Short Turbines Poems

The turbines are seen
   On fields along country roads
   They stand row on rows
   The blades are spinning slowly
    Other turbines blades are still...

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Wind Turbines. 

I see a bank palace 
lit up like a planet of excesses, 
the glory of the powerful.
I also see a landscape 
littered by a thousand wind turbines 
wasted by its wonder and peace
to keep the palace in
the vanity of power...

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Bright among the trees,  red walls
shelter sleeping machines. Silently, 
the mill watches over the spring.

Blue green water from deep secret caves
splashes down the mill race
but no longer turns turbines.

Dragonflies dart through the reeds.
Summer hums a drowsy tune.


June 6, 2018...

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with bitter winds of sand and spray
and flecks of rain against my face
how different this land looks today
 - a drenched vast unforgiving place.

the turbines veiled in mist offshore
first fade then vanish out at sea
this world feels colder than before
 - so why this warmth inside of me?
...

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.

beneath a sea, plates of dispute spawn waves,
born with the intent to leave the shoreline
altered

_
turbines of wind in pillage of fury, 
kill the helpless, but do not leave courage
altered

_
from brilliance of a firestorm's vengeance
don't be blinded by fear, hope must not be
altered




________________________________________________
Form-- Dixdeux O 
for Deb's Contest: Wannabe Haikuettes...

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turbines&apartments
                           awake
diggers&cranes release
                      their brakes
roads alive
           with commuter cars
bridges teem 
           with pedestrians
umbrellas uplift
                in passing showers
pylons pulsate
                 their powers
corn flakes crackle,toast browns
                            eggs hard-boil
work prepares
                    a day full of toil...

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In an American primitive painting
she fetches a pail from a well;
the bucket on her hip is full of
broken eagles,
wind turbines churn in the distance.

Corn fields are bundled together.
Drones hum like doves in the evening.
The art of moon-spinning
is practiced on front porches.
People make do with
transitory Amazon wants.

Most get caught by the faceless winds,
those rattling sighs that spread
the dry seeds
of unwanted crops....

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