Monday, August 12, 2013




I own two passions now: watching clouds and 
writing words. Hours fly courting clouds, writing 
poems in my mind, for what are clouds and words 
but poets' fuel to warm their souls upon?
Cirrus, stratus, cumulus or mare’s tail; 
in such clouds, words seem lazy, hazy, nebulous
and misty to my mind; there are no lines 
to read myself between, I can only 
go within and listen to their whispers.
Words are scudding sounds of speech when spoken, 
but silent when written, except to my
heart where they can speak in volumes, or, when 
days are sadly overcast, they hide from 
me and say nothing, nothing at all.

Cait O'Connor