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Anais Vionet Jun 23
Is the wind alive? That’s what the Choctaw believed.
The Apache called it, apocryphally, “the breath of the world.”

To them, the wind is the trickster you never see,
a joker on the plain of life.

What’s always arriving and always leaving?

What’s as old as the world, yet forever current?

Ever present and tireless, it seldom sleeps,
holding up jets, herding clouds like sheep,
filling sails, stirring leaves, causing rough seas.

What’s always passing, but already everywhere?

The Cherokee named ‘air’ the ‘keeper of spirits,”
because it sighs, cries, whispers and moans.
They credited it with great power and influence.

Today, we watch the skies with doppler witchery,
we forecast its path, with the gambler's odds - see,
the wind has turned on us, many times - like a tornado.
.
.
Songs for this;
Colors Of the Wind - End Title by Vanessa Williams
They Call the Wind Maria by Harve Presnell
Windy by The Association
From Merriam Webster’s “Word of the day’ list: Apocryphal: legendary but of doubtful authenticity.

06.22.10:50
Jeremy Betts Jun 4
Sometime long ago
Back before time had it's day
Before wind had a way
Before there was anything there to say
I regret deciding to stay

©2024
Zywa May 4
Headwind slows me down

more than I accelerate --


with that wind behind.
"verstandelijk gezichtsbedrog" ("mental delusion", 1959, Jan Hanlo), in magazine Rabarber #16

Collection "Rasping ants"
Hugo gave
Well-being
A top hat, to save
A night of times, singing about freedom...

Hugo...
What is first?
Sakes alive, the richness of a host...
Or the significance, of have for worst?

Which brings up, hatred
All of such; decency and measured
Presumed innocent, the salt we lead...
Is a family of sincerity, fated as curious?

With worth as an asking marvel...
Is now and never, ever how?
Worth one more look at hell...
Was kin the many, any to avow:

Courage for a new friend...
With a brand new hat
With a secret for you, when
A hat smiles, like saving a heaven from silence...
Make a choice from three days alone; two ways to atone, a single voice to own and of course none, to see you run faster than a sunshine sung. Can, rancor, and cope - do they ever know when to win an argument?
Ken Pepiton Feb 12
What is a daemon?
In computing, a daemon (pronounced DEE-muhn) is a program that runs continuously as a background process and wakes up to handle periodic service requests, which often come from remote processes.
------------------------
Did no one ever tell you, child,
never swear for no excuse,
plead guilty,
confess you was beguiled,
indeed. By some when
back then you had kin, what
made time to preform
the secret baby making.

Once upon a time,
we were always orphans,
from first whipper snappers used
to scrape tar from industrial chimneys.

Songs of Innocense in a new age,
learning old religions decay to mythos,

whence new religions tie memorium,
whence each season we return to recall

our broken spirits, how so and so sang,
lala live for today, la la live for today,

some same stories we recall, links,
URLs, to old sessions recording history,

close your eyes and drift away, listening,
much as winds seem to do, returning
on their circuits from collection
to collection, paid attention tokens, believed
to soften the hull on the gospel seed sown
to a cultivated faith, planted to propagate,

the idea of a secret code Truth uses in spirit form,
the Truth of truths, which, if known, even once,
makes the captive free,

mentally, happy as one can imagine,
under unchanging immutable terminii enforcing
order.

Order, called for, order in the court
of geeky oddball poetic discerners of like or love or not,

Thought traditions trades across epochs forming news,
too much to think about while considering sidereal extents.

Desiderata, poetic license, madejathank, Christian Nation,

Conquistadores were still heroes in 1954,
when the generation first born in the United Nations
victory forever standardization of historical information,
- Boomers stepping aside, survivors come to remember
- first were we to be graded by machines for marks
- made in Number two pencils rounded to one swipe
- width, right answers, only, only, one swipe between
- the lines, esoteric practice for precision aim.

to be overseen by servants of the victorious economy,
as pieces resorting to old formerly used rules of conduct,

smell the wind the strange idea carries,
worth weight, pushing power, pumping umph,

known cost of use, userer's fee, faith, the story held true,

with the evidence in the box, the bag, the sacred bundle,
all but forgotten, faith becomes the evidence of things unseen,

children are told
to hold these truths, those being taught you,
as you line up
in patterns
of proven paid attention, facing the flag

child, you should remember, wordless, for lack of a phraze,
thinking What? What am I pledging, what is pledging, I swear

I mean, I swanee, by golly, gosh ****, shucks, I ghucking did not know.
Feeling chthonically frisky on a warm day after a long storm, called an atmospheric river these days.
Zywa Feb 12
With dry pods and bags

filled with granules we're rising --


little whirls of wind.
"Deep Listening" - Composition "Wind Horse - 2" (1962, Pauline Oliveros), performed in the Organpark on February 10th, 2024, by ensemble MAZE, with participation of the audience

Collection "org anp ark" #366
A force of nature sound,
It will come in a black plague.
No burials left mound,
Bodies dismantled and vague.
Not much all suffering,
Some souls will want to go down.
No Heaven’s dish to bring,
Body after body pound.
Those who will see the blast,
Will live alive all to tell,
For whatever left last,
Will be alone left to dwell.
Come forth the wise to help,
Boiling madness to welp.
Bekah Halle Jan 31
My tent pegs expand,
As I ride.
Wind glides over my skin,
Fear has no place to hide.

A foreigner in my childhood town,
Obstacles abound; pride.
But I don't give in,
I ride. Troubles subside.
Zywa Jan 20
Boxes in the wind,

rolling on, getting one kick --


after the other.
Novel "Maurits en de feiten" ("Maurits and the facts", 1986, Gerrit Krol), § 19

Collection "Actively Passive"
neth jones Jan 18
winter warfare
torments our dwellings brickwork
night of casualties
aggressive plague on my dreams
wakes me  to be visited
tanka style
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