In my youth, I never whistled at a passing woman.
In my youth, I never made a raunchy catcall.
But I’m sure the gist of what I must've been thinking
could’ve made a city like Sodom or Gomorrah fall.
Seeking solitude, through glass doors I ventured into the forest.
Led by a path of thickened brush.
At winter's end, temp' sixty strong, it made for a pleasant stroll, enhanced by the whistles of the mild wind
Captivated by the walls of flower and green scenery whilst inside, I stood motionless
With the leaves blowing in rhythm, and the whistling singing
"Like a candle in the wind" ...
I tilt my nog' to the earth beneath my feet
While standing on stone; I thought
I noticed it was a headstone with faded and dulled letters
"Mose and Mary- 1884" it read; I trust
With a chilled spine- I wondered...
Was it them, who whistled me here to their home
I sat for hours celebrating with them,
In rhythm with the leaves
While the wild wind whistled
"Their Anniversary"
I assumed
That guy just whistled at me.
What guy?
That guy.
I stare at my friend, incredulous.
Why would he whistle at her?
I am the cute one.
So I drag her back there.
HEY!
The six workers pretend not to notice us.
HEY! YOU! THE FAT ONE!
They all glare at me.
“She’s talking to you,” one says to another.
They are all about the same level of fat.
They begin a huge argument about it.
I shrug.
Understanding better now.
Whistled
from recorder
echoed through twilight night
reverberating sound of bliss
breath of life blown into the thick wide mouth
as warm air flows through nostrils` pipe
fingers move like floating
floss,as the air
whistled.
Olusegun Arowolo ;Date:05-31-12
Contest:`Sound of emotion` sponsored by Nette Onclaud
From out of the shadow and haunt of night, cam the little bird whistling at a star.
And when the angels appeared with candles of light, I saw their gold and flaxen
Hair reflecting starlight through the air; whose faces glowed in silver sheen brought
To life my vivid dream, and there in pastoral fields of myrrh I saw this place where
Angels were.... Where cherubs flitter on butterfly wing; where velvet chimes and
Skybells ring; where melodic choruses of angels sing; where fern and flower sweetly
Beam.... Oh what a privilege it is to dream.
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