"windchimes" poems
*Wind Chimes
A story of lasting love
by
Jude Kyrie
At the end of a hard day’s work in our garden.
Now exhausted and resting in my chair.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
I quietly call your name.
There is no answer of course
you have been in heaven for so long.
The onset of confusion clouds my memory.
Just the jingles of the breeze on the wind chimes
answer my call.
By your chair an open book and your glasses
still remain as if you may return.
My need to see you is now overwhelming.
I seek to find you everywhere in the house.
Then I see you stood under
the large flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening now
a halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist at the vision.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
So cool like the mist of summer rain
You smile at me.
The wind chimes ****** once again.
You tell me the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.
The rose arbor framing the light of my life
Glowing as the sun
at the centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage to you.
to say to you I love you darling.
but you fade into the sparkling
remnants of the melting sunlight.
As the wind chimes lilt in the evening air
over the blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty.*
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
At the end of a hard
day’s work in our garden
Now exhausted
and resting in my chair
I quietly call your name,
you have been gone for so long.
but in my older age
confusion fills my head
and I do not remember your loss.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
There is no answer of course
Just the jingles of the summer breeze
on the wind chimes by the window.
By your chair an open book
and your reading glasses.
I still have not removed them.
The need to see you
is now overwhelming
I seek everywhere to find you
almost in a panic.
then I see you.
Stood under the arched
flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening glows
A halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful,
So cool like the mist of summer rain.
You smile at me.
The wind chimes
jingle softly once again
You tell me
the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart
of purest gold.
The flowering rose arbor
framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage.
to tell you of my love for you.
but you fade into the ether
of my minds confusions.
A light evening breeze
kisses my cheek
As the wind chimes
softly lilt over the
blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
The storm is moving in on the horizon.
Its been a very long time since we had a storm out here..
The winds where picking up and all of my windchimes rang..
When I heard the wind chimes it flashed all before me.
On where I was the night before and many nights before that..
Chimes and vibrations where the first to greet me..
Followed by lights directly shined into my eyes..
I could now remember sleeping with my eyes open..
Everything around me was made of a shiny lustrous metal.
Shadows would pass over my eyes from time to time.
To my horror I then realised what was going on..
They were studying what I was.
Looking inside me to see what makes me alive.
They spoke to eachother in strange clicks and hisses..
As they returned me home, my windchimes started to sing..
I awoke in my bed..
Was this just a bad dream?
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 2:21 PM UTC
*Windchimes
In my advancing years
Clarity eludes me now and then.
I sit quietly in the gazebo.
Your book and glasses
not yet removed from your seat.
Drifting into sleep
I awaken suddenly.
with confusion reigning again.
I quietly call your name
The need to see you is overwhelming.
I search the gardens for you
Panic setting in to my heart.
Then in the cool evening summer breeze.
The gentle chiming of the windchimes
Calm my panic as your soft words once did.
Then under the blooming arches
of the rose arbor I see you.
A basket of flowers hang from your arm.
The fading light from the evening sun.
Frames a halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful
As calm as the mist on a summer's morn.
You smile at me
The windchimes ****** softly in the air.
You tell me the sweet wudruff is taking over
The hollyhocks need trimming
And the roses need pruning
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your
sweet heart of purest gold.
The rose arbor framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.
I fall to my knees to pay homage.
As you fade into the evening shadows.
Just the lilt of the windchimes
Dance over the perfumed bounty
Of our flowering gardens*
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
*Windchimes
A story of lasting love
by
Jude Kyrie
At the end of a hard day’s work in our garden.
Now exhausted and resting in my chair.
Feeling the need to see your smile again
I quietly call your name.
There is no answer of course
you have been in heaven for so long.
The onset of confusion clouds my memory.
Just the jingles of the breeze on the wind chimes
answer my call.
By your chair an open book and your glasses
still remain as if you may return.
My need to see you is now overwhelming.
I seek to find you everywhere in the house.
Then I see you stood under
the large flowering rose arbor.
A basket of flowers cut from the beds
hangs from your arm.
The fading sunlight of evening now
a halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist at the vision.
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
So cool like the mist of summer rain
You smile at me.
The wind chimes ****** once again.
You tell me the sweet woodruff is taking over.
The hollyhocks need thinning.
And the wisteria has become overgrown.
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.
The rose arbor framing the light of my life
Glowing as the sun
at the centre of my small universe.
I long to kneel before you
to pay homage to you.
to say to you I love you darling.
but you fade into the sparkling
remnants of the melting sunlight.
As the wind chimes lilt in the evening air
over the blossoming perfumes
of our gardens bounty*
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
I was born to a woman who smoked cigarettes
and since I was a child, I tried to inhale blueberries until they
stalled my windpipe.
My mother taught me that word –
windpipe – after she coughed for hours upon hours. I
was so happy that day, imagining how I must have swallowed
windchimes for the doctors who helped birth me
in December’s final snow –
how I hoped they believed I sounded pretty, although
covered in that sop adults call life juice. Life juice sounds nice
but I had known babies who
came just as sticky as me and never got to breathe.
Windchimes, you know, the things
beautiful ladies in ankle-length dresses hang outside,
my daddy lived thirteen hours down the interstate and I knew
somehow that he owned one.
In my dreams, I touched it
and pulled on it. I twisted the copper-ends up like my
momma’s hair and pretended we were with my dad by some
lake where the breezes are heavy enough and I
am small enough for them to carry me up, up, and away.
Everyone insisted that windpipes are inside
while windchimes stay out –
I fixed that problem, too. I tried three times to plant chimes in
my ears, unglue parts of the skin there from myself
to make room for dangly jewelry. A tiny
slit was all I needed, but it would not stay open for long
and I never got to swing my head
pretend I possessed the ability to create music like how God
let my momma grow smoke. I never got to exhale.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
*Windchimes
By
Jude Kyrie
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees
Sometimes it seems like you are here.
Memories now float in the summer breeze.
Aged Confusion brings me to my knees
That I can't find you my biggest fear
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees
Then I see you gods have answered my pleas.
The windchimes voices brought you near.
Memories now float in the summer breeze
You say the trellis is choked with sweet peas
But your beautiful voice is all I hear.
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees
The center of my universe is all I see.
Your beauty abundant soft and clear.
Memories now float in the summer breeze.
Then you fade far away from me.
Just the lilting chimes is all I hear
The windchimes lilt in the stirring trees.
Memories now float in the summer breeze*
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC
Wood, twisting iron, wresting
Incumbent wind of an idiom.
Nomenclature learned in
Direct proportion to the
Clicking of clavichords, the
Harmonics of harpsichords, the
Iconoclastic rather than
Memes which disavow the
Etherial. For a breath of air is
Spirit. Striking the bells of the SOUL.
SøułSurvivør
(C) 4/19/2017
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 3:08 AM UTC
*Windchimes
A story of advancing years
And loss
By
Jude kyrie
In my advancing years
Clarity eludes me now and then
I sit quietly in the gazebo.
Your book and glasses
not yet removed from your seat.
Drifting into sleep I awaken suddenly.
with confusion reigning again.
I quietly call your name
The need to see you is overwhelming.
I search the gardens for you
Panic setting in to my confused heart.
Then in the cool evening summer breeze.
The gentle chiming of the windchimes
Calm my panic as your soft gentle words once did.
Then under the fragrant blooming arches
of the rose arbor I see you.
A basket of cut flowers hang from your arm.
The fading light from the evening sun.
Frames a halo about your long hair.
My eyes mist
So sweet so astoundingly beautiful.
As calm as the mist on a summer's morn.
You smile at me
The windchimes chime softly in the still air.
You tell me
the sweet wudruff is taking over
The hollyhocks need trimming
And the roses need pruning
You tell me all of these things.
But all I see is your sweet heart of purest gold.
The rose arbor framing the light of my life.
Glowing as the sun
at the Centre of my small universe.
I fall to my knees to pay homage to you.
As you fade away into the evening shadows.
Just the lilt of the windchimes
Dance softlly over the perfumed bounty
of our flowering gardens*
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 9:20 AM UTC
Let’s talk of love,
Of sunsets,
And peace,
Let’s talk of roses
And romance,
And full glasses of champagne.
Let’s,
Talk of joy
And having a baby,
And windchimes,
And feasts,
And,
Well,
Anything.
But let’s not talk of hate,
Or war
Or crimson rivers;
Wounds crackling with pus,
Popping scabs,
The sizzling gashes on my face.
Don’t speak of lost soldiers with forgotten limbs.
Don’t think,
Of discrimination,
And sorrow,
And divided skin.
Don’t waste a single breath
On misfits,
Outcasts,
Or widows.
Ignore conversing about infants
Left in the gutter,
Or orphans without arms,
Or bombings,
Or fire in the streets.
Don’t mention parents
Who **** their children.
I don’t want to know
About ******
Trauma,
And ****
Don’t look at the spires
Constructed of bodies,
With insects crawling out holes,
And eating out frowns.
Absolutely never speak,
Of anger and sadness
And anything in between.
Why bother with illness
Of mind,
Body,
Spirit.
Forget about the times
When liberty bled.
That’s not on my conscience.
Why mention families,
Torn,
Apart.
Why speak of agony,
And brokenness,
And death?
Don’t speak,
Of suffering
At all.
But let’s talk,
About anything,
And everything,
Anything at all.
As long
As it’s not,
You.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
I lay awake last night
listening to the windchime
I knew for sure
it was telling tales
singing songs
and some poems too.
At times loud
at times soft
it talked and talked.
will the windchime be ringing
tonight, again?
Maybe I should be dressed
to join windchime and her friend!
Ah, yes I will listen
for the howling sound,
the first gusts of wind
and rush out
when it joins its friend.
On lonely nights
wind chime is my friend.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
*Tonight the softness of the air
touches my skin gently.
Like once your fingertips did.
The air blooms
with moonlight and Jasmine.
A breeze touches the flowers
one by one
Roses Dahlias Carnations
night stock and Gardenia.
Ahh Gardenia your favorite.
I close my eyes
in my mind my senses
bring you here to me.
You are wearing the gown
that once we were married in.
Your lips so red
and eyes so inviting.
I touch you long flowing hair
I can feel the softness of you
even in my mind.
You reach up and
unfasten the ribbons
that hold it.
it flows like a storm
over my bare chest.
Outside I can hear
the ****** of your laughter
like a sweet night song.
But it is only the
windchimes
that you loved.
bringing me back
to the empty heart
That only you could fill.*
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
Every morning
I feed the mewling cats,
chug my hot instant coffee,
sit at my rickety linoleum kitchen table
and peer hopefully out my thin window,
through the cracks in the glass
beyond the rusted screen
into the acres of wet trainyards and commercial blocks.
There in one non-descript grey building
underneath the watertower
beside the Sheriff's substation
a band of laughing saints
craft delicate malas of lapis
and manzanita windchimes
while diaphonous angels all a-hover
manifest vast verdant grassland prairies,
great ocean waves, sunsets
and spring flowers hidden in rock crannies
where nobody will ever walk,
and they launch grand air balloons
bulging with epiphanies
that may drift my way.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 6:33 AM UTC
there is blood and grime and rust already
in my backyard and on my hands.
the unlucky baby birds that fall down during june
into my over-chlorinated swimming pool
are ironic.
there are yellow flowers in my garden that i used to take pictures of
before i grew
bored.
and love became a hole
waiting to be filled.
and men
and life became predictable as windchimes.
and
i fell
into all the cracks.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 3:53 PM UTC
There was a place I knelt
In the light of chicken feathers,
And heard the song of God
Pouring from rain frogs in day lilies.
There was a bark bench in a wood
Underneath an apple-cedar rusted tree
That yielded its slimy children to me
Whenever I needed entertaining.
There was a rabbit that did not run
Immediately, but stilled and watched,
Nose twitching in apprehension, as if
Maybe I was no interloper, no enemy.
These things were -
And some still are -
Though I no longer remember
The path to the fallen pine
Or the hiding place of the rabbit’s burrow,
And the tree has been burned up
For many years.
There are pangs of hunger in me,
Not to hear God in the day lilies
(For I am still shaking from the sound),
But to find in myself the
Absolute wonder that I found
Inside a circle of roses.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
Crashing waves against the crunch of sand
Touches my feet
Sinking into the softness beneath me
As the water stains my toes blue
And paints goosebumps
Paints chills
Across my legs
Up to my stomach
Full of the same crashing waves
Those which curl
And spin in whirlpools
Up to my chest
Into my lungs full of seasalt
And the bitterness of the morning sun
Down every branching vein
That reminds me of mangrove roots
Yet pale and blue
So small and delicate
It reaches my own shaking fingers
And to the rosiness of my cheeks
All I hear is the soft ringing of windchimes in my ears
And the splash that dissipates into nothing but tiny droplets
Maybe that’s what keeps me awake at night.
May 24, 2021
May 24, 2021 at 8:22 AM UTC
My butterfly windchimes
Mean nothing to me
But it's still pretty nice that they're
There
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
Your promised proof lacks rigor
and riots down the corridors of logic,
strong women bleeding inside,
all their energy confined in a wind tunnel.
I am not persuaded that my sisters are a dream,
though they die the long death of injustice.
How their voices swarm in my windows,
like maddening windchimes in a storm!
Your promised proof a color on no spectrum.
I set sail with the tide seeking forgiveness,
seeking the Newland where men do not subduct,
where oceans merge with female currents.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 11:04 AM UTC
Socks are only really okay when they have holes in the soles and some scary stories to tell
The prettiest leaves are wrapped up in fingers and traded around for some days
A nothing together is better than many a venture alone
Knowing where the fork belongs is not a real thing
Best kind of weather is cuddling weather
Life music plays on windchimes
Don’t sleep but for dreams
Never go
Breathing
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
You say I don’t need a poem
to capture the day in a frame and tuck it
beneath my pillow
But I’d like to have it there in case I forget
the way the armadillo on the side of the road
lay belly up, beer bottle in paw
a redneck's respects for the deceased
or the feeling of three in the morning
pounding in my skull, soaking in memories
trivia pursued and articles of obfuscation: the elucidation of the world
seen through bottle-green binoculars and heard
through the neighbor's windchimes ringing out diminished sevenths
and questions I don't want to answer
or even ask out loud
I want to tuck it in my wallet
for times that I can't remember your faces
or the scent of your shampoo, or the order of keychains
on your keyring, or the times we drove to East Jesus Nowhere
and you ripped the leaves from my calendar, ticking
and turning my seasons by the mile markers in the cement
I do this to engrave it in my cerebrum
the nights we ran outside in our pajamas in the rain
and danced for a while, then danced some more,
turning and leaping and spinning and reaching
and falling down to weep for no reason
mourning the morning
among the sharpened blades of grass
You laughed at me once
remember that? how you scoffed and snatched
my paper from my spiral and stuffed it in the trash can
telling me not to write fiction in history class
but it's just as much history as every other Jefferson
another amendment you'll never read
But I forgive you. you're not the first
to tell me to get my feet out of the clouds
because my head's already gone too far for saving
or to attempt to stifle my addiction to
the scratch of pen on paper
the scent of ink on tree
the pulse of blood in my brain
I cling to syntax like religion
keeping the words pinched in my fists like pixie dust
hoping if I say the right abracadabra
the pen will turn to a wand
and I can paint you the details
one day at a time
May 15, 2010
May 15, 2010 at 8:40 PM UTC
sunsets and rainbows
stain the canvas, sky
an onslaught of color
mark the once blind clouds
in a world delusional
of beauty irrational
yet auburn sunlight
where the demons fight
hear the haunting tune
of sweetest sorrow
the scarred melody
its bitter determination
the powdered crayons
and drifting wind
feel the pastel snowflakes
of one Wonderland winter
with espoir
and a turn of winds
no vouloir
can't be reached
the cold breeze finds
tinkling glass
and the echo of
windchimes ethereal
and plain old jane
she dulls the pain
all factors in life where
she'll always care
the querulous kind
the insecure kind
but deep down inside
hides a love overflowing
its beauty like roses
yet as wild as their thorns
a smile like gunfire
but a heart closed in ice
so stays in denial
a stretch of black and white
a blur in one's vision
now faded to gray
an unforseen wind
with strange predicaments
perhaps it was all
a hallucination?
- - -
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
Random mortar shells in the afternoon.
Sparkling, steel jacketed rain drops,
Glinting rainbows of reflected sunlight.
Plastic explosive seat cushions upon which passers-by,
Rest their weary bones.
C-4 candy bars, nuclear toothpaste,
****** for dessert.
Orphanage flambe', hospital hash, blood pudding.
Human burgers sizzling on a smart bomb bar-b-que grill.
Finger food, toe jam, baby-back ribs.
Bureaucratic double talkers,
Sugar coated body counts,
Colateral stew.
Really deplorable, awfully sorry,
But it was their own faults trying to put on raincoats.
They declined our invitation to the cook-out.
Bad luck to open an umbrella in the house.
Remotely piloted funeral processions.
Radar guided hearses.
Televised in real time.
Precision, surgical,
neutralized, deterrent, disarmed,
Deactivated, stand down, eliminate.
Living pawns on a battlefield checkerboard.
Strategic, defensive,
Dominate, annihilate,
Acceptable loss, public opinion pole.
Listen to the tinkling of sabre blades,
Rattling windchimes,
In the warm breeze of the shockwave,
Accompanied by the drumbeat of detonation and concussion.
Rock...
...and heads will roll.
Holy, blessed,
Patriotic, brave,
Courageous, dedicated,
Heroic, dutiful,
Self sacrificing...
******
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
The wind blows.
The sun shines.
The grass dances.
The ocean calls from too far away.
The windchimes sing.
The cats meow.
The dogs bark.
The city is silenced.
The country alive.
Books get read.
Drinks get drunk.
Stories get written.
Lives get dreamt.
Love is forgotten.
Love is remembered.
Love is forgotten.
Clouds cover sun.
But never for long.
The rays illuminate.
A life once gone.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
nascent clover all around
grass so green it burns the eyes.
sulfur pollen on everything
at slightest touch, it puffs and
blossoms into the soft still air
all the windchimes sounding
incongruent harmonies
carried on the warming breeze
all the lovely voices
in unison.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
if you’re gonna leave then take my bones / make them into windchimes so i’ll never stop haunting yours
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 5:12 AM UTC