The Silvery Cloud
Her scholastic life set out
When she was enough old
Scalloped marge of a figure
She learnt it as a cloud
Cirrus it shaped
Fairly then up a height
Each day slender it whorled
Along her way white
Her heart afterward bore
Joy-cumulus of her emotional youth
High as the clouds high did she score
Amassed beauty cumulus all truth
Up and down in wedlock ocean
Stood she apart like a beacon-light
Tenebrous stratus or nimbus
She defied it as a nought
So does a nimbus in new ring
So did she swing and spring
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Holy Blunder
Clouds in the skies; clouds in the skies; clouds, clouds
Clouds in the skies; some clustering; some cluttering
Some straying; some strewing; all in one yonder
Like free floating vices and flouted virtues
Amongst myriad murky Stygean stratus
One cumulus, shining bright and smiling white
Like a lucky rich man amongst fated poor
Leering, jeering, raving in sway and sashey
“My one misdirected beam made him gleam”
Bemused waning God Sun, “how this happened
Of one breed are all clouds; running in them same
Vapour-blood; façade is due to my light shed”
“Oh! Idiotic white clouds! This is not good!
Don’t swagger because of my one holy blunder
On the day apocalyptic winds wiggle
Every cloud has to melt down into drizzle”
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Arcanum Bride
Arcanum Bride
She came to me, unspoiled maid an' fair;
remote echo of church bells, on Sunday;
her face was angelical in droplets of air;
she flied into nothingness, there to stay.
She flied amid cumulus to bestow drops;
Acceptable by me were, her gray clouds;
Amid my dusk shadows above tree tops,
Imparted were her Fall's mizzle shrouds;
There I was, arbiter of an arcanum bride,
amid tenths of heaven's scents, in ambit,
a spread of nimbus favored me, but cried,
her glance was a rain dance and splendid!
She stared at me from yonder stills, airy;
Utopian reality to overreach me lifeless;
Trumpets of Angels played in notes merry,
her eerie disposal and bridal affableness;
Thus I accepted her in Acheronian gleam;
thousand tears of raining, arcanum song;
she sang above the cumulus in odd deem,
crowning my wax noctilucent, and lifelong.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Black and White
Black and White By Dilantha Gunawardana
A story in black and white
Black and white;
Black in white; perhaps black on white;
White embedded in black;
Black around white, sprinkle or a speckle even a trickle;
Shadows on the porch on an eerie white night;
A piano keyboard, intertwined in ebony and white;
A checker or a droughts board or lofty chess pieces;
Black stallions and white mares;
All galloping in the pursuit of unending happiness;
A flow of nimbus with a speckle of cumulus;
Showers of blessings, black rain and even snow and hale;
The smog that kisses the snow flake clouds;
Chimneys and embers inside snowy winter bungalows;
We begin in ashes, black residual ashes;
Connected to a white umbilical cord;
We are born white, virgins in every sphere of life;
Then we learn of the agony of the ebony;
Even the bright light of white, even white water that softens our stance;
Criss-cross, diagonal, straight or in jumps in the many paths of life;
Life, a game of chess, as we sprinkle our lives with black and white;
And in the end, we are left with nothing but black and white;
A powdered white peau against the back dropp of a charcoal black suit
In an ebony coffin, with white shimmering handles
Then we burn in to ashes, residual embers
Ashes to ashes, powder of our existence
Black and white;
Our true essence of life.
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Like A Cloud
like a cloud
i change shapes
cumulus, nimbus,
feathers and cottons
i mirror myself on a pond
and begin to like myself
the reeds look at me
with disdain
and the rocks there
speak ill of me
no matter how beautiful
i am
be it the shape of David
or of Narcissus
always everything i am
what i have
they claim them to be owned by the wind
they say the wind makes me
the wind unmakes me and i am left
with nothing
but just the illusion of a cloud
doubt, i now have them and i am lost
in an island without a name
like a cloud i wander
higher than the cliffs and friend of the sun
the wind claims me and still i am nothing
there is no use for all these
i have loved the wind and learned to live with its daft
i love the wind and its song
its distance and its intimacies with my hues
but with the wind i am nothing i have none
all of them disbelieved my right to be myself
i am wandering and wishing upon the stones
i fall
i am rain i am the water in the gutter
i flow
searching for the place where i can be myself
distinct like a mole on a cheek
there is no wind to claim my shape and color
sad, i am still nothing, as empty as a hand opening
pleading for space and air, i am still nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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He has picked grapes in the sun.
He has picked grapes in the sun. Oh it seems
Like a fairy tale,
Like a tale of dreams.
'He in his slender youth, with vines, with sun,
Under a blazing sky'—
The tale might run.
There's beauty for eye and mind, for sight and thought,
Here on the surface.
Plunge. This beauty's nought.
Vision succeeds to dream. Deep in his heart
Fierier beauty lives
Than this surface art.
He has no song to sing of fragrant soil
Who in his heart revolts
At unlovely toil.
He has known the real, the truth of it. It seems
Misery eats the heart
Out of fairest dreams.
He in his slender youth, at strife, in vain
Offers his life to set
The world right again.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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The White Dove
A white dove came to me
The sun was high..
The dove sit upon my swing
The sun was high, ,
As his eyes burnt into my
Soul..
The sun was high..
As he carried me upon his
Wing..
The sun was high..
As we descended into the
Cloud’s..
I seen a shadow as we whisk
Within and above the sky..
The face that linger beyond
The sky..
Gently smile and to just fade
Into the simmering light..
The sun was high..
But, yet the dream felt real
As his eyes burnt within my
Soul..
As the bright light engulfed
me..
A white dove came to me
And the sun was high
poem by Carolyn Sears
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Bituminous?
The hard coal's called bituminous,
Or is that anthracite?
Stalactites grow down from caves,
Or do I mean stalagmites?
Those fluffy clounds are nimbus -
No - wait - they might be cumulus.
And that kid who was raised by wolves -
Was he Remus - or Romulus?
The brothauruses ate no meat.
Does that mean they're carnivorous?
Or were they brontosauruses
And were they herbivorous?
A camel is a pachyderm -
Or do I mean dromedary?
Is this match inflammable?
I thought it was incendiary.
Octagons - no hexagons -
No, heptagons have seven sides.
And don't spray fruit with pesticides -
Or do I mean insecticides?
If I can see right through a thing,
Is it transparent - or translucent?
These are just some of the things
I find confusing...or confuscent.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The White Of The Paper
i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they ask such
a simple task from me
write as you wish
think as you want to
or dont want to
I feel a white dove
flying amongst wondrous
cumulus clouds
meditate as much as i wish
so that the white becomes
a mere plane of zen,
a vibration of existence
i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they ask just
such a simple thing of me
to swing myself and exercise
my thoughts so that i let loose
clouds, birds, stars and moon
in the minds of men
i like the white screen
i like the white paper
because they always
are my best friends,
open an infinite plane
for me to act out my antics
for the good of men,
exercise their minds and
let their humours flow
i like the white of the
screen and the paper
because they are always
there to accommodate me
to let the gift from heaven flow
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Mizzen
Rivulet traveling in green field, of thin rain;
in a caper sweetly song, October fitting;
accurate lovely nature, precise to refrain,
mirroring forms of cumulus, in sky meeting.
Facial reflection of a child to navigate a cork,
a mizzen, as flow guides it, to distant sea,
white hopes in sepia recall this rain's work,
where the child is of nebulae, a departee.
Acceptable 's the drizzle in his soul, angelic,
a message that only estimable spirits trail,
when sullen darkness in his life is empathetic,
in rivulets of memory the cork returns in gale,
And takes his soul to ocean routes his mizzen felt,
in apparitions of his dreams to a rainy apogee,
where nimbus go vividly in sepia gloss melt,
where links of childhood are lucent reverie.
There to find nitid dreams and friends of long,
Of Autumnal gray domes, pleasant in sight,
his rivulet is moving on to extend the same song,
glorious mizzen of the cork will trip in light.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Mystic Journey: Fire 2
now we find this time on the cusp of day
most enchanting, and pause as dusk rings
the earth in fire, watching the spectral play
of clouds. gray linen cumulus threaten
an angry outburst, but settle for a sullen
squall. caught in the hysterics of a cirrus
clash in stratus, the blue spirit is fleeing
to higher realms of dying day. (miraculous
seven color rainbows tumble into and over
the cumulus cloud below, crowning their tops
with a music of moods from violet laughter
to gamma rage.) finally, attention does focus
on the prelude to purple night. the flame,
whose quick descent signals opening curtain
on an infinite stage of stars, is exiting.
tomorrow an encore, but never the same!
if music is the medium of these spheres
then tchaikovsky* conducts dawning dusk
with pastoral moods to cool burning ears.
hot thunder bursts from surreal clouds
in beethoven's# deafening second movement,
sending the eye scanning the receding cusp
of twilight. in mastery of somber moods
mozart's+ abstract strings chase the ancient
flame across this third and final bar,
his dusk an opera divided into three acts
of earth, air and fire. the evening star,
rising ghostlike, silently on the horizon,
signals the closing. then the kingdom
of night, advancing in legion, for a short
season rules sleepy earth. time ticks
on and, like the sun, we play our part
until last breath. our short scene
done, we close the curtain and dream,
on the edge of night viewing the fire
the first time, in its terrible splendor.
* P.I. Tchaikovsky (1840 - 1893)
# L. van Beethoven (1770 - 1827)
+ W.A. Mozart (1756 - 1791)
poem by Doug Bentley
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Cumulus High
Caressing air currents above fly
and of pure holiness care to bestow
spirits in poetic paths will imply,
when rain falls on our night meadow.
Amid tales and attended words,
a harbinger sings a gentle aubade,
as Sun smiles to melodius birds,
or Uranus' mizzle streams cascade.
Up there our souls maybe meet
to share a moment of absolute joy,
beatific clouds beckon to treat
a beau of your eighteen years coy.
I think his icon in cumulus forms,
will become eighteen, you to escort,
homecoming queen who responds,
with him standing tall, dance athwart.
As ulterior beauty crowns stars,
ghosts will dance in a ball of merry;
no soul will be excluded with scars,
as eligible promises, sorrows vary.
In this dance our spirits will meet
to fiddle in déjà vu where hopes fly;
noble cavalieri bestow etiquette,
to their loved dames in Cumulus High.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Look Down, Fair Moon
LOOK down, fair moon, and bathe this scene;
Pour softly down night's nimbus floods, on faces ghastly, swollen,
purple;
On the dead, on their backs, with their arms toss'd wide,
Pour down your unstinted nimbus, sacred moon.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Cumulus
Cumulus
No, it wasn't a dream,
Ney, I have never napped.
Through window, I peeped
Dead rivers spirit, a bream
Rising Stream, O heavens stream!
Rose high into the heaven, the quill
Under the power of the majestic sun
Not a reverie, it's really not a fun
I have just seen the natures thrill.
Airy rill, O heavens rill!
Oh! Life comes out of dead
Who plays such magical trick?
Was it natures control freak?
Or the sciences taught and lead
I plead, O heavens plead
'O' Ocean, Cemetery of rivers
Winged life lifted high in white
Sang and crackled, amazing sight
O lord! Ye the weaver and no weavers
We believe truly, O Lord! we believers//
Aftab Alam Khursheed
poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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Peechi Dam in Kerala
The nimbus hovered over the hills
surrounding the unknown Peechi Dam.
A ropeway between the hills
could help all to catch the clouds
and fill with joy the hearts in full.
Water sluiced out of the Dam
with roars and threats.
I looked at its skating rush
and lost my consciousness.
The Sun burst through the clouds
and cheered us all with rays of warmth.
The refreshing breeze from the South
brought the cool of all the wilderness.
The riot of colours in the vale beneath
would renew one’s taste for life.
Reminiscences of my youth
buried in the bottom of my heart
crept up and I smiled a awhile.
----------
.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Too High
Above the cloud lies a yellow sun sky,
Where all appears clear, nothing passing by,
Too high for the birds when upon the wing,
Too high for a phone to so harshly ring,
What peace reigns there, gone away all the strains,
Of a life commuting on planes and trains.
Above the cloud there is just endless space,
Nothing to plague you, liberty’s embrace.
Too high for one’s everyday problems there,
Too high, so one wouldn’t have a care
What a freedom we would suddenly find,
By leaving this earthbound land far behind.
Above the cloud is one glorious day,
So how about we go there right away.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Sky gathered stratus
Your eyes are holding the rain, shy to explain,
our shore of Spring waited, dreams invaded.
Soul expiated eluded, accepting death pain,
spiraling in void, extending, in a feast equated..
Then it was a past to glean oceans of margin,
our reasons stayed on windy, gray thresholds,
to become dreams, skies of solitude to wean,
a flow of tears in causes dear and cast molds..
I bestow honors up where heaven's borders,
expected me to shelter, world of a dim decry,
gray clouds and a fire of soul, and embers,
disdaining parallel lives, my ancestry to deny..
My hymn of sky gathered stratus, and cumuli,
a route to testify, to cry, in rain, my dark bride,
flying sole nimbus, my strophes, rules to apply,
a lonely cause, a solemn ebb of ocean tide.
Guarding, surmising, insights, to eliminate,
portray, invent, deify and cry in a cause of pride,
strive, trace dark horde dreams, to accentuate,
an opposition to Styx black, a light to guide.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Swing high and swing low
Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
It's off for a sailor thy father would go;
And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea,
He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me:
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow!"
Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
It's oh for the waiting as weary days go!
And it's oh for the heartache that smiteth me when
I sing my song over and over again:
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow!"
"Swing high and swing low " -
The sea singeth so,
And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow;
And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea
Nor recketh he ever of mine or of me!
"Swing high and swing low
While the breezes they blow -
'T was off for a sailor thy father would go!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Like An Ocean
(per andreasson/ pernilla emme)
Producer for bonnie: jimmy smyth
Ocean...ocean...
In the darkness of nowhere
Theres nothing at all
And I feel like Ive been here too long
Shadows and teardrops fading away
And my heart is crying for love
Far from those moments
When my eyes were still closed
And my heartbeat was longing for more
Way over mountains, higher than high
I could feel the breeze from below
Like an ocean...
Like an ocean...
Now tell me your secrets
Come closer and whisper
I feel like Ive seen you before
Theres no more illusions
No more escapes
Cause Im tired of asking for more
Seems like a lifetime fading away
And Im lost in an ocean of love
Im reaching and holding onto my dreams
Cause Im not alone anymore
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Spoken:
Far from those moments
When my eyes were still closed
Way over mountains
Higher than high
I could feel the breeze from below
Its like an ocean, ocean...heeeyehhh
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Like an ocean...
Way over mountains higher than high
Repeat & fade
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart is tiny, Hopes are high
Heart is tiny, Hopes are high
On top of the world, wants to fly.
Wants to surf, in mid of the ocean;
Wants to climb, Highest the mountain;
Always willing, to touch the sky.
Heart is tiny, Hopes are high
Wants to shine, like a bright star;
Wants to race in, the worlds' best car;
Lighter as feather, wants to glide.
Heart is tiny, Hopes are high
All things happen, On its commands;
Every thing comes to, When it demands;
Whole beauty of world, wants in eyes.
Heart is tiny, Hopes are high
Better if it does some good deed
Helps the poor and who are in need
Accepts the truth and denies the lies.
Heart is tiny, Hopes are high
- S.D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Floating Clouds
Why do clouds float high above in the sky?
So then there is water and rain afterwards,
Flicking on the floor of the planet,
The spherical planet of high intelligence.
It contrived clouds for its own good,
Water was the rain, water was the ocean,
Each day new seasonings were bestowed
And then the old ways divided the path of nature.
My cloud is beaming on me from up high,
This storm is brewing for my liking,
This rinse of the Earth has arrived.
poem by Naveed Akram
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