Tag Archives: #Clouds

Above the sky, me

Look up I

See and I

clouds sky not in the

ask I why


and answer no

have I?

I wandered lonely as a daff

I wandered lonely as a daff,

much shorter than the tall giraffe,

but higher than the lowly ant,

and yellower than the elephant.

White on green

White on green

under blue with white and grey.


A gull flies right to left

with plenty to say,

and, when it’s gone,

I feel bereft.

Black clouds on the horizon

Black clouds on the horizon,

smaller white clouds in the fields;

where are the shepherds that will wash their flocks,

watch their socks,

watch and wash their flocks and socks,

go sailing by

on Christmas Eve

in the morning?



scud by

like scudding clouds

because that

is what they are.

A cloud about poems

Poetry is all well and good,

when all is said and done,

and where there’s muck there’s brass,,

and words don’t come easy,


Every poem has a silver lining,

and blue-sky thinking

can often provide

the basis for an airy poem.

When the sky is limiting,

and the birds fly through,

just to peck holes in your construction,

who is to say that a rhyme is a crime?

Who? said the owl of Oswestry.

A poem about clouds

If you had to write

a poem about clouds,

how would you begin?

Would you go outside

and look at the clouds,

or would you stay in?

Could you imagine the clouds

floating above your head?

Or would you you have to espy them



“I espy with my little eye,

something beginning with C!”

Looking over a 5-bar gate

I’m looking over

a 5-bar gate

that I’ve looked over before.

And, although the scenery

has changed but a little,

I am an older man

than I used to be;

yet, not as old as I shall,

one day at a time,be.

By the way,

I see sheep

chewing the grass,

clouds scudding by,

and birds

quartering the sky.

And many other things,

which is why

I am looking over

this 5-bar gate.

Looking at Clouds

I look at the clouds;

but, I’m not so sure

that they look back at me;

and, if they did,

when looking down,

what would they think

of my observing them?

Some are shaped like running dogs,

leaping frogs, turning cogs;

most are cloud-shaped,

caped with a variety of smaller clouds

of varying hues,

traversing the skies

of cerulean blues.

There are Clouds

There are clouds hanging over

yon Caradon Hill;

like the clouds hanging over my head;

but the breeze will blow

and those clouds will go,

mine shall be with me ‘til I’m dead.