Best Billowy Poems
Snow falling—
Falling.
Feathers escaping from the pillow-heaven
Confusing the air
With the steadiness of a stampede
Advancing, clinging, smothering.
Snow falling—
Settling.
White fleecy lambs atop every protrusion
Sleek ermine boas
Draped upon the naked arms of nature
Bare of their green velvet capes.
Snow falling—
Drifting.
The spatula of wind
Smoothing mounds of marshmallow frosting
Billowy swirls
Of whipped immaculate splendor.
Snow falling—
Burying.
Obscuring the drab tired earth
Her deep wounds of time
Dissolving shadows of other seasons
That Spring may arise again.
The sun set peacefully
as I looked out towards
the distant red horizon
of the calm, oily sea.
A gentle breeze caressed me,
I stood on the edge of the beach
leaving imprints on the fine sand.
I loved this lonely beach,
the silence was broken softly
by the azure wavelets
that brushed the edge of the sand.
So much beauty and wonder
despite the darkness
that, like an old fog, descended
upon that peaceful part of earth.
I looked towards the sky
dotted with billowy clouds
that raced below the twinkling stars.
I wondered if my angel was up above,
looking down on me,
guarding me from my earthly woes.
What could I do without
my heavenly being of love?
I felt immense tranquillity,
the beach shrouded in peace
far away from the noisy cities
to which I would have to return.
The stars appeared: the evening star,
was it that heralded
the birth of my Creator?
It mattered not, for I was safe.
He was taking care of me.
I knew I'd never be forlorn.
Those days have passed.
Now I'm back home
among cold concrete blocks.
Yet in my heart is peace
for I can still hear
the gentle lapping of the sea waves
on the peaceful beach
that is my own.
as a child,
I perceived
the wonderment
of Clouds.
and elders
likewise contemplated
the curious celebrity of them
the solemnity of shape-shifting skyships
their charity of rain:
encouraging fruit
greening hills
irrigating joys
keeping
watch
around the earth
in as enviable
a perch
as the risen sun
or mystic moon
that guides tides.
sun runs
apace
moon whisks
its baton away
but Clouds
stay high,
perpetual
imprints
covering Space and Time.
Could
Clouds
be God's eyes?
***
when I was
-abecedarian-
counting from one to three,
I licked my lips
at Clouds
reckoning
I'd catch them
like docile butterflies,
and discern the flavors of miracle floss:
must be rose-white sugar
some barley flour
lamb's fleece and goose feathers
the elders, lofty and wise,
disparaged my foolish games.
I tugged
on the edge of their mountainous faces:
wispy chins
transient strands
billowy beards
closest clouds
I'd seen
Proximal nimbi
and their dust trail
of ginger, onion, and clove
pulled pork, frizzled cod, light ashtray
lingered...
I caught
those crazy hairs
so hard
candy-coated
raindrops
fell!
Moonless Nights over South Sudan
heartless Moon, don’t tell me
that you weren’t looking
when soulless soldiers dragged me
from my mama’s terrified arms
in our village in Rubkona County
I know you covered your ears
so you wouldn’t hear
my screams piercing the fetid air
as those butchers dropped their pants
repeatedly ripping my body and soul apart
and I saw you cover your eyes
so blinded that you wouldn’t see
the stark horror reflected in my own eyes
the hot tears scorching my cheeks
sobbing for childhood forever lost
oh Mother Moon, Mother Moon
please cover your face
behind billowy black clouds
so that you can’t see
your daughter’s dejected, dead eyes
cowardly Moon, I forgive you
even after you turned your back on me
filling my days only with your dark side
as I sink deeper into a black hole
with no hope to guide me safely home
but helpless Moon, how can I blame you?
for you’re only a mere observer
powerless to defend me
feeling guilty for abandoning
your innocent children
Moon, you’ve witnessed it all before
the torn and bleeding
the tortured and maimed
all tied tightly to weeping trees
reeking of despair and pain
Moon, will you soon forget
my body dripping with bloody shame?
will anyone even remember me?
am I no one…with no name?
will you, Moon, mourn for me?
like you Moon, I am already ancient
over a millennium it seems
yearning for freedom…
waiting for death…
and I’m only twelve years old
Note: This piece is dedicated to all the women and young girls who have been abducted, raped, and/or killed in the secret rape camps in South Sudan over the past two years. According to a human rights investigator, many of them are held indefinitely, tied up with hundreds of other women in these camps and used as sex slaves. Those women who escape from the sex camps are the lucky ones.
09-29-2015
Contest: Must be Read
Sponsor: Silent One
Placement: 3rd
So you say you want to sit on MY cloud.
The view, you say, is rainbows and bluebirds.
I understand you hate your polyester,
Dishwasher safe, blue light special cloud.
It is weak, sagging under the weight of your expectations.
It is no longer fluffy, no longer billowy, no longer white.
It is empty and dingy and flat. Like your soul.
You can't see the best part of my cloud because it is on the inside,
Where it is built from the sweat of a hundred strong women like me.
Where the walls glisten from the tears shed as others like yourself tried to steal our cloud's glory.
But like this cloud, though we look soft and billowy, we are steel, cursing forth our thunder and glaring bolts of lightning to protect ourselves and our own.
My cloud is high now, but it has had its lows.
Where were you when others avoided and mocked us as nothing more than valley fog?
When the view consisted of puddles of want and winds of despair?
Did you once offer me a seat on your cloud?
Did you give me a hand up? Or were you too busy looking down on me?
So excuse me if I block your sun, ruin your picnic, cancel your flight.
But I will never ignore you.
Come closer and I will whisper a message in your ear:
HEY, YOU, GET OFF OF MY CLOUD!!!!
Image: Cloud Fantasy, by Susan Lawrence
On spring's green carpet I repose, revitalizing the soul
passing slow minutes pondering the sky
The lake whispers a morning meditation
as memories abound of cloud fantasies
a thousand ships of condensation dreams
Assorted sizes, shifting shapes
capriciously changing contours and colors
white, dun, pewter gray, dusky purple
magically mirroring my many moods
Fleecy, flitting, tiny, quiet, wispy cirrus all alone
like first day of school in a new town
Thunderheads colliding with cold fronts
hurling lightning in angry retribution
resolute battleships storming towards war
Stratus clouds, flat and unruffled
soothing, like grandma holding a cookie sheet
embracing landscapes like a comforting blanket
hugging hilltops in a friendly fog
Misting up at a feel good story
spilling tears on the gloomiest of days
A nimbostratus orchestra performing
a symphony of snow for mountain dwellers
a reverie of rain for desert denizens
Bouffant hairdo like a 60's prom queen
strutting across the sky adjusting her tiara
cotton ball cumulus, billowy like a verbose uncle
enhancing sunsets with colorful stories
.....
The soul of the sky is Sol-
our daylight and warmth, essence and marrow
The stars are sky's artists painting our stories-
archers, dippers, swans, seven sisters,
scorpions, lions, hunters, heroes
The heart of the sky is Luna-
a nightlight for sleepy children
a lamppost where lovers meet
a lantern for the darkest of trails
but clouds are the personality of the sky
written 24 May, 2022
//Inspired by the wonderful art of PS member Susan Lawrence, after viewing her landscape paintings at susanlawrence.net. Each landscape is framed by a different personality of cloud; I encourage all to pay a visit to her website to enjoy her portraits and abstracts as well as landscapes ~ John//
There’s a small village not so far away
anyone who hears it dreams to be there,
Its beauty lures like white fairies at bay-
their billowy gowns prettily unfurl;
As its homes sprout as mushrooms of winter,
scooped by mountains like petals of flower.
When we ride to ascend its spiral road,
curtains of snowflakes are crystals in view
Winter wonderland is right there, behold!
At the swinging bridge over river-snow,
when you frolic around, feels no adieu
Lulls notes of perfection, not made askew.
Night comes around, nocturnal critters sound
to keep its eternal fascination
While animals scamper on thick snow ground
lit by tiny lamps on trees, let’s sojourn
to embrace the glorious celebration-
Winter Wonderland’s Yuletide Season.
Takayama is Winter Wonderland,
Not so far away, it’s found in Japan.
Dec. 30, 2018 10.50am
A try of Urban sonnet in 10syllables
ABABBB- CDCDDD- EFEFFF-GG
A poem in remembrance on one of the cities I visited last March 4-7, 2018 in Japan.
Ajuga, will be a must, a blue beauty that blows in the wind.
Bellflowers, charming and faithful and lovely, of course I must have
Candy Tufts from gardens of long gone, enchanting. And mother's favourite,
Daylilies, in a rainbow of colors, Delphinium and Daffodils also, so dramatic.
Evening Primrose along the fence will create quite a stir, and on the porch
False Watercress spilling out of a container, and then old dependable,
Geraniums and Glory In The Snow, I love my dreamy dream of spring flowers.
Hyacinths, scented jewels of color sparkle in my garden, along with
Iris Reticulata, an early spring treasure, it will be a wonderful place.
Jacob's Ladder, with blue-purple blooms, mingle with Johnny-Jump-Ups.
Kalmia Latifolia, pure white blooms, related to the laurel family.
Lily-of-the Valley, so sweet and fragrant, how could I forget you and,
Meadow Rue, a lavender wave in the wind, and anther old dependable,
Nasturium, a gardeners dream and it is also edible. Oh my list is long!
Oriental Poppy, was there ever a more heavenly gift from God, except maybe
Pasque Flower, unfolding from beneath the snow, and those Pansies and Petunias!
Queen Anne's Lace, so pretty is her lacework, did you know ishe is a wild carrot?
Rosemary, with a scented pretty flower, like dew in the morning is a must, as is
Sage, that billowy haze of lavender, pushing away the rainbow Snapdragons.
Thrift, delightful vintage touch to my rock garden in the shade, sweet the tulips too.
Umbrella Magnolia growing in the garden corner, with creamy white blooms, and
Vinca Periwinkle with lovely blue flowers, friends to Violet and Viola.
Wall Flowers, who love the sun, drooping with snow cap jewels, oh over there
Xenia's blooming in marine colors, so unique. And here a childhood love,
Yellow Anemone, aka Buttercup, who does not love Buttercup?
Zinnia, friend of Sunflower, elegant and colorful, nods. Must this dream end!
________________________________
April 13, 2016
Poetry/Abecedarian/In My "Dreamy" Spring Garden
Copyright Protected, ID 16-777-564-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
The flight had been long
as the jet soared through night.
My neighbors were lifelessly still,
weary for sleep, the night would fulfill,
and morning would graciously greet.
High up in space, I silently watch
as the sky passes from the deep.
Moving at its pace, much lighter still,
the sun, birthing change at will.
I must await, new dawning is nigh.
Daybreak speaks in a soft faint glow,
appearing shyly on the far horizon.
But in a blink of the eye,
God painted the sky,
with tones found in welcomed aurora.
Sweet blush of spring, orchids in bloom,
purple mystery in dawn’s warm glow,
rainbow tints on a panoramic screen
vividly show this God-given scene,
molded in joy and heavenly peace.
I placed my hand on the window pane,
watching white billowy clouds afloat.
God gave us his all and gave us his best.
On this soft tenderness, I could rest
if my hand could but touch.
Far above where angelic clouds surround,
the plane adrift or afloat,
clinging both far beyond and below
in this ocean of fresh fallen snow,
welcoming us into the light.
Such a spectacular sight to behold!
Sun-lit clouds dressed in white,
the scene so enameled with grace,
seemed to foretell that heavenly place,
where he awaits with pallette in hand.
I stayed three weeks and traveled far,
saw beautiful views and noted places,
but none can compare to that morning’s
glory in dawning.
Thank you God for all creation!
For Sofia Coppola
The epitome of serenity
lies just beneath the foot of me
sashaying through the sweet, clean grass
White linen bathes my skin
my loose hair dancing in the wind
billowy clouds, how silently they pass
Oh Mozart!
take my heart
dance playfully and light about my mind
Mandolin disrupts the wind
glint of sunshine blinds my eye
fat, sumptuous grapes exploding on the vine
Brie, bordeaux, wild strawberries
fill the bounty set in front of me
my avid hunger puts me to the test
To my woolly lamb, how safe I am
amongst the wheat so tall and tan
as I hold him firm and snug against my breast
Take me home
thatched roof and stone
the proud gazebo stands beyond the stream
My duvet of straw and hay
my eyes they close, my body lay
to lose myself inside Sofia's dream.
My impression after viewing Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette.
TWILIGHT'S AURORA
From the yawning west horizon stretch,
orange to red streaks painting the blue skies
Fleeting dragonflies flirt with the swaying breeze
as so the dives and glides from flock of starlings
Billowy to feather clouds unite
in a cosmic godly assemble rite.
The standing sound wind runs to blow
as the amber flames beneath the ashes glow.
Darkness inches it's way and wrath,
the lone farmer on the field then hurry to his path
as before the sunset, he needs to be home fast.
Crickets stalked with their wafting chants in the air
suddenly, soppy dew globules descends to the ground
crumbling to reach the parched earth bounds,
Drenched and tired after lots of strides
serenity falls to the farmer after the globules dried
_________________________________________________
Sponsor Kelly Deschler
Contest Name Simply Beautiful
---Placed 3rd---
6:10 pm, March 24, 2015
You'll find a piece in the puzzle, that is part of the past
under billowy white clouds, and the sizzling sun
in a wood sided home. where the trees are in bloom
where there's room for a childhood, that has only begun
There is a piece of the puzzle, outside in the yard
while wheels of a tractor come alive in the fields
There's a five year old girl skating sidewalks, with cracks
rollers, beneath her, singing "clickity clack"
while a rustle of whirlwinds is fast on her heels
to rife with the ruffles she wears on her back
Faces she knows will be leaning on fences
Lifting up smiles, and knowing her name
Where the same furrowed brows, and most without shame
work for the gain, of a few measly dollars
And mothers will holler..."Come home! Time for supper!"
As the sky has turned copper, at the end of the day
There is a piece of her, dreaming out under the elms,
where a heart might be broken, and the stars cast a spell
What is home harbors there, where her heart wants to dwell
In a room with a puzzle, spread out for her eyes
To sort out, and covet, and search for the sky
Where there's room for a childhood that has only begun
And a piece in the puzzle the color of sun
A blue so blue appeared in the sky
purer than the blue of a maiden's eye
Poking a hole through puff-clouds billowy white
its majesty moving those who prize sight
I wonder if it knows, as I marvel in awe
at its beauty so rare, no unperceived flaw
Or is its struggle to emerge so all-consuming
naivete yet untarnished ~ pristine, unassuming
Then:
naïve, sheltered, shy
what i thought
i wanted to be -
an archeologist, Barbizon model (no proclivity),
a writer, a psychologist, a mom, a wife
Now:
brazen, talkative, traveller, open
what i am -
a Christian, a writer (a poet), a model
citizen, prone to psychoanalyse, a mom, grandma,
a wife
Then:
at 5, under the knife, tonsils removed, ice
cream treat; cut my foot in a bike spoke, no dinner
Now:
Wheeled through airport, whisked to urgent care,
ambulance ride to hospital, anxiety led to prayer, peace
as piece of me removed (gallbladder)
Then: single, not wise, average, well-endowed
Now: married a long long time, know things (experience),
endowment’s gone south
Then:
envision wearing a billowy white shirt, sitting in front of window
facing the sea, writing poetry, ink dry
Now:
Anytime, anywhere, wearing anything or nothing at all,
ink wet as muse sees fit
Then:
face to face friends, cord attached to wall, cell of my own
making
Now:
poetry friends all over the world, poetry transports with
my fingertips
Then:
Mom, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Grandparents
Now:
Deficit of loved ones. Looking
to the future in bright new faces
Then: reaching inward, wanting love Now: reaching out, loving
Going further: reaching ever upward, in word and deed
I am entitled
to die, once,
and see my Lord and God
12/30/2022
Then and Now
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Beyond the horizon
They rolled in rippling
The clouds majestic
Flamboyant and spectacular
A gentle rumbling motion
Putting on a show
Tumbling with grandeur
In splendor blues and hues
Sweeping across the skies
Undulating swirls and spirals
Flowing shifts and layers
Waves of billowy locomotion
AP: Honorable Mention 2023, Honorable Mention 2022
Published in my photo/poetry book ~ROLLING CLOUDS~ 2019
Submitted on June 9, 2020 for contest STRAND NO 790 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
and December 23, 2019 for contest YOUR BEST DECEMBER POEM sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON
Originally posted on December 22, 2019