The Cloud Watcher's Poem, Alan j Wright

 The mere mention of Yorkshire Fog Grass in a random conversation elicited a memory of distant childhood recently. Such are the merurial sparks of poetic inspiration. It behoves us to be constantly alert to the stirrings of poetry magic.

For more than a week, a poem percolated in my mind before it was sufficiently formed to emerge in my notebook. It has been further revised to reach this moment. 

Hope this nostalgic recollection resonates and sparks memories of your own wild imaginings and experiences. Were you a cloud watcher too?

The Cloud Watchers

The Yorkshire Fog grass

grew wildly

on the vacant lot

next to my grandfather’s cottage

Grass, bleached by the summer sun

And now the colour of wheat.

 

Dense grass, so long,

Small children could hide in it with ease

And watch people passing by

-and so, we did.

 

Robert, Margaret and me

Lying on our backs

Staring at the sky

Watching a slew of clouds

Slide across the heavens.

 

All the while, those nebula were shape-shifting

Into castles, clowns and caterpillars

Monsters, mountains and monkeys.

We were unofficial members of the

Cloud Watcher’s Club

Without a cloud of doubt.

Alan j Wright

It is once more, Poetry Friday and this time our genial hosts is Linda B. at Teacher Dance.  Linda's post touches on superstition, world unrest and clouds.