March 04, 2005

• I named an arse-shaped cloud after my ex-wife and there’s nothing she can do about it.
• Cloud pr0n
• I have a picture of an ass-shaped cloud in my scrapbook at home. I took the picture because it looked like an ass.
• sadly there isn't a throw a dart at John Birt page.
• But wait - isn't the sky still in flashboy's magic marker?
• The Morning Glory cloud formation is astounding.
• Monkeyfilter: I took the picture because it looked like an ass.
• I've looked at life from both sides now.
• Good cloud post back here. See also.
• Strange...
• ))) for these strange spectacles, Pleggers.
• Your heart emptied, so you fly Beyond the limits of the clouds. I cannot fly, I cannot find the way; My heart still filled with pain. Shadows across open plains Fleeting as dew on morning grass. I lie alone, I can only lie alone And watch the clouds float away. Clear skies make me weep. If it would but rain up And fill your empty heart So you may return again.
• The 2006 Australian Weather Calendar is out (just got mine in the mail). Anyone in Australia who wants one, looks like you might have to hurry. Previous years 2005 2004 Weather calendars from around the world
• Clouds in my coffee, clouds in my coffee... You're so vain...
• I remember being baffled by the "clouds in my coffee" listening to the song when i was a kid. What was making those clouds? Bad cream? Some kinda strange coffee monster? Very puzzling. Also it seemed that it begged resolution in some way. "Clouds in my coffee" felt unmatched and incomplete. Instead of "clouds in my coffee" repeated twice, how about some other thing in something else: "clouds in my coffee, spuds in my pocket, you're so vain..."?
• That song is the reason I have always hated her music. Horrible, horrible earworm.
• But the song IS about him!!! AAAGGHHHHH!!!!! *tears out hair*
• your with some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend, wife of a close friend You're boring into my eeeeearrr and polluting my little braaaaain
• 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. -- W.B. Yeats, "There are the clouds"
• I had some dreams, they were clowns in my coffee.
• As far as the cloud group goes, anyone with a self-proclaimed "manifesto" is aces in my book. And the clouds is reel purty.
• Some will insist it's for the best that there emerge a womanifesto. To maintain the contrary among this company would take a far greater fool than me.
• Nonononono not send in the clowns
• Twelve Poems That wasn't horses: that was rain yawning to life in the night on metal roofs. * Lying back so smugly phallic, the ampersand in the deckchair of itself * Fish head-down in a bucket wave their helpless fan feet. * Spirituality? she snorted. And poetry? They're like yellow and gold. * Being rushed through the streets at dusk, by trees and rain, the equinoctial gales! * The best love poems are known as such to the lovers alone. * Creek pools, grown top heavy, are speaking silver-age verse through their gravel beards. * Have a heart: salted land is caused by human tears. * Tired from understanding life, the animals approach man to be mystified. * A spider walking in circles is celebrating the birthday of logic. * To win me, they told me all my bad attitudes but they got them wrong. * Filling in a form the simple man asks his mother Mum, what sex are we? --Les Murray
• Fold, Fold Fold, fold away the silk-sack clouds. Put away the sun. I didn't wish for this brightness or the mottled blue above. Tuck the green under, stack the stems of flowers behind the shed— rebuff the lovely summer, plumes of soft wind, sheer wash of sheets of rain. I want to walk free of it all, striding into a brute clarity: flat and long. I want to hurl myself into empty gorges. I want to unreel fire from my lies' aftermath. I'll fetch the melted watches from their crutches like drooping sunflowers. I'll fold the silk-sack clouds. Break, break away the scented day. --Mary Crow
• Clouds Gathering Charles Simic It seemed the kind of life we wanted. Wild strawberries and cream in the morning. Sunlight in every room. The two of us walking by the sea naked. Some evenings, however, we found ourselves Unsure of what comes next. Like tragic actors in a theater on fire, With birds circling over our heads, The dark pines strangely still, Each rock we stepped on bloodied by the sunset. We were back on our terrace sipping wine. Why always this hint of an unhappy ending? Clouds of almost human appearance Gathering on the horizon, but the rest lovely With the air so mild and the sea untroubled. The night suddenly upon us, a starless night. You lighting a candle, carrying it naked Into our bedroom and blowing it out quickly. The dark pines and grasses strangely still.
• An Ancient Dog Grave, Unearthed During Construction of the Athens Metro It is not the curled-up bones, nor even the grave That stops me, but the blue beads on the collar (Whose leather has long gone the way of hides), The ones to ward off evil. A careful master Even now protects a favorite, just so. But what evil could she suffer after death? I picture the loyal companion, bereaved of her master, Trotting the long, dark way that slopes to the river, Nearly trampled by all the nations marching down, One war after another, flood or famine, Her paws sucked by the thick, caliginous mud, Deep as her dewclaws, near the riverbank. In the press for the ferry, who will lift her into the boat? Will she cower under the pier and be forgotten, Forever howling and whimpering, tail tucked under? What stranger pays her passage? Perhaps she swims, Dog-paddling the current of oblivion. A shake as she scrambles ashore sets the beads jingling. And then, that last, tense moment — touching noses Once, twice, three times, with unleashed Cerberus. --A. E. Stallings