Wafted Poems

Listen to the Wind

"The answer is blowin' in the wind" ~ Bob Dylan, 1963

One fine day, I sat upon my hammock, swayin'.
I heard the breeze, and asked, "what are you sayin?"
 
    "Would you truly like to know?", he said with a gust, 
     "I'll tell you if I must", stirring up some dust. 

     I'm as old as the world.  I've seen all places.
     I recall everything that time erases. 

     I've visited battlefields and soldiers, brave,
     and cemeteries, with many a lonely grave. 

     I caressed Indian grass and cottonwood trees.
     I pushed ships carrying horses, guns, and disease. 

     I carried jasmine perfume aloft in the air
     and mussed up Rapunzel's long and golden hair.  

     I wafted through an orphanage where children play.
     I puffed Babe Ruth's called home run one October day. 

     There's just one remaining thing I forgot to say,
     The wind never gives anything away".

Yet, I understood not a word the wind had said,
for he blew me off my hammock onto my head.

Oh, what I'd know if it weren't that I were dead.

Thunder Mountain

As I fondled my plunder
A wind from down under 
Got caught on the breeze

It wafted and floated
But still I felt bloated
And dropped to my knees 

As it tore me asunder
I recalled days of thunder
What'd help to appease

My stomach just rumbled
In agony mumbled
Some TUMS if you please 

Took more than two rolls
Prayers read from dead scrolls
To cure this disease 

But then belly now loaded
The wind then exploded...
And blew bark off the trees

By the Streetlamp

on our way back from a trip,
got down by the bright streetlamp.
hunger raged, bowels rumbled.
the inviting smell of food,
wafted from nearby cafe.
noodles and spicy meat fry,
with a cup of steaming tea,
titillated our palate.

MY OLD NEIGHBORHOOD

MY OLD NEIGHBORHOOD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
crackerbox houses
     a house a plumber 
          could afford, 
               barely.
I recall the pecan tree, 
     remembering
          how I spent many afternoons
               writing stories and poems under its branches.
the street was once charged with life~
     kids walking to and from school,
           playing kick-the-can, hide ‘n seek, 
              hopscotch, and red rover. 
streetlights told us
     it was time to go home. 
but the years brought change
     what was once full of life
          is now silent. 

Everyone has moved on.

But in my mind’s eye, I can still see
     the cracks in the sidewalk,
          the rustling of the pecan tree, 
               the setting sun while drinking iced tea on the front porch,
                    and smelling dinner cooking as it wafted through the open windows. 
*Note: This poem was originally published at Poetry Soup, June 2025, and Lucky Jefferson Literary Magazine, July 2025.

Campsite Breakfast

“Wake up, breakfast is cooking.”
Bacon in cast iron skillet,
sounds and smells, wafted through the tent.
“Coming”, the crackling bacon got me!

Early One October Morning

The smell of humidor
Charmed the old house and
Frightened me as I ascended the
Narrow stairwell that gentle
October morning.
The song of autumn was playing
Low, and with astute grace.
Silent, the royal smell wafted between Cuba
And Denmark,
Across fat rank grass of fecund roots.
I snuffled through fogs of earliness,
Webbed by clamping cold.
Cigars without smoke took over from the
Humidor and hugged my lungs.

Trading Silence for Roses

Fragrances of roses wafted throughout the garden
No idea why I had been invited, but I cherished this scent
Others milled around in fancy frocks and expensive suits
My dress was a plain blue with tiny yellow daisies

“I hear you traded silence for roses,” someone said.
Thought he was talking to me. Turned to answer.
Found myself facing two gorgeous apricot rose bushes.
Knew I would have to speak eventually, but not yet.

Did not recognize the rest of the staff, as I was new.
School had not started yet; we were at an ice breaker.
Was going to ditch this activity but my mother talked me into it.
She loved roses and asked me to take pictures.

I pulled out my camera and began to get some close ups.
Pink, peach, red, yellow and white blooms posed innocently.
“I hear you traded silence for roses,” the same voice said.
I turned and faced the speaker. a handsome young lad.

“I guess we both did,” I replied.
He had a nice smile, beautiful light blue eyes.
“I am glad I am here,” he told me. “I do adore roses.”
He made many points in my mother’s book for this.

Oh Man Peach Cobbler

Warm, sweet, delicious, and dripping with flavor
Cinnamon vanilla ice cream melts off her top
I was salivating during the baking
lovely fragrance wafted through grandma’s kitchen
Peach cobbler
Yummy!

Enchanted deer enters Exquisite Forest

Whispers of an enchanted deer wafted through the oaks and the lilies
The exquisite forest came alive with new fantastical creatures
Roses are always doubters, so they disagreed with their thorns
But most of the flowers were open to the rumor, eager to see the deer

A gentle breeze preceded the deer into the thicket of florals
The deer was lovely, with scrolls, and beautiful nearly pastel colors
I love her, the daisies said/
A testament to the truth; daisies love everything.
The deer looked around approvingly, she enjoyed new places.

This forest was exquisitely beautiful; she could be happy here.
A brown stag with fourteen points looked her over pronouncing her queen.
She shyly told him she expected to earn her place like the other creatures.
The weeds were thrilled; a deer with integrity; this was a welcome relief.

The View from the Window

Like a picture frame encasing the beauty of the ocean,
the moving curtains wafted by the breeze,
the waters sparkle and blue skies enhance the view.

We found a piece of paradise in this haven of peace.
A well needed rest from the hurly burly of our busy lives. 
Time is slower here, the air is clear and we can breathe again.

The palm outside the window waves to the glistening sea
and brightly coloured birds add to the perfect palette of creation. 
The window like a picture frame depicting utopia.

Magnificent, Magnolious Saucer Magnolias

Twenty years ago this month I was in Enid A. Haupt Garden, a manicured
garden surrounded by two rows of saucer magnolia trees. The magnolious
large, cup shaped flowers showcasing breathtaking display of white or
pinkish-purple petals with outer petals of darker shade of pink or purple.

The petals, thick, soft and velvety scattered on the ground and benches.
I was swept away by the pleasant fragrance and captivated by the scent, a
combination of sweet, floral and slightly citrusy. A fragrance so noticeable
for the scent wafted through the garden, creating a pleasing aroma, like a
sweet lemony candy. Unforgettable! When will I see and smell them again?

Reverence of a Texas Sky

Waves of pale blue wafted through the quilted Texas sky
Highlighting the tangerines and lavenders of the evening
Grandpa’s old windmill looked picturesque in the distance
Sundown believes in imagination, adoration and fantasy

I stared into the ribboned distance, wondering if the trees suspected
They had an essential part in the mystique of the moment
Birds were reverent, none of them flew through the backdrop
My camera captured the night’s beauty, but not her silent ambiance

Vines Of Winter

Crystallized dew drops scatter across vines in winter,
while I can feel the harsh grip of the season reaching for my throat,
slithering ever closer, bitter air sweeping across crackling skin.
Loneliness weighs heavy beneath ashen clouds that coat the skies.
The scent of dry ozone fills my nostrils as I struggle to breathe.
A step upon the gelid ground makes my feet shake, trying not to fall.
I look out in every direction, seeing nothing but the barren carcass of what was once summer~
when the warmth of days seemed to stretch on forever.
The scent of fresh pine once wafted through the breeze;
those days are now just a bygone memory,
shattered , lost in the frozen mist.
I rub my hands together, desperate to feel something beyond the numbness.
I continue onward with my journey~
there is no time for rest now.
The sun begins to set upon alabaster fields below,
and the wolves begin their search at dusk.
I must find your burial shrouds before they do,
for they are the only way to bring us back together again.

New Years Old Wishes

New years old wishes are
the dandelion fluffs of my life’s springtime.
I blew wistfully on a pappus; its many feathered seeds
wafted – weightless as whispers – in the wind.

To where they flew, I do not know.
Very few of them found their way 
into any of my own new years yet to come.
Did they scatter out into a Dreamland,
to manifest themselves in the lives of others
of whom I sometimes felt a bit envious?

I imagine the tiny dandelion parachutes
of others’ longings as having lifted and then
drifted unexpectedly into some of my better new years.
They had not been my specific wishes; nevertheless,
they were gracious seedlings of yearnings 
that planted themselves and grew to bless my life.

I stopped blowing on candles or dandelion fluff
many many years ago. Hardly any wants -new or old -
do I wish for any more.  Life is what it is.
In any new year, I will take what floats my way.

Quatrain 7 - Whatever happened to those days

Whatever happened to those days of wine and roses?
when the fragrance of love wafted through our noses.
And each moment was filled with so much joy,
like our childhood days playing with a new toy.
__________________________

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