Angels have wings
Mermaids have tails
men and sailors have their own
stories to tell
people imagine a story that will sell
not just a tale
but the thing that rings the bell
the ghost of the past
and UFO's have something in common
People rarely see them
but they're there quite often
Blurry photos and ego's telling lies
Circle around like misquotes and flies
the birthplace of myths and legends
The story tellers before radio and television
The mind and the mouth
put on a disguise
Some to teach wisdom
others to just surprise
Thank you, Wind, for sitting with me -
A most uncommon interviewee.
Glad to help, won't you take good notes,
So that you may avoid misquotes?
Sure, I think that would be a crime.
Tell our readers how you spend time.
I love to travel everywhere,
So many places I move the air.
I have pushed ships across the sea
To new lands of opportunity.
I caress folks' faces and skin.
So they feel good outside and in.
I convey smells of fresh baked bread,
Jasmine flowers and roses, red,
The happy shouts of kids at play,
And singing birds to start the day.
Do you ever find that you get bored?
Are there more pastimes you've explored?
I make ladies' hair come undone.
I swiftly rustle skirts for fun.
I blow a hat off of a head.
I'll make a field goal miss instead.
Sometimes, when I get furious,
I'm a cyclone, injurious.
Thanks Wind, I've enjoyed our meeting.
This will be engaging reading.
And so, the interview ended.
Notes on which the piece depended,
Placed on the cafe table, unbound,
Were blown here, there, and all around,
As the interviewer was taught,
The Wind's a guy who can't be caught.
Laying here upon the
damp grass
Looking about at the
cattails
On a breeze the weeping
willow
trees musky sweet,
spicey smells
Silver threads weave through
the nights skies
while reflecting
off the turquoise colored
lake with misquotes
buzz interjecting
The moon a crescent shape
sits proud way up
above so high
Soon the sound of
an owl flies overhead as
I smile with a sigh
The beauty here on this night
in the quiet of this
country setting view
Makes me wonder why
I ever left
Country girl at heart
I am true
The angry red face of Mammon
peaks out from behind the now
green skirts of sweet Libertas
and misquotes the very words
that bought him his freedom
bare wood, plain steel, fresh-fired clay
what is left lying around and about
the ream of handwritten novel notes
dangling conversations, what can I say
lives transcending their meaning without
the human errors, mistakes, misquotes
that were wanted to straighten and correct
the second chances, opportunities missed
if we could do all that we had desired
but left in hindsight are only circumspect
the bucket things we've left off the list
forget all the junk that had transpired
would we then go gently into that night
the importance of all the parts unfinished
at the final analysis just doesn't matter
maybe exiting the stage without stage fright
without final polish somehow undiminished
those things unsaid, some unfinished chatter
things mattered more back then in the middle
now freed of life to freely speak mind
simply felt simply known and simply said
things before, more of a Gordian riddle
so the rope is cut, such a tenuous line
things left unfinished to simply go ahead
© Goode Guy 2011-06-01
for a friend
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.