Downwind Poems

Beyond The Divide

Downwind of the 
Halal Cart
my stomach 
starts to growl

Foreign smells
have filled the air
my appetite 
to prowl 

Those places
I have yet to go
but memory
knows so well

Another life
another time
where Heaven
— sleeps with Hell

(The Corner Of 34th & Market Streets: July, 2025)

Goliath's Stone

Downwind
of my perception
Upwind
before the fall
Immune
in my protection 
From dullards 
at the mall

The past
remains in focus
The future
but a myth
My words
fall out of judgment
Each phrasing
to enrich

To read 
with understanding
To hear
beyond the din
To feel
beyond the senses
To love
beyond the rim

Released 
without containment
On wings
not leased or loaned
Into
the inner sanctums
With time
— Goliath’s stone

(The New Room: June, 2025)

THE SUN WILL RISE LIKE A FIRE IN THE RAIN

My poem is a metaphor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We went swimming in total passion beneath the moonlight.  The reflections of love drowned by the eye of God. Your attempts to dry me left me breathless, my reputation saved on the bridge before us. 

I walk wondering why I deserved all this, tasting teardrops in the early morning rain. The storm it fills the lake beneath the bridge, leaving me downwind to its fresh scent.

Ladies of the evening tease the lake, their toes dangling from the bridge. The eye of God turns away. "Look at me gal, all I can do is tell you I'm sorry." "Look at me boy my lips are burning with fire, so is the bridge."

Can you get home by yourself from here?
I will try, I will try, I will never give up,
God will guide me from here. 
The flames burn brighter,
I can see the lake clearly now.

THE MIDDLE CHILD

The pickup
ready to roll

stalls at the green light
shaking, smoking.

I am the driver
downwind. 

Beep beep…behind me,
beep beep…behind them.

The fog clears -
I see the middle child

like a foghorn;
I speak out loud

to no one
but me, “It wasn’t me.”

I did not beep beep
out a morse code

curse. My reward -
the calm of the storm.

Fumes fill the pickup,
and other such vehicles,

like a garbage truck. They
turn left and right.

The middle child
upended, relaxes,

its message pronounced,
loud and clear,

to the wrong
rear.

Farewell

A blue watercolor washes in brilliant white
sky in the sunshine while you lose sight;
melting into the sea soothing ride downwind
rumbling spindrift of the waves by the wind.

Mama and her six-kitten stand on the pier,
on a fishing net, watching their biggest fear.
They're being left behind, abandon, alone nobody near.

Their family leaving on a luxury liner
navigating out; believed there was no love finer.
Unconditional embracing love, cease to be.
Farewell pleading meows drawn-out towards the sea.

Fiendishly Difficult Question

when expelling demons and sin ~ do exorcists stand up or downwind

Apex Predator

To run from today
or hide from tomorrow,
the ultimate hunter,
time waiting downwind

Each day is a stalking,
your tracks to betray you,
escape out of season
—the wolf closing in

(Sacandaga Lake, New York: January, 2022)

Hunting the Silence

Sleeping inside my fury,
the predators keep away
Passing downwind of my ire,
seeking lesser prey

My strength is wrapped around me,
no more armor do I need
The fangs of lions, bears, and wolves,
break upon my sleeve

My campfire roars in anger,
the birds have stilled their wings
The tracks of blood I left today,
tomorrow’s path to bring

As ruler of this forest,
my range the great divide
To those who hear me coming
—upon whose fear I thrive

(Dreamsleep: January, 2022)

The Devil You Know

Whatever happened to common sense
when did we all become so dense
ya can’t fall off an un-sat fence

dreaming of why and where and whence
trying to figure out farthings and pence
trapped in a world of hereafter and hence

can’t really recall but it’s been that way since
we o’erthrew the king to favor the prince
expecting pure satin – wound up with cheap chintz

our armor now rusted, bloodless, with dents
thrown out of our houses we now live in tents
downwind from the castle’s hungerless scents

venom the substance of our effluence
fueled by delay of our just recompense
and for our actions offer no penitence

our fields long gone fallow wait in suspense
for the word of a dead king “let planting commence”
a king raised to power at our expense


John G. Lawless
©12/13/2021

We Can't See the Wind But Its Effects Are In Plain View

(A COLLABORATION BY NATASHA L SCRAGG AND ROBERT JAMES LIGUORI)

The luscious, long, green grass
Sways and sweeps and flows.
How far, how fast will this wind travel?
No one really knows!

This same wind could stir up
Whirls and waves in all seas.
This powerful force makes nature dance.
Our senses this does please.

Though it can be disruptive
On a minor or major scale,
It can uproot trees, tear roofs off houses,
It can delay or prevent sails...

It still has its boundaries.
This can be assuring to all, to me and you.
We can't see the wind
But its effects are in plain view.

Sometimes the wind teases us,
Playing with our hair,
Or has us swatting at thistles and leaves
Flying through the air.

The wind can be kind,
Tell to us our coffee's hot.
Or to move our rude cigar,
From its blowing spot.

Wind can be a gentle reminder,
To put on our kid's jacket
Or to lower our voice,
During a downwind racket.

It is always there soft or strong
And never with a hue, that is...
We can't see the wind
But its effects are in plain view.

We Can't See the Wind But Its Effects Are In Plain View

The luscious, long, green grass
Sways and sweeps and flows.
How far, how fast this wind will travel,
No one really knows!

This same wind could stir up
Whirls and waves in all seas.
This powerful force makes nature dance.
Our senses this does please.

Though it can be disruptive
On a minor or major scale,
It can uproot trees, tear roofs off houses,
It can delay or prevent sails...

It still has its boundaries.
This can be assuring to all, to me and you.
We can't see the wind,
But it's effects are in plain view.

Sometimes this wind teases us,
Playing with our hair,
Or has us swatting at thistles and leaves,
Flying through the air.

The wind can also be so kind,
To tell us our coffee's hot.
Or to move our rude cigar,
From it's blowing spot.

Wind can be a gentle reminder,
To put on our kid's jacket,
Or to lower our voice,
During a downwind racket.

It is always there soft or strong,
And never with a hue, that is...
We can't see the wind,
But it's effects are in plain view.

19-September-2021

A Legend Without a Map

her eyes have seen
   a thousand roads 
   each downwind of the other


Bite Size Poem no17 Poetry Contest 
Sponsored by Line Gauthier

Interlude

The fog
clouded the dirty landscape,
Visions obscured.
How long
will it remain suspended
in the atmosphere ?

When it dissipates
downwind
I will go out of the confines
of my house
again become
a miniscule part
of the landscape.

The Lady Down the Lane

When I was but a boy
in the small village of Cold Springs,
I lived near a cantankerous old witch.
At least, that's what the gossip implied she was.
Her name was Almeda Hamilton, and she was a hoarder.
Of course, we knew nothing of hoarders back then
and most everyone thought she was plum crazy.
She'd trap and skin groundhogs and squirrels,
salt their hides and stitch their raw pelts into fur coats.
Pew, you could smell her coming downwind for miles.
She lived off-road in a patch of trees
in a dilapidated cottage crammed with garbage.
The irony is, her father once owed the whole county,
and she was an heiress,
suffering from a severe phobia and mental problem.
Years back, or so the story goes,
her fiancée had left her at the altar,
but her father had built them that house,
and so, she stayed there a recluse.
It was rumored she'd buried hordes of cash,
and when she died, alone in her filth,
her property was potholed by fools trying to find it.
I confess, I felt sorry for her then, and still do,
for the lady got mistreated by the world,
and on its behalf, I apologize.


(Free Verse)


03/18/2020

The Cashier At the 5 and Dime

The Cashier at the 5 and Dime

She does not wear paint on her face. 
I noticed, there is no war to be found, 
around the corners of her mouth...
only a soft crease, 
where a smile has worn a path, 
worth retracing... 
again and again... 
with my lips.

There is no spray in her hair, 
she does not smell like a fancy place. 
When I passed her in church, 
the scent of wild coconuts 
and fresh Georgia peaches...
came to me. 
It was like a perfume cloud, 
from the downwind side, 
near the gates of Heaven, 
surely. 

I can not remember what she wore. 
Or, even what she will wear the next I see her. 
I can not take my eyes from her very being, 
the whole sense of what she is, 
lights up the room, 
and brings the sunshine inside, 
on every gray day. 
On sunny days, 
rays of gold seem to radiate, 
from the ends of her hair. 
I am taken, 
to somewhere I dare not be, 
and pray never to come back from, 
ever...
again. 

I step up and place my items on the belt. 
I have been here a few times, 
and no one has said a thing. 
But truly, I need...
one more item, 
to get one more look, 
to see her one more time,
then...
I will be fine.

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