Sunday, August 2, 2015


They float as cotton candy
toys for children to shape
as they lay upon their backs
In the green grass of summer
Seeing forms configure in sun
Sometimes they pass with only
a moment of shadow falling over the
the laughter of childhood innocence–
Sometimes they darken and pour
rain upon barefoot children running

Meteorological cumulonimbus oft times
a pastime – other times a rainstorm benign
But then there is the cumulonimbus of the soul
A different breed altogether- these do not float for
Often anger is a lagging latent cloud
rising unseen –from the its grave of toxic blood waste
Mecurial and unstable – activated by a simple word
or blade of veritable non-sense that
opens a vein and in an extravagant
Show of outrage silver thunderheads
gather and chalk the landscape of the soul
from the topmost to inner core until cumulonimbus
explode into storm - pouring, pounding - on and on and on
drowning all in its wake until spent innocent wide-eyed children
peek from their hiding places and when safe
venture out again upon wet green grass
to imagine shapes in the puffs drifting
through blue skies

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