
“Corsica Sunset” by Leonid Afremov
sienna dusk folds itself
crumpling clouds along vast
orange seams briefly blazing
beneath the precipitous night
From my book Bohemian Scents
“Corsica Sunset” by Leonid Afremov
sienna dusk folds itself
crumpling clouds along vast
orange seams briefly blazing
beneath the precipitous night
From my book Bohemian Scents
“Clouds” by David Mensing
the best poets will
conjure apt words that describe
the clouds to the blind
“Majestic Thunderhead” by Tom Nachreiner
thunderheads gather
the rumbling voice of the sky
disturbs distances
booming basso profondo
that shudders my plasma
“Late Clouds” by Linda Blonheim
to all the world seeming
mere innocent clouds
tired ghosts sleep on skyhooks
their haunting work done
till the clean scent of moonrise
awakens their senses and
murmuring voices of evening
glide high in the sinister hush
of an ominous breeze that
recalls them to duty
(originally posted December 2013)
Photo by David Maslen
placid aperture
liquid lens focused skyward
fish swim through the clouds
(originally posted January 2014)
“Blue Sky” by Julia Swartz
gazing skyward
a lifetime of clouds
mapping shapes
of the places I’ve been
softly evident
privilege and pride
banked beside
hard and harrowing
circumstance
enclaves of childhood
youth middle age
and seniority fixed
within nation states
founded to foster
the phases of
living and learning
of loving and leaving
discrete in their purpose
inhabiting change
as I multiplied roles
tandem tenants of time
gazing skyward
a scud of locations
whose borderlines
backlit by sunlight
give sharpened relief to
their gleaming identities
unknown to any
two eyes but my own
an ethereal octavo
printed with cumulus
memories passing
beneath a vast virgin
untraveled blue region
of precious few places
however imagined but
not yet experienced
singing themselves
in a flutter of folio
endpages calling me
voiced in the whispers
of soft summer winds
“Depression by Morphine” by Ashes Thorense
so tired of clouds
all the years
gray of day
rumpled shadows
who carry the
shape of my name
stumbling seeking
some patch of
white sun and blue sky
someplace soft
someplace dry
free from teardrops
of rain and the
lightning of pain
disillusioned by
weather that writes
this last chapter of life
among trees that can
no longer breathe
all the green
dissolved into an
ashen resolve of
this lightlessness
oh what a colorful
ruse did my long ago
dreams play to hide
this desultory morrow
now stranded in time
discontentedly pallid
so tired of clouds
“Dark Magic Sky Reflected in the Lake” by Rock Bull
watching the lake watch the sky
still in youth of a trimester summer
these dim ancient eyes trying hard
to interpret the rippling of clouds
scudding gold in formations of flight
from an angry explosion of sunset
confessing their sins to these waters
unaware of my witness and eavesdrop
that causes my turn of attention to
all that I’ve done in my long day of life
I stand into the lake till it covers me
cleanses me washed with both water
and sky before time sends descent of its
deaf dumb and blind seal of darkness
Photo by Mr Brendel
sienna dusk folds itself
crumpling clouds along vast
orange seams briefly blazing
beneath the precipitous night
“Majestic Thunderhead” by Tom Nachreiner
tandem towering thunderheads
wall off the westering sky
turning swirls in their tops
densely shrouded by gray
massing cumulonimbus
churning to black in their bottoms
where thousands of eyes
draw uneasy beads
on the narrowing gap
between raggedy fringe
of unstable low hemline
and naked horizon
alert for prefiguring
down-dropping fingers
of telltale tornadoes
thank God for the daylight
then take instant stock
of your distance to shelter
locations of family and
the unholy state
of your immortal soul
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...