Long Windswept Poems
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Blemishes
My body’s mistakes
My wounds of disgrace
Injected by faith
In science and progress
Flogging myself with second-guesses
I have given myself away.
to uncaring men, pressed jackets
white jackets, packets of sympathy
baskets of fruit set upon the writing desk
in solitary confinement, padded walls.
haunted halls, bathroom stalls with locked doors.
Linoleum floors
Poor, poor pitiful me
Cherry pick my favourite reasons,
depending on the season
Why do the patterns keep repeating?
serve them up on a platter!
for delicate devouring
and just desserts
some things are generational.
inherited
bestowed
I cradle my worth.
In my own wretched hands
Once delicate
Here I stand.
Not stolid
Nor stoic
I am not put together.
Not sorted
I am apart.
Electrical currents running through the pieces,
stringing them together
Making a woman out of angst and energy
The sheer will of being.
I have nothing to live for
Only these words
Hospital gown flowing in my rage.
Windswept, like a mage
In the middle of casting a spell
A sorceress in distress, in peril
Fighting to remain
In the moment, present and tame
But wild fear presents itself at my feet.
The wolf is ready to eat.
I stay indoors to hide from the chase.
But at the end of the day
When night falls to the ground
I heard the call.
I wish to respond.
To howl back at the crack of dawn
Rolling in the sun with my wild baying, panting, praying
But I stay put.
I hold it back.
Inside my skin that cannot contain
My ancestral blood
This is the flood.
The flood
I drowned in the flood.
The wolf is not only animal.
But avatar
for gods too abstract to see
with the naked eye
It growls it snarls.
It bites my legs.
It promises peace.
as it gnaws on my pride
the alure of freedom,
teasing me to leave my comfort zones
knowing it will crunch my bones.
the first chance it gets.
when I trip over my intentions
into mud
face first
ruining my escape
I do not outrun the wolf.
I do not outsmart the gods.
I do not escape the flood.
I fall—
not like a heroine,
but like a relic dropped mid-ritual
mud in my mouth,
bones in the wolf’s grin
the spell unfinished
The door still locked.
the howl still inside me
rotting sweetly
like fruit on the desk
Written: June 24, 2023
______________________________________________________________
Sadness erupts; who is suffering sails?
In the depths where hope once dwelled.
A vessel that was gone, love's dying exhale
Lost by the cruel hand of fate, they were felled.
Surf cracks at the damaged husk plea,
Pull me! It conveys a pathetic guarantee.
But the sea, relentless as it is, carries on.
Indifferent to the ship's mournful song.
Lost love, a haunting melody,
Echoing through the depths of the sea.
Life's achromatic; living color pales,
As tears sew a sad tapestry on a stirred sail.
Grief, a relentless tide, washes ashore.
Windswept memories muck line the floor.
Every grain of sand is a painful reminder.
Of a love that once burned, is lost in the fire.
The winds retch your name, sandblasted and biting.
As the soul of the stranded keeps on fighting.
Whispers carried on the bitter breeze,
Echoes of a love that's brought to its knees
But in the depths of anguish, a glimmer of light
As the soul of the stranded takes flight.
Through the storm and the sorrow, it finds its way.
To a place where love's colors never fade.
In the swag of sadness, it weaves a radical thread.
Finding strength in the tears that were shed
The whispers of the stranded soul rise.
Carried by the wind, reaching for the skies.
And as the waves crash and the winds subside,
The stranded soul finds solace in the tide.
Though the pain may linger, the love remains.
In memories that ebb and flow as gentle rains.
Vagabond Reveries
I awoke one apple-ripe autumn afternoon,
While shifting my necessity to care, dreaming,
To gaze upon the twisting trail in reveries of untethered reality
A quest for halcyon enigmas that chased me into cloudy castles.
And glancing back over fields of maize and green apple trees
I dreamt of meandering - suntanned faces, gentle eyes,
Campfire stories told in stargazer mists on childhood summer nights
Country roads and country stores with squeaky hinged screen doors.
I saw through mists kaleidoscopes of skyscraping cities, living postcards,
Steaming, groaning, sweating-swaying -
Crowded avenues named aspiration and pipedreams of working faces
Pushed into honeycombs of question’s smoke reflecting my reflection.
Through gossamer fleeting fragments rumbled symphonies
In movements of freight cars and highway hum
Vagabonds of REM sleeping tugged at chugging feasts
Of my winter-spring planned fetes and wakes and festival jubilees.
A wispy scent of reminisce felt the rushing, ever rushing, sun
Dashing headlong ahead of earth in my wishing stars
Pulling earth like a dawdling toddler running into chimeras of
Fleeting dawns and uncatchable dusky time in taunted moonlit glee.
Stormy darkness of gypsy memories throbbed in lightning flashes
Illuminated my godless thundering regrets
On wild midnights stumbling through windswept briar tangled valleys,
Soul soaking rains of prodigal shame, and I remember waking to grace.
9-4-21
Contest: "V" New or Old
Sponsor: Constance La France
1-23-23
Contest: Poetry Marathon Mile 24
Sponsor: Mark Toney
24 Lines
The day the king died I was born,a cold and windswept winter's day,
the ward in black-band silence mourned, the pious knelt and wept and prayed.
Not destined for a coronette, nor tolling of cathedral bell,
I was christened on a gingham set, with water drawn from garden well.
Now higher courts have bade me in to seat me high in heaven's realm
and crown me as His kith and kin, a trusted prince beside the helm.
Now clear and clean of tainting sin royal robes enfold my form,
a living well now flows within, through grace and faith I am reborn.
Let the pens flow competition
Jenish Somadas 20/06/20
Have you ever given thought on how language impacts you,
good or bad it all depends on the words you ruminate & chew
be careful what you choose to expel when your mouth spews
for it can either bless someone or wound, bet you never knew
that one can learn to ponder words and usher without blurt
do not speak on angry terms for all it does is bring more hurt
when the sun go down, tuck away hostility and don't be curt
make sure you care enough not to pill, rampage, or blurt
words can be a sanctuary to go to when no one seems to care
they can be a respite from that cruel world, your Lancelot dare
don't let the light of the stars cease to shine because of a flare
be slow to roll that pearly tongue, even slower to make it blare
not everyone thinks like you, wrong and right is only a concept
so don't bully your opinions on others and make them feel inept
please don't yank words out, it would be best if they overslept
good bedside manners are essential, it cannot be windswept.
July 10, 2021
Come along with me as I journey East
where fragile cherry blossoms flutter
before raining down from cloudless skies.
Let's climb majestic mountains whose crests
are always laced with crowns of snow.
Here, the scent of jasmine is caught in a breeze.
Bonsai forests hold ancient secrets of long past civilizations.
We will see dragons who seem to soar beyond the moon,
then take the shape of koi with the rising sun.
Listen as bamboo chimes sing in windswept percussion.
Their hollow voices reach across Tokachi River.
Legend says it was etched by the flowing tears
of a young Geisha who cried all night
when she saw her red-budded lips mirrored in a lake.
It's now a sacred place where lovers often meet
when the hint of a sanguine sunset fills the sky.
Their whispered words of passion's promises
are drowned in roars of towering waterfalls.
Say you'll come and we'll fly amid flocks of crane,
across paddies and valleys of lush green,
then feast upon crispy roasted duck
before we lick our fingers clean of Hoisin.
Sleep will find us beneath a blanket of willows,
and we'll gaze in awed wonder when we wake,
at the most exotic land of splendors we've ever seen.
We'll surrender promises that one day we will return,
for this is where our hearts now wish to dwell.
Give us brushes and canvas; paints of boldest oils
to capture the Oriental beauty, naked before our eyes.
July 1st, 2017
Exotic Places
by Debbie Guzzi
One summer morning on the beach
she spies her friend, and runs to greet
this lovely child, in solitaire,
with a parasol and silken hair.
A cherub look upon one's face,
while the other smiles, still filled of grace
But both are feeling young at heart
and can't resist the sand and surf
Too soon the whimsy of the day
has led them closer to the bay
The warm sand and the sea agree
to join the ocean's windswept breeze
to make their visit more replete
with gifts of summer's sweet retreat
Perfection offers them a chance
to laugh and plot, and take a glance
If no one's looking, they can shed
their shoes and stockings, free their feet
then tiptoe in and shriek in glee!
They feel each ripple undertone
which tickles toes, and chills their bones
and licks the hems of petticoats
In pastel shades of vast array
they seem two flowers, wild bouquets
that dance among the white-washed hue
of tide pools blue, and morning's dew
Two flowers sprouting here and there
cavorting along the sandy shore
Until again, it's time to go
And though, restrained, as secrets go
they must again be proper girls
-------------------------------------------------------
6/20/16
Contest: The Red Parasol by Alfred Glendening
Sponsor: Eve Roper
I longed to see Autumn's changing colors so I took a walk
along the winding tree lined path in beautiful Audubon Park
Golden leaves, edged in rust were tumbling to the ground
Then to a handsome face, my eyes were intently bound
He walked in my direction, his attention clearly not on me
His focus was on his canine, chasing a squirrel up a tree
I quickly jumped out of his way to avoid a certain collision
I laughed at the incident then he caught me in his vision
He looked as though he'd committed a most grievous sin
until he saw that I was laughing. I loved his boyish grin
I tried to act casual but my heart was beating like a drum
A drop of rain fell on my cheek. He dried it with his thumb.
It was a moment of inflection; with our eyes did we speak
We'd climbed a mountain, thrilled to have reached its peak
We lingered over coffee, talking easily through the morning
Windswept leaves were falling, but a romance was dawning
Autumn is a season that usually signals the finality of things,
the end of needed vacation days and wild Summer flings
But this Fall is special, for it's the beginning of a new love
An accidental meeting, the kind that movies are made of
9/22/17
Autumn Romance
host: Julie Rodeheaver
From the catastrophic calamity they could not hide
Frantically facing the fear of a fiery death,
they cling together until their final breath.
Arm in arm; heart against heart...
despite the impending tragedy,
determined never to be torn apart.
Love kept them side by side
Bodies stripped of flesh and still they clung
in passion bound, to flames they had succumbed
Emotions run deep as I feel their suffering
and agonizing pain that accompanied the couple
who could not refrain from devotion, even near death
embracing each other in their last moment together
while being robbed of one more breath.
As smoke darked the sanguine sky,
it was inevitable they were about to die
I imagined hearing her whisper...
"Hold me in your arms so I cannot see
death in the darkness as it approaches us
as if it were night instead of day.
Kiss me when the sun sleeps."
Helpless to end her weeping,
he swept her into his arms as hot embers
rained down upon their bodies.
He held her tighter to his chest and cried,
"Keep your fingers around my soul
and know that our love will never grow old."
Painted as if lost in a nightmarish horror,
they remained until the end of their existence
insistent on holding each other tight
but helpless to offer resistance...
until death claimed them for its own
There was no pyramid to be found
where they'd be safe from the profound hell
that rained down around them.
Their only peace was that in each other's arms
they would meet death together... entwined
Centuries later, they would be found,
limbs wound together in a profound way.
Like the ancient Pompeiian volcanic disaster
where once lived a civilization of glory,
that perished to death amid smoldering lava,
bodies burned and buried in windswept ashes...
Escape was also impossible in that calamitous story.
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.