When the promised storm passes
on dark cloud wings,
and the sun sets in fire
on the meadow grasses,
and the soughing of the trees becomes a sigh,
you and I at the window listen,
waves of song in dusk-light glisten—
dauntless nightingales are singing
to the restless air.
The endless song in moonlight winging
from the hedgerow, soaring higher,
nothing in the night has ever seemed so fair.
Just got Internet back (again). The OctPoWriMo prompt, about ways of looking at things just about works for the triolet I wrote yesterday.
This sky is heavy with grey-leafed cloud
And rests on tree tops, dusty blue,
Waiting to pour its river loud.
The sky is heavy with grey-leafed cloud,
Branching, spreading over ploughed
And empty fields where barley grew.
This sky is heavy, and grey-leafed cloud
Rests on treetops misty blue.
Cloud piled on cloud
compressing the breathless air below
pressing the sun
below the horizon
waiting for the moon
in gaudy pinks.
Six lines instead of three in this installment.
The fumes of alcohol mingled with the pink clouds of mist and left his head clear but empty—he still had no idea where he was, up or down, dead or alive.
Somewhere, everywhere, coarse laughter reverberated and he remembered the whispering voice, the hand that shoved, and he searched the air for a face—instead he found a gull.
Don’t take any notice of him, the gull said, banking off into the scintillating cloud, just follow me.
“How?” he asked, immediately feeling stupid, but raising hands that dripped molten bronze.
Fly! The voice came back to him, muffled by the mist and fading, but he found himself spreading his bronze-dripping arms that became long, bronze-feathered arms, and beating the misty air in pursuit of the gull.
Liquid bronze and pink cloudy air vibrated with a roar of anger that he knew came from the mocking presence, but before fear could take hold of his wing beats, the gull wheeled about, fixed him with a bright, black eye and winked.
As usual, phone wouldn’t work when the really fantastic storm clouds were building up so I’ll have to make do with these pics that I took later in the day.
churn the butter of the sky
creaming and whipping
the hot foamy stuff of storm clouds
into the troughs and crests
of a silent sea.
The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a sonnet. I might have a go later. Here’s a san san instead.
Photo by Nell
Above the darkened streets, the light
Swells and glows a red cloud veiling,
A river of stars where midnight flows.
Darkened streets where stalks the night,
Beneath a sky with red clouds sailing,
We hang our lamps sharp neon glowing,
That hide the stars where red cloud goes,
Sailing midnight’s river flowing.
A quick walk along this river, a quick poem, and off to buy a house.
of unstudied elegance,
resplendent as sun-caught falling snow.
cutting through steely grey.
laughing in the wake
of winter waves.
So grey the cloud,
Sweeping the grass with ephemeral diamonds,
While flocking gulls sweep the river,
Calling to lost souls.
So heavy hangs the sky, so dull,
Fumbling with gentle fingers,
Consolation dropping slow and damp.
No colour left of autumn in the leaves,
And crows bob, black and sleek,
Amid the scattered cloud-wealth.
But there is beauty in the hues that cloak the skies,
Changing with the winds, the rising of the tides,
Every black and brittle tree has its robin,
Every bitter day its ending.
Beyond the edge of light
Where the world ends
Is a land of rock and wave
Cradled in the clouds
Wrapped in magic mists
The land of dreams.
Sea music plays and the cry of the gulls
Drifting from the world of men to these shores
Where the knowing seals guide our souls at the end
Home among the mists and the grey gulls.