"cloudlike" poems - Hello Poetry

'cause I'm made of naught but clouds, just clouds, just clouds, fluff and bits of string and stuff, floating around in an empty brain, beautiful captain of a cloudlike ship, nothing but tears from here on, from my quiet eyes, clouds eyes

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May 24, 2015

May 24, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC

r0b0t

captain (p1)

'cause I'm made of naught but clouds, just clouds, just clouds, fluff and bits of string and stuff, floating around in an empty brain, beautiful captain of a cloudlike ship, nothing but tears from here on, from my quiet eyes, clouds eyes

7

I watch humans fumbling to make a connection between the universe and our bodies, as if without their metaphors and poems likening birthmarks to galaxies, we would be two separate entities, a collection of particles that inhabit entirely detached spaces from one another. Truly, the connection is evident in far more than freckles that resemble specks of dust and planetary material; our skin is not just branded by our environment, but bloated by it. We are made of mostly water. We are oceans, our insides are swampy, and when we bleed, the sight is reminiscent of sunsets. There is a universe beneath our flesh, internally, like how we exist within the flesh of our universe. I feel this connection most when I consider him. My body deflates into a cloudlike existence –soft, floating, pacified. His touch warms me, it calms me, it grounds me but in the sense that I am still free to kiss the stars, and my lips become soothing to them. One of our final nights together, about midnight on Valentine’s Day, he took me to the beach and faced me in front of the ocean, stood me below a dome of astrology in the skies. Lucid blue from the constellations and water stretched for what seemed like days, all-encompassing me. But my eyes could not leave him, especially his mouth slipping into smiles, because somehow he appeared even more beautiful than the immensity of our earth enveloping me. He cradled me there, he lifted my dress, and still I felt warm against the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean in winter. He is a dream, and he is an angel, and I believe he steals ornaments from the sky to gift to my heart so that I can feel as beautiful and as grand as all the universe combined.

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Feb 23, 2015

Feb 23, 2015 at 11:31 PM UTC

sarina

stealing stars

I watch humans fumbling to make a connection between the universe and our bodies, as if without their metaphors and poems likening birthmarks to galaxies, we would be two separate entities, a collection of particles that inhabit entirely detached spaces from one another. Truly, the connection is evident in far more than freckles that resemble specks of dust and planetary material; our skin is not just branded by our environment, but bloated by it. We are made of mostly water. We are oceans, our insides are swampy, and when we bleed, the sight is reminiscent of sunsets. There is a universe beneath our flesh, internally, like how we exist within the flesh of our universe. I feel this connection most when I consider him. My body deflates into a cloudlike existence –soft, floating, pacified. His touch warms me, it calms me, it grounds me but in the sense that I am still free to kiss the stars, and my lips become soothing to them. One of our final nights together, about midnight on Valentine’s Day, he took me to the beach and faced me in front of the ocean, stood me below a dome of astrology in the skies. Lucid blue from the constellations and water stretched for what seemed like days, all-encompassing me. But my eyes could not leave him, especially his mouth slipping into smiles, because somehow he appeared even more beautiful than the immensity of our earth enveloping me. He cradled me there, he lifted my dress, and still I felt warm against the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean in winter. He is a dream, and he is an angel, and I believe he steals ornaments from the sky to gift to my heart so that I can feel as beautiful and as grand as all the universe combined.

5

Caffeine, caffeine- Synaptic stimuli. My Cerebral companion: at home in a cup of coffee. Yet only partially fulfilled, Wanting-longing. Waiting anxiously for your chance to massage my medulla, tickle my neurons. Watch them vibrate in your vicinity - until firing ******** at your temptuous touch until finally the sun reappears, and sleep is once again a possibility Sleep, Sleep. Psychic Respite. To feel myself sinking blissfully into your cloudlike embrace Oh! Sweet slumber. You whisperer of healing dreams.

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Sep 3, 2014

Sep 3, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC

mandelbrotsky

"Wanted: The Middle"

Caffeine, caffeine- Synaptic stimuli. My Cerebral companion: at home in a cup of coffee. Yet only partially fulfilled, Wanting-longing. Waiting anxiously for your chance to massage my medulla, tickle my neurons. Watch them vibrate in your vicinity - until firing ******** at your temptuous touch until finally the sun reappears, and sleep is once again a possibility Sleep, Sleep. Psychic Respite. To feel myself sinking blissfully into your cloudlike embrace Oh! Sweet slumber. You whisperer of healing dreams.

24

In a vacant and a pensive mood Lonely and cloudlike in my wandering mind No daffodils are to be seen, Nor bays upon whose margins to tread. Sitting in this café crude Drinking beverages of the caffeinated kind The world around feels mean And the possibilities for the future dead Projects call but beginnings elude Progress is something I cannot find The page before me sits there blank and clean And only echoes ring inside my head.

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Oct 17, 2013

Oct 17, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC

ottaross

What Are Words Worth

In a vacant and a pensive mood Lonely and cloudlike in my wandering mind No daffodils are to be seen, Nor bays upon whose margins to tread. Sitting in this café crude Drinking beverages of the caffeinated kind The world around feels mean And the possibilities for the future dead Projects call but beginnings elude Progress is something I cannot find The page before me sits there blank and clean And only echoes ring inside my head.

12

Time slows down, thoughts seem incapable of comprehension, as I stare at a wall that is beginning to drip... I'm lost. What is this world I'm visting, where color is alive, guiding me. I came here with a purpose, but it was stolen, by unrecognizable shapes. I can chase after them, but what's the point? Darkness, patience, fear... I figured it out My thoughts brought me here, to see what I've created. They don't like each other, they don't like themselves, so they think, and they fight, in a stormy cloudlike arena called imagination. If they can successfully destroy each other, Then there are no more thoughts to wake up to. KC

0

Jun 25, 2017

Jun 25, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC

areyoukadenme

RX Thoughts

Time slows down, thoughts seem incapable of comprehension, as I stare at a wall that is beginning to drip... I'm lost. What is this world I'm visting, where color is alive, guiding me. I came here with a purpose, but it was stolen, by unrecognizable shapes. I can chase after them, but what's the point? Darkness, patience, fear... I figured it out My thoughts brought me here, to see what I've created. They don't like each other, they don't like themselves, so they think, and they fight, in a stormy cloudlike arena called imagination. If they can successfully destroy each other, Then there are no more thoughts to wake up to. KC

22

after the dyin I after all the dyin -- she speaks in soft riddles I listen -- we are so tea bag useless in this inane world lets leave -- i am a mountain you seem so cloudlike pure and real -- i naked your body's tender fertility with whatever you want -- what do you want? -- riddle me softly with true tears -- let us see eachother YOU and I -- naked -- body and mind

0

Nov 12, 2010

Nov 12, 2010 at 10:35 AM UTC

jeffrey-robin

one

after the dyin I after all the dyin -- she speaks in soft riddles I listen -- we are so tea bag useless in this inane world lets leave -- i am a mountain you seem so cloudlike pure and real -- i naked your body's tender fertility with whatever you want -- what do you want? -- riddle me softly with true tears -- let us see eachother YOU and I -- naked -- body and mind

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