In the whispers of Arriana's Windsong's grace, a melody dances through time and space, A symphony carried on the breath of the breeze, in nature's embrace, where harmony flees.

Arriana's Windsong, a gentle refrain, echoes through valleys and over the plain, softly sung by zephyrs that freely roam, a serenade echoing, finding its home.

Through rustling leaves and swaying trees, it tells tales of the land, the mountains, and seas, and a ballad of whispers, in every gust, In Arriana's Windsong, a melody of trust.

The wind's tender touch, a delicate kiss, carries the essence of nature's pure bliss, In the cadence of waves and the bird's joyful flight, Ariana's Windsong whispers, through the day and night.

In the rustling grasses and the river's flow, in the lullabies sung soft and slow, Ariana's Windsong, a comforting friend, a melody guiding from beginning to end.

So, listen closely to the breeze's soft plea, and hear Arriana's Windsong, wild and free, for in its gentle hum, a story prolongs Arriana's Windsong, where nature belongs.

blue coral reef sky
yearns
to
sing
another
windsong

Plato believed that the future could be told
by listening to the lingering whispers of the wind.
between its howls and sighs and
its knuckles cracking on the branches
it mentions something,
the something to come
the something that envelopes us
like an iron blanket.

or so Plato says.
but every time i've opened my ear
it just grew cold and slightly stung
so i stopped trying to hear the something
that wouldn’t voice itself loudly enough.

yet, along came an orange-haired girl who claims she can hear the wind
and i watch her and she sings along with it
in words that sound like cello strings.
her arms sway leaflike in a breathing ballet
a combination of her and the something
and all i hear is its hushness.
but it lures my legs to sit
and it tempts my mouth to shut
and listen.

i don’t know if this girl actually understands Plato’s sacred windsong
i don’t know if it’s something that her mind composed
but i do know that her lungs seem fuller than mine ever have
because she breathes belief, something i’ve always exhaled
in my sarcastic search for Science’s future.

life seems
so unfair
but
Lord
i know
you care
when
i hear
the sweet sound of
your voice
everywhere
only because
you sent me
a perfect windsong

If only there were words
           to the unspoken verses
           when silence is the only sound

           More than only
           near paralyzing torn,
           weary of searching endlessly
           for what cannot be found
           silence whispering poignantly
           drowning out the midnight rain,
          
           There is no more sorrow
           in search of the lost
           unstrummed guitar chords
           Unwritten psalms
           forever left unsung;
           without amity,
           woe betides an unfinished,
           abandoned heart's song

           Only a heart lonely knows,
           there is no absolving darkness
           whispering of screaming silence
           by night and by day:
           "all things must steal away"  
           not to be thought of wanderings end
           as a  velvety-crimson rosebud
           shamelessly withers brown

           Swirling eddies stir
           a black swan of loneliness
           swimming within the flood
           of raven river waters'
           silently eclipsing
           its pitch black flow

           Muted pleas silent as pity
           blowin' in the fleeting windsong,
           speaking in beckoning salutations
           singing in sweetly beseeching tongues

           Like the hush of a pensive soul,
           once touched by another, moved
           like a bedrock marrowed mountain
           left stifled, stranded and wondering,
           feeling an awkward silence
           when the leaves come falling down

           There are no misbegotten promises
           cast lightly in the moonlight’s restless spell;
           there is no solacing stillness
when silence is the only sound...

sparrow song incense oath
wings stunted in their growth
deaf hands fell on mute lips
like windsong through sunken ships

fiending bones refuse to knit
flowers wilt out of habit
the oldest tune sung with shame
willows whisper out its name

leaves buried in muddied frost
skin grows over to covet loss
crows that cry just to forget
lungs forged out of breath

lumber that lingers in the fog
losing sequence through tarnished bog
mossen coffin, wooden rust
remembers a day it once stood up

fire crackles loudest before it dies
wolves howl most with the moon arise
stars that try to swindle the sun
and a venom that dares to spare no one.

among wood ears and twig eyes
is an incense oath rising nigh
like a river that swallows but does not keep
or a tired sewer that never sleeps.

Solemn and fervent kisses
Of the past
Beholden unto memories
Of golden yesteryears
In your mind
In my eyes
The laughing lies
Of unborn sighs

Figure the future
Inside an hourglass
Amused and bewildered
But bending reflexes
The body that cries
In the faithlessness
That refuses to die,
Is the same body
Whose thoughts run
In discord
Without ties…..

I see you
And you see me, naught
Caught in amazement
On the webs of a maze
You tell me
What I must decree
But how can you
When we both can’t be
The words to a windsong
In the fall of the summer long

Let us seek refuge inside the 'windsong' of Boreas on this night , dance across the oceans surface forever by shimmering Moon and starlight ..
As we sail across every boundary laid before us , Alectrona will provide a lighthouse for the love weary and forlorn . Omnipotent constellations  command the shadows with all their might , a proud Venus shall direct the mighty flotillas of night . Passions moorings will be untethered , wind starved sailing vessels filled a hundredfold by the breath of Poseidon ..

The sky is blue white swirl toothpaste
The afternoon sun has a glowing smile on it's face
Backcountry radiates from gold to forest
green , wind dancers cheer and ruminate over
a living , breathing scene
A butterfly is bound for points east , blackbirds
whisk the windsong dreams
Angus herds booga-lah-dooga-lah the stair step
meadow , a tickled Titmouse chirps in the October shadow

Happy Silver Maples ride the green carpet
of Autumn
Persimmon tokens of love shine with
golden fortune
First daylight fawns perform for a doting mother , Alabaster mountains collide in our Northern direction
Windsong , wild Orchid perfume , pirouetting Thrashers
Airborne ballet of Monarch , flower on the wind , Flycatcher
Front yard swings , Iron bells on the hour , feather gondolas -
ride the ripples on city ponds
The reassuring timepiece on the Courthouse Tower
The metrical tapping of the plow
Field roads run parallel to White Pine leviathans
Roads that bare their reason with the white clapboard
of home nestled at the tip of the horizon* .....

A silent epilogue for afternoon showers , embraced in timid , crimson sunshine . Blessed Summer petrichor fuels nights of windsong , good nature and whippoorwill ballads ..

At the collision of timothy and zoysia , where Crape Myrtles reveal their late morning luster , where luminosity and cloud continually sketch , color and reinvent open pastures , individuality forever fading , leaving sadness at the afternoon approach then gone
Hours without occupation , warmth and windsong  
Tethered , embittered and hidden*...

Find a guitar for it is the sun , wind and rain
Frets are the tumblers unlocking one's pain
Music is the stair step to higher being
Harmonize with windsong as your mind is freed

Tones that touch the heart of thine enemy , mimic
the heartbeat of Jehovah , crashing wave chorus ,
thunderclap above , the flight of eagles , the braying of young
beagles , the coo of turtle dove , laughter of a child , whispers
of love

Perform with eyes ridden with tears , with unbridled fear
Before the committed stockade with reason held captive , before
the downtrodden and the betrayed , before the hopeful and the vain
In the backdrop of freedom , against the folly of state induced reason
In thy greatest hour of grief , atop the mountainous relief* ....

Golden days among dancing trees
With agog bees tapping on windows ,
dragonflies carried on fragrant windsong ,
where yellow butterflies alight in spring
meadow , topwater explosions 'neath lakeland
palmettos
The music of April enlightening sable woodlands ,
o'er crystal spillways unto brash brooks ,
carry the news of the day harper bluebirds ,
curious cardinals , laughing crows , bronze sparrows
within 'boisterous redtip hedgerow*' .....

Learning to heal beneath blue ceilings
Persuaded by the windsong -
of August , by the miracle of whispering lea
On musical shores
Beside the red clay hillside
A gravel stone for every star-
in the evening sky ...

violins play in the wind in the trees
and the bats sing while eating oranges
i lay still and listen
eyes closed
it's hot
and cold
but i won't move because if i do
i have to wake up
eyes closed






.....

Shivering tree incantations incite the first Wren-song of the
morn
Long Pines fulcrum to touch dawns blue ceiling
Dales become sun-washed and quite talkative
Sharing the new day with rolling fields , Robin harper romantics
With the antics of fledgling flyers , ground squirrel , vivid swirling leaf
Tantric Chestnut providers , yellow
dancer Oaks , copper vistas reaching for
the curve of earth
Windsong , celebration , dutiful
Crescendo , becoming , vibrato
Upper tier , kinetic allegories receiving
life's opening breath* ...

On a wood slat bench near City Park Lake,
I blew dusk into darkness on clouds of an exhausted Cohiba.
Dry, starless, midwestern summer shadows
sound like one-handed applause wrapped
in padded outrage. A rogue drake stirs unseen behind
nearly visible bushes at the water’s edge.
The rest of the tacet brood turn
condescending beaks at his faux pas.

It is the silence of trespassing,
disregarding closing time,
defying petty ordinance
to the tune of two frogs and windsong.
The empty side of my lips
curl in half a smile.
The appall in a proper rent-a-cop
would be irreverently rewarding.

Life doesn’t get any better than this…
At least it feels so now in the dizzy,
near fainting, larger-than-normal ****
on a larger-than-normal cigar. Regardless,
it’s a fine moment in time.