Persistent Wet Weather 2007

So this is how I see it…

Usually, when it’s time for Spring sunshine,
Mother’s Day flowers,
Easter Egg hunts,
Summer holidays
Walks on the beach,
Picnics and deckchairs
And blue, blue skies,
All the clouds, efficiently,
Drift away
To distant places,
Rain forests, tropical zones
And great sea spaces,
Piling up dutifully
Out of the way
To leave us an empty sky stage
For the sun’s performance.

BUT…

This Year
The clouds have rebelled.
They were tired of packing their suitcases
And rolling and gliding, conveniently, away.

This Year
They have stayed behind
And have taken their holiday
At home.

This Year
They are basking in stolen sunshine
Above our heads
Toasting their tummies.

This Year
They are keeping our sunshine for themselves
And what we think is persistent rain
Is actually sweltering clouds
Perspiring…

©Jacqueline Mai August 2007

Pedro

Our cat companion of 21 years
Has gone to his heaven to join his mama.
I imagine soft clouds holding and comforting him
Where before it was us and our now empty arms.

Passing clouds dapple his earthly resting place
With a constant balm of caresses
Bathing him in light and shade
And taking him gently onwards.

Sunrise greets him first each morning
As the night clouds race out to the sea,
Then they gently pull their blanket over him
On their return at the end of the day.

The sunshine and darkness that besets us
In these early days of loss
Needs the soothing drift of clouds and time
To loosen and bear away our tears.

I watch the cloud shadows in their ceaseless voyage
Smoothing the places where he once walked
Softening the sadness and giving Nature
A new page to write upon.

©Jacqueline Mai June 2007

The Silent Dance

Grey, fast moving sky,
Dense blanket clouds, tearing,
Releasing gold patches
From the clear sky above.
And in the turbulence,
In its dips and hollows,
Seabirds crest the thermal waves
Riding the wind,
Weaving a silent dance
In an empty sky,
Secretly, just for me,
Alone outdoors.
.
Beyond the birds, clouds gather thick grey
But westward the sky is torn into rags
As the wind pushes the cover inland
Tearing the mantle from the sea.
The birds, sheltering,
Follow the clouds landwards
Safe from the chill
Of open sea air
And in their passage
Below the clouds
They dance for me,
Circling my head like a blessing.

In an empty sky
Their silent dance
Tells ancient tales
Of their journeys with the wind.
They do not mew, peacock like
In their seabird voice.
The dance is silent, invisible
Except to me who, looking skyward
On a grey and windy day
To watch the racing clouds
Finds instead
The dance of the birds.

©Jacqueline Mai 2007

Spring-cleaning is under way.

When morning clouds scuttle away
I shake the blanket of sleep from my head
And step into the warm mist of the shower.
I dress in fleecy clothes of cloudlike softness,
And my hair, wispy now, floats like cirrus clouds
Around my sunny smile.
Cumulus clouds of cotton wool add moisturizer, gently, to my ageing face
And a delicate cloud of powder colours its fragile whiteness.

Then, having aired my bed
I toss the duvet and watch it settle
Into its plump altocumulus mounds and hollows
So soft and inviting, a cloudy marshmallow of comfort.
The temptation to sink back into my winter cocoon
Is fogging my brain…
But no, I must seize the day
Spring-cleaning is underway.

Clouds of dust slink in every room
Stratus-like, they spread greyness
As I disturb the winter slumber of books and cupboards
Tired cushions and fading curtains.
I wipe a nimbostratus cloud from dull mirrors
And the washing machine with its towering load,
Begins its low thunderous rumble
As it spews winter from my home.

Out in the garden the thunder rumble turns into the cracking of cottons
Flashing and snapping on the line in the whirl of a gusty breeze.
The sky a clear cloudless blue,
For aren’t all the clouds in my house?
The windows shine as I wipe away their grey winter haze
And the sun gleams into all the rooms
As my cloud world dissolves
And spring steps in.

©Jacqueline Mai May 2007

France.

Weather or not…

Every cloud has a silver lining
So they say
But not today.

I set off this morning, my head in the clouds
The weekend was near
Good reason to cheer.

I was walking on air, a spring to my step
But it wasn’t long
Before it all went wrong…

In those muggy moments before a storm
Beware the stifling suffocation
Of optimistic elation…

The Boss, a notable tyrant, had a face like thunder
Oh, oh, watch out!
There’s trouble about!

“Let’s not cloud the issue”, the boss roared.
“Your job’s on the line!”
(It had to be mine.)

It never rains but it pours
Is certainly true.
Has it happened to you?

The Boss blustering and threatening
Stormed out of the room
With a thunderous BOOM!

In a fog of confusion I weathered the storm
Worked like a whirlwind, a roaring cyclone
I blew up a great tempest and huge squally dust clouds.
I scorched through my work sweat poured down around me
I had the wind in my sail
To no avail…

Needless to say I left under a cloud
Sunless and dreary
Drizzly and weary.

But that’s blown over now; I’m on cloud 9
Got a new job
And the outlook is fine!

©Jacqueline Mai April 2007

Clouds give rain, clouds give shade,
some thin clouds create optical phenomena…

Cloud Collecting

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

Clouds

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

There is perhaps a city
Above those fluffy clouds…

A song inspired by watching the clouds in Beaufort, South Carolina, US:

Silver Lining

Theres a storm brewing in this heart of mine
Were at a crossroads trying to find our way
Emotions can get cloudy between us dear
But tommorows bound to be a sunny day

[Chorus]
There’s a silver lining behind every cloud
No matter how dark it may seem to be
Behind those clouds I can see your eyes
Full of sunshine and bright fields of dreams

A new day waits for us behind the shadows
Promises a brighter dawn ahead
Magic will come down on Shangri-La
Weaving love from skeins of heavens silver threads

Don’t let the momentary get you down
The wheel of life will turn before to long
All these fleeting problems will resolve
Just like an optimistic lovers song

Keep the faith and love will come around
We’ll find we’re standing firm on shiny silver clouds

I see horses galloping like saffron wind
Across the sunset prairie sky…

MAGONIA – THE CITY IN THE CLOUDS

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

“PLENTY OF SUNSHINE FROM THE WORD ‘GO’ “

Have you seen the forecast map for Summer on the way?
It’s “wall-to-wall”, it’s “plenty”, and stronger by the day;
A field-day for the ‘lobsters’ as the UV bakes them pink;
It’s what they want beside the sea – skin cancer? They don’t think!

If we’re not promised any sun, whatever shall we do?
As if our lives depend on it – a cloudy day’s taboo;
By hook or crook it’s got to shine, whatever time of day;
The weathermen are forced to grin and say “It’s on the way!’

It’s seen as quite unfortunate if somewhere’s “plagued by clouds”;
It’s even more a tragedy when rain soaks seaside crowds;
There’ll be the odd tornado strike, a lightning flash or two;
But tell us what we want to hear :- “There’ll be a bit of blue!”

As long as sun shines where we live, that’s all we need to ask;
There may be blizzards in the north, whilst south coast cities bask.
“Good news – a heatwave’s coming soon, high pressure builds again!”
The Metmen burst with glee and dance as farmers pray for rain!

All right for those on holiday, or you lot on the beach,
But I’m at work and can’t go out – my freedom’s out of reach.
Does everyone like suntan cream and lying in the sun?
Some want it dull all afternoon to get their housework done.

The Metmen say “unlucky” parts will get a cloudy spell,
But sunshine means that barbecues will stink us out as well;
They say the haze will soon “burn back” – whatever this construes;
So get out there and relish it, forgo what else you’d choose.

No clouds, there’d be no mottled fields, nor sunsets tinged with flame;
But just the bland unchanging blue, and every day the same.
So spare a thought, you weathermen, some like it cloudy too …….
I dread a future where you’ll throw a switch to turn skies blue!

© Indrani Ananda

Brighton, UK

THE CLOUD WATCHER

I saw a sultan’s palace in the clouds
With minarets gold-dipped in setting sun;
Its lapis-blue paved stairways spanned the sky
Then fell away as evening’s light was done.

I watched a fronded bird of paradise
Become a crystal dancer in the blue;
She spun with graceful lacy cirrus veils
That trailed behind her where the jet-stream flew.

I found a lion in the cumulus
Whose mane was billowed in the rising air;
But he grew like a spreading mushroom cloud
That caved in on itself in grey despair.

There was an angel borne on latticed wings
High in the cirro-stratus flow;
And he became a silver unicorn,
And then an eagle watching earth below.

The nimbus built tall towers to the sun
With dark foreboding ramparts brooding there;
The curtained rain swept like a widow’s weeds
Down through the weeping rainbow-patterned air.

Soft animals of every shape and form –
Fairweather friends who change to butterflies;
They run the errands of the winds sublime
Then fade away before they’ve crossed the skies.

And many cloud-wrought ships glide through the night
Unseen along the hoary vapour trails;
Made ghostly by the pale moon-mariner…….
I wish that I could trim their pearly sails.

© Indrani Ananda

My head aches
and a thumping migraine…

Maleny, Australia.

Clouds

Altocumulus lenticularis with cirrocumulus stratiformis
And cumulonimbus undulatus with nimbostratus radiatus,
And perhaps altostratus duplicatus or cirrocastellanus nebulosus,
Make my translucidus praecipitatio tremble with congestus mediocris.
And if a pileus pannus arcus should calvus with a fractus virga
My vertebratus would duplicatus and my mamma floccus could cirrostratus.
But when a castellanus pannus can incus with a lacunosis,
then stratocumulus perlucidus will spissasus all over arcus velum.
So I think I’ll stay at home today.

© Ian Pollock

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

A flotilla of ships in grey and cream
Are the clouds I see in a waking dream…

I plummet earth bound.
I wish I could fall upward,
clouds are not so hard

Grey-white, surreal, fantastic,
Light as cotton…

Vevey, Switzerland.

Mont Pélerin poems above Vevey

Low hanging the clouds
No sky, just grey
Dismal is this another day
……………………..shrouds

Funeral flowers
have withered away
…………………..shortlived

No sun, no sound.
A bell chimes
As in gone-by times…….

…

Steam engine of bygone days
Puffs its clouds across the lake
Disappearing, reappearing.
Reappearing, disappearing.
Mountainous outlines of another age.
Horn blasts out of the fog
Boat slides by on the ripples of the lake.

…

Distant drone of motor cars
Occasional bird call
Rain pattering. Muted
voices, doors opening, closing.
Rain pouring.

Lonely chair
sits looking at lonely view
Empty, cold and wet.
Strange Summer this.

…

Sahara heat baked July
Green fields burnt brown and dry
Farmers harvested in the corn
fearing unexpected thunderstorm

A diamond collier
this cobweb
wet with rain drop pearls
shimmering in the cold grey light

Torrent after torrent
through the darkness of the night
Wake up again to the same sad sight…

…

The summer of the many butterflies
All colours, all sorts
Fluttering here, fluttering there
Accompanying the bees, the wasps,
the hornets too
Who built a nest outside our loo
They buzzed and zoomed and droned
like the villagers who wailed and moaned
Too cold this winter and now too hot
Never satisfied with what they’ve got

…

Another day
Above Vevey
Still and grey –
Still grey.
Where the August blue sky?
The Alpine panorama?
Where the mirrored reflections
in the still water of the lake?
Where have they gone those golden rays
Of long warm Summer days?

…

Grey is not always grey.
Sometimes lacklustre yellow or bilious green.
Or acid blue or shady mauve.

Day is not always day.
Can be night. Or morning.
Hell or heaven.
Short or long or in-between.
Colourful and bright
like a rainbow between earth and sky.
Or shades of metal, icy, hard
sickly hues matching the mood.

© Heather Cameron-Fischer
(Hôtel du Parc, Mont Pèlerin
(Vevey), Suisse, August 2006)

Mont Pèlerin poems above Vevey, Switzerland.

Low hanging the clouds
No sky, just grey
Dismal is this another day
……………………..shrouds

Funeral flowers
have withered away
…………………..shortlived

No sun, no sound.
A bell chimes
As in gone-by times…….

*********************

Steam engine of bygone days
Puffs its clouds across the lake
Disappearing, reappearing.
Reappearing, disappearing.
Mountainous outlines of another age.
Horn blasts out of the fog
Boat slides by on the ripples of the lake.

**********************
Distant drone of motor cars
Occasional bird call
Rain pattering. Muted
voices, doors opening, closing.
Rain pouring.

Lonely chair
sits looking at lonely view
Empty, cold and wet.
Strange Summer this.

***********************
Sahara heat baked July
Green fields burnt brown and dry
Farmers harvested in the corn
fearing unexpected thunderstorm

A diamond collier
this cobweb
wet with rain drop pearls
shimmering in the cold grey light

Torrent after torrent
through the darkness of the night
Wake up again to the same sad sight…

*******************************
The summer of the many butterflies
All colours, all sorts
Fluttering here, fluttering there
Accompanying the bees, the wasps,
the hornets too
Who built a nest outside our loo
They buzzed and zoomed and droned
like the villagers who wailed and moaned
Too cold this winter and now too hot
Never satisfied with what they’ve got

******

Another day
Above Vevey
Still and grey –
Still grey.
Where the August blue sky?
The Alpine panorama?
Where the mirrored reflections
in the still water of the lake?
Where have they gone those golden rays
Of long warm Summer days?

******
Grey is not always grey.
Sometimes lacklustre yellow or bilious green.
Or acid blue or shady mauve.

Day is not always day.
Can be night. Or morning.
Hell or heaven.
Short or long or in-between.
Colourful and bright
like a rainbow between earth and sky.
Or shades of metal, icy, hard
sickly hues matching the mood.

© Heather Cameron- Fischer.

Dreams

A man dreams of a forgotten sky
the colours of my eyes seem whitened by the morning dew
the speckled rain the falls from broad shoulders
the lining of my skin seemed hidden from me
the smell of seeds and the taste of trees
can only comfort a mans dreams
how softly can you tread?
if you tread on my dreams?
if god was up there, would he be the sun or the clouds?
who knows, just a dream
just a thought, like the rain
falling out of my mind…

Jets

Not even the sky is free from our graffiti:
air-currents all day long smudge and emboss
flock trails scrawled by planes over the blue
latitudes of summer. Fine crystals of ice
drawn by the billion through that high cloud-chamber
in the wake of our irritant particles of business,
haste, anxiety, longing to be elsewhere,
they leave the sky’s intangible islands and cities
barred or netted with oblique lines. Beautiful
when a sinking sun touches them off or a breeze
frets them to solvent lace, still they inscribe
our failure to leave anything unmarked, our helpless
filling-up of our own space, as we thincken the mind
with noise, with chatter, with a scratch-polish of dullness.
Or so the mind reflects, pondering its mirror
nature: and yet those fine-scarfed veins express
tranquillity too and something vulnerable,
ephemeral, and though entirely our own, no less
assumed by nature than the pattern of Dorset fields
or the New Grange rock-incisions. Restlessness
is what we’re made of, as much as breath or water:
you can read it there as another jet goes over
and the dwindling chord of its engine-music spreads
to a rolling monotone with a hint of thunder,
drawing a white thread into a haystack of clouds.

Sunset Clouds

The sky blue tortoiseshell.
Mixed on its palette the curded marquetries
and stones, the scumbled
rag and piled muscle, a slow
pondering manoeuvre
on the estuary. Fingernail flecks,
apricot-vanilla scoop
stealing a march; the fibreglass
escarpment pitched
on a silent thunder of surf.

[Both from Selected Poems (Carcanet, 2000)]
http://www.grevel.co.uk/

How can we feel young again?
We can do it if we try…

The cloud, he woke at break of day, with sunlight in his eyes…

If Clouds Could Talk…

What if clouds hold conversations
That would be a revelation
If they can talk, then they might say…

“I hope it doesn’t rain today!”
“I’m freezing, my hands are cold as ice.”
“It’s too hot! This breeze feels nice.”
“…Hmmm…What color should I wear?”
“This wind is messing up my hair.”
“My! It’s raining cats and dogs!”
“I can’t see through all this fog.”
“Look at that romantic moon.”
“Winter will be coming soon.”
“I think that I’ll just hang around.”
“CAN’T SOMEONE TURN THAT THUNDER DOWN!!!”
“The stars are shining bright tonight”
“Have you seen the Northern Lights?”
“Mom, can I go out and play?”
“Yes, but don’t go far away.”
“We’d better go, it’s getting late.”
“I think that she’s put on some weight!”
“I like to travel to far-off places.”
“I can’t remember names, but remember faces.”
“We should really get together.”
“I’m tired of all this crummy weather.”
“I wish that I had wings to fly.”
“I wonder what happens when we die?”
“This Summer sun can be so soothing.”
“WHAT’S THE PROBLEM!? WHY AREN’T WE MOVING!?”
“I really am not into crowds.”
“He thinks that he’s God’s gift to clouds.”

I don’t believe that clouds can’t speak
…I’ve seen them dancing cheek to cheek And in those times of deep devotion I’m certain they express emotion

© Greg Kern Olmsted Falls, Ohio

We all wish that we could be, like clouds so lazy and carefree…

Erith, Kent, United Kingdom.

A sunset ditty

The summer sun that sinks like sand
Into this dusty, hilly land
The red ball slips behind the rocks
Just like a coin into a box.

© Graham Croucher. 2007

These are the clouds
I love to see –
giant islands,
promontories…

Even Clouds Have a Dark Side

There is something political about a cloud
Is it the substance that seems so solid, or
The asymmetric bias to float with the wind?
Farmers like to believe clouds of favor
Hide beyond the horizon to bless the night.
Showers and lightning strikes apparent to
The sailor and the continental prairie alike
Bring the fresh showers then skies of blue.
The lower clouds observed take the credit
Although the ones not seen, at higher levels
Are the thermodynamic players that permit
The humidity to become drops that fall down,
To earth, to be carried away with the currents
End up in the ocean to become another rain
Cloud, that soak you like taxation incompetents.

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

THE LONELY CLOUD

We were driving along on the western slope
We were kidding and someone was telling a joke.
When all at once someone spoke,
They spoke aloud,
“Look up in the air at that lonely cloud
It looks to me like it’s lost from the crowd.”

It was just hanging there in suspended flight
It was not very big but was fluffy and white.
We thought it was probably filled with fright
about where it would go or would spend the night.

All the rest of the trip we watched in the sky
But the little cloud was gone,
We will never know where nor will we know why.

© Glen L. Ewing. 1978.

Clouds are great, they play an intrinsic part in the earths Eco system…

in Wilmington, Delaware, US.

Kaleidoscope Skies

Billowing clouds go drifting by,
Changing patterns high in the sky;
Languidly sailing an upside-down sea,
Kaleidoscope sky entertainment is free.

On a casual day imagination can run,
Seeing tall crimson ships in a low setting sun;
Pirates dancing on marshmallow rails,
Skull and crossbones tucked in among shadowy sails.

Memories surface of a child long ago,
Laying in meadows and watching the show,
Unfolding like magic on a hot summer’s day,
On atmosphere’s stage in a world far away.

With carefree abandon she swallowed the time,
For sightings of wizards or some other rhyme;
Allowing the creatures to dance in the air,
As she, in her mind, often joined them up there.

How sad life’s too hectic to take just a minute,
To look at a cloud and find something in it;
To see once again, with innocent’s eyes,
The beckoning call of kaleidoscope skies.

© Geraldine M Stephey

Wilmington, Delaware, US.

Kaleidoscope Skies

Billowing clouds go drifting by,
Changing patterns high in the sky;
Languidly sailing an upside-down sea,
Kaleidoscope sky entertainment is free.

On a casual day imagination can run,
Seeing tall crimson ships in a low setting sun;
Pirates dancing on marshmallow rails,
Skull and crossbones tucked in among shadowy sails.

Memories surface of a child long ago,
Laying in meadows and watching the show,
Unfolding like magic on a hot summer’s day,
On atmosphere’s stage in a world far away.

With carefree abandon she swallowed the time,
For sightings of wizards or some other rhyme;
Allowing the creatures to dance in the air,
As she, in her mind, often joined them up there.

How sad life’s too hectic to take just a minute,
To look at a cloud and find something in it;
To see once again, with innocent’s eyes,
The beckoning call of kaleidoscope skies.

© Geraldine M Stephey

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.

All life is still.
No breeze…