FIELDS in DROUGHT
Fields belly up,
Clouds skirt the area’s fringes
But are selfish
With their floating oceans;
Perfect plowed rows
Are in memories now or in
Today a muggy Tuesday.
Glad the clouds are stopping momentarily
(They drift on by).
With so many of them
Sun peeks in on me only on occasion
Then blinks out behind the shape-shifting aerial mass.
It’s much greener now (the city) throughout.
It has rained steadily most of August.
Mature pine and pecan trees in surrounding neighbors’ yards
Look ten years younger now
But even dogs pant and then pant some more,
Half-cloaked in the shade.
Shirts get tacky on body as if spray-glue misted
And necks get damp with one’s
Really, I don’t mind the muggy. Not even
The bug explosion that comes with it.
There is visible blue sky
within the h o le in the middle smashing clouds.
I watch the top of one cloud
Curling in on itself, so titanium white—
As if a small part of the sun is trapped within it.
Mostly, all the upper atmosphere is various shades
Of gray cloud.
Some have a pale yellow dirtiness to them, all shape-shifting,
Cross-cutting each other’s flight path.
Some have wispy-smoke edges,
Others, sharper detail, in-focus,
With seemingly ripped out heaps of dangling pillow cotton.
Some strike me as though a fetus-in-progress
Stretching in the womb.
Others seem to writhe, inter-looping in momentary knots
As if locked in death’s chokehold.
I watch this all unfold for five minutes or so,
The blue sky gap now closes.
Gray takes hold of the entire sky (this evening’s anyway).
With the over-head collisions taking place there is hardly a murmur,
Nothing of thunder or the like.
It is peacefully silent, just the slightest
Perfect evening breeze, and me.
CHANGE isn’t ALWAYS GOOD
The new me is calling;
I want my old life back.
No one answers…
FROM the RECESSES
The thought is a dark butterfly,
Perched askew on thorny bush
Frayed wings held closed;
It launches into reality,
It almost reaches
Neighboring bush, but with
Bike-sprocket teeth for wings
It crash lands again, only, this time,
Too close to the mostly
It launches into reality,
IN the SOUNDHOLE SEEING
The hours when lizards hide
And the mountain’s detail
Is as clear as the fly’s wing etching.
Lumpy cracks in asphalt elbow one’s tires.
Brains are calculator components moving
Tic-tac-toe graphs into orbit.
Acoustic guitars are being tuned
And a fly is in
The soundhole seeing
Too many hands
On one finger.
Light bulb filament
Hums, the noise
Breaks in and out,
Then becomes silent.
Further and further away…
I stop walking,
But the step sounds don’t.
It is too dark to see
Myself in the mirror.
The cold is arresting,
Now I see
The cold is my legs
THIEF of BLISS
In a cloud,
Holes in it;
Between blades of grass
Where happiest, stolen, moments are
A FINGER REARRANGES SAND
Stars obscured by haze or, maybe, ghosts
Of slow-moving zeppelin. Sand
Dunes under moon mimic
Rising winds begin buffeting
Hair and ears in random cycles
puncturing sleep pat t e rns
Shades of flame taper high and sharp—
Silent parade of dancing daggers.
Small things attempt to
Reach the top
Of the food chain.
Big things are cramping from
Holding upright too long.
STEAL the STARS
There is no escaping thieves and crookedness.
In the future, when we live on space stations,
Far away from
The new Mars (EARTH),
People will somehow manage to,
One by one,
Steal the stars.
[LOST in BLOWING MASS
of WHITE SMOKE]
We are window to window
An empty parking space apart.
No words are exchanged, just a quick smile
Between, you and I, two strangers
Having just got in their cars.
Both like what we see, we maintain eye-contact.
Until I start my car and your unforgettable face
Gets sucked into a sudden fallen cloud—
My white smoke exhaust surging from tail-pipe—
Killing the moment.
That potential moment ,
The “us” probability.
ONE HELL of a LONG POEM
Still reading it
As I write mine
Which you just finished
Material for Weight of a Cloud
First published in electronic format online in 2016.
All content written by, cover artwork and design by RJ Williams.
All Rights Reserved RJ Williams © 2016
Weight of a Cloud is a small collection of 12 poems, mostly free verse and narrative poems. The eBOOK hints at a theme of clouds, it is often introspective and touches on universal subject matter.