A poet inhabits this sky
Category Archives: Skies
A picture poem
The looming sky hangs over
Hiding the light in a sudden
Moment. No, wait, the sun is
A bright center of the clouds.
Sky…lines
Today, I am surrounded by that
Same sky I admired a few days
Ago. Well, not same. Clouds are
So versatile that no two days in
A row or set apart by a few days
And a new year evoke the same
Sky. It's new and billowing in a
Breeze, although the clouds are
Stiller than my hat which blows
Off, stopping at my outstretched
Hand. It's right to complain that
The gusts make the cold colder.
Ah, sure, but oh my there's that
Sky!
The sky
Look at the sky. I say it
Twice, "Oh my, look at,"
I say, "that sky" and you
Know what? It really is
Worth a second look.
Life
Just being able to say, to
Acknowledge those clouds
What a beautiful sky! I say,
Exclaiming to myself, but
Also claiming its calm yet
Torrid outlines for my own
This beautiful sky, it's mine
Not quite daylight
That vigilant protective moon
Isn't shining in this morning's
Sky. Today it is a darker 6a.m.
Than yesterday's. Why? Why do
I care? I am not concerned, but
I miss the brightness of the orb.
I am not foretelling a harder day
Prediction is not in my bag of
Tricks. At least not on this day.
Today, I was searching for its
Light but saw only grey skies.
Daybreak 6 a.m.
The moon is still up at 6 a.m.
I am impressed. I expected it
To go into hiding as it expected
The sunrise. No, it is a watchful
And diligent guardian of the sky.
It will not rest until it hands its
Duties over to the dawning day.
Now, even with the daylight, it's
Hovering at the top of my sky
There is river and it has all the overblown drama
Of a heated novella where only
the dysfunctional
Functions. Eddys swirl in defiance
of a stirred sky
A sky in which clouds speak with force demanding
Center stage, commanding the spotlight and
Grasping at the picturesque in an
unrestrained
Hulabaloo and volumes, nay reams
that outline
Light and shadow. It's a fierce competition
For our attention, for our love, for
our respect
The depth of clouds
Who sits in judgment when
The sky turns dark, clouds so
Rich in blackness and texture
As to invite a pad and ink to
Navigate its appearance. You
Need to document what you
See when the billowing clouds
Burst through with a charcoal
So brilliant as to shape your
Vision and leave an outline in
Your memory. The sky wants
Nothing more than to write a
Commentary on contrast and
To commemorate the evening.
Clouds substantial, shadowy
Wispy, solid float overhead,
The contrasts made real and
Solid in dusk turning to night
Looking over
I look over a field of cranes, all
Sprung up over the rooftops to
The west. How high will they
Bring the fence encircling my
Views? New Year's in Central
Park or the ceremonies ahead
Of the marathon won't sparkle
In my living room, if sky-risers
Cut me off. Tall this, big that
Will fill my scenic sights. I will
Have the clouds and the moon
Tamara, really 