Sunrise in a Cold Cloud

 

 

Sunrise In A Cold Cloud

Underneath the hills where known roots lie,
a heavy karma ponders in the depths
some woman shuts her eyes and baby steps
into the strange inheritance of love.
I love the sun, she says, I think
that God, drops gentle bets upon the strikes
of gold, that rises in the early morning light.
Perhaps he has an unplayed hand or two,
a winning hand he gentles on a cloud,
He knows it is not cheating if he bets
on all those losers that the world called out.
And so she does the same, she sees the good,
of rage in overflow, in peace and strife,
in darkened moments, human acts of spite.
In faces that have smiled until they can't.
In children called incorrigible that want
the arms of love and individual touch.
The dog that growls because no one will play,
but so adverse, he barks them all away.
What is despair, but hope that takes a dip
into the air of futile tries to care,
and have those tries flung coldly back to bear.
We are our circumstances and our needs.
We have a human longing just to please,
some loved one or some strange soul that we think,
might be a friend, and yet we whisper hard,
our warnings to ourselves to stay away
from strangers that could act most any way.
We see a chance to speak but hold our tongue.
We see a chance to laugh but turn our heads
in case someone depicts us odd or fool.
I love the sun, the woman says, but thinks,
how soft those blackened clouds may be beneath,
how lightning could be calls grown desperate,
calls that once were sun strikes with a smile.
She takes her baby steps, and stands straight up,
trembling on her tip toes for a touch,
of something dark, but really warm inside.
The clouds are startled, and their vapor eyes,
open in the small hope of surprise.

 

Reviews

[Helen Crutchett]

Firstly I loved the title. Beautiful write for my "Keeping the Dream Alive" contest. Thanks for submitting this wonderful poem.

Helena

[angelina neves]

very beautiful!

[Doctor JKC]

Roots never see light, also the insides of our body.
A part of our karma remains dark. Only that which
we choose to carry into a lifetime, to dispel it or
accrue more. It all evens out at some time for
everyone.

"In faces that have smiled until they can't."
It is so true. Take cover!

Children and dogs are not born "monsters."

Let's take chances and never lose hope
as you aptly put it in your own way.

Such fine work,
Jack

[Jibey]

A tour de force of writing in blank verse - congratulations for maintaining the rhythm and flow so well... and the form suited admirably your discursive theme, with its powerful and telling message... Thoroughly readable - again and again!

[Ed Hart]

sometimes you just stop me in my steps, like when a beam of light from behind a cloud suddenly illuminates the depths of a cathedral through a stained glass window...

[W.k.kortas]

This, to me, is reminiscent of one of the highlights of Spoon River Anthology, the epitaph of George Gray, and I have never, ever, made comparison to Masters' work lightly.

[James Paulin]

Sunrises are in a rarefied atmosphere of creations wonders with rainbows and meteor showers, sunsets and moon auras. Your poem elaborates on the significance and symbolism in what is apparent or even a potential awakening.
A great poem to ponder.

[Emily B]

oh, Phibby . . . how many times have I stopped to read your words and found something larger than I could carry away . . .

this is one of those, something to come back to on sunny days and cloudy