Making Clouds



“All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds.”

–Richard Brautigan



for Richard


As men,

we sit with the night sky

counting constellations,

collecting westcoast dreams like

too many children chasing lightning bugs

with cupped hands.

As poets,

we struggle with the last stanza

wanting it perfect, but

never really connecting

the dots.

8 Responses to Making Clouds

  1. nochipa says:


    I absolutely love this poem!

    In these few lines you’ve managed to have strength and voice. There is a raw honesty in your poetry that I truly enjoy reading. I will be honest in telling you that I don’t love reading every poem I see on boards, but I always know that when I see your name beside a poem that it will truly “say” something and it will “connect” with being an artist, a poet, but mostly a human being. Love this one especially and I see nothing that I feel you should change. I think what drew me in was “as men we sit with the night sky counting constellations collecting California dreams”. That is the kind of line that a person can remember and quote.


  2. gingatao! says:

    Cloud poem perfect imperfect cloud poem,

  3. Scot says:

    Nochipa and Paul

    Thanks for the kindness and your time. I had intended for this to be the close of Hamburger Cemetery. But, after I ran onto the quote by Brautigan, it became it’s own. I am still working on a better close to Hamburger Cemetery.

  4. johemmant says:

    Beautiful, and thanks for stopping by my blog, though I have no idea how you found it as I have not even opened it yet (laughing). The cupped hands and lightning bugs image will stay with me…..

  5. Scot says:

    When you post in wordpress it comes up under Blogs about Poetry. I saw it there. Glad you liked the poem.

  6. Gogo says:

    I find it amusing that you liken writing the “last stanza” as “connecting the dots”. Is there really a framing that has been already set out before us (by other writers from the past?), for us to follow? Or do we merely see “dots” where we want to and just follow our pens on a leash? It’s just an odd thought or two on my part. A little musing. A little troubled. I like your words.

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