"downdraft" poems - Hello Poetry

For Robert Lowell This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons appear. Climbing the mountain height, rising toward a saint still honored in these parts, the paper chambers flush and fill with light that comes and goes, like hearts. Once up against the sky it's hard to tell them from the stars-- planets, that is--the tinted ones: Venus going down, or Mars, or the pale green one. With a wind, they flare and falter, wobble and toss; but if it's still they steer between the kite sticks of the Southern Cross, receding, dwindling, solemnly and steadily forsaking us, or, in the downdraft from a peak, suddenly turning dangerous. Last night another big one fell. It splattered like an egg of fire against the cliff behind the house. The flame ran down. We saw the pair of owls who nest there flying up and up, their whirling black-and-white stained bright pink underneath, until they shrieked up out of sight. The ancient owls' nest must have burned. Hastily, all alone, a glistening armadillo left the scene, rose-flecked, head down, tail down, and then a baby rabbit jumped out, short-eared, to our surprise. So soft!--a handful of intangible ash with fixed, ignited eyes. Too pretty, dreamlike mimicry! O falling fire and piercing cry and panic, and a weak mailed fist clenched ignorant against the sky!

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Elizabeth Bishop

The Armadillo

For Robert Lowell This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons appear. Climbing the mountain height, rising toward a saint still honored in these parts, the paper chambers flush and fill with light that comes and goes, like hearts. Once up against the sky it's hard to tell them from the stars-- planets, that is--the tinted ones: Venus going down, or Mars, or the pale green one. With a wind, they flare and falter, wobble and toss; but if it's still they steer between the kite sticks of the Southern Cross, receding, dwindling, solemnly and steadily forsaking us, or, in the downdraft from a peak, suddenly turning dangerous. Last night another big one fell. It splattered like an egg of fire against the cliff behind the house. The flame ran down. We saw the pair of owls who nest there flying up and up, their whirling black-and-white stained bright pink underneath, until they shrieked up out of sight. The ancient owls' nest must have burned. Hastily, all alone, a glistening armadillo left the scene, rose-flecked, head down, tail down, and then a baby rabbit jumped out, short-eared, to our surprise. So soft!--a handful of intangible ash with fixed, ignited eyes. Too pretty, dreamlike mimicry! O falling fire and piercing cry and panic, and a weak mailed fist clenched ignorant against the sky!

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Your long fingers tap on my nervous heart. I love your fickle soul and freckled shoulders. You say you won't find peace of mind in a cinderblock room or on a piece of notebook paper, so you crumple up your doubts and hide your body with mine. My shrunken lungs cannot draw breaths not used to say your name. I will be a blanket to warm your bones from your downdraft hopes. I will comb your hair with my fingers on the days you don't wake. But my heart breaks on battlefields you will never hear of. I lick wounds you will never know to see. I train my trembling hands so they may gently soothe you in sleep. I can love you better than I can fix myself. I will fight becoming what I fear in order to be all that you need.

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Mar 30, 2014

Mar 30, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC

eileenkelly

December 18, 2013

Your long fingers tap on my nervous heart. I love your fickle soul and freckled shoulders. You say you won't find peace of mind in a cinderblock room or on a piece of notebook paper, so you crumple up your doubts and hide your body with mine. My shrunken lungs cannot draw breaths not used to say your name. I will be a blanket to warm your bones from your downdraft hopes. I will comb your hair with my fingers on the days you don't wake. But my heart breaks on battlefields you will never hear of. I lick wounds you will never know to see. I train my trembling hands so they may gently soothe you in sleep. I can love you better than I can fix myself. I will fight becoming what I fear in order to be all that you need.

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Light is everywhere, it is everything mirroring off rock, demolishing ambit cat pawed with downdraft, blustered by gale the channels scud havocs of pyrite, The sky, huge an impossibility of blue, defies description words are formed tried and retired tossed on a blather of gust, unlistened. A syrup of larks tongue, -an ash of a song-, Is all that is heard on the day..

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Oct 23, 2021

Oct 23, 2021 at 12:44 AM UTC

alistair-william-bullen

West North West

Light is everywhere, it is everything mirroring off rock, demolishing ambit cat pawed with downdraft, blustered by gale the channels scud havocs of pyrite, The sky, huge an impossibility of blue, defies description words are formed tried and retired tossed on a blather of gust, unlistened. A syrup of larks tongue, -an ash of a song-, Is all that is heard on the day..

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On a late night flight Between heaven and home The turbulence makes her think How she’s been forced to roam. Struggling with pleasure and pain Love, loss and yearning Stumbling through the smoke Of the bridges she is burning She just wanted the world Was that too much to ask? But she traded that dream For the happy family mask. But dreams are fragile And so easily dashed, Dangling in the downdraft They finally crashed. Lost on the endless plain The blowing wheat can beguile, Shifting with the wind It confounds her personal exile. Her love lies fallow The growing season will expire, Empty fields call her name, As she follows her desire. A dangerous bargain she has made, Requiring all her talents, Riding without reins, She keeps that delicate balance.

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Jul 5, 2014

Jul 5, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC

alank

A Delicate Balance

On a late night flight Between heaven and home The turbulence makes her think How she’s been forced to roam. Struggling with pleasure and pain Love, loss and yearning Stumbling through the smoke Of the bridges she is burning She just wanted the world Was that too much to ask? But she traded that dream For the happy family mask. But dreams are fragile And so easily dashed, Dangling in the downdraft They finally crashed. Lost on the endless plain The blowing wheat can beguile, Shifting with the wind It confounds her personal exile. Her love lies fallow The growing season will expire, Empty fields call her name, As she follows her desire. A dangerous bargain she has made, Requiring all her talents, Riding without reins, She keeps that delicate balance.

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Consider essential breaths of air, and the expulsion of stale air caused by living tissue to vibrate outward through the mouth, twisted by the tongue, ultimately, effortlessly, sculpted into words quite literally expressed. Then, when heard, this mere turbulence of updraft and downdraft instinctively intertwined, innervates the cells of the brain and recreates the voice of what in man, we call the mind. It is astounding! I have been fascinated with language my entire life. I don't possess the imaginative, creative or intellectual prowess of those who have found success in writing. Whether I have special talent or ability to compose from mere fragments of sound something singularly meaningful or moving or enchanting or grand is candidly, beyond my innermost aspiration: it has never been a serious pursuit. I recognize great works of others and profess my awe and my lack of reach openly. But, my study and reading and writing of poems emerged from that thrill I felt and still feel at the sound that is the very essence of each word, written or spoken. It is the power of language as a pattern of sound - the resonance of words however articulated, that has and will always give me special joy. Language is taken for granted. We speak, communicate, read and write throughout our lives. We may speak of the meanings of words. We might study their origin, the evolution of language. Or we might focus only on the functional aspects of language: the organizational utility that letters and words and grammar and spelling and punctuation and composition and ultimately, pronunciation and articulation contribute constructionally to the primary aim which is communication. We may cherish only the results - the great stories and novels, or spiritual and philosophic admonitions and inquiries, or favorite song lyrics or poetry that wondrously compresses language into some uniquely evocative mental, emotional and/or spiritual experience. How impoverished would we be without the articulation of ideas and concepts and personal experience that language makes possible? For some reason, in addition to respecting the power of language, I have always been compelled on impulse to hear the actual words and marvel at them - to play with them and study their tonal quality merely as fragments of sound heard actually or heard only echoing about in the silence of my mind. It is the sounds of the words themselves, more than any image or sentiment a particular poem of mine might be constructed around, that I hope to offer in the form of this otherwise unremarkable collection of personal art. For each that might visit, I hope the few minutes spent are enjoyable and worthy and that your own words give you joy, too.

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Nov 18, 2021

Nov 18, 2021 at 3:14 AM UTC

charles-leonard

Updraft and Downdraft - A Brief Essay

Consider essential breaths of air, and the expulsion of stale air caused by living tissue to vibrate outward through the mouth, twisted by the tongue, ultimately, effortlessly, sculpted into words quite literally expressed. Then, when heard, this mere turbulence of updraft and downdraft instinctively intertwined, innervates the cells of the brain and recreates the voice of what in man, we call the mind. It is astounding! I have been fascinated with language my entire life. I don't possess the imaginative, creative or intellectual prowess of those who have found success in writing. Whether I have special talent or ability to compose from mere fragments of sound something singularly meaningful or moving or enchanting or grand is candidly, beyond my innermost aspiration: it has never been a serious pursuit. I recognize great works of others and profess my awe and my lack of reach openly. But, my study and reading and writing of poems emerged from that thrill I felt and still feel at the sound that is the very essence of each word, written or spoken. It is the power of language as a pattern of sound - the resonance of words however articulated, that has and will always give me special joy. Language is taken for granted. We speak, communicate, read and write throughout our lives. We may speak of the meanings of words. We might study their origin, the evolution of language. Or we might focus only on the functional aspects of language: the organizational utility that letters and words and grammar and spelling and punctuation and composition and ultimately, pronunciation and articulation contribute constructionally to the primary aim which is communication. We may cherish only the results - the great stories and novels, or spiritual and philosophic admonitions and inquiries, or favorite song lyrics or poetry that wondrously compresses language into some uniquely evocative mental, emotional and/or spiritual experience. How impoverished would we be without the articulation of ideas and concepts and personal experience that language makes possible? For some reason, in addition to respecting the power of language, I have always been compelled on impulse to hear the actual words and marvel at them - to play with them and study their tonal quality merely as fragments of sound heard actually or heard only echoing about in the silence of my mind. It is the sounds of the words themselves, more than any image or sentiment a particular poem of mine might be constructed around, that I hope to offer in the form of this otherwise unremarkable collection of personal art. For each that might visit, I hope the few minutes spent are enjoyable and worthy and that your own words give you joy, too.

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We’ve walked the island late at night Around diffuse liquids of light My soul it’s been buzzing a tune From bar to bar we went and laughed Our words they followed the downdraft Kicked out into the shadow of the moon The pebbles crunched beneath our feet Our words accompanied the bleats I leapt to show the power in my legs The wind it shivered through my teeth The sun it scattered on the heath Playful touches separated by our threads Sat on a rock by Stanage Edge Rustic colours to the distance stretch Something inside me sparks, almost ignites I kicked the lettuce to the crack We held hands and turned back Your eyes like glowing bracken in twilight The lime green and the muted browns Spark thoughts and visions and raised brows You shuffle up and rest upon my dreams You ask me as if it is tradition What would I do with my three wishes I’d throw up time and tear it at the seams The first night that you came and stayed I remember every word you said The whispers joyfully bounced around my brain We woke up in the morning light Our eyes they met my mood was bright You put on your coat and kissed me in the rain

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Jun 14, 2019

Jun 14, 2019 at 8:26 AM UTC

theidleowl

16

We’ve walked the island late at night Around diffuse liquids of light My soul it’s been buzzing a tune From bar to bar we went and laughed Our words they followed the downdraft Kicked out into the shadow of the moon The pebbles crunched beneath our feet Our words accompanied the bleats I leapt to show the power in my legs The wind it shivered through my teeth The sun it scattered on the heath Playful touches separated by our threads Sat on a rock by Stanage Edge Rustic colours to the distance stretch Something inside me sparks, almost ignites I kicked the lettuce to the crack We held hands and turned back Your eyes like glowing bracken in twilight The lime green and the muted browns Spark thoughts and visions and raised brows You shuffle up and rest upon my dreams You ask me as if it is tradition What would I do with my three wishes I’d throw up time and tear it at the seams The first night that you came and stayed I remember every word you said The whispers joyfully bounced around my brain We woke up in the morning light Our eyes they met my mood was bright You put on your coat and kissed me in the rain

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Grim weather workday Co-workers tower and storm Frustration wind gusts Colleague’s deep weeping deluge Workwear, my only shelter Hi-tech coveralls Cold tin pressed over concrete Full-body shielding Spikes guarding critical zones Early threat sensor system ------- --Tricky meeting one--- Sensors detect unstable air Towering cumulus, imposing updraft, condensing vapour, supercooled drops, colliding particles, electric charge, energy below 100 Hertz, below 20 - infrasonic range, cloudburst impacts, downdraft wedge, gusts at 90 km/h, winds slowing, anvil passing, dissipating feeder air -Coffee break- Systems check Minor damage Vibrations neutralised Commence shield repair -Tricky meeting two- Scans register earlier storm damage Key infrastructure stressed, dam failure, imminent water surge, significant hydrologic activity, evacuate downstream, clay soil, infiltration below 2 mm/h, gage data above action stage, avoid low spots, streams, and rivers, sandbags in place, wall seals holding, precipitation easing, infiltration nominal, subsiding flood water -Coffee break- Systems overload Unable to assess damage Full reboot required Commence systems reset ------- Home brings fine sunshine Joy-filled fluffy puppy front Gentle joy breezes Clear skies, household index high Soft clothes, it’s cuddle weather

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Sep 23, 2024

Sep 23, 2024 at 11:27 PM UTC

jill_1

Rough day at the office

Grim weather workday Co-workers tower and storm Frustration wind gusts Colleague’s deep weeping deluge Workwear, my only shelter Hi-tech coveralls Cold tin pressed over concrete Full-body shielding Spikes guarding critical zones Early threat sensor system ------- --Tricky meeting one--- Sensors detect unstable air Towering cumulus, imposing updraft, condensing vapour, supercooled drops, colliding particles, electric charge, energy below 100 Hertz, below 20 - infrasonic range, cloudburst impacts, downdraft wedge, gusts at 90 km/h, winds slowing, anvil passing, dissipating feeder air -Coffee break- Systems check Minor damage Vibrations neutralised Commence shield repair -Tricky meeting two- Scans register earlier storm damage Key infrastructure stressed, dam failure, imminent water surge, significant hydrologic activity, evacuate downstream, clay soil, infiltration below 2 mm/h, gage data above action stage, avoid low spots, streams, and rivers, sandbags in place, wall seals holding, precipitation easing, infiltration nominal, subsiding flood water -Coffee break- Systems overload Unable to assess damage Full reboot required Commence systems reset ------- Home brings fine sunshine Joy-filled fluffy puppy front Gentle joy breezes Clear skies, household index high Soft clothes, it’s cuddle weather

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