Not the great compass winds, but the lesser,
the local winds, the mapmakers.
Odysseus once bagged them, but they escaped.
Anemoi, like the wind that de-horns goats,
or the Moorish, Melteme,
the ill-tempered one. Simoom, the poisoner
who fills throats with its tainted garments,
or Rashabbar the black wind
whose nocturnal wings blind all men.
Named, visible winds that chisel our faces,
as if we were cliffs at the edge of the world.
The Squamish, the Elephanta, the Williwaw,
time-swirling thieves. They steal the young,
the babes in their cribs and when we look for them,
a swish of a hem or a hurricane are the same.
The children return, a sculpted dervish
spiralling within them.
Tebbard, the fever wind, wanders through our bones,
a sultry doctor adding fuel to the heat
until a storm breaks, then as driftwood we are salvaged.
The Fever-bringer itself dies,
dry now as mottled kelp on carrion shores.
Winds that gnaw themselves into Chinooks and Mistral,
winds that shape and follow us
to the rim of the sky, where those celestial dragons,
North, East, South and West winds
dream fitfully of once being human.
“An enormous sea contained in constant motion;
global pic of the Pacific Ocean.”
quote by Poet
I’ve trekked some of the Pacific Ocean;
from San Diego to Victoria.
An enormous sea contained in contant motion
sporting Hawaii and Pretoria.
Vasco Balboa first claimed it
for Spain, and all the land around
Ferdinand Magellen named it
calm, peaceful sea was what he found.
Renowned for currents, trade winds, the Chinooks ,
the Santa Anas and the monsoons of Asia.
I’ve only read of them in geography books;
Need to know more, request a Japanese geisha.
Of all the oceans’ waters, the Pacific stores
in gallons, some one hundred eighty quintillion,
half, or to be more specific it scores
over prolific square miles, sixty-three million.
In all my study, it is true
to my surprise, land o’ Goshen
a monstrous area of mostly blue
Google: “global pic of the Pacific Ocean”.
There's a smile tethered to each scented breeze
and a warm caress in the Sun's embrace,
revealing the telltale signs of Spring's tease.
Ice melts in rivers that no longer freeze
as dandelions show their yellow face;
there's a smile tethered to each scented breeze.
Affirming the weatherman's expertise,
a seasonal transition's taking place;
revealing the telltale signs of Spring's tease.
While warm Chinooks bring Winter to its knees,
weaving snowflakes into patches of lace,
there's a smile tethered to each scented breeze.
Butterflies cavort with the honeybees
while April showers give Winter winds chase,
revealing the telltale signs of Spring's tease.
Anxieties swiftly begin to ease
as Winter slips away without a trace.
Revealing the telltale signs of Spring's tease,
there's a smile tethered to each scented breeze.
autumn wildness
fall moon corona
rainbows glow through ice crystals ~
silver shadows dance
empty branches sway
hummingbirds search for blossoms ~
twirling gusts ballet
icy crystal winds
blizzards of rainbows take flight ~
sparrows surf whirlwinds
platinum windstorms
howl through evergreen forests ~
stars hide behind clouds
wild unchained torrents
chinooks blast from artic births ~
brittle gales of ice
11-28-22
syllables checked with www.howmanysyllables
Anemoi, the wind that de-horns goats.
Moorish Melteme, the ill-tempered one.
Simoom, the lung poisoner.
Rashabbar the black swirling.
The Squamish, the Elephanta, the Williwaw,
thieves that steal babes in their cribs.
Tebbard, the fever wind, it wanders through our bones;
the sultry doctor who adds heat to chills
until, like driftwood, we are salvaged.
Chinooks and the Mistral they follow travelers
to the edge of a world,
where the great four Celestial Dragons,
North, East, South and West,
roar like thunder in our sleep
until we dream fitfully of being human.
Wind Song
Winter winds whoosh over the wilderness
In wild waltzes that warn of wanton storms.
On zephyr’s wings spring floats through soft breezes
Soft touch on tender petals
Feels like silk on bare skin.
Happy whirlwinds swish through summer skies
Tickles the face of waves in sheer delight
Laughs with puffy clouds in summer’s malaise
Rises with crimson dawns then stargazes
fall winds breathe brisk breaths
turns the morning mist to frost ~
draughts foretell chinooks
5-3-22
Contest: Brian Strand Premiere
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Winter’s Face
Winter’s chill freezes
Clear ice castle glazed in frost ~
North wind fury howls
Hoar frost coats chinooks
Artic tempest’s brumaled sighs ~
Stars wear ermine rime
Silver forest sways
Downy blooms of frost flowers ~
Permafrost garlands
Snow wears fluffy fleece
Frozen diamonds of dewdrops ~
Icicles white fire
Blue icy sunlight
Twinkles through white sapphire gems ~
Liquid crystal gleams
Cold breath of snowflakes
Snow angels fly in blizzards ~
Realm of snow and ice
Winter’s frigid face
Bleak house of glacial wind chills ~
Ice ribbon white outs
12-15-20
They call them dragons,
winds such as Rashabbar the black
who darkly binds the unwary, or dust spewing Calima,
she who herds madness from outside-inward.
Then there is Bayamo, the tree killer,
Tebbard the sultry doctor, a fever-wind
that dispenses fire and delusion.
Chinooks and Mistrals scour and skive.
The Haboob hunts where hunters hide.
Those named winds; gales that chisel faces,
as if they were cliffs.
Squamish, Elephanta, the Williwaw,
swirling thieves that steal babe,
crib, wimple and shawl.
I have traveled through some,
and avoided most.
When, in tornado season, I occasionally
roam from my Ohio home,
I think of those dragon-winds,
and scan the sky
for signs of a scaly whipping tail,
or talons clawing some fluffy clouds
before blowing a Dutch barn to bits.
Wild is the winding wind
blowing breezy gentle
blatantly bold unafraid
blustery brisk squalled
weaved whipping zephyrs
wreathing wriggled gales
whirlwind wafting chinooks
flurry fluttering tempest
fury fist furled typhoons
feisty folded twists
circling coiled distortions
cyclone current mistrals
curvy cued loops
chilling spiraled gusted breath.
Spring dapples the prairie flatlands
with colors' majestic splendor.
And the landscape gets painted with
purple pigments and soft pastels.
Tepid Chinooks melt mountain snows
that feed meandering rivers.
Fueling lazy loops, snaking
across an emerald grassland.
Dawn, gilding the edge of darkness,
heralds the day's resurrection.
And a rising sun imbues light
with a sense of hope and magic.
A watermelon horizon
marks the birthplace of a new day.
And pink, cotton-candy clouds float
upon a sea of vermilion.
Reminiscent of paradise,
Nature's wildflowers are in bloom.
And their dew-kissed petals open,
basking under indigo skies.
At the bottom, in her clutches, you’ve found your new home
Her ghostly embrace makes you feel more alone
Spaceman, at peace in the depth of your night
On glamour and glory, you’ve gotten too high
And somehow you slipped and crashed through the sky
...one day you just rocketed by
Earth’s son is drowning in a tub with the chills
The water is draining, blood laced with pills
One of her many eyes saw your descent
While eating the shrimp from a sulfurous vent
Which, until she’d seen you, had made her content
...her heart boiling out through cement
And while you were down, she baited her hooks
She made you feel hopeful with helpless, sweet looks
And nested your spaceship in her hidden crooks
...blowing kisses that warm like chinooks
And she pulled you in close when you started to sink
And confused you with needs and a cloud of black ink
Disarming your valor with sweetie-pie blinks
...with fish guts and sea-rotten stink
Orbiting so long gave you the spins
You splashed down through brine, and the ocean’s slick skin
In barbed tentacles you’ll sleep with your twin
...in challenger deep growing fins
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