POEM: Pale Skies

bleached in bright sunshine --
thin, wispy white clouds
are barely seen 
amid the washed out skies

some summer day -- 
sending one running 
for sunglasses
to avoid a blinding headache

it seems the world 
might fade into a 
tabula rasa, or
blanch anemically

Changing Skies: Three Tanka

I
a gray day,
low dreary clouds hang down;
smoky air
clings to the earth —
all is close; nothing moves

 

II
tall puffy clouds
drift across the sky
like ship’s bridges,
moving in armada
through skies, calm & blue

 

III
a blue dome,
unblemished by clouds
if not for birds
looking to the sky
would stop the world

POEM: A Low Layer of Rushing Clouds [Prose Poem]

A vein of graphite gray clouds glide — low and fast — under a static white ceiling. No  patches of blue peek through, today. Oh, where are those fast blackened clouds sailing at such a clip? And are the high white clouds truly still, or does the contrast with these fast clouds hide some sluggish drift. Maybe the higher clouds are too uniform — stretching out to all horizons — for motion to be seen.

Is this low layer of rushing clouds some kind of smoke monster or a drunkard’s dragon? Seems too motivated to just be water vapor.

DAILY PHOTO: Stone & Sky, Arabia Mountain Park

Taken in 2009 at Arabia Mountain Park in Georgia; with a splash of red diamorpha