Vibrant and Promising
The darkness disappears
into a palette of soft pink and orange
as the golden globe of the sun
crawls from the ground of the horizon
into the sea of the sky, throwing her light
at the clouds above
and the sea below, and everything opens
in rainbow, vibrant and promising
I wrote this poem in January when I was in Mexico escaping the winter cold. I am beginning to anticipate another escape and the vibrancy and promise of warm January days in the new year…
A Study of Clouds
The morning sky hangs in a heathery blue,
the color of the soft warm blanket you carried
everywhere when you were two. The rising sun
begins to paint her canvas,
eastern strokes of orangsicles and lemonade.
Scattered evenly north to the horizon,
the clouds hang like cotton candy
without any piglet pink or soft baby blue,
just their shimmery contrast against the Aegean sea of sky.
Their bellies hang flat to the earth;
they’re sitting upon an invisible ceiling,
and their big white wigs on round heads
puff and rise into endless space above.
Over my head a shroud
The sky it fills with cloud
Which moves so swift, as one
Nowhere a sign of sun
The sound it booms so loud
The light it breaks through proud
The storm has just begun
Mother nature has come undone
I stare through the oval window
gazing at the sky on the other side,
the plane’s wing in my periphery.
Tens of thousands of feet in the air,
we’re cutting through the cloud formations.
Land of the Giants cotton beings
that move and change like a flowing river:
bears and angels, horses and happy faces.
I feel both giddy as a kid and
contemplative as a wise old owl,
in awe to be up here where
the heavens can whisper to me.
Like water washing over stones along Clear Creek, the clouds
pour themselves down the mountain and cascade
over the trees into the valley. The heavens mingle
with the earth and speak in mystical voices
about all there is to see and feel, if only you’d allow
your eyes to glide slowly over nature’s beauty
and feel the breath of the living as you go.
They aren’t really clouds.
Though they are white whispers on a blue velvet cloth,
Like clouds, these streaks across the sky.
Pointing like arrows to where they go
In their flying metal caravans
Pulled to and fro. It’s such a show.
Have you ever seen it?
Looked up and saw a Celtic plaid of blue and white
Exhaustion of people moving, always moving
Decorating the sky?