Long Cloudscape Poems
Long Cloudscape Poems. Below are the most popular long Cloudscape by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cloudscape poems by poem length and keyword.
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
Written: May 4th, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Robert James Liguori
*********************
Some nights, the sky feels janiform—
half vernal promise, half neolithic memory—
a cimmerian of choices I almost made.
I look up, letting the nimbus-laced cloudscape
vellicate the mind with its noisome, necessary truths,
each thought an infinitesimal antiphon
echoing through the tensile hush.
The stars seem luculent, almost officious,
as if they’ve taken it upon themselves
to festoon the dark with quiet directives—
a sobriquet for every fear,
a rhapsody for every wound.
Their light is never soporific;
It carries the spiritus mundi of wandering souls,
the symbiosis of what we were
and what we dare to become.
And sometimes—
in a moment so evanescent it feels imagined—
a single star breaks rank,
offering an epiphany
with the gentleness of woodbine
and the courage of an intrepid sherpa
guiding me up the steep declivity of doubt.
It whispers, without words,
that destiny is neither fixed nor fickle—
That's what’s “written in the stars.”
is simply the amaranthine reminder
that even in our most somber,
threadbare,
dysania-ridden hours,
We are still luminous enough
to write back.
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
Written: November 26, 2025
*****************
She cares for the pedigree cattle,
their fleece brushed into luster,
domesticated dogs prowling the yard,
obedient to her behest.
She is a good mother—
her hands sow carrots,
her voice a catchphrase of sanctity,
her smile a tiara of sky foam.
However, while holding a feather…
she teaches me to wring its neck.
While holding a feather...
she shows me how love can writhe.
While holding a feather...
she whispers that mercy is moribund.
The cloudscape of her face shifts,
dusky shadows grate against the light.
Her gregarious laughter,
threadbare and spasmodically sharp,
becomes a panegyric to discipline.
She is a good mother—
who rakes the soil with staunchness,
who rescues the stray,
who feeds the wilted wisteria?
Yet she is also the provost of violence,
who teaches catharsis through hecatomb,
who makes me smear myself to hubris,
who shows me that sanctity can evanesce.
Her lessons are sacrosanct,
her love ubiquitous,
her burden ossified in my bones.
And still, she is a good mother—
with a bird in my hand,
with a bird in my hand,
with a bird in my hand…
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.
When rainfall spills on crystal night,
The damp brick halls and lamps' soft light
Make me slip-slide though I’m alone
Into the lanes of cobblestone,
Allowing free movement on flight.
How droplets tap while hours invite
A prance, a waltz as splash grips tight
This child-like play down to the bone
When rainfall spills.
How pewter cloudscape with its height
Gushes thrills of romp which excite
Hips’ wiggling sway ; an eve outshone
By pleasure rare I call my own...
Till moonglow blinks oh drenched in white
When rainfall spills.
Rondeau
Form R- Contest of Broken Wings
Theme: Rainy 6/29/2017
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.
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.
Now lies the waterdroplet on the edge
Excess moisture wrung from the foggy air
Droplets that are somehow a reserve hedge
Drops that all the insects, birds, lizzards share
French Tarragon pointed leaves perfect shape
For water to collect travel down tip
Hang suspended surrounded by cloudscape
Time seems to stand still few hours 'till slip
Gone with the heat of the appearing sun
There for just short time so that all can drink
The sun has done a good job and you spun
Dry as in a modern dryer in a wink
To all things there is a season but some short
Can some be extended _ not early thwart
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.