Boreas, the North Wind
I am in Iceland, 90 miles from the Arctic Circle,
walking through a gorge in a valley between
European and North American plates. Fierce
Boreas funnels its headstrong wind right at me
tears my knit hat off my head, rakes my hair.
I’m in Rekjavik, at the city’s highest point
walking half-way between Hallgrimskirja Church
and Leif Eriksons’ statue when Boreas sends a gust
ripping glasses from my face. I chase them across
the square, miraculously retrieve them intact.
The is a land of extremes, powerful geysers,
roiling rivers, cascading waterfalls, high mountains,
floating icebergs, volcanoes, poised to erupt, lava
flows, one thermal Blue Lagoon, acres in size
defies frigid air, soothes sore muscles.
This is a land ruled by the North Wind Boreas, erratic,
hungry, sleeping rarely, it is terrifying, exhilarating,
raw as life itself.
Wounded by the weeping north wind, with the moon in my hands I'd bandage my longing,
Only now does love begin, a paradox that becomes my flight.
In your absence, I find you again, my beloved vanished from the world,
And the wounds will always sing, welcoming you in silent memory.
The waters of the world have swallowed you, and I, wounded, remain lost in the cold,
Gesturing toward the negative infinity, a love grown in silence.
We resisted, the sun and the moon, in a dance of celestial shadows,
And only now does love begin when I feel you'll forever be missing from me.
Our words, frozen, are foreign tongues that no longer unite,
At the border between yes and no, a silent witness whispers that I love you.
When everything happens naturally, and paradox becomes our law,
Only now does love begin, when you, my love, are the blue star.
In the silence between us, a song is born, an echo of longing and dreams,
I've loved you always, in the night sky, a promised beacon of love.
And in your absence, I find you again, like a light that dispels my shadows,
When I know I've lost you forever, the love within me deeply matures.
It’s not that I am languid, more that I am chagrined.
So disappointed to be met by this dreadful north wind.
I am on my way to see him, and I will look so disheveled.
I am convinced the god Boreas is inclined to be bedeviled.
They say I have a porcelain face and that I never smile.
This is not my usual demeanor my intention is to beguile.
My soft chiffon garment intended to drape my delicate form.
Is now windswept without hope of keeping me warm.
I hold my scarf, my slender fingers holding it in place.
The daffodil I wear remains to draw attention to my face.
My ruby red lips catch the light as they shine like wine.
Hoping my raven hair will still shimmer and appear divine.
Blurred from the gusty wind are my lovely blue eyes.
They say I have undeniable beauty, now I feel otherwise.
My slate-colored scarf billows to resemble a conch shell.
The blackbird fighting against the wind isn’t doing well.
Soon I will be with my dear one in the safety of indoors.
My resistance to this harsh north wind, all for a good cause.
The movement depicted not allowing treachery to advance.
Shows strong resistance between nature and romance.
the last remaining vestiges of autumn
bitter clingers
parched and weary
shriveled in dismay
harried and harassed by an ill north wind
launch into oblivion
to join the sea of lifeless carcasses
on the forest floor
----------
for the Winter Storm Poetry Contest
sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
written on 12/25/22
The flowers of the spring are known
Throughout the land, they bloom and grow
But those that bloom when else is naught
Quietly show their beauty wrought
In winter’s grasp upon the earth
Kin’s absence is what shows their worth
The fragile winter flower’s grace
Is not that bold, nor that great
Yet because it stands alone
It stands upon an icy throne
For it has thrived where others died
That fills it with a secret pride
And defiantly it shows its love
As it gazes east to the sun
The sun which rises up above
And hurries to its bed, the west
To slumber deep, its glow arest
And all the while the north wind blows
Biting cold in winter’s throes
Which the flower weathers deftly
As it struggles as it gently
Lifts its head East in morning gold
And blooms defiant in the cold
They say the north wind
it doesn't blow enough but
ask the fallen leaves ...
I was dancing along on a windy day
When the north wind began to blow me away
I loved the feeling of that, so yelled hip hip hooray!
Surprising the north wind, who had decided to play.
How Winter Goes
David J Walker
This is how the winter goes
North wind blows
Runny nose
Nothing grows
Highs are lows
While
The old folks
Endlessly
double-bundle
fighting off the cold
swearing next winter
will be different
Spent in Miami
Spent in bundles in
The jungles of a
Florida swamp
Calling my sister
Asking her to text me
Mothers Recipe
For Sweet Cornbread
Mother would
except she’s dead
Tonight we will have
A hot bowl
Of beef stew and
Celebrate her Life
She would have been 102
This is how the winter goes
No one knows
Where time goes
Once and done
the setting sun
in early afternoon
When the north wind blows, and the aroma is quite bleak
Be careful with the push, you might get more than a squeak
12/5/21
Your Funniest Couplet Ever Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Killer of dreams
—the moment says goodbye
(Pine Ridge South Dakota: July, 2009)
blowing in from north
she has eagle-like stature
takes over quickly
north wind
winter whispers
night warble
BLOWS THE NORTH WIND
From off North Sea, a night wind cold,
reminding me of growing old,
each joint in pain, each pain held dear,
lest in the end, I die from here,
but die we must, or so I'm told.
Out of the coming of the dawn,
tomorrow's hope, life's going on,
my hope for sunlight, soft and warm,
to rid me of my painful norm,
Night on your way!! O! Death be gone!
Out of the night, from off North Sea,
as I have mentioned previously,
no wind you've felt has ever blown,
so cold to chill your heart and bone,
so deep as this wind does to me.
Out from tomorrow's warming trend,
with dawn, the touching of a friend,
I hold the glow that kisses me,
as dear as life--it seems to be,
the touch of God, and not the end.
Off from North Sea, out from the night,
tis frigid, constant freezing bite,
The blowing wind, a winter's gale,
makes every joint I have to fail,
but love the pain, or die I might.
In light, tomorrow shall be less
of pain brought on by cold's progress,
and I no longer wish to die,
but hope to see you, by and by,
to make complete some happiness.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
whistling
alone in the house
north wind
Haiku 14
under the north wind
is the vast snow covered field
pure white blinds the eyes
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