Holly Payne-Strange, Member 52,979, from New Jersey was enjoying the clouds at Thanksgiving in 2023 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

Li Zeyou, Member 65,190 from Jiangsu province, China, sent us his cloud inspired poem. We’ve paired it with an image by Nicholas Jiang of a silver lining moment over Daning Park, Shanghai.

The clouds are lonely,
They often walk alone in the vast sky.
When we are on the road and look up –
How carefree they are.

The clouds are lively,
They always cling together and form a whole.
When we stand on the mountaintop and look down –
They are like the sea.

The clouds are free,
They are always so unrestrained.
When we sit in the garden and observe –
They change endlessly.

The clouds are complex,
They always cover one another.
When we fly through the clouds in an airplane –
They are layer upon layer.

When you are at leisure,
You might as well look up at the sky.
The clouds – these interesting things,
Surely they are worthy of our admiration.

© Li Zeyou, May 2025

Jan Boles, Member 13,316, sent us his humorous cloud related limerick.  We have paired it with an image of a curtain of precipitation falling from a storm system over Charlo, Montana, US by Ruth Quist.

A cloud spotter, known as Horatio,
Was keen on words rhyming with “ratio.”
He often would sigh,
Looking up at the sky,
“That’s not ‘rain,’ it’s ‘praecipitatio.’”

© Jan Boles February 2024

Buckshot Dot, AKA Dee Strickland Johnson, sent one of her more recent poems.  The image we’ve chosen to accompany it is a sunrise over Terrassa, Barcelona, Spain by Lourdes Sanches Munoz

A BRILLIANT SUNSET

I saw a sunset, just this evening.
Out the window of my den.
‘Twas so lovely, so inspiring
I ran to fetch my camera in.
Vermillion clouds –
a dozen of them, ‘gainst a sky
deep turquoise blue!
By the time I’d found my camera, tho’,
alas, the show was through.

Still, I know I’ll keep it always
in the lens of my mind’s eye:
Those amazing brilliant
orange pink clouds
dancing in a turquoise sky.

Buckshot Dot* © 2020

Melody Serra, Member 56,638 from New York City, sent a poem she wrote about her membership and receiving our Cloud-a-Day emails.  Image:  A Circumhorizon Arc over Colorado, US.   © Keelin

Subject: Cloud-a-Day

 On August 29, 2021 I became a cloudspotter
                            member 56,638 of the Cloud Appreciation Society!
everyday since then, an email with a photo 
             taken by another member, of the sky, lover of blue
  to think that we are all part of the same sun-filled dome 
            to think that with our creative minds we can build shapes out of 
condensed water vapor 
            it all gives me chills	( the good kind )
  close to 600 emails have 
             brought me closer to
                                    skyscapes, landscapes, and seascapes around the world
                                                have taught me the difference between cirrus, cumulus, stratus, 
                                   cumulonimbus
                                   fluctus, asperitas, noctilucent, lenticular
                                              have taught me that the beams of light that shine through the gaps 
                                   in clouds, 
                                   like ladders of light reaching down to us, are called 
                                              crepuscular rays
                                   maybe i too will see the green flash one day
	                                      or the fluffy cumulus clouds reflecting on salt flats in Humahuaca
                                   or the optical effect, stunning color play, pearlescent
                                               called circumhorizon arc
		                                           for now i count myself so lucky, 
                                                                                  each sky greets me and beckons me
                                                                                                                       “what cloud do you see?”

© Melody Serra

Antonio Martínez, a calligrapher from Spain is passionate about clouds.  He told us, “I have dedicated 5 collages to Goethe’s poems in the original language, celebrating the work of Luke Howard: Atmosphäre, Cirrus, Cumulus, Stratus, Nimbus. They are handwritten in gothic script, with a square-tipped metal nib and ink on Strathmore toned gray A4 paper”. The image above is “Stratus” by J W Goethe.

Cloud enthusiast, Simon Rickman, sent us this Haiku and accompanying image.  Seeing everyday objects in clouds (and other objects) is called Pareidolia and he told us this picture is a good example of a head in the clouds.

Cloud Face

it is no wonder
they call me ‘the daydreamer’
my head’s in the clouds!

© Simon Rickman

Chris Tetley, Member 10,338, sent us his recent poem and photograph.  He told us, “given the excessively dull and dreary weather we’ve had so far this season in the UK, the poem is a plea for winter cloud to be a little more considerate“.

Fairweather Friend

Clouds, I thought you were a friend,
But at present, I’m not so sure.
With cover and dullness slow to end,
And sunny hope you long obscure.

For why on many a winter’s day,
Do you stubbornly stay the same?
A landscape of endless gloomy grey,
And world trapped listless in your frame.

Then where your kindly clumpy mounds,
And their benign fair-weather wool?
When in summer sky, their sort abounds,
With these delights seems ever full.

I view this as a sky-drawn curtain,
The stage behind it being prepared.
And though duration looms uncertain,
It helps me through when I’ve despaired.

Yet I know that soon when all is set,
And brighter scenery is revealed.
I’ll my every complaint then forget,
As to the year’s new glory yield.

And I appreciate clouds need to gather,
To discuss, agree and plan.
But can you please reduce the blather,
For of this cloud, I’m not a fan.

© Chris Tetley

Guo Wei, Member 57,319, sent us a poem that he wrote after seeing dozens of large horseshoe vortex formations develop one after the other over Xiamen, China.  He has kindly translated it into English for us and sent a photograph he took of the sky that day.

Miracle

• An Unbelievable Afternoon of Seeing over a Dozen Big Horseshoe Vortex Clouds one after another

When the sky’s inspiration explodes on a windy afternoon,
The sparse shadows of things stretch across the serene pedestrian street,
Still in my white coat, many years,
Which has been nurturing a tiny flame within my heart.

The spectacle of thousands of horses galloping suddenly unfolds,
Accompanied by the background music of the childhood version of the Journey to the West,
Which rushes out from an unknown old shop.

It seems like an invisible vortex hidden in the grey background, stirring,
And spitting out naughty children like smoke rings,
As if the desire – the source of life’s drive?
Has materialized with nothing into a masterpiece.
The children line up and vault over the huge tree in the middle of the street one after another.

Last night I shouldn’t have lost my temper,
Argued with you about whether a colander can scoop water to wash your hair.
“There really are miracles.”
I wish to watch them with you now, my daughter,
How lovely is the world in your eyes?

I stand like a white fool, rooted to the spot,
Repeatedly checking everything that slipped away during each sleepy afternoon,
Afraid that the supposed awake is a dream,
Afraid that photos will disappear like horseshoe vortex clouds, dancing and leaving no trace,
Until the curtain falls, the sky is empty,
No one has looked through the ecstasy within my coat,
Like an invisible man, transparently crying, stirring,
The cries of the traders around that has been passed from mouth to mouth for centuries.
The waterfall of Dichondra shakes, hooves become lighter, grey-grey hue remains.

© Guo Wei 2024