Words are wind
is a thing you used to love to say
when I would start "defending"
"Words are wind, Mandi!
Anyone can give you words!"
You would leave the air silent
only then with your own.
The space between us entirely empty of you.
This was not the vacuum of last spring.
There would be no side of highway hand plucked wildflowers.
No phones vibrating with your messages between thighs in sessions.
No intertwined sweat soaked limbs in the sauna of a midday tent.
I was thankful of it.
I longed for your nearness but not your misplaced romance or hope.
No -I would have you now in the Autumn.
Too depressed to breathe;
you would never draw me close.
Your words only came with
alcohol, ***, or some combination of
supposed truth serums.
As you had said though:
"Words are wind, Mandi!"
And your words somehow both too abundant and too few
blew through that space between us
like a winter's Gale.
Seeking shelter from the elements you created
meant leaving you to find your own way through.
The only way out for either of us.
It is nearly spring again now.
I know it must be because
I can see primrose
defying all logic with it's
near invisible courage.
I champion it on with its
welcomed heralding of a needed
I hope that we both get to be
A whirl blast it starts to come
pushing clouds that part for sun.
Air roar now tickles inhale.
Very strong like winter gale.
Gust makes tunnel in the sky.
Birds fly with wings oh so high.
Gales speaks to warn one and all.
Now take cover before fall.
Crystal children plan their ascend
Clouds open with flecks to send.
Nobel mountains start to shine.
Landscape white it is divine.
saw word whirl-blast meaning wind thusly this poem was born
Inland gales make waves
Through the tops of creaking pines
Florence has arrived
I want to take the hat off
And then wave my goodbye.
I am a child with a suitcase, A woman with a crane
Taking each step with little strength, then falling over again
I am a child that ran over, A man with no name
Helding my hands in the sky, begging for the rain
I was the falling paper, from the tree of neglect
Rushed with the wind, heavied by water, loved by the pain
I became the small pebble that talked to little grains
Ignored and dumbfounded and stinged by bolts of gale
I went to take the hat off, with a smile that never fade
Soon, I will take this hat off. So long! To you my friend.
Swallow up the gale
Which farthest I could hear,
Ne'er I belong such privilege
By myrtle over there.
Recollecting where the pod
To whom I left behind,
The humble swamps,
Surpassing us again.
The angels sing on heaven's shores
greeting passing mariners
with ships whose sails are blown awhirl
with each divine breath
They sing tales of forgotten times;
of ages that - to the sailors -
But the winged ones remember
and they sing out their names;
names unknown to the ears of mankind
For to the passers
they sound not much unlike
the sudden gusts of wind that blow
their vessels sails asunder
Your eyes like unlocked windows
Open, curtains battered in wind
Body still like shattered wills
Of hopes you thought not see again
But I lay here in below
Peering up from underneath
I scratch the shadow sew
And sear the towers keep
My love I swear to reach you
To your heart I'll be the rhyne
So consider this a prelude
To the rest of all of time
I am the Gale.
A gale tramples over fallen doors,
And desperate faces cling to a quivering flame, yet
No wall can reach their shadows.
I stand there shuddering with each lash
from the ice beyond the hearth,
A slow trickle from its toil dyeing the rubble at our feet. But still
No heads turns to face the dark.
I only know every spark withers and dies as it drifts from our circle, though the brightest voyage furthest into the night.
Looking beyond I am neither trapped nor free, but destitue
It is not resolve, courage, or despair that now turn me; I am lulled and must wake.
All thoughts deceive. Thoughts of men inspired, of gods deranged, echo in me,
And which is worse I do not know.
So tonight I will follow the sparks into gale,
Let the lash scour my ears of every voice,
And hope no man foolish enough to follow.
yes , it's snowing
a glorious spring snow
of flower petals
from my neighbor's tree......
beautiful gifts....beautiful surprises