty and emotion are now caste in your mind.
Forever, to recall at will.

© Marque 2010

A walk with my ‘Boy’

The wind is cold and gentle.
Storms chase the unprepared.
Like many a time the sky is two,
as though a mirror of the landscape below.
To the West a great sea flows to unknown shores,
of a blue mirroring the firmament above.
To the East a mysterious horizon before the rising moors,
with a bank of cloud, until overhead.

We leave our carriage, walking together
along a lane where the view is forever.
All compass points stretch by three leagues with the eye.
You stop to look and turning your heel,
there’s too much to see, I stumble and reel.

To the North a vivid rainbow pillar grows,
from out of the sea, of strength and vigour.
I cannot move. I look down at my boy in his own reverie.
He is watching the rabbits as they abound.
We share a silent word, turn and walk West.
Before my feet the land disappears, a roar ascending, danger impending.
Before my eyes a tranquil sea with hidden yolks of strength,
lit with a radiance from the heavens above.

Turning south with a titled head
to watch the sun preparing for bed.
Among its downy pillows so deep,
with its light expired, it’s fallen asleep.
My boy so joyful, a flightless bird.
We join and turn without saying a word

To the North and East the galleons grow ashen.
Their edges painted by the sun’s glowing hearth.
We quicken our pace; we are the quarry of a chase.
A storm, dressed as a willow tree closing to our heels.
Chilled, but dry, we return to our shelter.

Now home we go; what an adventure.

© Marque 2010

To be blessed

Who is more blessed than I?
I delight at the blue of a sky
more than a sky that is blue.
Embracing nature’s glories; what else is their to do?

Who is more blessed than we?
Earth has more beauty than an eye can see.
From the flowing waves in fields of rye,
to the billowing sails across the sky.

© Marque 2010

Do clouds sleep as they stroll the skies?
While their haunting beauty is outlined by full moon

Yet with morning dew still on the ground
They awaken without a yawn, stretch or sound
With life not always knowing that they are there
They look down with a devious stare

A suspicion is aroused that when they huddle together
That they are plotting
For only they can decide the weather

Passive white turns to undecided grey
Which seems an omen for the rest of the day
Afternoon departs as blackness overlaps
With an open arm to the wind
Storm cloud also invites lightening in

Smothered light fades shadows
With darkness drawing nigh to weep
As storm clouds explode
Rain falls heavily toward those that sleep

© Andrew Barrett

AUTUMN SKYSCAPE

Dawn comes in a flash of colour, the sky torn apart by yellow,
stark leafless trees stand out against the heavens which have thin wispy clouds that
hide the sun behind an ocean of colour that my eyes struggle to see.
Soon the brightness dies like a wilting flower and the clouds layer the sky in an
undulating landscape of gossamer;
it looks like an upside-down terrain of an alien planet –
the varied landscape of autumn.

© Nick Goth

ON ANGELS’ WINGS WE FLY

Up we go on gossamer wings made of crystal ice, higher and higher into the blue.
Summer radiance bathes us in its warm radiance as we roll and dive with the sun
shining warmly on our backs.
For this is what it is to be free, so much to enjoy in the sky, up through the
clouds to where the angels live, so high that even in the day the sky is almost
purple.
I know when I die I want to be an angel and to fly as high as I can on gossamer wings.

© Nick Goth

Delle nubi
incedono
gli adoratori

nel torpore
di case
eteree

© Esteban H H Trillo

Cloud Vessel

I wrote at noon — till few seconds before
I was staring at such a spectacular manifestation
of clouds’ morphing in their vivid own life —
I shifted my gaze over to the landscape outside
my bedroom’s window which looks towards north-east.

I really saw something magic — a very form
of life made of steam and air in the sky.
It’s moving slowly but its furtherance was
clearly visible, appreciable — what was it?
A single autonomous storm that was travelling on its skyway.

An indipendent organism of pulsating steam:
white and sharp in the front-end with subtle aerial tentacles
of nearly immaterial whiteness — dark grey and dense
in the back-end where a real propeller, an airscrew
of atmospheric proportion’s rotating regularly
in a geometry of vaporous and thick blades.

A vessel of clouds navigating along routes of highness and open space.
It proceeded in its flyabout disturbed by neither other clouds nor winds,
by neither mountains that rise and cover the eastern horizon nor the city’s skyline.
It had its own well-drawn profile, contours easy to focus with the naked-eye.

I’ve followed this sailing airship up to its disappearing
into the indistinct canvas of fading grey steam in the long distance.
It has kept his well-refined and recognizable shape — always.
A journeyer, perhaps a visitor (i do suppose), from a clouds’ realm…

© Esteban HH Trillo

To Touch a Cloud

No desire to meet one so,
because in the mind we truly know;
to touch ‘twould be an icy shock.
Let it linger that soft touch,
in the mind and nothing but.

© Sarah Gathergood

Shadow Cloud

I cast a shadow on this earth,
a passing cloud then gone,
Phasing in, then out, then in,
full in strength, then fading dim,
a unique part of one.

© Kevin Bole

September’s Spring

September’s spring nearly full sprung,
yet August winds still chill,
here upon mountain top;
clouds scud, scoot and clamour,
pale fluffy faces huff,
while darkened cumulous puff,
precipitately pregnant,
we await the fall.

© Mountain Fog (AKA Justin Baillieu Fitzpatrick)