The wind off the cold North Atlantic ocean
smells of piquant seawater on its breath,
agreeably pungent, brackish and moist.
The legendary Nor'easter off Newfoundland,
the bane of so, so many ships at sea,
is not a breeze with a soft, caressing hand.
It kicks and knocks and slaps and whacks and thwacks,
pummels and punches, pinches and pushes.
The stolid, sturdy imperturbable island
sits there and puts up with the abuses.
The northeasterly wind is very resentful
of its odiferous reputation.
At night, it simmers and seethes and smolders,
writhes and trembles, weeps and whines, stirs and sulks.
But, like the song says, the wind and sea smells
are "perfume to my soul". I stand alone on shore
and listen to the ocean's roar, wind's woosh,
and my mind decompresses, destresses;
this is my peace, my serenity.
I am home.
My body braced my brain
as Nature
replaced that rain.
Ping! Pang! THWACK!
I trembled from each teasing
of those deep pops
that smacked the supermarket’s roof
and pounded the parking lot.
I gazed out the glass door
and eyeballed the glitter
of cold and bald hail.
The opaque ice
littered the concrete lot,
disturbing me with
oddball beauty.
CRASH!
Thunder threatened
my inner calm,
ringing my ears with rage.
CRASH! WOOSH!
Wind joined the thunder,
sweeping past the entrance
and slamming filthy rain
into the ground.
I am the WOOSH of the trees
On a steady midnight breeze
Hear the THUD of my heartbeat
The CRACK of bones in my feet
I am very alive
I WHIMPER, BAWL, and SNIFF in tears
RATTLING beneath the weight of years
The SNORE and SHUSH of a tired mind
I'm the CLINK of treasure you find
I'm real through it all
We're the RUSH of waves from the tides
The RUMBLE of stone as earth divides
A world of HUMMING and DRUMMING
As the strings keep STRUMMING
I'm just a single sound
To The North Pole Of Course (Part Two)
The farmlands, bridges and countrysides woosh by in a rush
then vanish before my eyes at a hundred and twenty six miles per hour.
My mind is traveling at the speed of Donner and Blitzen. It goes through a magical hourglass only to nestle inside a cinnamon scented wagon that is infused with the clanking of fine china cups. A peppery scent of hot chocolate perfumes the air and lands on my palate, sweetly.
While I am being ushered forth into Christmas, I sift through time, backpedaling swifter than Santa's mistletoe kiss.
I hear his rippling laughter and melt like butter.
My extra sensory perception picks up the echoes through the halls of my memory
and I say to myself, " I think I'm going home, to the North Pole of course."
An isolated silhouette grows
amongst cowering greens as
an aimless impression yonder
trace mimicking lifeless postures.
Outlines vanish from the capture
as that raises a different outcome,
yet the instinctive mingling seems
to handily host its surroundings.
An uncomfortable challenge awaits
the undaunted souls whose remapping
and charting of the intriguing stranger
that disarms their unused weapons.
A laid-out weave of strong fibers and
the jungle gifts neatly covers it as a
large freshly killed Peccary lies in the
middle. Woosh! Snarls the elusive one!
May we be blessed to acknowledge all the wonders in our life
that have, for us, thus far accrued…
and to begin each day with a word of thanks…
and thoughts of gratitude.
Today I’m thankful for the hummingbird
as I watch her dart, hover, woosh then fly away
I’m in awe of one of nature’s tiniest and most beautiful miracles
out there on full display
“The moon’s vision of humanity
Was something that it once desired
Tinkle, swoouf, it pondered
As it’s luminescence gazed at its prodigious oceans
The defunct dissection of the body fell into silence as it glanced back
Clish, clash, it wavered
It’s fluorescence gestured odiously
Enraging it’s radiance with envy
Woosh, clasps, oceans grew in his incensed intention
It never had a society that walked on its ground
A place, that humans recall home
stomp, clasp, It thought
Oceans trickled with peril as the moon grew its waves
Slash, sloosh, the clutter that pollutes the water clustered against its weight
The moon then rebounded; remarking the objects
Sling slang, swoosh, oceans sang it's mercy
It’s reminiscence then discerned the cunning truth
“The grass always seems greener on the other side”
Swoosh, woosh, down an alpine slope my skis glide,
Kicking up mists of pristine, powdered snow.
Impassioned by an evergreen hillside,
In the breeze, my cheeks brisk with rosy glow.
Now, nestled between mountain peaks I ride,
Gazing, from the lift, at motions below.
1-16-2023
Skiing Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
the flock of doves rest
on the grass with fallen seed
all rise in a woosh
Heidi Sands
11/23/21
trees sway to and fro
the woosh of seasonal change
brazen moods of fall
the chase is on as
falling leaves migrate to earth
leaf piles my fortress
~A Drama Like No Other~
She is helpless
They are hopeless
And have been damaged beyond repair
She fought hard
Tried her best
Alas her breath left long ago
But the curtains still fall
People do bawl
As the sound of steps fills the crowded halls
But with a woosh the curtains come alive
Revealing what has been inside
The girl stands strong and proud and in awe
As she hears the audience applaud
An encore for more fills the crowded space
And as she takes a bow in place
She reads her final words out loud, which quiet the loud place.
“All work must come with creation
Be original and sweet
Life has words filled with wonder
Please listen to its beat.
Everyday is a special gift
So live life to its fullest.
Do the things you want to do, Like kissing the guy of your dreams, Getting on a certain team, Do the things you want to do, Become the person you want to be”
Have you ever heard
the woosh that comes
out of the closed door
seeping out
of the cracks
adjacent a knob
beneath the base
below the frame
above the door
anywhere actually
where air ecapes
without a hiss ?
Have you ever heard
the sound of Him
the One
that when He nears
provides your mouth
wordless, motion .
Contest Name: Silence
Sponsor: Silent One
9/1/2019
Cars fly by me, woosh.
crossing the street, hurry...run!
Is this the right street?
oops, wrong way, turn around... here?
Left, tall city, loud, need map.
Woosh, woosh
How chilly it is this very day
Rustle, rustle
How peaceful it sounds
Sniff, sniff
How exotic the smells of food around town
But there's one thing that is out of the ordinary,
You pass me by and a sudden wind blew me in
What is this, I ask
How did you do it, I questioned
You seem to not notice
Yet you did it again
Is it magic? No
Is it an illusion? Definitely not
Your wind seems like a wake up call
Should I accept it?
What will happen to me after this
Is forever a mystery
Woosh, there goes my life
I need to have a gripe
Minute by minute, hour by hour
Absorbing all your fire power
Shouting at me, hear and there
Ceramic crashing everywhere
God, you need some pills
To introduce you to some chills
To make you realise, I am only a man
And I don’t mean the bogeyman
Til death do us part, what a joke
My whole entire life has just gone up in smoke
Look out, you scream
Flashing light, sounds, am I in a day dream
looking up at the ceiling
I can’t quite make out what I’m feeling
Then, I realised it was you
That had clobbered me with a horseshoe
That once lived above the living room door
But is now lying by the side of me on the floor
God, if you can hear me at the bottom of this black hill
Please, please, I beg you!! Allow me just a few of my pills.
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