"windswept" poems
Out here in the fields of the distance
whither the wind blows the silence further afield;
roughhewn footprints show a windswept pathway
from whence feral feet lightly trod
Only the passing whispers chase after the gypsy wind:
that the silence be in quire, placed aloft like a sigh,
pealing through the gentle sway of sweet grass' hush
There are no walls need echo an evanescent wind-song
as each breath of earthen psalm vanishes
lilting into the crystalline quietude colour;
The callused patience still held in these hands
is frayed and tattered, but hope heals stronger
than a ream of paper wings to fly away
And I'm mindful I'm not alone again, lost in
a lingering silent storm — pensively listening —
enraptured aneath all the big skies hold
Jesse Stillwater
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
.
I’m just a lonely traveler
on this earth
Sometimes it feels as if I'm
waiting for the sky to fall
with each passing breathe
of wind
Standing alone,
a windswept tree
leans downwind;
conspicuously wrought,
naked and bowed
by the grinding
silent forces
at nature's whim
Rootless tumbleweeds
roll by randomly:
broken off,
spinning clockwise,
never looking back,
timeworn and tired
of resisting the prevailing
high desert wind
and its unheld temper
Rattling the tinder
dry sagebrush
like songless wind-chimes;
voiceless fugitives
wreathing a bellowing silence
Jesse Stillwater
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
Silver winged of steel
Buckled up
Cocooned in a cabin
No phones, no emails, no Internet
Racing down the runway
Soaring high above the ground
Distant specks of life
Winged of steel climbs though the skies
Clouds below, clouds above
Seat reclines, put in my earphones, close my eyes
I lose myself, soothed by the motion of the flight
Just a seat, a window, sky, music
Suspended, moving above the earth
Windswept heights
Countries, oceans, mountains, forests
Dawn to dusk
Smooth and turbulent
Dancing through life’s path in the skies
My breath of Serenity
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
Hours
Spent
Straightening her
Tangled blonde hair
Thousands
Spent
Taming her
Wild
Golden locks
Ages
Spent
In front of a
Dishonest
Mirror
That lied
And lied again
About her
Beauty
Within
Don’t you know
Those curls are a treasure
My curly friend?
When I play with them at
Night
Again
And
Again
Wrapped round my fingers
Feeling your original curly sin
Don’t you know
Those curls are a pleasure
My curly friend?
As they tickle my
Soul
In their
Serpentine
Intent
I want to mess your
Proper blonde
Into a wild naked disarray
Curls and more
Curls
A field of windswept
Growth
I want to bury my nostrils
Into the heady bare
Perfume
Of your silent
Curly
Oath
And
I
Won’t
Let
You
No,
I
Won’t
Let
You
Defile those curls
Again
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:12 AM UTC
.
The waves spilled the rising tide
back into the scattered footprints in the sand
deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,
receding into every breaking wave
A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,
elements of a larger object gathers,
gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—
a beheld essence washed out to sea
by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam
Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;
unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway
slip away back to a windswept shoreline
and elapsing summer tide
Seabirds glide in slow-motion,
held sway into the shapeless gusts —
as if feathered puppets hovering,
hanging from the rafters
of the burgeoning orange sky
There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance;
effervescent crisp ocean air filling
the indefinable emptiness
marooned within each heartbeat’s echo
Each new breath inhaled, disappearing within
the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed;
fully aware this life is unholdable as time,
yet feeling many things deeply retained
in each passing moment—
slipping away like a handful of sand
sifting through all these hands once held
Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,
space that levitates like an unpredictable fog
that seeps into the gnawing voids
of an unsated hunger
harlon rivers ... August 1st, 2018
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
Cornwall, Cornwall every day
Bright sun and fresh feelings
Simple pleasures by just being here
Forward thinking into old age dotage
All our lives waiting, hoping, wishing
Never believing it could be
Out of mind with secret longing
Filling up with atmospheric air
Sensing that emotional rush
Deep breaths swallowing cliffs and sea
Wild flowers and cows here
Hedgerows and windblown trees
Lopsided branches pointing inland
As cool salt air combs their twigs
The winding tracks disappear
Love is here all around, so strong
Heart wrenching and stomach churning
Soul and body filling up with Cornish…
Cornish, as long as it’s Cornish
It’s good!
Give us a chance to stay
Give us the chance to live
Ever on the hard granite pathways
Sounds of mewing gulls and thunder of surf
Beating on the windswept rocks and beaches
Cornish light familiar and so bright
Invading our eyes and warming our hearts
Gently massaging our faces with soothing fingers
Lifting our spirits as breaking through the clouds
It charges us with love
Fulfilled and whole
Our lives and minds gratefully feasting
The armfuls of wonder as we carry our hearts
Together, through eternity, watching
As the sun sets in a blaze of Cornish light
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 12:28 PM UTC
Alone the third thing can't be known.
Alone, I am a cold, dark stone
In a universe yawning lusterless,
Spinning void of aim.
Then light shines
In eyes and skies
Of gray and blue
And I am a new daymoon.
Night leads the day
As day ushers night;
Light follows darkness
As darkness the light.
I follow, you pull;
Take my arm, check my stride.
You and I mark time and tide.
We meet.
We pass.
We kiss.
Eclipse.
Heart quivers and the heavens shift.
"Let us go then, you and I,"
Wend our way across the sky.
The unknown beckons
To me and you
Where green meets hues
Of gray and blue.
Infinite line: horizons new.
Misty islands ships drift past,
Clouds cut by spires of stone, steel and glass,
Cities bright in alley pools,
Magic light on windswept moors.
Prairie hills in gentle rain,
Northwood pines sun washed again,
Spring moss upon the forest floor,
A different green on the unopened door.
"Let us go then, you and I,"
Together take the road untried;
Wend our way across the sky:
A little sphere of green and blue
'Round which we dance,
Me and you.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC
Moments pass like leaves
on a windswept November day.
Beautiful and Golden
dancing merrily in the bright sunshine,
swiftly passing out of sight and out of time.
Until all that we are left with are bare branches
and memories of what once was green.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
the sky sparkles through
lush, windswept leaves, leaving them
in negative space
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
I'm like a bird, I want to fly away.
Wrapped in a billowing yellow silk scarf
which shines gold in the light of day.
Perched on a tree branch, face the horizon.
Hope and sunlight glimmer reflected in
each determined eye which widens.
Ruffled feathers are my warm, windswept hair.
I will leap into the sky, stretching high
To glide through the air if I dare.
Music from Cape Town, a bird's song my ears
spread their wings and feel the song's lift beneath
and sing sweet as the horizon nears.
I am a bird and as I fly away
wrapped in my billowing yellow silk scarf
I shine gold in the light of day.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Christina was standing
by the school gym
her satchel over
her shoulder
her hand gripping
the strap
her hair windswept
when she saw you coming
she smiled nervously
and said
I wondered
if you’d come this way
why?
you asked
she took your arm
and pulled you
into the gym
and let the door
close behind you
the gym was empty
there were voices
and the sound
of people passing
along the passageway
need to see you
she whispered
why?
you asked
I don’t see you
unless I stop you
in the school somewhere
or on the playing field
if the weather’s nice
you gazed
around the gym
at the apparatus
the ropes
the mats
she continued talking
her voice whispering
you looked at her
her eyes dark
and staring
why here?
you asked
we can be alone
for a while
she said
she took hold
of one of your hands
and looked at it
and rubbed her thumb
over the skin
you’re only 13
you said
you’re only 14
she replied
she placed your hand
to her cheek
we’re going to be late
for our next lessons
you said
so?
she replied
you sensed her lips
on your hand
her body moving
closer to you
then she kissed your cheek
then stood there
her mouth slightly open
thank you
you whispered
she smiled
and went out
the gym door
and along
the passageway
you stood gaping
at the ropes
and mats
and the high windows
and a blue sky
and heard voices
calling from the playground
from kids at play
just another moment
you mused
just another day.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 3:41 AM UTC
mid-afternoon sunrays beam
against the blanketed city snow,
your miles away this December
wishing on the same falling stars.
Saturday trains murmur dusk-cascaded gleam
you're across the Atlantic shore
seasonal depression combating
last-second windswept bliss
unfinished song-writes seem
inkless on half-folded paper airplanes
for hidden chances and empty truths
lone twilight in streetlights mold
Nov 8, 2021
Nov 8, 2021 at 7:23 PM UTC
-------x----------x----------x----------x--------
Just a small piece enjoy ★
----------
*And whether a child is born
in the urban sprawl of Detroit
Or the windswept plains of Nebraska
They look up at the same night sky
They fill their heart with the same dreams
And they are infused with the breath of life
By the same almighty creator!
--A poem by President Donald Trump*
-----x----------x----------x-----------x-------
**Extremely beautiful, President Trump
thank you for this** ♡
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
The third moon brought forth from the shadow dark.
Gentle breeze freewheeled across the lakeshore.
Windswept was the air, in peace night was marked-
Unyielding stillness, blooming fairness more.
Silky pastel cloth, gushing curtain soft.
The window let in hushed waft soothing cool.
Fixed firmly on shore with poles planted stiff,
A pavilion meek light heartened the pool.
By the portico was a tree bent down
Whose white flowers bloomed lovely as a nymph.
Its jagged branches, lumped of golden-brown,
Delicately grown each emerald leaf.
Underneath its shades were cheery plantlets;
Pebbles hard and cold; red earth spongy ground;
Flying whirly bugs, glittering bead lets.
Fair maiden deferred, there then can be found.
Pleasing to the eye, that dignified dress
In white noble silk with fine needlecraft.
Regal as she stood, just for a mistress.
Mystic was her eyes, a soul was grafted.
Filled with potent life in her burning stare.
Profound as the deep, tranquil as it surge.
One may glimpse straight to, utmost one can't bare.
To its mysteries, one gave in and urged.
Verdant her hair was, hearty as it shone.
Longer than she was, white as the moonlight.
In her neck are chains, beads and shells she owned.
Varies in sizes, things that make her bright.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 5:30 AM UTC
lovers are burning.] balsamic ****** gallops from shame
into the overwild wetness of labial volcanoes, caramelized in musk. by love's labor.
laid bare, their bodies origami inhibition...[ lovers are burning. ]
and surrender is victorious !
Eros is speechless. maidens howl into cumulus goose-down, chewing carnal haikus
with swayed backs.... hips wide and wanton. masculine wands plow oyster beds, unmade.
they joust pearls... and [ lovers are burning ]
.... a damp conflagration; tongue stoked and windswept, conspires.
monotony is slain !
puritan harps are plucked and thrummed ! lewd harmonies anoint the perfect pitch
and a chorus moans. the ghost of sylvia plath, straddles Apollo; and he earns his wreath
surging besotted. [ lovers are burning ] and laurels forgotten.
lotharios charge the seldom road; the starfish door to Saturn's parlor.
pumping unbridled, that glistening, cloven moon. her riding crop insists !
his urgency must do.
satyrs sup salaciously and summon staves to dip in brine. they grin and grind
their sutras, stripping karma gears with silk scarves. ankles to a post, well spread...
cushions crush. flowers press... stamen fed.
nymphs clutch their serpent stones
to drain what nectar slips the slit. they ***** and throat.
they peck and pinch their quivers; knock their arrows to the purpose, half spent.
[ lovers are burning ]
eyes ablaze. nostrils fetch randy fumes of consent. mouths seek.
a pouty swamp with Spanish moss.... finds a matador
and a bull, a china shop.
lovers are burning the rough sketch of a lost god
and their angels are voyeurs
with unclean thoughts
for gospels.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain
gently pattering upon my pane
creating rhythm in my sleeping brain
encouraging chaos bordering insane
I blamed it ,Lorraine, on the falling rain.
A vison arose of a windswept plain
saddleless riders in the north of Spain
granting a stranger a sultry dame
standing in the pouring rain…
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.
Her eyes expressed complete distain
looking at fools pretending to reign
over lands with dragons left un-slain
me, I could only sit and complain
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.
I heard a ghost howl in pain
bitten by a rabid Dane
fleeting images of regret and shame
flashed across my face again…
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain
the day you told me I was your bane
you wished to see me die alone in pain
with nothing but the falling rain….
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.
Like the blackest tar running through my vein
the three a.m. creature threw me on a plane
sent me sailing down the next of a Crane
U-turn careening into the oncoming lane
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.
When at last our eyes met her dusty mane
created an aura I can’t explain
but enveloped the world in love without shame
giving the people joy without pain
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain.
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain
which fed the stranger on the train
looking to rob the Spanish Main
a thought I considered to be to framed…
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.
Left in the twilight listening without restrain
these visions creep into my insomniac brain
as drip after drip crash upon my pane
I think, Lorraine, it was the rain…
I blamed it, Lorraine, on the falling rain.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
It was from the sands of a windswept beach
I picked up pebbles that were easy to reach.
They had attracted my attention while walking by
their coloured well formed shape caught the eye.
There were so many to choose from I had to decide
in selecting those which my fancy would coincide.
It’s truly amazing what some people see in stone
a subject which a lot of our imagination is prone.
It was almost as if I’d found treasure on the seashore
and couldn’t help myself as I looked around for more.
The simple joy of collecting something that attracts the mind
is an age old activity which all people do have of some kind.
There were the questions of how many would I take
and what, if anything with them, one could make?
They were so abundant and all varied mostly in size
that it wasn’t hard to imagine an object or visualize.
It was also only the first location at which I found
that I thought surely there must be others around.
So with a sense of adventure I looked forward to explore
another beach while making my way home along the shore.
There were several other stops made further on the way
collecting various coloured pebbles amidst the sea spray.
Many times would I get my sandals wet along that coast
going amongst rocks and sand to the waters edge at most.
It was with a sense of gain and loss then after I’d taken enough
deciding right there and then to stop collecting which was tough.
The next step would be to think about and see what I would do
with all those beautiful pebbles gathered while passing through.
Maybe I could approach someone with the right flair and skill
who could make something with them and imagination fulfill.
That natural forming eroding action of water, ice, wind and sand
rarely requires the finishing touches of some other skillful hand.
Perhaps in fashioning some jewellery using metal to bind
a few pebbles together that are different or a similar kind.
Or maybe I could just keep some myself and give the rest away
a gesture of friendship toward which our memories would play.
Yes it was from the sands of many a windswept lonely beach
I came accross and collected pebbles that were within reach.
Isn’t it truly amazing what some people see in stone?
a subject in which much of our imagination is prone.
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 7:20 PM UTC
Her thighs, a moonflower opens—inhales the breath of night,
The wind, my hand, slips through the slit of her dress.
I lose the road—chest blooms, buds swell wet, her light—
Miles, a rising tide, lost at sea, her shore I can’t caress.
The wind, my hand, slips through the slit of her dress.
Buttons free her feral chest—rose in full bloom, my trembling fingers—moonlight.
Miles, a rising tide, lost at sea, her shore I can’t caress.
Her ******* moons, kissed by shadows—my lips lust for their tidal pull tonight.
Buttons free her feral chest—rose in full bloom, my trembling fingers—moonlight.
Her body, a blank page, turns—lioness eyes, lips parting petals, her bloom’s heat, my gift.
Her ******* moons, kissed by shadows—my lips lust for their tidal pull tonight.
My thighs, dew falls—her sighs, a warm ocean mist, our bodies, drift.
Her body, a blank page, turns—lioness eyes, lips parting petals, her bloom’s heat, my gift.
On windswept shores, we become as one, night birds harmonize ecstasy’s cries.
My thighs, dew falls—her sighs, a warm ocean mist, our bodies, drift.
Bodies crash, endless waves—thighs veiled in moonlit bliss, our nectar sipped, two fireflies.
On windswept shores, we become as one, night birds harmonize ecstasy’s cries.
Bodies crash, endless waves—thighs veiled in moonlit bliss, our nectar sipped, two fireflies.
I lose the road—chest blooms, buds swell wet, her light—
Reflections, mirror dark—hips pressed, lips locked, forever dream’s starlit twilight.
Jul 30, 2025
Jul 30, 2025 at 5:55 PM UTC
bonetender night, polaric.
windswept crown atones
weeping wanderer.
rigid matriarch condones
tantrum medication. vast
control shapes diminished conscience,
actuating frustration;
migrane pulse doctorate.
sad shell housing beaten wails,
a closed eye, ear to brains.
steady now, absorb sultry stance.
dim lamp set on autonomic fade.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 6:00 AM UTC
Raindrops are
falling, tears
benign, falling,
from a winter sky,
and the mass of
windswept clouds.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
*I loved you 'tween the rushes of love
and downpours of ecstasy,
midst windswept rapture for the ages,
'til the storm ravaged our destiny
left behind crumpled passages in its wake
still, I hold those love letters to my breast
whence those dreams of passion
wake amid dormant slumber*
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
We were the transient children
windswept youth
marching to break the barrier
between nightness and dawn
whispering immigrant secrets
of our fathers
and mothers
lying on rooftops yelling
arrays of stars
speeding away
racing light
racing racing racing
hearts as we crawled
down fire escapes to
street corners
to proselytize
Amen
Hari Krishna
Namaste
As-Salāmu 'Alaykum
silent God
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
Three friends in a row
On a windswept hill there
Had they but eyes to see
It’s a spectacle rare.
Three friends in a row
on a former plantation.
Three soldiers confined here
just for the duration.
It was Robert Lee’s land
Before terrible war
Made it a plantation
Like none was before.
There are soldiers and sergeants,
Many heroes, few saints.
Some are here since Antietam
since the war between States.
Marse Robert’s plantation
takes the proud and the few.
No serfs and no slaves,
only freeborn and true.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC