Best Windfalls Poems
A litany of leaves tango
to the tune of your chilly flow,
so windblown.
Moody clouds move silently by
in a turbulent silver sky,
as windfalls.
Showing signs of your wrath, the trees,
to whipping the waves of the seas,
so windswept.
© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong
11-16-14
WIND - Compound Word Verse
Categories:
windfalls, autumn, sea, tree, wind,
Form:
Rhyme
Nopalero = one who deals with/sells nopales [edible prickly pear cactus leafs/pads]
Aiiiii, Jimmy --
what shall we say, now that you've gone,
worst fear realized: your body discovered,
days later, in your filthy Mexican rooms,
amid the soiled paper littering the floors,
reeking of cat urine and layer upon layer
of dried and fresher feces. These feral cats
were your most faithful companions.
You thought yourself their benefactor and,
perhaps, their savior. We were told that,
after your demise, when the door opened,
all 21 fled, never to return.
You left us, unbathed, smelly, shunned,
just weeks before your birthday,
having almost (but not quite) suffered
through 80 years, the last 30 spent in
bordertown Mexico. You, daily, crossed
the bridge to claim your mail -- which (for a fee)
promised to guarantee you would be a winner
of lotteries, sweepstakes, miraculous windfalls.
You subsisted on senior coffees at McD's,
and your pitiful government assistance.
You blamed your life on abuse by brothers
(all dead long before you) and you could not
understand why richer acquaintances --
virtually everyone -- were unwilling
to share with you their bounty.
In the plazas, you were a familiar sight,
selling whatever you could: you were
"el viejo gringo," "el Jimmy," "el nopalero,"
and other less generous but, perhaps, appropriate
"apodos". You knew animals, had some expertise
with birds. Your chief preoccupation was
yourself, and your main complaint was
that you never got your just deserts.
No one deserves to end as you did -- unclaimed,
a foreign body, interred in Mexico
in an unmarked pauper's grave:
a "fosa comun." You only wanted to be loved.
RIP my friend; I did not mean to be unkind.
James Milford Pierson, 27 February 1934 - 2 February 2014.
Categories:
windfalls, abuse, age, angst, cat,
Form:
Free verse
The trees have pumpkin-pied themselves
they're dipped in orange butterscotch.
The squirrel's nests of pick-up sticks
hide acorns stores which plink-plop.
Below the apple trees bowed branches
mother harvests windfalls for pies.
Father takes a old buck down
for mincemeat pie, bye and bye.
The corn field's full of children small
gathering ears for Dutch Corn pie.
A cider smell of cinnamon
reminds of crispy crusts on standby.
Mother's at her best this season
and all those pies-- why its the reason!
Categories:
windfalls, food,
Form:
Sonnet
Ribbed strands of wheat across the plain
bend at the knees, to drink the rain
in windfalls
Brown from harvest, drought and blight,
are cornstalks spinning through the night
like windmills
The dry stalks slant and dangle leaves
and rattle music through the trees
in windstorms
__________________________________________
Written for Nette's Contest: Fire, Earth, Wind
By Carrie Richards 11/20/14
Categories:
windfalls, earth, nature, wind,
Form:
Rhyme
I asked a scientist to make an olive's leaf,
So green with its juices,
Smelling spring and sweat from gatherers hands.
He answered that he couldn't.
I asked him to make the light of the sun,
Reflecting its warmth in morning's appearance.
To make a sun enslavor of the sea,
Of breathing trees and eyes,
The eyes of those who stare its dream.
He answered that he couldn't.
And when I asked to form the air of dawn,
So heroic, sympathy air on faces of those
Seeking the dew,
On mainsails following the wind,
He answered that he couldn't.
How could ever human hands, so shakily and small
Give birth to miracles, when their lines
Consist of a hidden mystery delved from ages unsure?
Where human says 'I can't',
Nature raises and rules among Glory and Triamph.
If people think that they live with power and safety,
In houses they built with tractors and iron muscles,
How could they live when road will be their only home?
When they will be forced to run to mountains
And lie down on stones and windfalls
How oh how could they live?
If people think that they eat because they cook
Aseptic food in their high-teck kitchens,
How could they eat when a slice of bread will be
All they have?
If people think that they can adjust their warmth
By pressing a single button,
How could they feel warm and enlighted
If the Sun won't raise, if darkness fills the air?
When people think that there is nothing they can't do,
Replete with egoism, relying on their hands and their brightness,
A huge laugh is coming from the sky.
Because they forget that when all is gone,
Floated down the stream,
Only God can stay still, unbreakable and wise,
Smiling at their ignorance that they own life.
And if they can't be satisfied with theirselves,
How could they embrace others
When time force them to be united?
Creatures excesses with passions and ambition
They want to change their roles and become
Gods in the place of the One.
Yet, their hands are so weak to carry world's weight
And their minds so human to judge fairly and amiably
The sins of us all.
Categories:
windfalls, nature, people, religionpeople, people,
Form:
Free verse
Hearth of Winds
From west to east you plumb axisal spin,
And darted on the limbs of the poles.
On longitudes and latitudes, you are dotted in silhouettes.
Just above the horizon of age, you journeyed,
Beckoning the threshold of syllabubic windfalls.
Sated with doldrums of lambent haul,
And the pomp of sycamore hover instill.
When you call again at the Isle of trench,
The oracles of time shall tune again the aviary.
Seated upon the pillion of days the carter roves,
Tilting in all directions with hopes of succour.
A long way from time indeed you are,
But as the tides of valour surmise you triumph.
Once I saw an array of humanic acclaims,
In a manger of Sylphic heath of tenderness.
The hills of tonic travails titivating the hold,
And all the flakes of materialism dancing attune the vista.
The tales of deeds will forever entail polemic puzzles,
And the spate of the weaver’s loom shall reckon amidst.
Adeola Yusuf Amuni
Categories:
windfalls, naturetime,
Form:
Lyric
Windfalls of apples,
dull reds and brown leaf
scattered amongst
the creeping mist
that filters through
the wily woven web of spiders,
laying in wait
unknowing of the migration
that followed the sun...!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Categories:
windfalls, nature,
Form:
Free verse
PIECES OF PAPER - A POET’S HEART
My mauve cloth shimmers to the ground,
And the love letters in the wind,
Scripts of poems still young,
All the scope of love, living scraps of life,
Lie scattered on floor like a jigsaw unscrambled,
Some scribbled quickly, others at leisure;
This one angry, that one sad.
Some filled with a bursting heart overflowing
With gladness for the food of love
Which has been spread out in front of it
In a feast at the rich table of a lord
Where as a guest I have no right to be -
But only indulged as a poor drifting soul.
Paper morsels of preserved feelings long-forgotten,
Like little labels on imagined jars
Holding samples of my past life;
Tiny invitations to the repast of the past
Where long-gone figures still live in vibrant colour
And their laughter still echoes like music from the walls.
Their touch is still felt in the softness of the paper;
Their embrace is ever-present in the inviting colour of the notes.
I stoop and gather the windfalls of my life
And replace them lovingly in their box,
Lying easily next to each other as friends do,
And cover them with my mauve scarf woven from silk
To keep the dust from aging their folds.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Carol Brown's Contest "Pieces Of Paper...A Poet's Heart"
Categories:
windfalls, nostalgia, love,
Form:
Free verse
Plundering stuff to clone is obscene
Leeching from others whose work they have seen
Always alert for what comes their way
Grabbing their windfalls by night and by day
In their bid for acclaim and contests to win
As they strive to be first to get copyrights in
Redoubling their effort with every deed
It flies in the face of our Creative Creed
Shunned is the justice they'll get for their greed
Their peers, once alerted, will expose them by name
Serves them right when they're Caught and Outed in Shame
Categories:
windfalls, creation, writing,
Form:
Acrostic
Cider only requires one straw—
Sipping with my Sweetheart.
Dreaming about apples—
Some big (and) some small...
Whispering windfalls upon a fallen time ground.
Fields endless waves motionless now;
And then
Hearts as sweet as Cider’s bottomless feel
Incapable of prediction;
Moments blossom molding beauty
Out of anticipation.
Sweetheart runs in place.
Spiraling emotional curiosity—
Butterfly knots twist.
Squeezing fresh juice;
Containing lovely pulp (of) free will.
Circling around and around every last one of each other.
Without help; mutually
Sipping Cider with my Sweetheart.
11-23-18
Contest: COOL WRITES AND IMAGINATION CONTEST
Host: Kim Rodriguez
Categories:
windfalls, art, conflict, creation, deep,
Form:
Imagism
For too long I kept my eyes from seeing the clues
Too many signs left unseen
Though you never gave up on me
You made things plain to see
I tried to wipe the clues clean
And used every excuse and diversion in my ruse
For too long I ran from the signs and accompanying guilt
I turned from your proffered path
Though you never gave up on me
You made things plain to see
Usually I chose my self-inflicted wrath
And I collected enough self-doubt and loathing to make a quilt
For too long I ignored your help and turned the other cheek
I blamed you for all ills and pitfalls
I cursed you more than I can say
I spat at you and swore your name everyday
Even while thanking you for little windfalls
When in reality without you I was mild timid and meek
For too long I neglected you and ignored you and took you to task
Have I burned the bridge is it too late
May I beg for forgiveness and save face
May I earn your favor and your good grace
Is it too late to for you to steer me to my fate
Yet now I come to you hoping you’ll lead the way so I humbly ask
Categories:
windfalls, faith, life
Form:
I've never felt so safe as I do with you
I can be myself, laugh my laugh
Tell bad jokes, dress up, dress down
Drink too much, laugh out loud
Eat too much, cry in a crowd
With you I'm free..free to be me....
Flawed, sad
Hopeful, mad
Rebellious, tactical
Frustrated, practical
Encouraging, strong
Always right, seldom wrong
Stubborn, mean
Submissive, extreme
that's me...
Remember that look in your eye and lump in your throat
When I walked thru the door in silence you spoke
I felt so loved with just one look
Our eyes would meet was all it took
Batting my eyes, the sparkle in yours
Love in our hearts, what's mine is yours
Our bond was crazy, I trust you with my life
But at times it's lazy, cuts like a knife
When times are bad, rocky windfalls
Stormy weather, you don't notice me at all
How'd we get here, I feel like I don't matter
Like our love disappeared
Different directions all scattered...
I'll trade you tears for fears
I'm tired of crying
Being close yet far apart
like a thirsty flower dying
I want you to be happy
Even if that means we're apart
Always be true to yourself
And go with your heart
Just don't ask me to sacrifice
Or give up what I need
Don't ask me to pretend
Or be anyone but me
Categories:
windfalls, break up, divorce, goodbye,
Form:
Rhyme
It was after Mom’s dad passed her mom bought canaries.
Grams felt life less lonely, I think, with their singing,
and gave her idea that flying the coop to
live close to my mom could be Southland for grey birds!
Gram’s love’s stroke unexpected (he died in mid-sixties);
Today seems quite young to be housewife left winging
her way to new home. Kids in Woodward? (1) Gold grew two,
Mom’s brood and her brother’s brood, fledglings warmed innards!
My folks built a new home for her, right back of our house,
and yard had a garden with no trees to shade it,
sweet melons that bled, and tomatoes (stretched softballs).
And gold too were biscuits Grams baked for our dinners!
Plains folk quail at Thanksgiving and rarely enjoy grouse
or grousers that much, though their plates boast a surfeit
they’ve worked for, don’t shoot birds that run or trust windfalls!
It’s folks who will stay and work late plains call winners.
There’s collusion these days, watch Herr Trump stroke the Russians,
see Trump not pay taxes, pay off whores he’s ducking,
and huge corporations (for raping the planet)
will cede Trump free rein! “Guys, just keep me in power!”
But the caged birds of COVID now color discussions!
They die with our parents, our children! Hear sucking?
That’s Trump at his best as he deep throats a bare hit!
Please pardon! Methinks the whole world needs a shower!
Brian Johnston
July 8th in 2020
Poet’s Notes:
(1)Woodward, OK, was a small town in Northwestern Oklahoma
that I had the great good fortune to grow up in and escape alive.
Several of my close friends from there were not as fortunate, and
suffered more damage! No blacks were allowed to live in city limits
on either side of the track! There was a “shoeshine boy,” but he
had to leave town before sunset and lived in the country. Even in
college at the University of Oklahoma in Norman, fraternities
were whites-only. Approved off-campus housing was allowed to
discriminate against blacks. My landlady (in my 4th year) told me
that a ‘black skin’ was the mark of Cain! I still weep for our nation!
Categories:
windfalls, humor, political, race, ,
Form:
Rhyme
It would seem that our early ancestors
Foraged afar to find the freshest fruit
But sometimes they would have to eat windfalls
That were covered with that white fungal fur
Which made the windfall fruit start to ferment
And making alcohol from the sugars.
Was this fermented fruit more popular,
Perhaps providing them with much pleasure?
Did fermented fruit become preferred food?
Maybe over many millions of years
Our human genes then slowly did evolve
So we take to consuming alcohol.
Categories:
windfalls, addiction, food, fruit,
Form:
Blank verse
Sunlight and shadows
White clouds drifting by
An old apple tree
Birds of a feather
Scavenging windfalls.
Barefeet on grass
Cool leather seat
Glass table top
Sunshade retreat.
Urban noise
Church clock chimes
Lunch Bell rings.
Hot spiced
Garlick
Wings.
12/ 5 / 2024.
Categories:
windfalls, bird, how i feel,
Form:
Diminished Hexaverse