The wind leans in sideways to drink every word,
Just as sailors must tack sideways to go upwind.
It's only with angles we know the wind's wrangles.
Its riddles, scattered among willy-nilly answers,
Whispered as secrets, spilling to shake the leaves.
When gales blow hard; many tumble quaking in fear,
Others stand up to harness its power and steer,
Watching their vanes to predict omens ahead,
Hoping for kind winds to come their way soon,
In the wily wandering ways of the gusts and whims.
The wind is an oracle, chanting psalms on wing.
It carries the chorus of birds calling at dawn.
The rumble of thunder in an approaching storm.
The calls from a distance; bells whoops and cooee's
But it's no secret its gathers can ever stay still—
For all sounds are bent to the command of its will.
For sound needs winds in the air to transmit downhill.
Only falling silent; when wind's becalmed and still.
For with no wind, all is just silence, dressed to kill.
Downwind
of my perception
Upwind
before the fall
Immune
in my protection
From dullards
at the mall
The past
remains in focus
The future
but a myth
My words
fall out of judgment
Each phrasing
to enrich
To read
with understanding
To hear
beyond the din
To feel
beyond the senses
To love
beyond the rim
Released
without containment
On wings
not leased or loaned
Into
the inner sanctums
With time
— Goliath’s stone
(The New Room: June, 2025)
Is the Oracle wise
the Buddha fat
or the Great
Niagara wet
Description wanes
where titan’s reign
as words are left
to falter
And blow upwind
against the grain
in messages
— sublime
(The New Room: December, 2024)
A hunter
not skinner
with quarry
so vast
Whose path
through the forest
is first
—never last
(Garrett Hill Pennsylvania: January, 2021)
A bulldog was having a day so fine
The weather was scrumptious simply divine!
The pony came upwind, scared him to death.
He must have fallen into load of meth.
Bulldog’s eyes watered, he thought he might cry.
Cat and bunny wandered rapidly by.
Bunny was hopping, and giving him flash
Of a cute tail, her name was McNash.
Cat, mean as the day is lively and smart.
He smelled her butt, a tiny feline fart.
The hen clucked by, with her six baby chicks.
He fell down laughing, at her lively mix.
The pony was ageless, the hen was old.
All of this, he knew. His sniffer was gold.
Where does this wind blow in from,
where has it been, what has it done?
Vanes it twisted, clothes it flapped.
Fog and smoke palls blown away.
Sails it tautened, eagles soaring supported.
Blow-ins are welcome with hair bedraggled
clothes disheveled, flapped to tatters
For the wind makes being untidy acceptable,
especially when facing upwind right in the face of it.
The wind will drop soon, and die away, begone
leaving the parade to stand easy.
Late one night under a moonlight glow,
I questioned my life and alter-ego,
Am I the dunderhead that had it all wrong?
Was I just a chorus in someone else’s song?
Reminiscing to the voice of an owl,
Wondering what life really meant now,
Other than surviving my own death each night,
I am incapable of separating wrong from right.
Idling along the highway so grey,
I watched as the reaper took his life away,
Caught up in traffic without any flow,
The ambulance left with nowhere to go.
That day I’d worn a suit like a senator,
Living the dream to be a cash generator,
Climbing corporate walls to climb out of the gutter,
These elusive heights turning me into a nutter.
Foul stench of the land drifting upwind,
Falling from man and his infernal sin,
I continued to wipe the dried salt from my eye,
With memories fading of that time passing by.
With the crowd I abscond from the dream,
Into a reality that’s virtually unseen,
Submitting myself to now live with the hoards,
I wrapped my torn wrists from where blood poured.
(c)2016 PJ Bayliss
Late one night under a moonlight glow,
I questioned my life and alter-ego,
Am I the dunderhead that had it all wrong?
Was I just a chorus in someone else’s song?
Reminiscing to the voice of an owl,
Wondering what life really meant now,
Other than surviving my own death each night,
I am incapable of separating wrong from right.
Idling along the highway so grey,
I watched as the reaper took his life away,
Caught up in traffic without any flow,
The ambulance left with nowhere to go.
That day I’d worn a suit like a senator,
Living the dream to be a cash generator,
Climbing corporate walls to climb out of the gutter,
These elusive heights turning me into a nutter.
Foul stench of the land drifting upwind,
Falling from man and his infernal sin,
I continued to wipe the dried salt from my eye,
With memories fading of that time passing by.
With the crowd I abscond from the dream,
Into a reality that’s virtually unseen,
Submitting myself to now live with the hoards,
I wrapped my torn wrists from where blood poured.
(c)2016 PJ Bayliss
Stock-still in gold dawn light while many sleep,
perched, scanning, on abandoned termite heap.
Expectant, skin tingles as in cold breeze
contrasting with the stillness of the trees.
The tracking beeper focuses our minds
as aerial picks target from behind.
Cheetah ten yards away now caught off guard
upwind of us, head cocked and staring hard.
Long looks exchanged,unspoken things are passed
and finally, spell broken, goes at last.
Reeling, those breathless minutes went so fast.
A memory of my time in Namibia, 2009, and the above
photo was taken by me. We nicknamed him 'Blackeye'. No fence between us. Awesome.
13th January 2016
For contest 'Spectacular Acrostic', by John Hamilton
Above the sea
another ocean
and just as blue
Sailing upwind
is all impossible
But don't give up yet
Little by little I come to you
We' d catch each wave
We'll ride the tide
Little by little,We'll make it right
I don't believe in fairies
but I believe in you
And I know,You know
Little by little you come to me
just the way I do
Together We can make it
One pillow shared by two
Our sailor moon will take us
above the sunset hue
Years robbed away our passion
but could not steal our dream
In our dream all is possible
Our lost wings We'll redeem
With our wings We do wonders
Our freedom makes us whole
We'll let dead stars shine their light
in the dark night of our soul.
Charmaine Chircop
PS : These lyrics I've written are now being played in a song by talented Archie Clifford and Alice Clark.If you have five minutes to spare please do support me and them by visiting this link
'http://soundcloud.com/archieclifford/archie-clifford-ft-alice-clark-little-by-little'.
Yes,Do visit soundcloud and support the song 'Little by little'please!!!
Above the sea
another ocean
and just as blue
Sailing upwind
is all impossible
But don't give up yet
Little by little I come to you
We'd catch each wave
We'll ride the tide
Little by little,We'll make it right
I don't believe in fairies
but I believe in you
And I know,You know
Little by little you come to me
just the way I do
Together We can make it
One pillow shared by two
Our sailor moon will take us
above the sunset hue
Years robbed away our passion
but could not steal our dream
In our dream all is possible
Our lost wings We'll redeem
With our wings We'll do wonders
Our freedom makes us whole
We'll let dead stars shine their light
in the dark night of our soul
Desert Head
The tales they told of ole sailor Fred,
Had skin-grafts a grafted on top of his head,
To keep out the baldness, a triangular patch,
Touch of a p smell coming, perhaps,
with the new hairy faerie thatch,
stay upwind & have a care,
They
Hand grafted his pubic hair,
The curly stuff sort-ov a growing there,
no cause for blinking despair,
like a new turf a growing instead,
on yester-years billiard ball head,
there goes Freddy the Lair * : }-
tuit sweet, complete with new hare,
and the curls begot curls, so they said,
{pretty boy}
Don Johnson
Russell Sivey
Contest Name Good Luck Meal
Aussie Drover’s tucker
Build your fire upwind of the billy,
If you want it to more than shepherd boil,
Thick slabs of Corn meat n damper, (camp oven bread)
with a drop of tomato sauce,
Or corn meat fritters fried on the coals,
In kidney fat of course,
A billy full of Bushels tea,
Just sitting on a log,
And banana fried well, fritters,
Washed down with some tea or grog,
Sometimes .
On New year’s days a droving .
I see a green, slimy smog coming from your mouth
It smells so bad, it should have come from down south
You smile like it's no big deal
If bad breath was a move in wrestling, you could go for the kill
I give up, so I will wave the white flag
Don't breathe my way, your breath makes me gag
I will stay upwind to avoid the wave of the breath attack
Do you eat fresh onion and garlic as a snack?
Febreeze won't help neutralize you
We can solve this with a mouth full of Gorrilla Glue
If that don't work you be outside the bio dome
Get the hint? Your parents don't even invite you home
There is no me and you as friends
Your breath is like time, it never ends
The female deer would not breed with you if you were a stag
Move on, move out, your breath makes me gag
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