These are the Clouds

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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby elfismiles » Mon Apr 24, 2017 9:35 am

Weird clouds may have inspired 'The Scream': scientists
[AFP] Mariëtte Le Roux / AFPApril 24, 2017
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https://www.yahoo.com/news/weird-clouds ... 38139.html
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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Cordelia » Mon Apr 24, 2017 10:06 am

Glorianna

The eyes of Glorianna
Look deep into my soul
To research my intentions
She finds that I only intend to love her

Glorianna the beautiful
She was born of the beautific
And I was blessed to be in the presence of her beauty

My arms were her cradle
My heart was her lullaby
As she lie there
Lost in my blackness
We met in silent battle
With equally inquisitive stares of wonder

In this we could not fail
To succumb to one another
And there was no wound more fatal than our goodbye
But I have lived on
Thrived on the memory of holding Glorianna in my arms

~ Carlos "Sundiata Ibn Islam" Brown ~

Prisoner Poetry https://betweenthebars.org/blogs/234/carlos-brown

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The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung

We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Cordelia » Thu Apr 27, 2017 8:17 am

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The clouds passing by
Carried my past in silence
To another time...

~ Jesus James Llorico ~
The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung

We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Searcher08 » Thu Apr 27, 2017 9:13 am

The conditions of a solitary bird are five:
The first, that it flies to the highest point;
the second, that it does not suffer for company,
not even of its own kind;
the third, that it aims its beak to the skies;
the fourth, that it does not have a definite color;
the fifth, that it sings very softly.


- San Juan de la Cruz, Dichos de Luz y Amor

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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Burnt Hill » Thu Apr 27, 2017 1:01 pm

elfismiles » Mon Apr 24, 2017 9:35 am wrote:Weird clouds may have inspired 'The Scream': scientists
[AFP] Mariëtte Le Roux / AFPApril 24, 2017
Image
https://www.yahoo.com/news/weird-clouds ... 38139.html


Mother of Pearl / Nacreous Clouds

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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Cordelia » Thu Apr 27, 2017 2:19 pm

In My Sky at Twilight

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.

~ Pablo Neruda ~

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The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung

We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
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John Constable

Postby Burnt Hill » Thu Apr 27, 2017 3:16 pm

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Last edited by Burnt Hill on Thu Apr 27, 2017 3:31 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Blue » Thu Apr 27, 2017 3:31 pm

The Black Art

Anne Sexton

A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.

A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren't enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.

Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Burnt Hill » Thu Apr 27, 2017 3:41 pm

The Cloud

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.


I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning my pilot sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.


The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardours of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest,
As still as a brooding dove.


That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.


I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-coloured bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.


I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Burnt Hill » Thu Apr 27, 2017 4:20 pm

“For an instant I think I saw.
I saw the loneliness of man as a gigantic wave which had been frozen in front of me,
held back by the invisible wall of a metaphor.”


Carlos Castaneda
Journey to Ixtlan
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Metaphor

Postby Burnt Hill » Thu Apr 27, 2017 9:49 pm

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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Cordelia » Fri Apr 28, 2017 8:14 am

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"The artist should fear to become the slave of detail. He should strive to express his thought and not the surface of it. What avails a storm cloud accurate in form and color if the storm is not therein?"

~ ALBERT PINKHAM RYDER ~
The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung

We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby dada » Fri Apr 28, 2017 11:26 am

Sometimes the mind-clouds gather
riding high along a breeze
Then I know a poem's coming
it just happens like a sneeze

So I stretch my paws above the keys
and say the alphabet
catch fighter flies and galaxies
and nothings in a net

mushroom clouds at sunset
morning coffee clouds and smoke
some clouds of intuition
maybe catch a cloudy joke

when the time-toad on the wall says croak
dead poem gets a pretty bow
then I read it to myself out loud
and feed it to john crow

and I blow a kiss and go
my rolling thunder future spy
to race tomorrow's clouds
as they bleed along and fly

tracing the artificial sky
with AI sparks a static blue
that even Bob Ross could never capture
you can imagine quite a view
Both his words and manner of speech seemed at first totally unfamiliar to me, and yet somehow they stirred memories - as an actor might be stirred by the forgotten lines of some role he had played far away and long ago.
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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby Blue » Fri Apr 28, 2017 11:32 am

Nice, dada. Is that your work?

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Re: These are the Clouds

Postby dada » Sat Apr 29, 2017 5:33 am

Thanks. Yes, that is me. All three poems that I've posted in this thread are.

I'm not really a poet, though. What happened is, one day some of the characters in my stories started having a poem contest. It surprised me how the different characters' voices spoke through the poems. I enjoyed it, so I kept going with it.

My characters are where most of my good ideas come from. One time they were on a long flight across the ocean. I thought to myself, "what are they doing on this long flight? These two are playing old video games, this one is reading the book the priestess lent him, that one is taking a snooze. And these two are writing a song. It goes like this..." And then I wrote the song, just like that.

Whenever there's a big dinner scene, they always do an 'all together' poem. They go around the table, each taking a line.
Both his words and manner of speech seemed at first totally unfamiliar to me, and yet somehow they stirred memories - as an actor might be stirred by the forgotten lines of some role he had played far away and long ago.
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