Look up I
See and I
clouds sky not in the
ask I why
myself
and answer no
have I?
Look up I
See and I
clouds sky not in the
ask I why
myself
and answer no
have I?
I wandered lonely as a daff,
much shorter than the tall giraffe,
but higher than the lowly ant,
and yellower than the elephant.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Clouds, #Daffodils, #nonsense, #poetry. #poem, #silly, #Wordsworth
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,
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?
Clouds
scud by
like scudding clouds
because that
is what they are.
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,
peasy.
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.
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
instead?
.
“I espy with my little eye,
something beginning with C!”
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 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.