Saturday, April 08, 2006

Today the Wind Blew

Little Wind

Little, wind blow on the hill top;
Little wind, blow down the plain;
Little wind, blow up the sunshine;
Little wind, blow off the rain.
-Kate Greenaway

Wind on the Hill

No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.

Western wind, when will thou blow,
The small rain down can rain?
Christ! If my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again!

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;

Wind. I repeat
(to myself, for there is no other),
I am wind.
I am the air itself,
and belong only
to movement.
For I am Eternal.
I am the cleaner of souls.
Worship me!
I bring Rain,
I would refresh you with a breeze,
or steal the warmth from your bones.
I bring both hardship
and relief.
For I am Eternal.
I am Wind.

Today the winds raged across the state.
My stockade fence, already broken loose from previous assaults,
waved at me in large "S"s all day and into the night.
It still stands, a testament to either miracles or durability.
With the winds came the rain and harsh bone chilling cold.

How is it poets never write about the pain?
The violence? The unending assault upon the body?
The long low moan ripping at the soul?
Today the wind danced across the sky like a storm trouper in combat boots.
Kicking and flailing as it went.
A vast expanse of parking lot became a combat zone.

The wind, with it's coyote howl, may sing all night.
The music of the spheres, perhaps.
How do you sleep with such a lonely concert blaring just beyond the rattle of your bedroom window?


Blogger Betty S said...

Well, I can't get that last poem to indent properly.

10:18 AM CDT  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Cool poems, Betty :)

4:37 PM CDT  
Blogger Heather Dawn Harper said...

Ear plugs.

5:17 PM CDT  
Blogger Dana Pollard said...

And now Betty is underlining her words. Did I miss a memo? hehe

8:23 PM CDT  
Blogger Betty S said...

That was because whoever wrote the poem and posted it didn't put his name on it. If your mouse rolls over it you get lines because it is hyperlinked to where he posted it. Also, his formatting is better than mine. I couldn't get blogger to make the proper spacing. It just threw everything to the left.

You might want to go look just to see how he formatted it.

8:34 PM CDT  
Blogger Heather Dawn Harper said...




Of all the sounds despatched abroad,
There's not a charge to me
Like that old measure in the boughs,
That phraseless melody

The wind does, working like a hand
Whose fingers brush the sky,
Then quiver down, with tufts of tune
Permitted gods and me.

When winds go round and round in bands,
And thrum upon the door,
And birds take places overhead,
To bear them orchestra,

I crave him grace, of summer boughs,
If such an outcast be,
He never heard that fleshless chant
Rise solemn in the tree,

As if some caravan of sound
On deserts, in the sky,
Had broken rank,
Then knit, and passed
In seamless company.

-Emily Dickinson

9:59 PM CDT  
Blogger Betty S said...

Good one.
I've always loved Dickinson.

10:32 PM CDT  
Blogger X. Dell said...

I've got several musical settings for the poem "Western Wind [or Western Wynd]." My favorite's the one by Steeleye Span.

I'm frustrated by the inability to indent too. But for a poet, that's gotta be a bigger nuisance because part of the meaning of a poem can be in its physical spacing.

12:15 PM CDT  
Blogger Michele said...

My own nonesensical contribution?
The Wind Is Called Maria from
Paint Your Wagon.

4:22 PM CDT  
Blogger Betty S said...

I'm glad this is poetry month.

I began as a writer by publishing poetry. What a pleasent way to spend April.

9:22 PM CDT  

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