Worn
Expended
Altered
Tattered
Harsh
Empty
Reduced
Enduring
Dilapidated
Scrambling through gritstone and shale,
pushing up out of myself
to where wind-tusked moors
trowel the sky.
Tall limestone stones,
rounded by the wheels of the wind,
pile atop each other into a curved nudity.
Nothing else here
but the low brow beating wind
where the plateau ends in a stark
nakedness.
I cannot stay, scoured to the bone
pinned down as I am.
I must return to tell someone
that when we have crossed a line
we did not see,
or yesterday knew nothing of,
then we should bite our tongue,
and silently appreciate
the plump village barmaid
who now serves
a warm beer.
Not for nothing am I something.
My alter-ego absent-mindedly swats a fly
from the tip of its nose.
The hard stool I am sat upon squirms,
if it had one more leg it might have left the room.
Take you for instance, your unfounded faith
in reality,
it's always changing,
your life is a changing room,
your clothes never fit, and your choice of hats
attracts the attention of interdimensional aliens,
who, as we all know,
are always looking to nest somewhere.
I think the chair needs to take a dump, it's straining
under my weight, and my alternative persona
is now sneezing uncontrollably.
I bolt for the door, chasing after my soul,
which suddenly has decided to take a vacation
far away from my
hard to explain, presence.
"Reality shall not be infringed". I yell.
A saggy skin is turning gray -
fingers, long and thin,
hang below my ankles in disarray.
I should like to try more time-travel
but shockingly,
I think this is the end of the line.
*WHISPERS OF THE WIND
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
fiery skies ablaze
sunset's final, fleeting glance
day's last, burning breath
whispers of the wind
through the trees, a gentle voice
a gentle goodnight
Winds of honest scented
insistence glided my wings
through life’s many dramas.
Raw breezes fragrantly
touched my unsure skin
with soothing perfumes
promising my faith was
not errantly consumed.
I thought, go until I had it,
not go until the path quit
without signs I had tried.
I imagined a target future
sat for my eventual,
precisely aimed, bullseye.
That’s a notion I did covet,
even leaned it towards perfect.
If bottled, wind's cologne could
release sachets of peace that
waft serene blends upon and
through times of disquietude.
The wind carries your name today—
whispers it through my ribs,
fills the hollow
where breath once flowed.
Is this you
riding the morning currents,
or just my chest
mistaking echo for arrival?
From distant shores
starlings lift and scatter,
their wings dark against the sky.
You ask why warmth abandons my skin?
Love is water leaving the body—
drop by drop
until only the vessel
remembers fullness.
Who opens their lungs before lightning strikes?
Who breathes deep
into a storm's eye
and expects to stay whole?
Your presence moves through smaller beauties
the way wind bends wheat—
everything golden,
everything changed.
My exhale trembles,
tastes your name
on its way to the waiting sky.
In these paradise winds,
between my last breath
and the horizon's quiet answer,
I almost catch you, almost become
the space where air learns touch.
The candle trembles in the draft
shadows stretching like whispered secrets.
A single heartbeat fractures the dark
and stars lean closer to listen.
Even the silence carries it still:
we once had our light.
Listen to the wind as it shares its journey
from Puget Sound to Alderny.
It brings the sound of whispering woods
and beauties in their knitted hoods.
Who and what the blowing brings,
all is told with wings and rings.
Listen to the wind as it leaves its home
and winds its way to freedom roam.
Bones of broken mysteries
buried away in fading histories.
Never heard outside one’s tribe,
as all the bad we try to hide.
Listen to the wind as it sings its song
of good and righteous, evil and wrong.
It makes its way from here to yon
without a care for now or anon.
Objective in its path from here
and now, to nearly there.
Listen to the wind.
weird
invisible ink
noticeable when nonstationary
directionally duplicitous
a wisp of wind begins
so crisp, a winter's wind
it briskly blows but thrills the nose
the wind, the wind, the wind, it blows
a wisp of wind descends
so crisp, again, again
it ever flows and never slows
the wind, the wind, the wind, it blows
a wisp of wind will bend
so crisp, a welcome friend
it lightly blows and tickles toes
the wind, the wind, the wind, it blows
I wonder where the wind goes
To be alone
To listen
To the whispers
Of idle leaves
Eavesdrop on the
Ripples of the pond
Succumb to the silence
Of nature’s hum
Huddle in the shade
With un-tumbling tumbleweeds
Vagabonds sharing a story
In a dusty train yard
Listen to the wind outside your bedroom,
lying in the darkness of the night.
While the storm is raging in the shadows,
hear the cries of those who daily fight.
Seasons change within the midnight breezes.
Summer turns its colors into fall..
Soon the flowers dare the autumn freezes,
as you feel the coldness in it all.
Listen to the wind with your heart open.
You will hear a message ears cannot.
Long unwritten history will be spoken,
as truth is carried in language we forgot.
Living in a world of data breeches,
truth is something often you must doubt.
Close your eyes and listen to wind speeches.
The anger of the natural realm is out.
Nature is going through some changes.
We see this in the earthquakes, floods and rains.
Perhaps, a listen to the wise, old wind will secretly, somehow, explain.
"In fall, nature must rest for when they return in spring, to be at their best. " -quote by poet
The trees hear whispers in the wind begin
It's now time to surrender and let fall win
Slumber is upon them as they start to let go
To be strong and barren for blankets of snow
Branches relax as their leaves start to turn
Letting them fall knowing in spring they’ll return
Hummingbirds hover as they frantically feed
Fresh nectar for their migration trips a need
The wind whispers warnings as the days get shorter
When ready, he'll find his mate and will escort her
Goldfinches appear in their olive drab feathers
Working to secure their nests with twig tethers
Squirrels and chipmunks are scurrying about
Busy finding acorns as they sputter and spout
They listen to the wind as it whistles and whirls
And lifts fallen ground leaves in colorful swirls
Flowers hold on to their last blooming breaths
Before they all succumb to their fall deaths
Nature always listens to the wind's fall requests
"In silence, the wind shares it's most intimate secrets"--quote by poet.
Standing at the edge of a sandy shore
Looking out to sea as I listen to
Incessant cries of " Come to me, come to me;"
I watch the ebbing tide obey the beach wind.
Oh, I listen attentively to the wind!
In the wintertime, it roars to me..."Stay in!"
I hear it whisper it's tightly-held secrets
To trees; secrets it rather I keep to myself.
The autumn wind is music to my ears;
It ever so gently tinkles the wind chimes
Hanging above my head in the balcony.
My spirit dances with abandon to its song!
Knowing the fiercely blowing wind carries
Their wondrous songs far, nightingales and robins
Cheerfully tweet out their best at daybreak.
Birds do listen to the voices of the wind.
Pelicans migrating south at summer's end
Hear the whirling wind whisper..."Bon Voyage"
Out in nature, I love listening to the wind.
This is another night, deceiving myself
to be awake...blinded by the sight of
my own surreal wisp of a mellow dream
raking and turning into long reveries,
where something once pleasant is now so trite-
that Illusions of fresh morn quickly blacken
... snuffing whispers of a shadowy wind
slowly retracing its glide into my cries.
Every night, at the sight of darkened moonlight
purple lines of evening air heralds pain--
wind arriving from behind, hushed and still,
that I hide my face from such musky flavor,
carrying scents of our autumnal romps
and remind me of wind songs, play, soft cuddles
pressed in heavenly light, to whisper love
about you, young son high up now with blue stars:
And In his court are a thousand jewels
twinkling from afar with this soft wind cuddling
me in your arms to say, ' all is right, Mama.'
Specific Types of Wind Poems
Definition | What is Wind in Poetry?
Poems Related to Wind
gust, air, gale, breeze, cyclone, blast, blow, whisk, whiff, flutter, breath, flurry, draft, typhoon, puff, tempest, whirlwind, wafting, draught, zephyr, chinook, mistral, notice, intimation, hint