L Milton Hankins Poet Quatrain

Cotton Ball Cloud

A cotton ball cloud drifting overhead
Suddenly becomes a miniature poodle,
Then dancing slowly, like a newlywed
Becomes a pompom for Yankee Doodle.

Disappearing like an aloof desert mirage
In an updraft completely unexpecting
Silently pours upward in a sudden barrage
Invisible danger in nature unsuspecting.

Vanishing, as we say, into cold thin air.
No longer discernible to our naked eyes
Who goes where high-flying clouds dare 
When they choose to blithely vaporize.

From whence they come, what shape
They show us for our imaginary games
We who marvel at them, mouths agape
We seldom even know their real names. 

Written May 31, 2021

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Caren Krutsinger June 2, 2022 at 3:55 AM I love the idea of cloud naming; I shall start right away. "We seldom even know their real names. " - because we don't! L Milton Hankins June 2, 2022 at 10:08 AM Tom says it's called "pareidolia." I've never heard of that word, but it's a good one. I still engage in it on a regular basis. I am such a dreamer!

Tom Cunningham June 1, 2022 at 10:31 AM A pastime of mine when sat on a beach and nothing else to do but pick out all the amazing shapes, I was surprised to see not everyone can see them, pareidolia I think it's called Tom L Milton Hankins June 1, 2022 at 10:39 AM Hmmm...a new word for me (which I shall look up) but certainly applies to me. Glad you liked the poem, Tom. Thanks for the comment and the new word.