So many cloudy days
Moments where the sun beat down hot
Typhoons, hurricanes, tornadoes
Reminding us of what we ain't got
Sitting on a wooden bench
With a gentle breeze writing out hope
Feet in the creek without a care
Nibbling on the sweetest cantaloupe
The phone rings with unexpected news
Shattering the heart into a thousand pieces
Grieving all the losses of blunted connection
Trying to bargain with god through many fleeces
An act of kindness when depression rules
Takes the soul to the end of denying self
Listening ears open and expand
To take identity off the safe little shelf
Finally, LOVE has come and enveloped
The wondering mind into eternal flow
The refreshing water of connection
Has yielded to wherever spirit wants to go
...pulling up roots, and blowing kisses
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-29-2026
Wildfires don't recognize borders.
Neither should common sense.
But the nonsense coming out of your leaders' mouths
just proves that they're really dense.
Smoke doesn't come with a passport.
It's not some thing you can just deport.
You see, here's the way it goes.
We can't control the way the wind blows.
Maybe you should clean up your own mess
before blaming others for your distress.
We actually have way more
boreal forest than you.
Yet, statistically, for some reason,
you have more fires than we do.
Your priorities are something
you need to rearrange
because the problem is not Canada;
it's climate change.
western winds blowing
gray storm clouds are arriving
taking cover now
I heard the ravings of a fool
as his yarn flew off his spool,
but did I need to hear that stuff
from a brain thus turned to fluff?
The answer, my friend, is there,
blowing in the air.
Talking, sometimes silent or threatening soft noise
What does the air want? Its movement caresses
The wall of my little home and my still soul
Wind, wind, good to hear you, oh element, loved
A forever friend, you are in all the places, everywhere
In England, in Hungary. Follower, you still love me just
Your message, “Live, live… Do, do…” Nothing important
Yes, my dear wind. The message has been received
. Got the message…
But you are free, no human body, I am a corpse
You have no life, you are eternal, Lives from life
Mine is immortal, lives from the past, from dead life
Easy life, the wind life. To be free without humankind
“Yes, but the timeless life is timeless life…,” wind said
Hmm, it's understandable. Is existence suffering?
“No, never”, said Satan. Only the unique state of the road
Wind
Wind
Move
Move
Go
Go
Always
Always
The wind
Is
Blowing
a Crown Oddquain poem
Strange
wind blowing,
a cold harbinger
of darker things to follow
soon.
Much
closer now
than the day before,
much closer now than sages
know..
Yes,
bad fortune
is nigh upon us,
and yet we will not listen
still.
Do
we forget
every past lesson,
all those we lost in senseless
war?
Blast
us into
mass oblivion,
let nature grow the garden
new.
Oddquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of seventeen syllables distributed 1, 3, 5, 7, 1 in five lines, developed by Glenda L. Hand.
Crown oddquain-a five stanza oddquain sequence
Shadow Poetry - Poetry Types - Oddquain
Every year I pinch-hit on Christmas
for a Christian so devout
That if he had to work on the holiday
he’d just sit and pout
This year was no different from the rest
except he made a slight change
This Christian also became a full-fledged Jew
~ So, I had to cover for him on Chanukah too
TO BEING IN MIND-BLOWING AWARENESS
Rocking and rolling,
Aping hedges in the winds:
Blowing, yet rooted:
Though moving, there’s no progress;
Such mind-blowing awareness:-
Such mockery!
Moving, but going nowhere:
Mind and body stunned:-
In aiding progress, one must
Always seek divine guidance:-
Moving is one thing,
Progressing is another;
With a focused mind,
Seek our God’s navigation:
Progressing in assurance:-
My love returns to you like the wind blowing
Over forgotten fields, bringing whispers and shadows
From times that seem never to have ended,
It returns like a river seeking its way to the sea.
As the soul comes like a bird, carried by unseen wings,
I don't know from where it comes, but I feel it rising from the depths
An old desire, like a flower growing from stone,
My love returns to you like a dream that never leaves.
Proud Mary and Holy Virgin, the light that guides us,
As the soul comes like a bird that rests on the flower of life,
In your beauty, I find tranquility, I find the desired peace,
As the soul comes like a bird, to rest in light.
The bird that with its wing wrote the verse ascending to the sky,
Tell it to me in a dream, tell it when sleep embraces me,
To feel myself rising towards the light, carried by words,
The bird that wrote with its wing, to be my guide in the night.
In the depths of endless nights, I lose myself in thoughts,
Seeking the silence that calms the storms within the soul,
Like a child hiding from shadows, waiting for dawn,
In the depths of the nights, my love returns to you.
The clouds are swirling in the wind,
Unique designs appear within.
An artist’s brush could be the air,
For many forms are found up there.
Look up there, it’s a swimming whale,
‘Twill quickly change with the next gale.
It seems so strange to change so much,
It makes it hard to keep in touch.
There’s a ship with the flag raised high,
It slowly fades as it drifts by.
A dragon flies upon the mast,
With raging winds, it will not last.
One way to live with all this change,
Enjoy each form when it’s in range.
Then like a child with a new toy,
Each change will bring with it more joy.
Don’t allow fear to have its way,
Change will come with every new day.
Giving us a chance to mature,
A better chance to feel secure.
Why do we see so many plastic bags blowing around and about?
A million such bags are made each minute, today I found out.
We use them to carry books, gardening tools, whistles and plastic stars.
Most of us use them daily, and they blow out the windows of our cars.
Inspired by Bob Dylan's 'Blowing in the Wind'
Our journey takes on different roads
we make our choices and our beds
no rest for the weary till we're all dead
Time is not our faithful ally
its intentions waywardly dubious
yet fate lays here in our hands
Don't pretend you can't hear the many cries
they're right outside your door
blow the whisle sound the horn
You can't keep turning a blind eye
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on May 20, 2025 to contest DYLAN SONG TRIBUTE sponsored by OLIVER MCKEITHAN - RANKED 2ND
Their win, has its wind
Slap-blowing in our faces:
A musky-trump wind,
Blowing, blasting bigotry,
Slapping justice in the face:-
Today I’m grateful for bubbles…
and how much fun is waiting there…
when all we need is a little soap
a little water
and a tiny bit of air.
A little girl am I, and I am blowing
bubbles in the air as I am glowing.
I glow with joy to see bubbles everywhere
rising beautifully above me in the air.
Bubbles big and pretty shine with colors of
aqua, grape and lemon, and they shine with love.
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