Best Cumuli Poems
TEMPEST
Twin limestone tors thrust up through valley floor
Like isles or icebergs in a calm flat sea
Deep green save where shear rock can hold no spore
To spawn in fecund niche a vine or tree
Midday and all is calm untroubled, still
In tactile heat, all movement paused, restricted
No hint of ought that might disturb our will
A landscape placid, as in paint depicted
But look to sky the seeds of change are sown
There, signs portend a transformation near
Those gentle clouds mere cumuli have grown
To cumulonimbus, thrust t'ward stratosphere
And therein is enormous might enclosed
Stored energy, that soon must be released
Unleashing primal power unopposed
The laws of Nature never to be breached
Now lightning flickers o'er far mountain peaks
Faint thunder echoes round steep valley walls
The breeze accelerates and chills to speak
A warning of the fast approaching squall
The charge in air: has swallows energised
To move from circling low ‘tween tree and house
Their flight plans now are recklessly revised
To helix soaring t'ward the threatening clouds
A steady light drum roll on roofs - sound train
Starts gently then crescendo ends the prelude
Announcing clear the now impending rain
Prodigious splashes transformed to a deluge
The waves of rain traverse our panorama
Gauze curtains drawn by cosmic stage hand's might
Relentless, recasting features as of dark drama
Familiar scenes are shrouded, hid from sight
Now random electric arcs flare bleak view scanned
Cacophony of thunder rules all sound
Awesome darkness and confusion on the land
All visual anchors cast in shade spellbound
But in this world each cycle must be ended
Perhaps reverse events that had us unmoored
The drama, soon is played out and expended
Peace, light and order gradually restored
Known reference points can once again be seen
The twin rock peaks come clear through rain-washed air
Clouds make fine-spun white wraps for hills now green
We're reassured by prospects known and fair
Is this chronicle an allegoric tale
Of human life not granted free of strife
Would we choose bland existence without travail
Or fain confront the magnificent storms of life
Light-play ecstatically rides the air,
in tones of pink, lavender, yellow, blue;
cumuli smiles fill the skies,
a blink or two of green slides by.
Precipitation sighs its last goodbye;
while Sol stretches its warming rays.
Orange intermingles with rainbow’s
Indigo edge; fade to azure heights,
Where echoes the laughter of children
Splashing about in puddles.
I breathe in the scent of ozone and
cast my eyes to Heaven’s Crayola-glory.
Neon skies reflected in God’s palette;
the Divine Artist’s canvas speaks
and I am enamored of its stories.
Jewels of nature painted in colors
of sapphire blue,
emerald green,
ruby red,
carnelian orange,
citrine yellow,
amethyst purples
and lavender-pink stripes,
with periwinkle dots upon the waves
and variegated backdrop of sky.
Onyx and lemon cumuli peek through sun rays;
a late afternoon sunset portrait,
fit for any king’s palace.
A color-coded
spirit kiss,
nature’s bliss,
greets my hazel orbs;
my heart fills
with ecstasy.
Cumuli
October 24, 2013 at 12:56pm
The contents of my head empty into my stomach
Where nonsense meets yesterday’s frozen Styrofoam spinach cheese pesto ravioli dinner
And a mix of fake pepperoni pizza from lunch
Chocolate topped pink and yellow striped butterscotch and vanilla flavored jelly beans
In plasticized wrappers
And fluorescent day-glow blue caffeinated high fructose sugar beverages
In clear polyethylene terephthalate containers
Pretty and poisonous pollutants ingested and partially digested
We are what we eat and what we throw away
And either way it all sinks to the lowest of places
I had a lofty idea once and spelled out the word, “c u m u l u s”, in my alphabet soup
“Cumuli” means, “heap”, or “pile”, in Latin
Root for the word, “accumulate”
This from a culture that also gives us the word, “vomitorium”, which I think appropriate
So I then gulped down the cloud word of canned hydrogenated processed letters
And chemically enhanced perfectly machine squared orange and green vegetables
Submerged in a reddish brown sodium infused steaming bath
I imagine my bowels are a colorful syrupy serpentine garbage train
Of half eaten scrambled letters, eggs, saturated fats and other gastronomical delights
Where some is vice versa absorbed
To eventually feed my mind again with an endless supply of junk food sludge debris
As the remainder rumbles off in an overlapping “S” shaped extrusion
And or a foregone voluminous towering land fill conclusion
Sometimes it’s all about voiding one hole and filling another
There are times when the sun doesn't shine,
like an orange not juicy nor sweet.
If the fruit of the sky doesn't open its eye
then the flavor of life will deplete.
What a horrible season--the rain--
as if onions made cumuli cry!
Who has need of a spice that can yield nothing nice
for the people beneath such a sky?
Though I know today's fruit will be sweet,
for this orange I have, newly born,
is delicious and lush like a ripe apple's blush--
see the sun on the bough of the morn?
I gaze above from my grassy station
While lying on my back, the cumuli
Traversed the sky in noiseless slow-motion.
Great day! I thought while fixed upon the sky.
Then casually a bird flew overhead
And dropped its cargo off all over me.
In life a little rain must fall, instead
A bird brain passed its bowel of feces.
What does one say after being pooped on?
C’est La vie! What else can happen to me?
I’ve been a target of defecation
If I’d a gun that bombardier be shot.
I’m not that feathered class aves port-a-pot.
susurration shifts
jet cumuli passerines~
starlings flight sculpture
Alas, in the entirety of my composition I see, I feel, now, a part missing whose shape is strange, a form which nothing, without and within, might fill;
It is you, My Dear, whoever, wherever you are; you are the missing part, My Love, the phantasmal modicum;
One day you will come to me, and the hole will be plugged, and this frosty winter draft will cease to blow about the creaking corridors of my being; My Dear, the leaks will stop;
I won’t feel so heavy, so down; I will be full yet light, cumuli; I will be complete; alas, you are but a fiction, My Love, a lie, a distant note of hope, dishonest as a child’s laugh above a funeral’s solemn load;
For it too will cease and perish as the white dove, above turmoil and war, will fall and rot;
But you’ll see me through this hueless, harrowing day of trees crawling about my blank, birdless sky;
My Dear, for now, at least, My Love, for now, at least, My Lie, from now till the last, everywhere, nowhere.
The day was good,
the sun shining, a breeze
winding around the pines.
Two mockingbirds
were playing
guess me.
Cumuli loitered
above ground shadows
with cats jumping
from one to the other
in a game that only
they understood.
I felt the stirring of precipitate
motion on my cheek as a shadow
passed by whispering the words
of an old song by Townes
about going down to see Kathleen.
I never meant for it to rain.
r ~ 5/7/14
The sun spoke not a word to me,
its voice enshrouded by arrays
of ever thick'ning cumuli,
though silent too their whites and grays.
Peculiar not was such a sky,
save what I saw within its flow:
a solitary Nevermore--
the very same that tortured Poe.
It smeared the cloudy firmament;
foreboding was its lofty flight.
How very strange it was indeed
to see such pinions pierce the white.
What other reason could there be
for such a wicked thing to stray
but serve as devil's advocate,
for mortals did it see as prey.
And as I stood with eyes affixed
on morbid Nevermore's visage,
its conic maw let loose a caw;
twas not therefore a winged mirage.
Perhaps it wished to plague my soul,
the faculty of living flesh,
for that I knew it watched with zeal;
till madness rang, it wouldn't rest.
"Begone," I cried from humble earth,
"you shall not roost within my mind!
Return to hell from whence you came;
too strong am I for you to bind!"
Discern I did its ill intent,
and so elude I did its curse,
but still it looms on kindred days,
and for you I do fear the worst.
Much like the portrait-bound Sir Gray,
withhold your sight from whitened air
in which the candle has no tongue,
for such a wretched roof is where
misfortune's black familiar flies:
a crooked singing Satan's-eye!
Driving on blacktop, eyes lighting my way.
A big bright ball follows, alongside the freeway.
He’s bouncing along nonchalantly without a care.
I tried to outrun him but, he is still there!
The huge luminous ball suddenly disappears!
Sinister cumuli sneak up and quickly appear.
Intermittently he peers through their masks.
But, he could not see, giving up alas~
The kidnappers would not set him free.
The dark-hued night was sullen and broody.
Midnight passes, showing a glimmer of promise.
Shinning up above was a grand starry fortress
Slipping out timidly, brighter than ever~
The big bright ball, the nights’ dazzler!
The wheat waved ...
Manic metronomes en masse
Steadily ticking off unsteady time
Feathery fingers coaxing the cumuli eastward
Away from the tangerine-tinted reach
He waded slowly through the sepia grasses
Palms-down to tickle the tops
Dusk approached like a sword - sure of its mark
So he quickened his pace to claim the woods while he could still see
Not far now, the evergeens pierced the sky
An emerald cathedral to welcome him in divine fashion
Woody windows deep and black
'Always toward the darkness', he mused
(An ambiguous chuckle to himself)
He would be safer there, but it held cautions of its own
Still, the pine needles offered soft slumber
And the inky blackness, its arms
He was shaking from the shock of blood loss
Freezing cold, though it was a warm summer's eve
"I might yet make it home," he said aloud
The sound of it adding weight to his fading hopes
He lay down near a large pine tree, wrapped tight in his blanket
Closing his eyes, he thought sweetly of his woman
And surrendered to the swirling dreams
From which ...
He would never wake.
Unusual October
What can I say about a perfect day in October?
a mild sun that appears to be fused with silver.
A few cumuli, looking like a bride’s belt,
and the sky has a blueness that is not deep
rather of mythical haziness, a dream not yet
realized seeking understanding of something
that is limitless. The garden is full of flowers, it
is as a new spring has sprung, wordless and
in supple silence I can hear the forest’s animals
sigh in utter contentment.
I cannot afford to sleep I must catch this very
moment before the good days end.
An aesthetic inspiration:
A grand, heavenly spectacle
Evolving on a blue canvas
That is slowly painting itself.
A single golden orb appears
Whose fiery tone dominates
The scene and brightens the background.
Next poses fluffy cumuli
That silently journey across
On their way to infinity.
Within the scene an eagle glides
High in the sky on warm thermos.
Below an artist with brushes
And a multicolored palette.
A day like this is not allowed
Too often, for there’s not a cloud
To interrupt the view on high
Of smooth, serene and boring sky.
Don’t get me wrong – the weather’s great
And most folks wouldn’t hesitate
To choose this over one where there
Are cumuli up in the air.
Yet I prefer adornment, so
A clouded sky’s the way to go.
I love the sunshine, but delight
In skyscapes dappled through with white.