sorting,
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.
THOUGHT PURGE 
I love the idea of the rain washing away boundaries and people coming together. And I’m particularly struck by your line, “a lifetime saved in cling wrap”
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Thanks so much. Am so glad you picked that line.. was kicked when I wrote it, but it seemed to have disapperared into the poem!
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I read the comments and was surprised no one else had mentioned it.
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Thanks again 🙂🙂
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🙂
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Oh, how beautifully expressed. Here’s to ‘the endless sky’!
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Yes here’s to endless sky…thanks so much Rosemary!
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I love best the cups of rain-splattered tea.
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Thank you Sherry 🙂
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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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Thanks Kerry.
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I’m encouraged to know that the clouds eventually pass and the sky remains.
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Thanks Colleen.
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I find the idea of sorting clouds so similar to the ideas expressed by Rommy… are we thinking the same thoughts today.
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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.
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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?
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Thanks Rommy… though the choice keeps getting presented to us as being binary, hopefully enough people can see that it’s not such a stark world.
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The push and pull of choosing sides can be heart-ripping. If we aren’t careful, we’ll only find ourselves torn to pieces in the end.
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Absolutely… thanks so much Magaly.
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I love these lines – romance on a rainy day:
‘awkwardly laughing
over cups of
rain splattered tea,
your fingers accidentally
brushing mine’
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The binary choices and their grey contradictions! Thanks Kim.
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Thanks so much for joining in. The first time I was told I had to choose between, I could only ask why? The answer didn’t make any sense to me. Sometimes, it still doesn’t. Perhaps that is why I take my freedom to choose so carefully.
Elizabeth
http://1sojournal.wordpress.com
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Oh yes, being forced to pick a side is in itself a violation of freedom though it masquerades as choice.
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I’m really caught by the idea of sorting clouds.
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🙂
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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
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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. 🙂
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