"cloudiness" poems
She stands at a cross roads, looking from left to right, trying to decide which path to take
She turns to the left, where she sees a dark and dismal sky, where the path breaks up into tiny shards of gravel
She then turns to the right, where she sees a pleasant blue sky marked with wispy white clouds, where the path transforms into even blocks of cobblestone
Could she, struck with life's hardships, caught in life's desolation, choose the path which will lead her home?
Her eyes drift to and fro, summing up both paths, attempting to decide on just one
Should she choose a path of dark or light, tragedy or happiness, cloudiness or sunshine?
Her mind confused, she kneels on the ground, folds her arms, and sends a message from her heart to the One who will guide her home.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
liberated:
the weight of you lingered until i was strong enough to push you away.
the fog has lifted:
the cloudiness of my mind replaced by the clarity of knowing i no longer want you here.
so walk away,
throw out your fingers to count those who let you down.
whilst you were mourning those who didn't care
the ones who did struggled
under the burden of a love
they could no longer bear
you pitied yourself,
now i pity you too
a cold, unfeeling pity reserved for those who cannot feel warmth
i told you to walk away.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
Rain is refreshing in a strange, backward way. It shocks you out of a deep, prolific lapse of participation in reality and reminds you that you’re still here. You’re still corporeal, tangible, you can feel and you can decide. But rain is still rain. It can be cold and unpleasant to be faced with, or it can be warm and welcoming. Beconing you forth to splash and smile in the reality you forgot still applied to you.
I left behind the idea of full, around the clock consciousness during my last frigid thunderstorm. I realized, during a session already dedicated to realizations, how exhausting it was trying to live my reality to its current extent. How frustrating and soul-crushing it is to have the ambition you truly believed in and planned to embark upon, forgone by the limits of a situation you have no control over. I kept a small jar of ideas and plans in the very back corner of my closet. They were safe, they couldn’t be taken out back and shot nor could they be taunted and destroyed from the inside out. When I was cornered in my intruded closet, when I was taken by the collar and shaken for my truth, they were found. Both above-mentioned circumstances played out shortly but in the opposite order. That’s when it began to rain.
I decided on an alternative: selective awareness. I keep myself alive only feeling and participating when the rain is tepid and pleasant. When I feel the temperature beginning to drop, I fall back asleep, floating through lull and lash, until the sun comes to change the course of my simulation. For days, all I will see is fog. I’m lost and isolated, but that lack of direction comes with an onset of contentedness. There is no one who can see me wandering through a deluded course I have set for myself. I don’t know where I’m walking, I don’t know what’s in front of me, so the warm rain will give me a pleasant surprise as it melts away the fog and gives me hope for sustainable warmth.
The cloudiness that lingers in my head, even when I’m experiencing kindness and sensitivity, reminds me that my effort to make my reality more livable is as viable as staying completely shrouded in fog until I wander off the edge of a cliff. Eventually, as I age out of my simulation, I’ll have skin thick enough to withstand the hailstorm I’ll be forced to reckon with. Resilience is necessary, but hope exists. I often forget it does while I’m wondering, but serenity and light remind me that fog isn’t all I’ve devolved into. Rain will come, and so will spring.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 9:39 PM UTC
A Golden Brown Mexican Royal Eagle proudly soaring and gliding on invisible æther:
Human Eyes from the ground: dark, attentive, following the Raptor's deadly arc as it ascends:
The Mexican Brown Royal Eagle spots
A frightened Doe:
The dark eyes from the leveled plain:
a startled double-take,
follow the rapid Eagle's spiraling descent:
The vaporized cloudiness slashed;
A cinematic flash
of hide torn
and shrieking delight
are jumbled,
and echoed
through the void:
The Raptor is
Voluble butcher
As it devours,
Sinewy flesh,
Peeled from broken bone
leathery skin and
curved horn;
The Dark eyes moisten
While the scene
Fills His Eyes;
What Beauty juxtaposed:
Death And Life Are Just
A House
Inhabited by
Swift
Or
Quick
The Fortunes Named
In The Game
Called
Life Or Death.
J Eduardo Ramos©
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
My head was pounding
My body ached
I was a stumbling, mumbling wreck
I needed help
And badly
And decided, what the heck
I ventured to St. Peter's
to get warm from the snows
You see, I'm not really religious
and the truth, the church was close
I sat there in ****** silence
My head just throbbing silently
I didn't even notice the woman
Who slid in next to me
She nodded, and knelt down a bit
You could hear her when she rose
Her body racked with aches and pain
Like me, from head to toe
She smiled, started praying
I sat dead still, but listened in
It's not because I am religious
I wanted to hear her sin
She finished, rose and smiled
Lit a candle on her way
I smiled back through cloudiness
I didn't have that much to say
I figured I could try it,
I'm one for anything new
I mean, talking out to no one
What harm could my talk do
"Dear father, forgive me for my sin
Our father"... I tried to start
"Just say what's in your insides son
That's the best way for a start"
Behind me, sat the woman
I didn't hear her come on back
"He's listening for all you ask
He'll get you back on track"
I told her, I just came in
To get dry and get warm
She smiled, said "so, while you're here"
"tell your tale, wait out the storm"
I said it would be worthless
I was past the point of no return
I would not go up to heaven
I was going where you burn
She said "Everyone is worth redemption"
"Even though they do not think"
"They are still a child of Jesus"
"He'll return you from the brink"
I sat and talked for hours
Told her all about my woes
She got up twice, lit more candles
I told her of my highs and lows
She said "regardless of your preference"
"God, won't ask your name"
"You do not need a reference"
"And you'll be really glad you came"
She told me how to start a prayer
To share my story with the Lord
I knelt, followed directions
I was really quite absorbed
I finished, rose and turned to her
There was now a man where she had sat
I asked him if he saw her
In her black scarf and blue hat
He said "The seat was empty"
"I saw no lady there"
I said "a little lady"
"with black and silver hair"
He smiled, said "come this way"
He took me out into the hall
And there I saw her picture
In a frame upon the wall
"She died so many years ago"
"She died of well, a broken heart"
"Her son's died in the Great War"
"It tore her soul apart"
"But I saw her, she was talking"
"She taught me how to pray"
"She was as close to me as I to you"
"She taught me what to say"
He said "son, she's no longer here"
"she's the one who comes the most"
"she finds souls who need redemption"
"She's our church's holy ghost"
I thanked him, head still reeling
I would have to think on this a while
But, as I left, I took one more look
And I'm sure I saw her smile.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
There is sunshine all over my face,
Oh but when will I see the light?
A bright blue veil covers all of space
With only cloudiness in sight.
And figuring out a way out of it
Feels like swimming in the dark
Being dragged by the undercurrent
Holding breathe to find a spark
Yet I’m bathing in the sunlight
But the wind is growing cold
Merriment remains a surprise
With all the things that I can’t hold
So I grasp onto this feeling
A promise in which I can hide
I call vain hopes my fortress
Holding solitude by my side
I see the light is still abounding
Outside the confines of where I’m bound
All the plants are thirst aquenching
Necessity cannot be found.
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 12:36 PM UTC
I snuck into your room last night
You always leave the doors unlocked and those lights aren’t fooling anyone
The floorboards creaked with cloudy memories and I feared I’d wake you
But your mind was buried so deeply in darkness the sky could not stir you
I laid with you in silence last night
Your bones whimpered and rattled like the bitter cold wind against the windows
The ice must have certainly entered through those tiny cracks in the glass, in your shell
Crystals fell softly from the ceiling and landed upon your cheeks
I took myself away from you last night
Peeled back your eyelids gently and wiped out the cloudiness I’d left there
Soft cotton picked up the old traces left on your skin, your fingertips; under your nails
Your mouth I traced with honey and perfumes; I placed young crickets under your pillow
I left you last night
Though you walked me to the door and watched me drive away, you never once saw me
You must have been dreaming that I was merely visiting; a guest, unaware
Blind to the mirror you dressed yourself in, and adorned in the “all along”
You always were a light sleeper.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
There was a brief moment of cloudiness. You didn’t see the sun nor the moon
Except for one night when the moon was shining bright for you.
You told the moon about the sun and how sometimes she was to luminous in the mornings
And somehow you were always hooked on the idea of kissing the full moon again.
Soon enough though, a familiar radiancy woke you up.
You lost the sun, but she returned, so tell me why does the moon keep coming back for you.
”So what is it then, do you miss the sun or the moon?”
”The thing is you already have the sun, so why do you still want the moon?”
y.s
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 1:37 AM UTC
When abruptly, suddenly, and unexpectedly the day
Became the darkest night, countrymen and friends
We didn't know if we should run while saying hello
Farewell or goodbye. The earth was shaking until infinity
Incessantly like afternoon trains coming from countless
Directions. The hour was vital. We were searching for the gleam
Of a hope in order to escape from the supernatural snarl
Where thousands of lives have been lost. Material goods
Are not important, we see ourselves leaving as we
Came. We must recognize that money is futile and peace
Is the most precious thing that we need. The past
This is where stealthy, fleeting and volatile happiness resides
It's like the end of a world. Oh! Every being is useful.
The fault or the rift opened its big mouth to engulf babies
Adults, dogs, cats, houses, buildings and entire roads
That was the apocalypse, which was the end for thousands of citizens
That disappeared like smoke in the bewitched clouds
The trains were invisible but people had risen their hands
In the air, climbing vehicles without doors and tires. Heavy feet
Weighed ten times more than an elephant. We were going to
Unknown destinations. The dumbfounded and deafening cries were
Ubiquitous. Mother Earth was shaking. She shook like she was
About to sink into the sea where the ebb and flow landed
At the skirt of the curtain, where smoke and cloudiness met
Happy are those who have been saved and who live in peace
The earthquake is an infernal avatar that brings sorrow and regret
Haiti, our country has lost lovely people, dear little children
Due to the selfishness of avaricious rulers who are drowning in hypocrisy
We keep saying aloud: poor Haiti, impoverished country. Yet we don't stop crying
While wondering when the tears will cease dropping, melting away and exuding.
Copyright © January 10, 2021, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 10:49 PM UTC
I want to be cool
Like ice, no, like
Breeze- unattached.
I want to breathe life
Into others’ lives-
Bring them to tears.
Apathy is cool
When you don’t care
To get hurt or pain.
Passion is cool
When you give life
To things through your pain.
Sunshine is cool
And you bring light and
Cast it through the panes.
Cloudiness is cool
And you fog up and
Distort, to question things.
What is not cool
Is effecting nothing;
Then you are nothing.
What is not cool
Is feeling nothing
When no one cool’s around.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
You gave her bouquets of branches,
because she saw more beauty
in sticks than flowers.
And today I was asked what phase
the moon would be in tonight,
to decide how discreetly
he could kayak on an overly patrolled lake,
beneath the stars.
Seven cigarettes and others,
to ease the tribulation of a
warm lonely summers night,
where unplanned contacts,
led to strange content.
A book and a boy and a pen,
and a thousand words
that had yet to be inspired,
through a faulty habit
that took paychecks and too many hours.
Darkness molded itself around my peripherals,
like the ones your grandfather watches baseball out of,
and the love that pushed through the cloudiness,
to enter my cornea with grasping motions
from pretty faces with laughter to spread but no dime to spare.
They are the reason why
In a small church parking lot
I found beauty in the delicacy of change,
and the way things can crumble
and bloom,
so very near to each other.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
_I fade into you,
Ashes of my former self, carried away by the wind
Break away from me
Cravings continuously calling for me again.
I can’t go anywhere
Without the feeling of needing you there.
I can’t see anything
Other than what I can taste from pain.
Clearly. The cloudiness in my lungs.
Menthol or Full Flavor. I know it's wrong.
I miss you
You're dangerous for me. I love it.
I can’t remember your face
The filters, makes no difference.
I want you in my life, although you're taking it's place.
I feel your love
It's only temporary, I can say and it's more than enough.
To give me exactly what I need from the buzz.
It’s not there anymore like you
True, what is there once in view.
Our relationship. Is bittersweet.
Hazardous and playing with fate.
Thinking you are helping me be safe.
You're only putting my everything at stake.
You fade away
In the haze, I am still attached to old ways.
If I keep this up, no telling how this will turn out.
This is not an addiction, but if I quit...
I burn out_
Jul 13, 2022
Jul 13, 2022 at 11:32 AM UTC
to a beginning no one has dug far enough or searched their souls long
enough
nor has been ever a man who lived as long as Moses, or caused more doubts than Mephistopheles.
Don't get me wrong, I am religious, in a vaporous way,
I see apples as figs and floods as myths.
Reminisces cloud my atheistic thoughts. Day to day according to the sun shines
or cloudiness.
And steam rises from my breath, at times. When I feel so alone, and coldness closes around, I doubt my doubts.
I seek God to speed healing when a loved one is in need.
I am first off, an honest hypocrite. I would sell my soul for Peace.
I see the new day, sometimes, kneel down in prayer.
My question remains as I say, Amen, for what.
And to whom?
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
the sky had a case of random cloudiness, the moon,
the stars could still gaze upon the Earth from the
glass shelves, that only rarely let the stars fall and
the moon change shape, like the way your *******
heave when I kiss the nape of your neck
many times
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
My mind stills uneasily
As a tremor of fear turns rational thoughts
Into creeping doubts.
Sore melancholy blossoms from my spine,
and warm emptiness trickles down my sternum
from the aching wound in my chest.
My breathing slows in the growing stillness
lest the slightest noise might awaken the monster
lurking in the darkness of my heart.
The constriction in my throat only encourages
My desire for silence.
And I try to lie as still as possible
To keep the hurting from me.
Until the ache becomes unbearable
and I find myself being carried from the room
By restless feet - like tiny horses fleeing a storm.
My mind is nearly blank with the cloudiness,
And I follow fixedly as my poor body
Attempts to pacify my soul
and sooth my mind
With the gentle rock of its pacing steps.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
Opening up the curtain, to let the brightness seep into my bedroom,
I can’t imagine a more glorious morning.
Had the Sun not have shined today,
The flowers of my garden shriveling up to potpourri,
And cloudiness infiltrating the sky,
I’ll still be astonished at the fact that I can’t possibly find a way to be blue,
Knowing that I have found you.
The Sun has shined for me,
extraordinarily by surprise.
I figure I'd go out for a walk today,
to think about what could have been,
Had I have failed to love you.
But failing to love you,
Is like successfully breeding a fox with an amphibian.
It’s impossible to conclude,
The very idea of not having you,
For days unlike today where I am feeling blue.
Struggles of loneliness and isolation that have been my finest foe,
I grasp the very idea of gaining you as my guardian angel.
Let it be said that I cannot think to tempt,
The fate that has brought us together.
Your giggles are like music to my sensitive ears,
As your smile is like the Moon shining in my darkness.
I’m oh so grateful for this opportunity given to me,
For it is now that I will no longer spend nights,
Praying to be of someone’s interest.
The Sun surely has shined for me.
No enemy of mine could ruin this day,
Since I am a man who has inherited love,
And shall never let a cloud shade this love from the Sun.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 2:14 AM UTC
She looked at him like he was the moon. Fascinated as she stayed up late, focused on his cloudiness which she described as her spectrum. All dreary and grey, dark and sunless. Countless people watched with her in the way he danced with the stars, the way he flaunted his brightest dim. But she kept on wondering if they even searched underneath the clouds when he wasn't around; had they worried if he seemed to be missing a part. Because she liked his company more than all the stars combined, even when he left her the morning she was supposed to arise.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 8:12 AM UTC
Next time
I wont have this job
You wont have that job
Next time
The distance
Between
“See you soon” and “welcome home”
Wont extend from here to there
Next time
We will stick around
Till last call
And till the call after that
Next time maybe just maybe
It’ll be your call
Your decision made
Phone rings
And maybe next time
I will answer with something
Other than just hello
Perhaps next time
The cloudiness of it
Will clear up
And we will see through
To the horizon, even to space
It’s possible that next time
If there ever were to be a next time
That next time
We could have some time
Well, maybe next time.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
painting
there are so many different kinds and
so many different artists with respective training
let me tell the story of one
she liked to let go
she didn't like lines
the cloudiness of watercolor she found no woe
flowing with ease
the water went where it pleased
without tedious thought
it took the 'pain' out of painting
she was able to feel the art and the thoughts and the feelings
that art should inflict on a soul
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
Cloudiness of the mind
Is only an illusion
What you have created
Or the others that fill your thoughts
You scratch until you bleed
To rid yourself of these barbaric thoughts
You cannot stop them
And nor do you want to
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
Cotton puppies chase their tails
fluffy soldiers fight
cotton kitties play as well
lightning lights the night
Cotton puppies chase their tails
across the nighttime sky
but when the rainstorm starts to wail
the cotton puppies die
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
Jesus wore sandals, you wear sandals.
The heat from the flames seared from out the window of the black Buick.
Emails from job recruiters are trying to make you work for them. Work for the man. Don’t use your brain. Be my slave. You do not exist. You exist for me.
Washington D.C. has a neighborhood; and walking deeper and deeper into its trap will lead to the retelling of the Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.
My GPS is my angel, pointing me in the right direction. A cliché, yes, but how very true.
The Washington Post stand is blocking the entrance to the corner store like a trusted guide.
There’s a lock on the box that holds the newspapers. I’m a Vietnamese American man.
Man,
Whites, black, Hispanics, Asians; they, all give me weird looks.
Emotions course through the stem.
Sleep awaits, but NaS said, “sleep is the cousin of death.”
There is this beauty-skin book sitting on the balustrade of light green row-house, propped against a neat, white fence that holds in the pink magnolias. Rain drops on the book.
Pattering along the cover, the raindrops, slipping, now running down the cracked brick, seeping into a cigarette **** This is the neighborhood. The book is hope.
Allah, God, Buddha
The can from the soda company is in the grass in the D.C. Neighborhood. Who put it there? It is raining, cleaning my body.
The rain is pouring and I feel like I’ve found my calling.
It is to form the language.
And as that epiphany smacks me in the face, my left side of my brain starts hurting.
What does this mean?
Am I truly waking up from the dream?
I understand. You’re listening to me.
The raindrops fell on my glasses and I felt my vision was changing. The cloudiness disappeared from the lenses. Cay’s pain-stricken face turned into a smile, full of happiness, full of friendship. He’s a good friend. I’m the bad one.
I want to be good.
I want to be good.
It’s change.
For the better, for real.
When it was raining,
The lightbulb popped up outside.
And I finally had the lightbulb speak to me for the first time.
I knew I was a bad person and now I needed to change into a good person.
The car stops moving forward,
I turn the engine off,
And go back to the beginning.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC