In a vast wind farm,
One mill remains immobile;
Magical nonsense!
once in the milky sky,
color spreads distant.
in the rainbow night,
the peace finds me.

on some times,
the tender spirits,
climb the window,
and saturate the shades.

plant the seeds of winds sonnet,
creeping breeze blister,
till the morning's jitter.
yet in night it's cool.

and when I hum slumber.
it sings with the tune of heaven,
connecting the violins,
and mother Mary's hymns.

the voices of wisdom,
that call winds song.
sudden wonders,
come midnight's bond.
These nights of sweet air and harmany.
OC 2d
Once in a while
I move through you
spreading my arms
as though they were wings
hoping your sweet scent
will carry me far, far away

You are the one
that sweeps through me like a storm
a gust leaving scorch marks
on the cusp of sense and in-sense
Until you stop
on the tip of my tongue
a shape made of mists
waiting to be exhaled
and dissolve into thin air

And as you die down
I die out
My arms drop off
like spiraling autumn leaves
and the chill of sobriety grabs hold
condemning me
to life
A very old one. The original has many play on words that I couldn't recreate in English (including the title). Tried compensating by tweaking the original lines.
She and I are so close
but no one can see.
There is no room left
for any witness to squeeze in.

The wind tried it's flowing
couldn't stand still  
neither the water did.
The seven seas danced
beneath her polished feet!

Zero space is in between us two.
By no measure its big
but enough to touch the dream!
Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous strip
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland

Only scattered dreaming is possible.

In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
blusters off any veneer.
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.

Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.
Going to Prangli island.
Chloe 4d
The sun glares down
Over lost, weary travellers,
Casting crimson
Over the rolling dunes.
Their shadows
Fall upon the sand;
An ocean of tiny little grains—
Always moving
Under the wind,
Like travellers themselves—
Millions of them,
Constantly inconstant.
The lines atop the dunes—
The divide where light and dark
Alter their shape
With the shifts in the sand,
Wriggling like a snake.
This view,
This world
Of rolling dunes,
Stark segregations of light and dark,
Sandy, cutting winds,
Was not made for strangers—
For these poor wanderers.
They wander,
Like tiny ants,
Upon an endless, reddened landscape,
So far from their nest—
Made up of grand structures,
Taller than they are vast,
Crafted carefully,
Brick by brick.
Stark and clear against the sky.
Far too compact
To allow room for wandering.
Glass and stone—
A wall against the winds.
A place
Where these strangers weren’t strangers.
It was there—
Right there.
Standing above the dunes,
Reaching out of the sand
Into a pink expanse of clouds.
But no,
These strangers
Remain strangers,
Wandering a world
Of harsh beauty
And wondrous irregularity.
This is a poem I wrote for Rattle's ekphrastic challenge. It involves writing poetry based on a selected image. I think it's really fun, and there are plenty of talented poets here who I think should give it a try.
7 18 2018

The wind
My gentle friend
Blowing away my stress
And calming soothing. my heart from sin

Simply floating
Upon your brushes
Reminding me
Of all my past crushes

Water fire earth and lightning
What in this world
Doesn't excite me
It's like a painting. That goes on forever

The flowery fields and meadows
The melody of the oceans bellows
The starry nights and cloudy days
Warm cold and in between. A place

We call it home
We all live here
So close so near
But we are never dear

For our fear of each other
Keeps us all away
From holding hands. Drawing hearts
In the beaches sand

Open your arms to your nearest neighbor
Tell him hello
Can i do you a favor
Or run away and be shy like me...

Iam quiet calm an autistic creepy
I like cheese trees cats bees
Not fleas or mosquitos
But ants landybugs and many of these things we live and deal with

Its a wonderful place
If you open your eyes
The tallest mountain peaks
And that nearly endless blue saphire sky
Iam an anti social.
Sometimes. I just mumble
But never stop talking. Mostly
Wind blows through my hair
Happy dance under tall trees
Dandelions dance
Another poem about my deep wish to be a child again
But hey, I'm happy! ^-^
Lyn xxx
Pretty summer wind against my skin
the summer heat cannot beat me
so many shady trees with the lovely breeze
the mockingbird does not mock me
he chants for me like the nightingale
most beautiful but why
his cage is in the auction for sale
never compare a mockingbird with a nightingale
i don't either compare an orca with a whale

pretty summer wind against my skin
summer heat has long time taken place
i enjoy this dutch hot summer on my face
with its cool breeze within

if we are attentive enough
nature has oft its balance
in fact easy to discover though
it's all so transparant
and of much importance

© Sylvia Frances Chan
The balance here is though Very hot, but there is most of the times a cool breeze
I reside here, that's why I call this poem  Dutch Summer (July 2018)
wind brushed my neck,
and down my spine,
briefly with a kiss.

i fell.
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