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Thread: Cloud poems....

  1. #1
    Piglet RJbibliophil's Avatar
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    Arrow Cloud poems....

    Does anyone know of any simple poems about clouds? If you care to write one, you can share it too. I need a poem that would go well with beautiful clouds.
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    Last edited by RJbibliophil; 07-14-2006 at 05:46 PM.
    When ideas fail, words come in very handy.

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  2. #2
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    Dec 2005
    The most famous poem (not necessarily 'about' clouds, but it includes a cloud in it's famous first line), by Wordsworth:


    I wander'd lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils;
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the Milky Way,
    They stretch'd in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced; but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company:
    I gazedóand gazedóbut little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.

  3. #3
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    Dec 2005
    By Percy Shelly:



    I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers
    From the seas and the streams;
    I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
    In their noonday dreams.
    From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
    The sweet buds every one,
    When rocked to rest on their Mother's breast,
    As she dances about the sun.
    I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
    And whiten the green plains under;
    And then again I dissolve it in rain,
    And laugh as I pass in thunder.


    I sift the snow on the mountains below,
    And their great pines groan aghast;
    And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
    While I sleep in the arms of the Blast.
    Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers
    Lightning my pilot sits;
    In a cavern under is fettered the Thunder,
    It struggles and howls at fits.
    Over earth and ocean with gentle motion
    This pilot is guiding me,
    Lured by the love of the Genii that move
    In the depths of the purple sea;
    Over the rills and the crags and the hills,
    Over the lakes and the plains,
    Wherever he dreams under mountain or stream
    The Spirit he loves remains;
    And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,
    Whilst he is dissolving in rains.


    The sanguine Sunrise with his meteor eyes,
    And his burning plumes outspread,
    Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
    When the morning star shines dead:
    As on the jag of a mountain crag
    Which an earthquake rocks and swings
    An eagle alit one moment may sit
    In the light of its golden wings.
    And, when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
    Its ardours of rest and of love,
    And the crimson pall of eve may fall
    From the depth of heaven above,
    With wings folded I rest on mine airy nest,
    As still as a brooding dove.


    That orbed maiden with white fire laden
    Whom mortals call the Moon
    Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor
    By the midnight breezes strewn;
    And whenever the beat of her unseen feet,
    Which only the angels hear,
    May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
    The stars peep behind her and peer.
    And I laugh to see them whirl and flee
    Like a swarm of golden bees,
    When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, --
    Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
    Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
    Are each paved with the moon and these.


    I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,
    And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;
    The Volcanoes are dim, and the Stars reel and swim,
    When the Whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
    From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape
    Over a torrent sea,
    Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof;
    The mountains its columns be.
    The triumphal arch through which I march,
    With hurricane, fire, and snow,
    When the powers of the air are chained to my chair,
    Is the millioned-coloured bow;
    The Sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,
    While the moist Earth was laughing below.


    I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
    And the nursling of the Sky:
    I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
    I change, but I cannot die.
    For after the rain, when with never a stain
    The pavilion of heaven is bare,
    And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
    Build up the blue dome of air,
    I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, --
    And out of the caverns of rain,
    Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
    I arise, and unbuild it again.

  4. #4
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    Dec 2005
    By Robert Frost, this one includes a couple of good cloud images:

    The Valley's Singing Day

    The sound of the closing outside door was all.
    You made no sound in the grass with your footfall,
    As far as you went from the door, which was not far;
    But had awakened under the morning star
    The first song-bird that awakened all the rest.
    He could have slept but a moment more at best.
    Already determined dawn began to lay
    In place across a cloud the slender ray
    For prying across a cloud the slender ray
    For prying beneath and forcing the lids of sight,
    And loosing the pent-up music of over-night.
    But dawn was not to begin their 'pearly-pearly;
    (By which they mean the rain is pearls so early,
    Before it changes to diamonds in the sun),
    Neither was song that day to be self-begun.
    You had begun it, and if there needed proof--
    I was asleep still under the dripping roof,
    My window curtain hung over the sill to wet;
    But I should awake to confirm your story yet;
    I should be willing to say and help you say
    That once you had opened the valley's singing day.

  5. #5
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    Aug 2004
    Though you already have some wonderful suggestions, I can contribute a few:

    A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
    Superior Glory be
    But that Cloud and its Auxiliaries
    Are forever lost to me

    Had I but further scanned
    Had I secured the Glow
    In an Hermetic Memory
    It had availed me now.

    Never to pass the Angel
    With a glance and a Bow
    Till I am firm in Heaven
    Is my intention now.

    Emily Dickinson
    The Weakest Thing

    Which is the weakest thing of all
    Mine heart can ponder?
    The sun, a little cloud can pall
    With darkness yonder?
    The cloud, a little wind can move
    Where'er it listeth?
    The wind, a little leaf above,
    Though sere, resisteth?

    What time that yellow leaf was green,
    My days were gladder;
    But now, whatever Spring may mean,
    I must grow sadder.
    Ah me! a leaf with sighs can wring
    My lips asunder -
    Then is mine heart the weakest thing
    Itself can ponder.

    Yet, Heart, when sun and cloud are pined
    And drop together,
    And at a blast, which is not wind,
    The forests wither,
    Thou, from the darkening deathly curse
    To glory breakest, -
    The Strongest of the universe
    Guarding the weakest!

    Elizabeth Barrett Browning
    A Night-Piece By Millet

    Wind and sea and cloud and cloud-forsaking
    Mirth of moonlight where the storm leaves free
    Heaven awhile, for all the wrath of waking
    Wind and sea.

    Bright with glad mad rapture, fierce with glee,
    Laughs the moon, borne on past cloud's o'ertaking
    Fast, it seems, as wind or sail can flee.

    One blown sail beneath her, hardly making
    Forth, wild-winged for harbourage yet to be,
    Strives and leaps and pants beneath the breaking
    Wind and sea.

    Algernon Charles Swinburne
    *edit, oops, I did some searching and found this one, too:
    Low-Anchored Cloud

    Low-anchored cloud,
    Newfoundland air,
    Fountain-head and source of rivers,
    Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
    And napkin spread by fays;
    Drifting meadow of the air,
    Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
    And in whose fenny labyrinth
    The bittern booms and heron wades;
    Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,
    Bear only perfumes and the scent
    Of healing herbs to just men's fields!

    Henry David Thoreau
    Last edited by mono; 07-14-2006 at 02:32 PM.

  6. #6
    Piglet RJbibliophil's Avatar
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    I would like to thank Mike and Mono for their wonderful suggestions. I choose to use

    Psalm 19:1,

    The heavens declare the glory of God;
    the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
    When ideas fail, words come in very handy.

    Count to 10,000 and down to -10,000!

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