A face in the cloud?

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 On a night of the full moon, with the clouds
rolling across its face, driven on like husky
dogs by a mushing midnight and gently
chastising wind; hark at the low whistle
and imagined bristle as the lunar landscape
elicits an ecliptic wink and beams a shifty
smile through its cotton wool beard; take a
moment and look up at the bright football
in the sky; iconic; laconic; soothing and
harmonic; a muse to the musicians of the
mellifluous soul, sanguine sorcerers of the
goald’n comment; superb, who us?

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Who then, do you see?
Santa? Karl Marx? Darwin?
Abel Xavier, Bill Kenwright?
God, Ken Bates? (comma superfluous?)


I actually experienced this at midnight last night.
Apologies for the tortuous attempted rhyme…
superfluous / superb, who us

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/a-face-in-the-cloud/