And I will stand tall
through the bitter winds
and rains of this life
that have beaten on my bedroom window
since I was a child.

I know now
that the howling winds
and clawed branches
are not monsters
but my own fears
of failure
and the fright
of never again
finding the light
I've been missing all this time.

Though I am cold
and worn
and tired,
I stay awake,
keep watch,
and make sure the
candles are lit for
those who need me,
both near
and far.

For while the winds may screech
at my door,
there is a door for them
to scream at,
and that is more
than many can say.

o'er a length of days
fierce winds have scolded the land
they show no let up

strong north westerly currents so hot
keep persisting in our country lot
throughout the day they've not stood still
gusting along with whisking shrill
the weather of September's plot

field grasses bearing the blow's knot
trees accepting its whirling mot
the searing of a thermal gill
strong north westerly ...

dust swirling in its rapid trot
on the air a dryness of blot
all ensnared by the wind's till
endless of a procession's drill
grilling squalls in our landscape's spot
strong north westerly ...

terribly trashed, torn
and tossed
around
the people's belongings
litter the
ground

recovery after tempest
where to
start
everything in the shape
of twisted
art

rebuilding the job
so enormously
big
who'll help them
mend the tattered
rig
where's humanity's
aiding
twig
homes and lively-hoods
crushed like a
fig

an aftermath
to
contemplate
fierce driving winds
and rains did
saturate
the Atlantic's forces
wouldn't
abate
fury unleashed as if
in much
hate

teardrops falling
falling so
hard
teardrops falling
over forlorn
yard

A Body Winds Down

A body winding down -
Its signs a preparation:
Loss of appetite, sound sleep at night;
Strength in arm and grip,
Youthful movement in the hip;
Fifty small, small things of note -
To note, denote, remote
As they may be.

Beginning early, barely showing:
Gone or worn, the bite uneven,
Pearly whites no longer pearly;
Vocal cords and tongue or throat
Cracked, coated…
Body borne from infancy,
Winding down.

There it is, the fact of it.
Can you take
The tact of it?
(Or tactlessness -
The zero chance to make
It over?)
Living’s always closing in on kith and kin -
On all and every who can’t win,
The numbers passing by
Each day receding into destiny.
                        
A Body Winds Down 9.14.2017
Circling Round Aging; Birth, Death & In Between II; Circling Round Wrinkles;
Arlene Corwin