If the wind changes on my smile
will happiness be eternal?
And will that gentle breeze
breathe secrets in your ear?
Play across your lips?
Will it carry my smile
direct to your eye?
My fingerprints to your cheek?
My scent to your lungs?
When that zephyr curls
enfolding you
Will you infuse it?
Will that laden wind
return to me?
Or drift out of range?
If I whisper in your ear
a zephyr of breathy secrets
Will they unfurl?
Stretch out in your mind?
Or, trapped in your bony vault
will they cyclonically collide?
A whole month without posting a poem! Many notes have been made, words scrawled on trains, in cafes, on waking, after the shower – but no poems written until today. Some are still percolating, perhaps gestating – waiting for the moment of birth. I’ve also been quite distracted writing my thesis – a quite different style. As I listened to the wind howl last night, my heart beating just that little faster, I knew it was time to write the poem I had planned about the wind. The idea of the balloons came this morning – in the shower, where most of my best thinking is done. See what you think….
Wind
I hear it moaning a plangent sound of longing
It whips and whines buffets my consciousness
Rattling, shaking its tendrils invade each fissure
Howling, it tears at structure solidity
Threatens to tear apart the gestalt
Streaming molecules particles embers
Move down a pressure gradient seeking the low
And with it tug a thousand tiny balloons
Attached to my neural framework each axon stretched
Taut as power lines in a gale
Ready to fail
The reference to power lines only came to me as I was typing tonight. The fire that destroyed my home was caused by a failed power line. I hope the poem conveys that fact as well as the notion that I fear my ‘nerves’ will fail at times when the wind is particularly brutal.
epicormicgrowth 