Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jenny Gordon Mar 2019


Blue heavns with clouds as fiberfill gone stale
Jist floating lazly in morn's vague suspense,
Where coffee scents the air with half a sense
Of yonder whilst mine owly eyes in pale
Excuse take note of aught reply t'avail
As wont, sans words to roll oer fer intents
My tongue, and silence shifts as twere from hence
Without a voice as I leave that detail.
So later, from the kichen window fer
Mair than whatever, watch a wolf chase to
Effect some shapeless form, which as it were
Is caught just as his mouth decays in blue
Seas no, erm, Jolly Roger haunts in tour,
And wonder if that signifies aught too.

NOTE:  Coleridge extolled "...cloudland, glorious cloudland!--" or you can correct me, and Wordsworth coldly delineated several images from the clouds as well, the sestet containing a bit of that.
K Balachandran Jun 2018
armies of clouds clash,
shootout and bloodbath all night;
****** morn, quiet!

— The End —