It All Depends on Moody Clouds

It All Depends on Moody Clouds

The heavy, gray blanket of clouds
Has set the mood for today
A day for curling up under a hand-made
Afghan – hands cupped around a hot
Mug of tea, a purring cat on my lap
A day for thinking and dreaming – a quiet day
A slow kind of day with no grand expectations
A day when ink can glide across paper
With no destination in mind
A day to soak up the peace while it lasts
Later today – or even tomorrow
the clouds may decide to change the mood

Protest Interrupted

d-Verse Poets Quadrille – Spoiler Alert!
Lillian wants us to ‘spoil’ a perfectly good Quadrille

Protest Interrupted

I wanted to protest against the
Clouds threatening to spoil this
Sunny day – paint homemade signs
march in circles on the beach
I looked up – saw pinks
And yellows painted across the blue
Sky and I knew the sun was in love

Poetic Asides Nov PAD – Day 21 – write a protest poem

Cloud Storage

Day 5 – a ‘private’ poem


Cloud Storage

 
Some, although not I, tap
Their hopes and dreams, and yes,
Their most private thoughts,
Upon a screen, then with a
Click send it all into the unknown
To be forever stored in the Cloud

Some, although not I, commit
Their inner most longings, even
Confidential introspection to
Lines upon a page, in great clouds of ink
Then stash it beneath a mattress
Away from curious scallawags

Instead, I gather my secrets, bundle
Them up and whisper them into
The sky where a passing cloud
Collects them, stores them in a pocket,
Keeps them, forever safe

Clouds Do Not Apologize

Day 4 – an apologetic poem


Clouds Do Not Apologize

 

The clouds do not apologize to
The sun when they step in front
And prevent it from shining
They do not regret the nights
When they keep the moon glow
To themselves under a heavy blanket
They feel no remorse when they
Gather up the stars and hide them
In a cloudy pocket
But there are times when they
Glance down upon the earth
See the sadness scattered there
And they cry

Tired of Cloudy Days

Day 3 – Tired of ‘blank’

Tired of Cloudy Days

 

I’ve grown weary of tenebrous skies
Of days shrouded in clouds
I fear the fickle sun has abandoned me
For a place with a clear blue canvas on
Which to paint its brilliance
So I must learn to abide the shades of gray
That hang above like cobwebs
To find the love notes written there from
Cloudy skywriters to anyone who dares to look up

Spin Me Around

Day 1 – glorious

Spin Me Around

 
It was not a glorious day
Not even a lovely day
The sun never managed
To crawl out from under
Its heavy cloud cover
The Autumn leaves seemed
A little dull, a little weary,
Tired of change
But in this not so spectacular day
Laughter showed up to lighten
The mood, to spin things around
Until a not so glorious day became
Altogether enchanting

A Teabag Kind of Day

Thirty poems in April: a final in verbs
We are verbing around in the Graden  for the last day of April

—-

A Tea-bag Kind of Day

I have been tea-bagged
Dunked in and out of hot water
Then left to steep too long –
Had every ounce of goodness
Squeezed out of me
And now you wonder why
I am just a bit bitter
If you were more observant you
Could have read the warning in the
Dregs I left behind

 

 

A Force of Nature

The poetry Form required is The Fold

SO

Your challenge today toads, is to Let your words FOLD INTO POEMS ABOUT DESTRUCTIVE WEAPONS.

 

Constraints! The Fold [guidelines]
1. 11 lines
2. The end phrase of Line 1 repeats at Lines 5 and 11
3. The rhyme of line 1 continues through in every other line
4. There MUST be a reference to nature and how it affect you the poet

—-

A Force of Nature

we donned our shoes, our coats, our hats
so she could go on a scavenger hunt
i made a list of natural things in our habitat
“make the list long and try to trick me” – her words to me
the wind was blowing, our noses running, glad we had our hats
the list took her back and forth – up and down – a little hurricane
she searched for lion’s teeth and a big old shrub with cats
i hoped she would soon tire of this chilly game of ours
and we could go inside again – maybe even sit and chat
but she is six and doesn’t tire or mind the cold – I wish we’d
put on gloves and heavy jackets but at least we wore our hats

Not sure if I hit the theme but a six-year old can destroy your heart.