Notes on clouds

 

Grey clouds push by push by

in the powder blue of evening sky

trees stand lonely still

against darkened distant hills

rolling along rolling around

this small Lancashire town

of forgotten woollen mills.

 

 

The clouds were heavy with old souls

trying to stop to hang on against this

relentless wind to be where they once

lived but no, on they  travelled being joined

by yet another, breaking up then coming

together, heated chilled wet through

when will we come back to you

to feel and see our own flesh

left behind in cities in towns, stuck

in the ground to evaporatedly rise

into grey  soul bearing clouds.

 

Unaware of the trees or hills beneath

of stone walls running

outlining farmers fields

the sheep grazing

the wind smiling

the sun almighty

unaware were we of each hour passing

they will come they will come

old souls in clouds heavy with grey

to take some life and darken your day

 

PETER

 

The old grey soul stepped down from the sky

He came in and sat down by my fireside

He moaned he lamented, I gave

him some sherry and a warm mince pie.

I said you are lucky to stop for a while

The grey clouds don't stop they push by push by

in the powder blue of sky or squalling skies or

in the black of night, so please begin, who are you ??

 

I am a weary traveller of the night

and yes you are right, I stepped down

from a cloud, but I am in the wrong place

in the wrong time. I am Peter, I lived not here

but up yonder, up at the farm with

my mother and father.

 

I can take you I said, throwing on my coat

my old rubber boots hat and scarf

wrap your arms around me, hold on tight,

with his legs floating upwards behind

we marched on we marched on

for I was determined to give Peter

some peace of mind.

 

We looked in windows

studied the land

found an old tractor

stuck in the ground

round and round we walked

encircling his old home

till my legs ached

and Peter seemed pleased.

 

We trudged back to my fireside

where Peter was restless

he couldn't settle, he wanted to tell James

his cousin, of the things he had seen.

 

I opened the door, we peered up

in the dark, Peter thanked me

and let go of my hand, up he

started to drift. I hope I had helped

this lonely old soul

from the heavy grey clouds....

 

When the wind blows and gently moans

you may hear a tapping a scrapping

open your door to see if there is waiting

a lonely old soul from the heavy grey clouds.