Good Clouds, Bad Clouds

every morning,
squares of sleeping blue,
good clouds, bad clouds,
they said I must pick a side,
know which is my half
of the endless sky;
and then that day,
cold and pewter grey,
lines washed out,
and we couldn’t tell
where we stood,
awkwardly laughing
over cups of
rain splattered tea,
your fingers accidentally
brushing mine,
the mist bone white,
a lifetime saved in cling wrap,
hooded eyes flying free,
waiting for the heavens to dry.


27 thoughts on “Good Clouds, Bad Clouds

  1. let the clouds move
    the skin of their nightbound wool

    pry open an earthly sky
    wry with mourn – if only

    the pleats of choice were not
    bound, if only the sound

    of its mother yowled no shard
    of the broken sky, the wooden

    sky, waking up to moor itself
    with more wool, less river

    Liked by 2 people

    1. ah! but the clouds
      are just fickle shape-shifters,
      casting their stories across the earthen sky,
      ask them if they cry for Verdun or Allepo or Plassey,
      or if their rain just brushes the cheek
      of a shepherd girl,
      seeing itself in her green eyes
      for only a moment,
      what choice does she have,
      but to distill the rubaiyat and offer
      a word, her word,
      and now those clouds lean back
      against white cushions,
      wah! they chorus, cry, cry for us again. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I think the idea of choosing between good and bad clouds is bloody genius. Clouds themselves are these amorphous shifting things. How do you solidify something which by its nature isn’t solid?


    1. Yes Bjorn, seems like we all want a friendlier world where everyone and everything has a place. If only, we could find a way to live in perfect harmony with each other and the universe.


  3. You set the atmosphere so very well in the first movement of the poem. By the end I felt how important it is to reach out to other people when feeling confused or lost.


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