A poem for cyclists with tech.

When one is by-cycling,
And the wind is anything but charming.
The direction that doth wind blow
Is the SAME as on your Garmin.

When one is by-cycling,
And the wind propels you like a teen.
The direction that doth wind blow
Is OPPOSITE as what’s on your screen!

Slow and heavy
Ball of worry
My hair is falling
I should be starving
Happiness is the wind
All around but out of reach
I feel everything draining out of me
I want to lay down in the sun for a while
I want to remember I can smile
Time is happening all at once
Life is a second
So why do I suffer?
Self soothe like a mother
Find shelter, take cover
Pray the worst is over

Slap my face cruel wind
press hard upon my cheek
with fingers red and rough as any farmers hand
you bend the struggling trees
and whip the waves to beat the land
is it any wonder
that I fail to understand
how one so gentle in repose
could be so angry when he blows

~ For my darling Isabel on her twelfth birthday~

Dance there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water's roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool's triumph, nor yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?
Has no one said those daring
Kind eyes should be more learn'd?

Or warned you how despairing
The moths are when they are burned,
I could have warned you, but you are young,
So we speak a different tongue.
O you will take whatever's offered
And dream that all the world's a friend,
Suffer as your mother suffered,
Be as broken in the end.
But I am old and you are young,
And I speak a barbarous tongue.

You are porous,
Blend your voice into a chorus,
Can’t help but wear your heart
On your sleeve, fall apart
So easily, and so frequently
Admittedly, sometimes even gleefully,
Feel every gust of wind;
Even drafts, make you bend,
Warping to all these demands
Making it hard to understand,
Just where others end
And where you begin

The wind surrounds us.

The restless howling tells us --


that we are inside.

When the floating moment passes
Everything crashes down.
A second, a millisecond, a microsecond
It’s short and long and short once more.

Nobody expects the end.
But we know it is coming
Because it always does.

The wind whispers to me:

𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹𝒷𝓎𝑒

Coming off the tram,

we stand still to watch, the wind --


blows flyers to us.

I swear, they're having battles up there
and we're missing them!
Right there! way up in the air
past all the houses, past the hills
past the pollution
Right there against the blue
They are warriors of strength through and through
I see their charges, the waves of legions
sides changing as quickly as the seasons
but they keep fighting on, forever I'm sure
The battle of the blue and white blur