Short Cumuli Poems

susurration shifts
jet cumuli passerines~
starlings flight sculpture
...

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 We are cat angels,
we flit, we fly,
among the cumuli, so high.

We are cat angels,
born fluffy puff,
cotton balls, you can wear like fluff.

We are cat angels,
felines in flight,
in brightest day or darkest night.

We are cat angels,
the best, you bet;
and folks, you haven’t seen anything yet!


...

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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....

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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....

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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...

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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.
...

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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?...

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