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Jude kyrie Jan 2017
Windchimes
By
Jude Kyrie


The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees
Sometimes it seems like you are here.
Memories now float in the summer breeze.

Aged Confusion brings me to my knees
That I can't find you my biggest fear
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees

Then I see you gods have answered my pleas.
The windchimes voices brought you near.
Memories now float in the summer breeze

You say the trellis is choked with sweet peas
But your beautiful voice is all I hear.
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees

The center of my universe is all I see.
Your beauty abundant soft and clear.
Memories now float in the summer breeze.

Then you fade far away from me.
Just the lilting chimes is all I hear
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees.
Memories now float in the summer breeze
Another attempt at form poetry bu Jude
I really should not have spent two years
as class clown in English class
but in my own defense
she was awfully cute
Jude
Jude kyrie  Dec 2015
Windchimes
Jude kyrie Dec 2015
Windchimes

In my advancing years
Clarity eludes me now and then.
I sit quietly in the gazebo.
Your book and glasses
not yet removed from your seat.
Drifting into sleep
I awaken suddenly.
with confusion reigning again.

I quietly call your name
The need to see you is overwhelming.
I search the gardens for you
Panic setting in to my heart.
Then in the cool evening summer breeze.
The gentle chiming of the windchimes
Calm my panic as your soft words once did.

Then under the blooming arches
of the rose arbor I see you.
A basket of flowers hang from your arm.
The fading light from the evening sun.
Frames a halo about your long hair.

My eyes mist
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful
As calm as the mist on a summer's morn.
You smile at me
The windchimes ****** softly in the air.
You tell me the sweet wudruff is taking over
The hollyhocks need trimming
And the roses need pruning
You tell me all of these things.

But all I see is your
sweet heart of purest gold.
The rose arbor framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.
I fall to my knees to pay homage.
As you fade into the evening shadows.
Just the lilt of the windchimes
Dance over the perfumed bounty
Of our flowering gardens
Jude kyrie  Oct 2016
Windchimes
Jude kyrie Oct 2016
Windchimes

A story of advancing years

And loss

By

Jude kyrie

In my advancing years
Clarity eludes me now and then
I sit quietly in the gazebo.
Your book and glasses
not yet removed from your seat.

Drifting into sleep I awaken suddenly.
with confusion reigning again.
I quietly call your name
The need to see you is overwhelming.
I search the gardens for you
Panic setting in to my confused heart.

Then in the cool evening summer breeze.
The gentle chiming of the windchimes
Calm my panic as your soft gentle words once did.

Then under the fragrant blooming arches
of the rose arbor I see you.
A basket of cut flowers hang from your arm.
The fading light from the evening sun.
Frames a halo about your long hair.

My eyes mist
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
As calm as the mist on a summer's morn.
You smile at me
The windchimes chime softly in the still air.

You tell me
the sweet wudruff is taking over
The hollyhocks need trimming
And the roses need pruning

You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.
The rose arbor framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.

I fall to my knees to pay homage to you.
As you fade away into the evening shadows.
Just the lilt of the windchimes
Dance softlly over the perfumed bounty
of our flowering gardens
For all suffering the horrible loss of dementia.
Blessing
Jude
Sarina  Sep 2013
windchimes
Sarina Sep 2013
I was born to a woman who smoked cigarettes
and since I was a child, I tried to inhale blueberries until they
stalled my windpipe.

My mother taught me that word –
windpipe – after she coughed for hours upon hours. I
was so happy that day, imagining how I must have swallowed
windchimes for the doctors who helped birth me
in December’s final snow –
how I hoped they believed I sounded pretty, although

covered in that sop adults call life juice. Life juice sounds nice
but I had known babies who
came just as sticky as me and never got to breathe.

Windchimes, you know, the things
beautiful ladies in ankle-length dresses hang outside,
my daddy lived thirteen hours down the interstate and I knew
somehow that he owned one.

In my dreams, I touched it
and pulled on it. I twisted the copper-ends up like my
momma’s hair and pretended we were with my dad by some
lake where the breezes are heavy enough and I
am small enough for them to carry me up, up, and away.

Everyone insisted that windpipes are inside
while windchimes stay out –

I fixed that problem, too. I tried three times to plant chimes in
my ears, unglue parts of the skin there from myself
to make room for dangly jewelry. A tiny
slit was all I needed, but it would not stay open for long

and I never got to swing my head
pretend I possessed the ability to create music like how God
let my momma grow smoke. I never got to exhale.
Miranda  Oct 2019
Windchimes
Miranda Oct 2019
I sit in the red rocking chair on the front porch
Back and forth
Rocking and feeling the wind move across my skin
I look out at the trees and the pond
Tinged with gold as the sun sets
I hear the windchimes
And the sound almost brings me to tears
For the moment is so beautiful
This is how it is supposed to be

I sit in the red rocking chair on the front porch
Back and forth
Rocking and feeling the wind move across my skin
I look over at my dad
Eyes sunken and body smaller than ever
I look over at my mom
Her heart pain spilling out of her eyes
I hear the windchimes
A beautiful sound that I wish would stop
For this moment isn’t beautiful

I hear the windchimes but the beauty is lost on me
All I can think about is how badly I wish I was living in a beautiful moment
Instead of this one
But that’s the thing: beauty exists regardless
The windchimes make beautiful music on a sunny day and during a storm
They don’t care what’s going on, they do what they were made to do
It’s up to me to hear them out

m.h.
Jude kyrie Aug 2016
Windchimes
A story of lasting love
by
Jude Kyrie

At the end of a hard day’s work in our garden.
Now exhausted and resting in my chair.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
I quietly call your name.
There is no answer of course
you have been in heaven for so long.
The onset of confusion clouds my memory.
Just the jingles of the breeze on the wind chimes
answer my call.
By your chair an open book and your glasses
still remain as if you may return.
My need to see you is now overwhelming.

I seek to find you everywhere in the house.
Then I see you stood under
the large flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening now
a halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist at the vision.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
So cool like the mist of summer rain
You smile at me.
The wind chimes ****** once again.

You tell me the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.

The rose arbor framing the light of my life
Glowing as the sun
at the centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage to you.
to say to you I love you darling.
but you fade into the sparkling
remnants of the melting sunlight.
As the wind chimes lilt in the evening air
over the blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty
Hayleigh Jun 2014
You scream urgency
Like an accident and emergency
waiting room,
like a person relapsing into addiction,
Because they pushed themselves
too soon.
And there are claw marks in the soil,
Where you've tried to get to grips,
with your inner turmoil.
And there's a danger in your voice,
Like a lost child waiting to be found,
And you string sentences at a time
but no sound, emits.
As you sit in fits,
Of hysterics.
Danger, like,
Racing cars and frightened cries,
And there are holes in your back,
Formed by the lies,
You've been subjected too
And i wonder if i could use them
To carefully breath life back into you.
The life that you seem to have let
Slip through your finger tips,
Like dry sand,
And there are wants and demands,
Taped to the pupils of your eyes,
I wonder if i get close enough,
If i could see,
If i could prize,
open,
The dreams and memories,
Before they turned stale
And congealed in your veins,
Before they curled up and died
and left you entangled,
In the remains.
And the valleys of your eyes,
Run wide and down deep,
And when you weep,
Your tears fall heavier,
Than a ten tonne van,
Falling from unreachable heights,
And there are marks on your body,
Where you've lost the fights,
The sleepless nights,
With yourself.
And you're a shadow of the man,
You used to be,
And even your shadow,
Has sought to be free from you,
Sought someone anew.
And your foundations
Are built on heartache and pain,
And those little tear ducts in your eyes,
they constantly rain,
Torrential down pours,
And there is hopelessness,
Embedded deep within your poors.
And despite the ongoing rain,
You
You're in a draught,
All the love you've showered others in
Means you've ran out,
for yourself,
And your health,
Is a picture
Of cigarettes and late night drinks,
Old whiskey, poured down sinks,
And you're reaching the brink,
The breaking point,
But you quite like the sound,
Of broken plates
And you greet with haste,
The familiar taste of
Self destruction.
And there's a ghost,
Where you used to be,
Haunting the curves
Of your smile,
Watching you all the while,
As you destroy and defile,
The cold skin,
That stretches over your protruding bones,
This terror your living in,
Lures the wolves home,
Could start a thousand wars,
And this battle your fighting,
These revolving doors,
Inside of your mind,
Leave a carcus, a morsel,
A shell,
Of yourself behind.
And your insides stick to the past,
Like double sided cello tape,
And there are windchimes in your spine,
Counting down the time you wait,
For freedom to meet you
With open arms,
And your arms,
Paint a picture of self harm,
In bright red pen,
And the ringing of alarms is renewed
Again and again.
And your heart on your sleeve,
Is clouded,
And weaved,
Between fragile pastel pink scars,
And the hesitation in your voice,
Jars any conversation,
And you scream in frustration
As we express your complications.
And you,
You wish desperately,
That you could be free,
Of those demons, the sin,
For a new beginning.
And there's toxic in your lungs,
And a noose around your neck,
Where you've hung your expectations
Too high,
And you're hanging by a thread,
And the further you slip,
The more knots you tie,
In an attempt to buy time,
And you drink down each crime against yourself,
With another bottle of wine,
As you search and unwind,
The mazes within your mind.
And you can see in the way you carry your frame,
That you've been to the depths of hell and danced with the devil in vain,
On many occasions,
And your eyes they tell tales wanders
Of liquid sedation,
As you squeeze into a nation,
Too small,
Too handle,
Too inexperienced,
Too dismantle,
The train wreck,
You see,
Every time you look
Intensely,
At your reflection,
And your recollections of your past,
Are like shards of sharp glass,
Scattered between the seams of your life,
And you,
You batter the strife,
With drug filled bombs,
Painful tongues and licks,
Of the kicks,
You deny to be true,
As you continue to fall through,
Reality in a clarity,
Smeared with drunken violence,
And ear piercing silence.
Redrafted :)
Meghan O'Neill Apr 2014
My butterfly windchimes
Mean nothing to me
But it's still pretty nice that they're
There
Jude kyrie  Jan 2016
Windchimes
Jude kyrie Jan 2016
Wind Chimes

A story of lasting love
by
Jude Kyrie

At the end of a hard day’s work in our garden.
Now exhausted and resting in my chair.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
I quietly call your name.
There is no answer of course
you have been in heaven for so long.
The onset of confusion clouds my memory.
Just the jingles of the breeze on the wind chimes
answer my call.
By your chair an open book and your glasses
still remain as if you may return.
My need to see you is now overwhelming.

I seek to find you everywhere in the house.
Then I see you stood under
the large flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening now
a halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist at the vision.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
So cool like the mist of summer rain
You smile at me.
The wind chimes ****** once again.

You tell me the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.

The rose arbor framing the light of my life
Glowing as the sun
at the centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage to you.
to say to you I love you darling.
but you fade into the sparkling
remnants of the melting sunlight.
As the wind chimes lilt in the evening air
over the blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty.
loss confusion love sadness
Jude kyrie  Aug 2015
Windchimes
Jude kyrie Aug 2015
At the end of a hard
day’s work in our garden
Now exhausted
and resting in my chair
I quietly call your name,
you have been gone for so long.
but in my older age
confusion fills my head
and I do not remember your loss.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
There is no answer of course
Just the jingles of the summer breeze
on the wind chimes by the window.
By your chair an open book
and your reading glasses.
I still have not removed them.
The need to see you
is now overwhelming
I seek everywhere to find you
almost in a panic.
then I see you.
Stood under the arched
flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening glows
A halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful,
So cool like the mist of summer rain.
You smile at me.
The wind chimes
jingle softly once again
You tell me
the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart
of purest gold.
The flowering rose arbor
framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage.
to tell you of my love for you.
but you fade into the ether
of my minds confusions.
A light evening breeze
kisses my cheek
As the wind chimes
softly lilt over the
blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty
SøułSurvivør Apr 2017
Wood, twisting iron, wresting  
Incumbent wind of an idiom.
Nomenclature learned in
Direct proportion to the
Clicking of clavichords, the
Harmonics of harpsichords, the
Iconoclastic rather than
Memes which disavow the
Etherial. For a breath of air is
S*pirit. Striking the bells of the *SOUL.

SøułSurvivør
(C) 4/19/2017
#npmacrostic
Aaron Brown Jul 2011
The Phoenix rose into the sky
And blazed so bright
The sun turned its eye.
The moon spun in delight
For finally the sun knew the taste of the night.

In fiery fury did that Phoenix fly free.
The taste of heaven its to sample,
The winds calling it to be.
Its joy was ample,
Its song beautiful in flight.

He flew unto the mountains
To taste the morning dew.
Sparkling lights from his plumage in fountains,
Little flames that rose and flew.
And everything was right.

Its indomitable spirit brought joy to the land,
Yet sorrow to the more covetous soul
That couldn't have him on hand,
And death if they could not capture their goal.
The Phoenix learned to fight.

So he faced their persecution and contumely,
Their arrows like a storm,
Their drive all consuming,
Their hate the norm,
And their numbers like a blight.

Their attacks wounded and even brought him to the ground.
But in a fiery blaze he always rose,
Reborn and not a scar to found,
Returning to the wind's currents and flows,
Outshining the daylight.

In icy lands one day he soared
When a songless tune tookwing.
He searched, adventured, the winds they roared
As he sought the owner of this tune to sing;
No one lay in sight.

The winds buffeted
And the Phoenix tossed and tumbled.
Tailspinning as the winds parleyed,
Into a valley he stumbled,
His landing narrow and tight.

In this valley lay the quarry at hand:
An ice elemental of purest blue.
She swayed and she danced and sang across the land,
Her laugh like windchimes and her voice true.
So the Phoenix let his voice alight.

The delighted elemental joined along
And they played and frolicked in joy,
Friendship made in song.
The Phoenix flighty and the elemental coy,
Raging flame temperedby cold's fierce bite.

They journeyed and traveled in wonder.
Where one dare not the other paved the way
Their compliment tore previous limits asunder
And made wonderfull each new day.
Their bond a happy fright.

But nothing lasts forever,
And shadows dwell wherever
The light shines free.
Thus came the darkness inevitably.
It stole the elemental away
Bringing an end to their play.

Then, did the Phoenix know sorrow;
Bitter, painful, dimming the light of tomorrow.
Then, did the Phoenix know anger,
With wrathful thought to linger.
And with determination did the Phoenix fly
Into the realm where darkness lie.

Once was there did battle engage
As torrents of flame flew with righteous rage.
The darkness stabbed and slew, bringing much harm
But the Phoenix rose again and again to face the swarm
And the darkness cloaked him in endless night,
Yet the Phoenix prevailed with blinding sight.

The battle won, hard fought,
As the darkness scattered did he see what he sought.
There lay his elemental fatally struck,
Phyrric victory claiming his luck.
And in the air rose a beautiful song
A sorrowful lament that played ever long.

And those who heard it wept,
Tears spilling from their eyes.
Heartache as they slept,
And sorrow in their cries.
They knew the Phoenix no longer alive,
For life doesn't exist where a broken heart may thrive.
Tulip Chowdhury Jan 2016
I lay awake last night
listening to the windchime
I knew for sure
it was telling tales
singing songs
and some poems too.
At times loud
at times soft
it talked and talked.

will the windchime be ringing
tonight, again?

Maybe I should be dressed
to join windchime and her friend!
Ah, yes I will listen
for the howling sound,
the first gusts of wind
and rush out
when it joins its friend.

On lonely nights
wind chime is my friend.

— The End —