Tag Archives: #Sky

I saw a rainbow in the sky

I saw a rainbow in the sky,

someone had put it there,

I don’t know why;

I don’t know who,

I don’t know why,

they must’ve had a reason,

perhaps it is the rainbow season.

The Four Aviators

The four flew far,

the four flew high,

they traversed the place

that is called the sky;


and, like the crossing of an ocean,

they shall reach dry land,

if the wind in their sails,

lends a helping hand.

Where did all the seagulls go?

When I took the picture

I left plenty of room

for the poem

that would accompany it.

When I took the other picture

I left plenty of room

for the seagull

that would inhabit it.

I didn’t take any more pictures,

as I’d left plenty of room

for improvement.

Sky, The.

The sky

goes by

at an alarming rate of knots –

or it barely moves.

It seems to be running with flame-clad hooves,

or hooves of lead encased in clay.

The sky might be in a hurry one blowy day,

then loitering upon a corner the next.

It leaves me vexed to see it changeable so:

should it stay?

or should it go?

The sky is full of many things:

clouds, and the Sun, birds and planes

that spread their wings

and fly away;

midges that cluster around me,

for an anytime feast.

And the sky is all around,

in every single direction, to say the least,

wrapping us in its frail cocoon.

And best of all, up in the sky,

is the character of our own sweet Moon.

Mind Your (Poetry) Head

I banged my head

on the sky, today;

I was just minding my own business,

and, ‘Hey!’

I was stunned for a moment,

then continued right on,

and banged it again,

and again, and again, and again;

it wasn’t easy going,

what with the hurt and the pain.

I finally stopped, gave in,

mopped my bleeding brow;

and here I stand,

uncertainly wondering

about what to do now.

The Sky

The sky

was obscured

by crowds

of clouds

all jostling

for a place

near the front.

I crow a saw

I crow a saw

sky across the fly

it me confused so

it words my muddled,

Crow I saw a

across fly the sky

confused so it me,

why don’t know I



The sky is high –

“Why?” I ask myself.

I’ve asked it before,

because I just wasn’t sure,

why the sky was that high.

This time I ask,

in my rhyme,

“Why am I…

awaiting a reply?”

From The Viewpoint of the Garden

From The Viewpoint of the Garden

Leaves and clouds and sky and stuff,

like my words and rhymes

the weather can be rough

or smooth;

and I can either move to the groove

or shelter from the storm

(or the excessively warm)

in the garden

where the pottery of poetry

is often found

by looking skywards

at the ground.

Trees, Sheep, and the Sky.

Trees, Sheep, and the Sky.

See here for the photograph that inspired the words – G:)

It’s about the trees,

or the sheep,

or the sky.

Swaying in the breeze;

chewing the Winter feed;

or hanging ominously above us –

you know which is to which.

All together

in one picture

they sit side by side,


by Nature.