The breeze whispers in my ears:
My love refuses to join me for a ride.
Let's move out towards the sea
Over choppy waves on currents adrift.
See, my boat is in full speed,
My strong breeze has filled my sails.
And speedily all is glee.
The hot air on the beach is far behind.
For now, it's all fresh and clean.
Dolphins jump out of the waves,
Spraying droplets all around,
They go down again towards the deep.
The breeze helps me see wonders.
So blow as much as you need,
Until the hour approaches.
Crimson sunsets colour the distant bay.
Back I turn to my quiet quay.
Find haven in some quirky bar,
To drink a mug of cold beer.
Yet I feel all alone. Why have you left me?
The breeze whispers goodbye.
Perspiration is all over my face.
Loneliness grips my heart.
I will never find relief.
Inspired by the Song "The Breeze and I" sung by Caterina Valente.
POTD
Placed 2
THE UNDAUNTED
The roar of the pride silence no cricket
The wise knows the breeze is never daunted
When the wind joins force wth the rain
Threatening the palm tree to shed its fronts
For decades it has waded scores of such
Stronger and taller the trunk has grown
I'm a god among the gods
My breath makes the galaxies shiver
Death scares for its life at my anger
I am the undaunted
The tricky laughter never fades out from caged hyena
No matter the folds on hare's limbs
The stretch is unravelled in a fox's chase
I am the air
In my stroll I am wind
In my race i am storm
I bathe your skin in a cool day
If I raid the streets
I give wings to the sands and make them fly
If I stage a dance upon the ocean
I raised a troupe of standing waters
Then I swallow loaded vessel
And make them moor in my deep belly
I am the undaunted
I am water, in my calmness
I adorn your yard and bear a pet name pool
When i rage, i am a hurricane
Call me Caterina or Dorian
I am still me
I bond with my likes
I shake the groung on my enemies
I make them tremble
Call me a fire when calm
You will know my name when on rampage
I am the undaunted
FM CONCEPTUAL ?
Word and Thought
And can you say exactly what’s a word?
(Seems easy, but it isn’t!) It’s a thought
that takes on form: once wraith, it now is wrought,
much in the way that milk morphs into curd
(no Middle East ethnicity inferred).
A word’s a winged idea that’s been caught,
a spirit turning physical. In short,
an abstract concept which can now be heard.
Was Pinturicchio a peerless master?
Which of us plies his trade, nor meets complaint?
And what made Caterina such a saint?
Might Joan of Arc, for instance, not outlast her?
Crusades and poetry ain’t for the faint
of heart. That tart, Art, truckles with disaster.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.