Clouds, Clouds, Clouds, Clouds
Calculated Clouds
Interesting Idioms
Physical Phenomena
Spiritual Symbolisms

Cloud seven
Completely happy, perfectly satisfied, wholly euphoric
Cloud eight
Befuddled by drinking too much liquor
Cloud nine
Jumping for joy; walking on air

Have one’s head in the clouds
To be out of touch with reality
Every cloud has a silver lining
Difficult times always lead to better days
He must be under a cloud
People have an unfavourable opinion of him
There’s a cloud on the horizon
An omen threatening to happen in time
To live in cloud-cuckoo land
Believing those truly impossible things will happen

High-Level Clouds
Cirrus and Cirrostratus
Mid-Level Clouds
Altocumulus and Altostratus
Low-Level Clouds
Nimbostratus and Stratocumulus
Vertical Development Clouds
Cumulus and Cumulonimbus
Other Cloud Types
Contrails and Billows
Mammatus and Orographic
And Pileus

An arc in the clouds represents God’s promises
A pillar of cloud symbolised the Lord’s guidance
Do you understand the balancing of the clouds?
He that considers the clouds shall not reap
In OT times, the cloud filled the temple
Jesus Christ will return on clouds of victory

And a personal one
Black clouds one afternoon covered the Salève
Hiding a most beautiful rainbow
And despite the clouds’ efforts to confuse
His promises are forever true

Which cloud are you under?

if i am a cloud, than you are
the bolts between the vapors.
with wool spinning between my canines,
i’m eating the white fluff like cotton candy.
your flares ***** holes through my dripping
crystals.
cumulus merging with stratocumulus,
cherry hues making love with
sunset oranges.
if i am a cloud, than you are the rain
droplets resting within me,
the sun rays shaking and quacking in
me

sunlight creeps from behind intermediate cloud cover
above the stratocumulus, trails crisscross
giving a geometry to the affair
a barley discernable silver thread
reaches out from my belly button
and stretches into the heavens above –
feeling myself fall backwards to the ground
I am simultaneously...instantaneously
shot, as if from a circus cannon, up
recognizing my three-hundred sixty degree field of vision
I helplessly watch my body fade from view –
surrounded in ermine fur softness
and basking in a warm orange light
I visit the cosmos
travelling beyond relativity laws, universes collide
birth themselves and form life again
all the while a nagging distracts the journey –
strobe light ****** inside a mirrored room
flashback acid trip melted Datsun at sunrise
fathers body, emaciated and lifeless
wall of flesh filling double French doors  
not a crack or fold to be seen –
cold dog nose pushes my hand and brings my back to what we perceive as real
smiling to myself
I think about the amazing things I will see when dead –

eyes out the window
a hulking metal archangel
thunders across the
mocking blue sky
just a glimmer of white
the purity of image
distance
silence
betrays the emptiness
the malaise of its contents
as it is consumed by
the passive clutches
of stratocumulus vapor

glued to the floor
my back sticky with
contempt and
introspection i
sleep and stare and
fantasize of escape
an undoing of the
essential that has
plagued this plane

Pecola's dreams are
mine but it is not my
eyes that are stubborn
it is my brain my
mind my
infinity
that cannot
that refuses to evaporate

clouds roll across the sky
in an overture heralding the coming of
storms, of flashes of light in a spectacle of
natural birth and suicide. thunder rips apart the
fabric of the heavens, leaving seams unsewn to rain
upon the damp earth agape. were it that sunshine was rare,
that amber light shone only through the darkness of stratocumulus
and curtains of raindrops would we beg the tempest to stay.
trees tremble in the prelude of wind knowing that they
must too bow down to the deluge. the first ripples on the
water paint labyrinths over duckweed and tadpoles, the afterbirth
of the floods, so does petrichor. that fragrant herald of life
and destruction place itself in fractals throughout the golden
air, filigree all but invisible to verse, and the poet that creates it.

it could be just a drizzle, nature watering her creation
the only electricity the excitement of the mosses and ferns
to recieve communion again. the war-drums of thunder may not
sound, only drops falling on water in a steady
percussive rhythm hypnotizing and maddening, accompanying
the wind blowing the trees in a millenia-old melody.
this poem could only be Romantic musings of the grand
memories of an antediluvian hurricane that never
occured or was witnessed, images and sounds that can
never be seen or heard, known by storms.

🎆🎇 Happy 4th! Everyone! 🎇🎆

It’s summer, hurry up. Let’s not waste a minute.
Where’s the sunscreen, where’s the party, who’s knutching who?

The sky was crowded with bright, balloon stratocumulus clouds, hanging mountain-like in the air. How can something that big just float in the sky? Either the Greek gods are holding them up, or they defy reason.

So, we’re in Athens, Georgia and apparently, Lisa, Kim, Bili, Leong and I are ‘too much club.’
We’re insuperable - too rowdy, too loud, too late, we laugh too much, hand-ringing about haircuts, shoes and romantic connections.

Sorry, if we’re not co-signing for everyone’s existential angst - we’re 5 girls on vacation.

Well, except Leong, she’s just joined us - fresh from Macau China. She’s got dark-takes on the world situation, saying things like, “enjoy it while it lasts.” I tried to explain the evils of nihilism - how once you let nihilism materialize, it’s a fog that swallows you.

If you read the news - which is geared toward the grisly - it’s only going to tap you out. There are too many issues. Our group is a mix - a salad of feminism, environmentalism, stoicism - we’re ism’d out. We’re Asian, black, southern, liberal and communist, woke and anti-woke - what we DO have in common is - we’re summarized.

‘Summarized’ Americans, swim all day and sit by the pool all night talking and catching up. We also water ski, shop, roller sk8, play frisbee golf, go out to dinner and pull-out-the-stops for a party now and then.

Some nights, we stream ‘Suits’ and make emo-boy sexualized comments when Meghan comes on - but we like her - more or less - let her take her shot. Marry that complicated princeling and let every moment be drama.

Since the school year’s measured in work, let’s measure summer by fun and silly drama.
Dillio?
.
.
A song for this:
Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear To Tread) by Bow Wow Wow
Family Affair (feat. Alan Scaffardi) by Papik

Open air hangs between us
A bitter cloud
Your hands could slice through
Fingers, freshly sharpened blades
Your words cut
As they are spoken
I cried once
You said you had never seen
Eyes so blue with ice
So bright with fire
So void of hope
I tell you I am drained
I pour my waters
Over the cliffs of time
Into your cupped hands
Are you waiting for me
Or waiting for me to leave
I prayed to my old gods
For you before
I fear they did not give me
Wisdom or strength
Shutting my third eye
To the appearance of truth
The glass of transparency
Is not a mirror
The shadow that is your name
Written in the sky
Casting it's hollows down
These are not stratocumulus
Not nimbus
Not shapes we know
Not the silver lining
We prayed for you
I went to the well to draw water
Why do I still know thirst