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Dave Robertson Sep 2021
Sunday morning
sluggish streets blink
and whisper to themselves
that there was sun, yesterday

the jagged methadone
of a bad night’s sleep
giving all the weight
none of the peace

technicolour memories
seem to be made false
by this overcast sky
so happiness lies

in the old days
a cigarette and a cup of coffee
would smooth edges,
in the good old days
When grey clouds
Are always spilling over
With the ebb and flow
Of their seas  
Those with soft hearts
Will soak it all in
Only to pour it back out
A greedy catharsis
Under overcast skies

The Triple L Apr 2021
I thank you, overcast,
Though so many hold you in contempt,
I say to you, dear friend,
Those who are unable to find it within themselves,
To pay you with the respect due,
Shall never find appreciation in our universe.

The glorious sunshine,
The melancholic rain,
The rampaging rage of the vicious storm,
The frost and fear of the seeping, invading ice,
None of them remind me that I am alive as much as you do.

For you remind me that not all is sunshine,
Not all is the chagrin of the rain,
Not all is storm and violence,
Nor is it the freezing embrace of death,
No, the extremities of the seasons, the encompassing grasp of the weather,
None remind me of the trials and tribulations,
The brilliance and horrors,
The humility of life,
The chance,
The pure,
Plausibility of my own existence.

It is you, overcast,
My dearest and most reliable companion.
It is you they shun,
For they describe you as boring,
And I say to you,
As I say to them,
The depiction is wrong.

Not everything is in the extremes portrayed by the weather,
Nay, life is full of boredom,
No one experiences life to its fullest,
And those who think otherwise are fooling themselves.

It is you,
The greyness,
The unmoving,
The boredom,
That reminds me I am alive,
And will continue to live for however long I have left.
I promise you this overcast, I will appreciate you, for you keep me breathing.
Written on a cloudy day.
jordan Feb 2021
blanketed in a polar cold
woven by the hollow sun
the hibernating hills
dream of sultry days
and the return
of forsaken love
Drove my kids to the ski ***** over the weekend.  High was -5.  Kids survived the cold and the 6 feet of fresh powder.  Welcome to Wyoming.
Norman Crane Oct 2020
converging clouds create
a celestial ceiling
a disappearing of the sun's rays
an ominous feeling of the revealing
of the truth:
the world's been packed
into an intergalactic burlap sack,
and we are not coming back
never to be awakened.
kiss us, but
the prince is not handsome,
we are alone, so
no one will pay our ransom.
sir humbug Jul 2020
degree of overcast

so the day begins
and so will reman,
the week predicted
the same, only one
variant, degree of cloudy,
mostly, partly or just...

it saddens me deeply for
I contemplate all the lives
with this whether forecast,
or rather,
the absence of
the only variant,
the degree of overcast

9:34 AM
Fri Jul 17
Year of the Covid
annh Apr 2019
You are a sky of broken promises;
In the early morning, bluer than blue,
By midday, overcast with a shower on the way,
As evening falls, I trudge home hunched against your cold rain,
My trusty umbrella doing its best to shield me from my disappointment.

Yet again.

‘When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure.’
- Alice Hoffman, Here on Earth
Francesca Nov 2018
Blue skies are optimistic,
even when days are cold

Grey skies are oppressive;
they weigh heavy on the soul.
I’m not a big fan of winter.
K Balachandran Nov 2018
Sky, overcast, mute,
Crows left school,teach other birds,
Hasty alternate
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