A whale moves through the clouds—no splash, no wake only its large blue body passing through white meadows of air. A rabbit sits between its shoulder, still as dandelion seed. Neither is surprised by the other’s presence. The whale carries its silent wisdom; the rabbit, its innocence. They travel together beyond roads and maps, where wonder is the order of things.
through drifting cloudbanks
a rabbit rides the whale's back
sky without ending
Written: December 23, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
*************
Castle Ravenloft looms—
a janiform crown of storm-light and stone.
Its spires protrude as if imploring
a cold, unanswering nimbus.
Below, Barovia lies—
a shabby village where cowslips squirm,
and daybreak, under mists,
offers only a brief farewell.
This land’s spirit is sacred suffering.
Hope and death entwine in chiaroscuro.
Symbiosis curdles into a curse,
and the living move with shadows
as though born to them.
Ubiquitous, gelid mists
embed xenogenesis in every breath,
Their jagged deceit conning the brave and mulish.
Dark, shriveled streets of Barovia—
laden with pale wisteria—
echo with inane, forgotten glee,
an odor of treacle, revulsion, and lost joy.
On the edge between night and terror,
a winsome child may hum a chorus—
a fleeting overlap of sorrow and mercy.
But the mists return, hostile and persistent;
after tasting music, street, and soul,
only the castle remains—
a riddle whispered against
a cloudscape that refuses to rise.
Written: November 17, 2025
****************
The night used to gargle with garrulous joy—
canorous crickets, a capacious choir
beneath the diaphanous veil of dusk.
Now, only the hissing of wires,
the gaseous hum of machines
careen through the cloudscape.
I prowl the porch at the moon’s behest,
a flaneur of vanished felicity,
searching for the fetching fipple-song
that once gamboled through the grass.
But the calyx is closed.
The petiole wilted.
The elixir of sound—evanesced.
Where once the heron slept
and the wisteria wore its tiara of dew,
now lies a threadbare hush,
a dismal hex of silence.
The garden, once gaudy with chirps,
It is a byzantine grave of elision.
Did we disassemble for too long?
Rake too deep?
Abase the earth with hubris
And flapdoodle dreams of dominion?
Did our egregious hunger
for luster and control
writhe the world into quiet?
An assemblage of stones and grass
poses to reveal a canopy of clouds
trailing like petioles of luster beneath
my head, air-stroked by eve's approach.
I feel the hours passing wretchedly unhurried
as nimbus fog breathes of radiance,
not partly dim but like a tiara
warmly shimmering, glossing over its cape
in daring pink...transforming in a blink;
flare of haze bursting in the air.
Wondering if I should turn away from this dazzling
spectacle of colored skyfoam ,
I watch my body writhe in disgust, this soul raked
with discontent where the burden of beauty grates this skin :
Till cloudscape evanesces, reminding me of past anger
unfinished --which mirrors my autumnal haze,
lingering ... still.
Come, loved one... stay sunlit grand
Let birdsongs from those lips croon to me,
Of radiant morns holding your blooms
And leaves aglow winging carefree ,
These lustrous scenes...gifts of revelry.
Lady, Lay...endow air with languid tunes
These hands brimming with flowers
While charmed presence speak of magic ...
Your enchantment flaming my hours
Till cloudscape fondle us with late showers.
All through seasons, dance me tenderly
Dare not vanish, trail off, or depart;
These springtime dreams are nestled
All through weaves of my mesmerized heart,
Awaiting your bridal nod ...from the start.
Then when life's greyish clouds billow
Tousling remnants of our younger days--
Will you caress and shake off my tears ?
I'll race us into old twilight's grace
If only to meet our lasting embrace.
Ever wonder why,
We look to the sky,
Honoring those who die?
What if clouds you see,
Was their energy,
In Eternity,
Here eternally,
Watching you and me,
Limitless and free.
Patiently waiting,
Anticipating,
Participating.
A Heaven sent,
Sentiment,
It's their intent.
Sharing a moment,
A loving event,
Your spirits connect,
Feeling the effects,
You look up to reflect.
Eyes wandering,
Mind pondering,
The Heart honoring.
Escape,
Images taking shape,
In A Fluffy cloudscape,
Leaving memories to trace.
Take the time to embrace,
Look to see their face,
In their full grace,
Hiding some place.
The Particles in space,
Taking form,
Changing shape.
An Energy swarm,
That always transforms.
Pulling you through the storms.
We are all part of the political landscape,
And from that there is no escape,
Even if on the moonscape.
We do however have the power to change that landscape,
If we do not bow and scrape,
But instead vote for those in better shape,
To rearrange the streetscape.
Maybe now it is time to come out from behind the cloudscape
For a better view of the streetscape,
And get out your trowel to scrape,
Til you see yourself in the landscape,
From which there is no escape,
But in which we all play a part in how to reshape,
If we want our children to be in better shape,
Than those of us who only stand and gape,
From above the political landscape.
May we always have blessed reminders of our loved ones, wherever they may be.
It is there...
By Michelle Morris
19/12/2022
It is there in the rain
I feel the cool and calm
Coming down from Heaven
Reminding me you're home
It is there in the rainbow
Filling up the sky
It is there in the sparrow
As he passes by
It is there in the ocean
As the waves caress the shores
Each like a sweetheart's kiss
Always wanting more
It is there in the flowers
As each one blooms for me
Every single petal
Is like a sweet melody
It is there in the cloudscape
Such shapes of fun and joy
I'm reminded of your mischief
And wish we could just talk
It is there in the treetops
The breeze caresses every branch
Wrapped up in such elation
The leaves begin to dance
It is there in the soil
As the roots grow deep and strong
It is there in the heart
Where our love always belongs
It is there in each moment
It is there in each day
It is there always
And always it shall remain
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Sunrise in the morning fills the heart with glee,
a new day, a new start for you and for me.
Quote - Poet’s own
To Each Devottee
Sun raised her head in a blaze of glory
Rising from behind a picturesque tree
I stood in awe as she rose to her space
To shine down on the world with lustrous grace.
The sky was a sight to glimpse this morning
Bright blue with wispy cloudscape adorning
Sunrise is stunning, as is the sunset
Alluring bequests of which earth is blessed.
Ofttimes I ponder o’er planets mystique
How round the universe asteroids creep
Of the moon and stars that light up the night
Though by morning have disappeared from sight.
Praise to the magnificent creation
Being viewed worldwide from every nation
In different time zones though it may be
It’s God's precious gift to each devotee.
* * *
23rd October 2022
Autumn festivals dot the landscape
Especially around the rural countryside,
Providing a welcomed weekend escape.
Halloween decorations made of crepe
Orange ribbons on the old hayride,
Autumn festivals dot the landscape.
Pumpkins scattered about, all agape,
Some with a lighted candle inside,
Providing a welcomed weekend escape.
Hay bales in their usual oblong shape
Become seats on the ride, all dried
Autumn festivals dot the landscape.
A nip in the air says wear a warm cape
Colorful leaves drift along for the ride
Providing a welcomed weekend escape.
Overhead, fluffy animals in a cloudscape
Amusing adventure where lovers confide
Autumn festivals dot the landscape
Providing a welcomed weekend escape.
Written September 28, 2022
The bamboo drifts through whirl of breeze
To gently urge me back to quiet rest
Opening the veil of fresh morn's grace
To becalm my heart .where gjastly shadows lie--
Our lyre of affection... fading away
I sip notes of love alone with night;
Beauty still her pose, beneath cloudscape
Finding her thoughts among bubbling shores,
The whisper of night- music as one.
Kindled by echoes, the moon's fading light,
Falling upon fluid of smokey eyes.
..........................
Song I - Cold - Quiet Now Contest
For Rob Carmack 9/3/2020
Song for the Sky
I sing of the sky's beauty today.
Holding our hopes to its
watchful heart,
As we go on our way.
It's the soft, loving cloudscape, we hold in awe.
As birds bless blissfulness
and our humbleness.
On special days, the sky, like
magic, waters our Spirng thirsty flowers.
I love to watch raindrops on windowpanes.
Doing creative dances for hours and hours
Sky~ thank you for being there!
I whisper to you ever so softly of
secret dreams, that only we two share.
May 14, 2020
5pm PST
Poem # 1268
From its own space in pastels of morning
Our town's lake wheels beneath a hued cloudscape,
When day caresses and traipses inland
New sun unveiling an auroral drape.
How tides frolic on rubbles that grace by
This pure moment holding an endless fest…
When jiggle-wiggle sound of breakers glide
As egrets' chorale peaks their tune with zest.
On through shoreline basking on grass and fern
Canvas of trees come noon...rests from this spree:
Until sand dunes quiet down to merge
With waves now tame ...ending lake's jubilee.
------------
8/08/2019
Devotion To Ocean Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Greyed cloudscape:
Even the leaves
have, true to their name,
left the Sky.
Readying work is
done.
Flowers, matings, done.
Repairs and preparations,
all made.
The only work remaining
is excuses.
Exculpations of a worn Self.
Rationalizations
follow realizations
which have long
followed idealizations.
Winter is coming
like a 30 ton steaming
locomotive (crazy motive)
let loose, downhill, and
feeling late to station.
I remember, though,
that surely as the cowcatcher
comes, threateningly
racing towards my Now,
it carries with it
an end of itself
a caboose, a Spring.
And so, though Winter
comes, so too does
it's End.
She still paces around the churchyard
without a hat on her blown tresses;
an autumn cloak rustling beneath a gray cloudscape
that somehow, her eyes wander on,
not because she relishes the flick
of icy leaves...not because silk orchids lay
on a marbled cross: rather,
her thoughts gather among dry thistles to wail
upon a crypt nestled by life’s hammock of dust.
The lull from breezes affirms such quietude
of her beloved now resting on potter’s field,
sealed by the finality of death : this instant crash
through night's byway pinning him down down the abyss...
And the mist spills into another hour
unrelenting in bowed silence,
as if he loved her essence more in ghastly ruins.
Broken Wing's Could You, Please Contest
Submitted 10/20/2017
Originally Written 10/17/2017
Sub Categories
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