Overview

(Clouds, always worth a look).


We discuss the sky often, both agog
under that unfathomable space,
that infinite openness
what else ought we call it?
some things have no need of a name
and sky seems such a paltry term
for such a boundless vista.
But how you scowl
when slate grey volcanoes puther
from unseen horizons, dark soot embryos
erupting to colour your view,
crashing over your head
prodding the ache of a frown
into one bilious migraine.
You know they’ll soon be gone
those busy inquisitive wraiths
but still let me shake a useless fist
and shout into their violent vacuum,
acting as your erstwhile champion
before sailor blues begin to reappear
in bandy-legged unison.



© Graham Sherwood 08/2015