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

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

Sara Austin Bailey, member 50,249 sent us this cloud-inspired poem from her home in North Carolina.

Nick Houvras, Member 7,367 sent us his poem “A Wish”

Image: Crepuscular Rays over Somerset, England © Helen Crawley

A Wish

Don’t you wish you were a cloud?

Flying free where ever the wind sent you!

Looking down from up above on sunny ground!

Or wet leaves you sent your water to.

And then you slowly disappear from the heavens that held you.

Just as the earth holds us we too go with or without a sin.

But everyone asks where did that cloud go?

And so do all of us here now on Mother Earth!

© Nick Houvras, 2023

Minnie Biggs, Member 4,330, recently sent her poem about the skies over Bhutan, which is situated on the Himalayas’ eastern edge. We’ve accompanied it with an image from Michael Ellis “Aladdin’s lamp spotted over Bhutan, South Asia“

Go to Bhutan

Cloud heaven
we are looking at the clouds in the distance
we are below the clouds
we are in the middle of the clouds
We are above the clouds,
Looking at more clouds
in the clouds is different
Than above or below
Wet damp not rain wet
And the mountains
That meet the clouds
Embrace the clouds
Are embraced by the clouds
Intermingle with the clouds
seldom one without the other
In Bhutan
Clouds
Heaven

© Minnie Biggs

Simon Rickman, a cloud enthusiast, was inspired by our Cloud Poetry section to send us a Haiku he wrote a few years ago.  He also sent the featured photograph taken on 7th April 2023 near his home in the UK.

purposed clouds glide by
on missions to somewhere else
leaving me behind

© Simon Rickman

Kathy Miles is a poet living in West Wales; her fourth full collection was published by Indigo Dreams in 2020.  This is a poem she wrote about Luke Howard with a photograph by Jan Boles of Anti-crepuscular rays over Idaho, US.

Cloud-Whisperer
after Luke Howard, 1802

He named them because he could.
For the thrill of cirrus on his tongue,
cumulus and stratus a banquet
on the palate. Obsession ached
inside him, the need to claim
and classify. The logic of shape.

He envied their resolve,
the purpose that kept them feral,
wandering from place to place
like nomads, always heading
to the next clear patch of sky
that argued its blue emptiness.

Seeing them submerged in sea
or lake, he wanted to raise
them like a grounded swift,
throw them high as he could,
then call them back to his side
by the names that he had gifted.

Now I watch their floss and bustle,
like a woman hurrying to work
worries building inside her; ragged
fractus, weary with the day,
shapeshifting into mist, keeping
its nose to the grindstone.

Their bellies are full of storm
and fire, while mine has emptied
of passion. I think of the man who
organised the skies; how nothing
pleased him more than waking
to quilts of nimbus, cirrostratus.

© Kathy Miles 2023

Chuck Metcalfe, Member 61,468, sent us a poem he wrote in November 2023 and a photograph he took at his camp in Stockton, New York, that inspired it.

Ladder to the Clouds

If I could build a ladder to the clouds, we could climb so high into the sky.
We could frolic and play, and stay all day, just the two of us;
while we jump and bounce from Stratus to Cumulus.
We might sing and dance on Altostratus; or perchance ride the mares’ tails of Cirrus Uncinus .
Amongst the Cirrus we would search freely in, until we find a parhelion; petting that sundog we could do, and maybe see its halo too.
Nimbostratus would not ruin our day, if above the rain we were able to stay.
Even Cumulonimbus with its flashy show would look different from above you know.
We would have our own park without the crowds, if I could build a ladder to the clouds.

© 11/17/2023 Chuck Metcalfe