Not the great compass winds, but the lesser,
the local winds, the mapmakers.
Odysseus once bagged them, but they escaped.
Anemoi, like the wind that de-horns goats,
or the Moorish, Melteme,
the ill-tempered one. Simoom, the poisoner
who fills throats with its tainted garments,
or Rashabbar the black wind
whose nocturnal wings blind all men.
Named, visible winds that chisel our faces,
as if we were cliffs at the edge of the world.
The Squamish, the Elephanta, the Williwaw,
time-swirling thieves. They steal the young,
the babes in their cribs and when we look for them,
a swish of a hem or a hurricane are the same.
The children return, a sculpted dervish
spiralling within them.
Tebbard, the fever wind, wanders through our bones,
a sultry doctor adding fuel to the heat
until a storm breaks, then as driftwood we are salvaged.
The Fever-bringer itself dies,
dry now as mottled kelp on carrion shores.
Winds that gnaw themselves into Chinooks and Mistral,
winds that shape and follow us
to the rim of the sky, where those celestial dragons,
North, East, South and West winds
dream fitfully of once being human.
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom
dance in the breeze down by the sea.
Roots grasping deep in the tall wavy dunes.
Pussy Willows growing in a grandiose plume.
Cat birds cry from a tall shimmering tree.
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom.
Summer is now here, so we all assume.
white gulls soar in the blue sky above me.
Roots grasping deep in the tall wavy dunes.
Nocturnal shadows creep into my room.
I fill my cherished cup with a green tea.
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom.
Essence of lilac, such a lovely perfume.
Soon to be autumn and the wonderful jubilee.
Roots grasping deep in the tall wavy dunes.
Strong winds blow-up a sand simoom.
I sit on the deck with a glass of Chablis,
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom;
Roots grasping deep in the tall wavy dunes.
IN DESERT
Sizzling Sun hitting hot hammer.
Me wandering weary in dry desert.
Fiery flame chokes, thirsty throat.
Sensing strong simoom in void vastness.
Sand specks swirl, drifting dust.
Rowdy raven doesn't dare to fly.
Camel carries me : Burnt, blurred sky !
05/07/23
Lines Syllables
1. 8
2. 10.
3. 7
4. 9
5. 6
6. 8
7. 8
Alliterisen contest
Second Place
By Joseph May.
Anemoi, the wind that de-horns goats.
Moorish Melteme, the ill-tempered one.
Simoom, the lung poisoner.
Rashabbar the black swirling.
The Squamish, the Elephanta, the Williwaw,
thieves that steal babes in their cribs.
Tebbard, the fever wind, it wanders through our bones;
the sultry doctor who adds heat to chills
until, like driftwood, we are salvaged.
Chinooks and the Mistral they follow travelers
to the edge of a world,
where the great four Celestial Dragons,
North, East, South and West,
roar like thunder in our sleep
until we dream fitfully of being human.
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom
dance to the winds down by the sea.
Roots grasping deep in the tall sand dune.
Pussy Willows growing in a grandiose plume.
Cats birds cry from tall shimmering trees.
Pheasant strut in their feathered costume.
Spring is now here, so we all assume.
A white seagull soars in the blue sky above me.
Sunshine’s bright chasing away winter’s gloom.
Nocturnal shadows creep into my room.
I fill my cherished cup with a nice green tea.
Colors fill my mind as twilight now looms.
Essence of lilac, such a lovely perfume.
Soon to be May Day and the wonderful jubilee.
Cleaning the kitchen with a sweep of the broom.
Strong winds blow the sand like a simoom.
I sit on the deck with a glass of Chablis,
lost in thought as my old cat grooms.
The last of the sun’s rays do heavenly illume.
Day after day, I travelled in the inaccessible desert,
I lost myself so far unknown in searching new.
Simoom storms seen that prevented the meditation of desert.
I bathed by desert sand, I floated on the desert-sea.
Desert-rode was thirsty made new thirst ‘ I got a felling,
But I didn’t break journey, walked for thirsty of life,
I saw death, also saw fight with death for die,
I was dissatisfied, mysterious eyes of Fatema, gave me bravery.
Thought I got eyes, I got my favorite route map,
I have floated so far unknown; that eyes have drug of mysticism.
15-07-12
In the heart's garden
Love blooms in barren places
Where gardeners never dream
On harmattan sand
Without rivers of kisses
And the oasis of dew
In dark shade, lightless
And far from your distant sun
Love its fragrance on desire
No touch to root here
This plant arboreal thrives
On your moist memory, dear
In the heart's garden
Time your lush pattern traces
Carving deep hope like a stream
This harmattan sand
It's simoom winds sweet hisses
Sweet songs, for my darling, Jew
O this room, lightless
And silence from moon and sun
And we the purest bonfire
I would drink your tear
Chase bees from their sugar hives
And build our great kingdom, here.
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