Unflaming June

Another morning
waiting for the weather to be coloured in .

On my way to buy a morning paper #91

Sky a  morning, dawning conflagration
wider than any seen before
Longer lasting - to the shop and back
with a diversion to the golfcourse stile
to look further to the hills.

Later grey.
Pale grey
All day.
And raining.

5.55 a.m. From my office window

Early morning pink
like cotton-bolls
short lived
and quickly fade to palest grey.

Apparently there's a heatwave further south

Sky the colour of unchanged bed-sheets
from which someone rose daily
returned to every night
for days enough to count as half a year.
Weekend lie-ins
occasional masturbation
merging with the slough of skin
and grubby rare-washed feet.

On opening the curtains

Not so much a careful observation

more a panic, thinking sky the colour of a putty rubber

meant someone had rubbed out the blue.
...

and later

something about hydrangeas –

frou-frou faded pinkness and a suggestion of talcum corsetry –

reminds me of my paternal grandmother.

Just now

 Sky the snotty yellow-green that smoke from coal used sometimes to be.

From my window as I drink coffee

Skeins of dirty sheep dag clouds
Dry hawthorn undramatic brown
Through which a serrated glimpse of golf club green
To the soundtrack of BSA A 10.

Reflection

White sky-reflecting puddle
at the base of a slender tree
fools me into thinking, for a moment,
it might be snow.

On my way to buy a morning paper 44

Sweet-pea coloured dawn, contrailed grey-laces loosened, corset not yet removed.

6.30, last sunrise of August

Mile-high plane scratches two-inch white line
across a perfect gold-fade-through-pearl-to-palest blue 
morning sky
Oh to be sat in its cockpit!

later than I thought ...

... but even so, the double-stacked,
mother and sheltered young,
crocodiles of cloud

blue-grey and pink bellied
heading north to south across the sky
look sleepy and benign.

Have we met somewhere before?

Raising the kitchen blind I see a sky striped pink and blue which brings to mind, for the second time in twenty-four hours,  a ludicrous and thankfully long-forgotten song.

Heading south towards Grantown-on-Spey

An apprentice piece, a sampler of exuberant, lively clouds
complimenting the yellow-gold scallop-edged dish of hills,
dashed silver with a streak of wet run roads.

Just now - 05.39

Briefly, for a moment, from the colour

the sky old fashioned blotting paper

and the clouds blue-black Quink ink