“Try to be a rainbow in someone’s
cloud”— Maya Angelou
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| SOURCE |
“Ultimately, the
cloud is the latest example of Schumpeterian creative destruction: creating
wealth for those who exploit it; and leading to the demise of those that
don’t.” — Joe Weinman
Midweek
Motif ~ Cloud
As a cloud you can be an actual cloud, that is a
visible mass of condensed watery vapour floating in the atmosphere, above the
general level of the ground; wandering in groups or absolutely lonely (may be being watched by some poets,
intending to catch you in their lines); you can be a state or cause of gloom,
threat; you can grow dim, less transparent as Wikipedia defines you.
Cloud can be ‘just a metaphor for the internet’ too.
You know what I mean, all about this ‘storing and accessing data and programs
over the internet instead of your own computer’s hard drive’. Not a lonely
cloud here but a network cloud.
Choose your own ‘cloud’ and go on poeming:
Clouds Come and Go
by Matsuo Basho
“The
clouds come and go,
providing a rest for all
the moon viewers” — Matsuo Basho
providing a rest for all
the moon viewers” — Matsuo Basho
THESE are the clouds
by W. B.
Yeats
THESE
are the clouds about the fallen sun,
The majesty that shuts his burning eye:
The weak lay hand on what the strong has done,
Till that be tumbled that was lifted high
And discord follow upon unison,
And all things at one common level lie.
And therefore, friend, if your great race were run
And these things came, So much the more thereby
Have you made greatness your companion,
Although it be for children that you sigh:
These are the clouds about the fallen sun,
The majesty that shuts his burning eye.
The majesty that shuts his burning eye:
The weak lay hand on what the strong has done,
Till that be tumbled that was lifted high
And discord follow upon unison,
And all things at one common level lie.
And therefore, friend, if your great race were run
And these things came, So much the more thereby
Have you made greatness your companion,
Although it be for children that you sigh:
These are the clouds about the fallen sun,
The majesty that shuts his burning eye.
Clouds
by Rupert
brook
Down the
blue night the unending columns press
In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow,
Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow
Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness.
Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless,
And turn with profound gesture vague and slow,
As who would pray good for the world, but know
Their benediction empty as they bless.
They say that the Dead die not, but remain
Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth.
I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these,
In wise majestic melancholy train,
And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas,
And men, coming and going on the earth.
In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow,
Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow
Up to the white moon's hidden loveliness.
Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless,
And turn with profound gesture vague and slow,
As who would pray good for the world, but know
Their benediction empty as they bless.
They say that the Dead die not, but remain
Near to the rich heirs of their grief and mirth.
I think they ride the calm mid-heaven, as these,
In wise majestic melancholy train,
And watch the moon, and the still-raging seas,
And men, coming and going on the earth.
Clouds Gathering
Charles
Simic
(The poem is here)
Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others
in the spirit of the community—
(Next week Susan’s
Midweek Motif will be ~ Kindness )
