Monday, May 17

A Little Less Than Cumulus

Mr. Gray felt gloomy today.
Sun, shining, took all the credit.
Mr. Gray's clouds were overcast  by the
ingrateful passer-bys
wondering how high the bird is in the sky
and why the grass is sometimes
a yellow green.

No one gave a thought to the work done
slowly over nights and weathers and
air pressures and humidities,
the long slow process of collecting
each dewy puff to form
his bathtub hair substance,
(hair meant to grab their attention,
the hair of a child spiked and glopped up
with sudsy shampoo)

Mr. Gray didn't feel so confidently cloudy today.
He felt sunny, and that really sunned on his parade.

Somnambule 23

I did not dream of this a lot last night
Nor did the birds achirp or frogs trumpet
Not in my wakeless dancing did a fright
Jump out at me and snare me in its net.

I didn't watch the shadowed valleys fall
Onto my walks, nor did I let the cup
Of mine to overflow, I did it all,
'Cept with my enemies at table sup.

And surely Goodness will you follow me
Despite all of the days of my own life?
And dwell with me thou Good and Evil Tree
Deciding to postpone eternal strife?

     I did not dream of this at all last night,
     Not in my sleep, but in my waking light.