Light of the world

And what if a hand

five-clawed, red and bloody,
scratched open the veil of the sky?

We could we see an omen, a portent,
or we could trace the streams of drifting sky,
running through its glorious fingers.

Come and play with the cloud people

I took this photo yesterday evening of these extraordinary clouds. Well, they look extraordinary to me. I’ve written several poems inspired by what I see here. If you want to borrow it to write a poem or a piece of prose, be my guest.

Against a sky deeper than any blue,

layered light and the still air of the cosmos,

sunlit darkness,

 

drift the cloud people,

the stories of flying horses,

Freyja’s cats, the winged and warlike.

 

We point a finger in awe, though there

are no flashing lights, lasers or the

clashing music of the wide screen,

 

no silver battle ships, racing

faster than light among dazzling

reconstructions of stars.

 

We pause in wonder,

children

at the dawn of time.

When purple

For the OctPoWriMo prompt ‘purple’.

When purple

after blue

and red

fading deep

night

and shadows merge

a deer

and the tableau lives

a moment suspended

dusk dawn daynight

distillation of hues

to make flesh

 

red leaves

fall and drift.

Ciel de traîne

A spring weather poem for NaPoWriMo. There is more ciel de traîne here, in French with English adaptation. I wrote it/them when we were still packing up to move. Seems like light years away.

 

Ciel de traîne

drag-net sky

meshes up swallow shoals in grey mists

and goldfinch flocks dart

hysterical with mock fear

in and out of leaf shallows.

Above the rain-damp fields

chains of clouds process

wild wind-driven.

There are no rocks to break this tide

only gentle tree tops

leafing spring green.

Rain blows

grey swirls

giboulées

I wait

for the inevitable gold to fall

through wind rents

fountain through blow holes

and transform this meadow

into a river of diamonds.

Gloomy day

Dandelions©Tommie Hansen

Cloud gathers above the lush green

 

water runs earthwards

rain spilling over sown seeds

 

dandelions

recall the sun biding

beyond the grey.

Where will we go when the darkness falls?

Where will we go when the darkness falls

And from green depths the ocean’s voice calls?

Are there safe places in city sprawls?

 

We could follow the swallow so swift

And hope for a wind, black clouds to lift,

But flight, narrow-winged, is not our gift.

 

Air and ocean are bound into one,

All are equal beneath the bright sun,

We’re left with our hearts, when all is done.

What can you see?

Another triolet inspired by nothing in particular except an effort to rise above the bongos beneath the window and the rumba over the wall. So no complicated poetry forms for me today, sorry NaPoWriMo.

What can you see through the gap in the cloud,

Is the sky still as blue where you soar on white wings,

Is the crash of breakers beneath as loud?

What can you see through the gap in the cloud,

Do our towers of steel and stone stand proud,

Though they cannot reach where the starlight sings?

What can you see through the gap in the cloud,

Is the crash of breakers beneath as loud?

Tanka: Clouds & Spring

This is for Colleen Chesebro’s  Tanka Tuesday poetry challenge.

When spring blossom falls

we turn faces to the sun—

mud a pink carpet.

Reflected in puddles, clouds

colour of cherry blossom.

Microfiction: Beams

This 100 word story is for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers, based on the prompt photo taken by her lovely self. Thanks, Rochelle 🙂

It was a strange morning with an electrical tension in the air instead of the usual spring energy. I wondered if there wasn’t a storm on the way. With a frown, my husband pulled over, stopped the car and got out. I followed him as he stomped into the field.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“That.” He pointed at the beautiful almost biblical sky, dark cloud silhouetted against a fierce light that streamed in broad bands of searchlight brilliance.

“So—”

His finger moved to the brightening hills that rimmed the other side of the sky. “The sun’s over there.”

How long will the clouds?

This cascade poem is inspired by the photograph taken from the train just before La Réole on the Garonne.

How long will clouds drift over in glory

The river, placid in afternoon light,

When the world has turned into darkest night?

 

Reach up to the burnished blue of the sky,

Touch the wind for its breath will soon sharpen,

How long will clouds drift over in glory?

 

Here in this moment of peace and still beauty

Is where I would live, where golden light falls,

The river placid in afternoon light.

 

All things will end, as geese leave the northlands,

Leave, so will we, but the dream will remain,

When the world has turned into darkest night.