Cloud Busting

Image Source: Mike Malaska & John Buchanan

This is a game I used to play with my children when I wanted some peace and quiet on a sunny afternoon. It basically utilised the facts that clouds tend to form and dissolve in roughly the same places, a fact that the kids did not seem to pick up on;-)

Cloud Busting

Lying in the meadow, green grass all around,
up above the Sapphire sky smiles down.
Amidst the grass a myriad of pastel blooms shine.
Despite their beauty my mind is fixed
on the soft white clouds which drift in the sky above.

Small clouds, vaguely reminiscent of cotton balls
drift from West to East
then somewhere out above the sea
fade into oblivion,
leaving a clear blue sky.

Beside me my children lie aghast,
their father has done it again.
I set them a new challenge
pointing at a small puff of cloud
I say “that one”.

Their eyes screw up with concentration
as they centre the thoughts on dissolving the cloud.
I tell them again and again;
“the trick is not to remove the cloud
but to imagine the sky without it”.

Just before the cloud drifts into the area
where they have been disappearing all afternoon.
I say “let me show you again?”
They gasp with frustration as another cloud
melts into nothingness.

I close my eyes, and lie back
to enjoy the silence.
As two children gaze intently at the sky
and practice cloud busting
oblivious to the smile on their father’s face.

John Carré Buchanan
11 April 2013

Torn Trees

Image Source:

I found this image on the internet a few months ago and it inspired me to write this poem;

Torn Trees

The silence - is deafening.
No birdsong,
no fish jumping,
not even a chirping cricket.

The ‘Great One’ stands defeated
It’s magnificent head severed
in a blinding flash
as Zeus vented his rage.

A few trees remain,
buttressed against the onslaught,
they stand tall,
discussing terms with the clouds.

Stunted stumps of others
cut down in their prime
Jut from the surface
as if hewn by a mighty scythe.

A long breath is drawn.
Water flows across the battlefield
Gently clearing away
evidence of the fray.

Reflections lie motionless
too exhausted to shimmer
on the still water’s surface.
Waiting for a different light.

John Carré Buchanan
20 May 2011

Where The Sea Meets The Clouds - (Turmoil)

Having been through a rough patch recently the last few days have been brighter.

I was thinking about this earlier, trying to establish what had changed. Initially I assumed that having left the rat race I am now devoting more time to pain management and consequently living with pain is becoming easier.

I pondered this for a while, aware that it was true, but there was something missing. It was then that I remembered a poem I wrote in 2003 and I found my answer.

Where The Sea Meets The Clouds
(Turmoil)

Wind tears at my coat as I stand on the cliff top watching the clouds advance,
the swirling grey mass, now no higher than the cliff itself, draws the steel grey sea upward,
upward until it merges with the sky in a seething mass of grey.
Closer at hand rain squalls lash the boiling sea, which shatters on the jagged rocks below.

The wind hurls its sodden load in my face and I turn for home.
Hearing a cry from above, I look up to where a gull battles the wind,
as I watch it struggle it’s obscured by the deepening gloom,
Head down, I press on.

The cold grey wall draws nearer, obscuring everything,
Stop….. look….. No, not everything,
out there on the left, a silver light dancing on the sea,
and beyond it, the horizon is clear, for those who wish to see it.

John Carré Buchanan
November 2003