Draped in a window frame,
Watching the ever-changing
White face of the moon.
Starlight a light kiss
Upon his alabaster skin.
The chilling wind
Whispers the secrets of the world,
As he stares
Into a black + white void
And dreams of eternity.
In the directions
North to where the polar bears live
Dancing with the trees
The wind blows.
The wind blows
North to the
The wind blows.
The wind blows
South to the
tropical ran forests.
The wind blows.
The wind blows
East to the
The wind blows.
The wind blows
West to the
islands of the
The wind blows.
The day was crisp, as autumn should be, yet a hint of spring permeated the atmosphere as the odd trio sauntered down the winding driveway. The girl, clearly the leader, appeared tall for being only fourteen years old. Dusty black crocs smacked the cracked pavement on her equally dirty feet. Her red fleece jacket, too large for her flimsy frame, clung desperately to her shoulders as the rest billowed out behind her pointy elbows. The playful breeze hurled her hair into her blue eyes and laughed as she carelessly attempted to restore order to it. She looked almost comical – a scarecrow against a backdrop of the breathtaking Adirondacks. Yet somehow, she belonged.
Her furry companions vied with the wind for supremacy as the breeze once more tickled their erect ears. Determined to catch the source of their teasing, the thin white legs sprung into action as their tormentor danced away. Defying gravity, the stocky lambs soared through the air after their cowardly adversary. They landed with a flourish and returned to trot alongside their lanky friend. Little black hooves scurried to keep time with big black shoes. Before they could fully regain their breath, the invisible foe again whispered a taunt in their ears and once more they cavorted away. Read more »
The wan wind rolls past. A warm wind; the soft snow sinks, into the mud with a sigh and a whisper:
I'll be back
and dribbles away. Look! on the drying seafloor, long-lost treasures:
yellow-grey grass, slimy salt sludge; a candy wrapper red and a grimy soggy shoe. Rough cold, grainy cold: wet in the wind.
A log; a moss; a bit
of snow in a lump freezes as it melts—glistening green moss on a crumbling red log.
Still pretty cold.
The wind was knocking at my door with the sweet whisper of death. This whisper is known to me, not foreign like it is to most. The wind came knocking before, my little brother, only 5, cancer. I could hear the whispers of the wind on my brother’s door across the hall. In the morning the wind was gone, and so was my little brother. Two years passed, the wind came knocking again, my mother, 39, drown herself. She couldn’t live without her son. The wind came knocking louder than before. My father left when I was five, an orphan now the wind came knocking on my door. You can’t ignore the wind, even if your 13, molested and stabbed to death, then put in an alley way trash bin, no one ever found that little girl of course no one ever looked. Sweet death is what happened when the wind came knocking.
He strives for flight
Arms extended, fingers spread
Legs locked together
Toes pushing up
His wings beg for the wind
Chest open, nose upturned
Thinking he alone,
Can master flight
She knows the air.
Knows it like her own name.
Wings cupped to descend
Hair brushed delicately aside
Her slender feet touch gently down
Shy and graceful
She took to the wind
As one born to it
The waves crash unmercifully
Upon the glass-ridden shore
The ocean wolves howl
And tear frothing at the air
They crash furiously
Against the craggy rocks
Sending up plumes
Of ocean spray
The wind shrieks and wails
Hounding on the storm.
A ship rides the waves
Plunging and yawring
Trying to heed
The flash of the island
And fight the teeth of the storm
It ended with a breath
A quiet hush
In the star-blackened night
Unheard 'neath the sky,
The silent sound of death
Mingled with the flow of crimson
The scent upon the air
Salty, rusty, red
Tainting the wind
And staining the earth
With stolen lifeblood
Watching the wind move around from object to object is like watching a cosmic game of tag. And I'm it. My arm lifts easily, flowing with the wind to pass it on to a leaf who has lost its tree. The leaf takes flight, rushing past my feet to nudge a reluctant tree. The breeze from trunk to stem to twig to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf to leaf. The final leaf stretches out as if to break from its mother tree but instead passes the remaining wind to a cat tail. Read more »
The wind gets at my face and a tear drips down my face.
I wonder if the gust of wind is the real reason for my tears.
The Trees Song
As I stood at the field
With the trees on its edge all along
Swayed with the wind
giving me their joyful song Read more »
I hear the running of feet and the loud exclamations of teammates. Wind blows past me stirring my hair into my face. I feel hidden no one notices me as I write this. No comments, looks or remarks as I write. Each team shouts at the opponent's plays and actions. The ball sails above the people and everyone watches. It continues to fly throught the air until it has flown over the roofs of the building. The ball disappears. Game over.
The snow crunches under me.
I see the wind blow.
I smell the drafts wafting from the kitchen.
I feel as cold as an icicle.
I see my dog off in a distance playing in the snow.
I hear the wind howling in my car.
I taste the snow drifting down from the sky.
The calm winds of summer brush gently over the yellowed waves of wheat. The sky was turning dark gray, the sign of a storm. A call of a raven spilt the air like an ax when it hit's a log of maple. The air was warm, but a cool, harsh breeze was on the darkening horizen. Then the first raindrop fell upon the dry earth.
The wind whips up the tiny snowflakes, roaring like fire as away it goes.
Fierce as a lion, swift as an eagle, hunting for harder prey to prove its strength.
The wind believes that it is a champion.
But the rocks do not.
I was laying in the snow when it happened. The sky darkened and all of the sudden it had a greenish touch to it. I knew what that greenish touch meant: storm. I had stood up, gazing at the slightly emerald sky; I was confused. Only a few seconds ago it was a beautiful day outside, but now, that was certainly going to change. The winds started whipping at my head, sending my hair into a whirlpool of snarls. I felt like screaming, but I knew that doing so would never get me anywhere. Tears were already dancing down my long face, not unlike the rain that was now pooring onto the ground. Read more »
Ice clings to the
branches and turns
hanging in the sun.
Snow covers the
ground and sparkles
with white light.
Trees offer a
shield from the
cold and snow
like a secret hideaway.
Wind races across
the black and white
pushes into every
pore of me with
its cold, chilling breath.
Whipping my hair back against my neck
Making my eyes water
Billowing the branches in the trees
Making the leaves twirl and dance on air
Trying to find me and catch me
Like a never ending game of Hide-and-Go-Seek
Almost as refreshing as water
The wind unwinds my braids,
Tangling them and blowing them away
As I stand under the skies and breathe in the clouded air,
Immersing myself in the cool spring breeze.
The world is green,
So vibrantly, emerald green,
As if summer forgot to leave this year.
The wind whips through the maple trees,
Brushing wind chimes and filling the air
With the sound of breeze and bells,
As the promise of rain tickles the back of my mind;
The sky is heavy with cold anticipation.
The clouds are white,
Gathering and gathering,
Preparing for the storm.
The wind whips and sings
And the chimes jingle.
My hair comes loose and flies in the cold air.
I am free.
The wind freezes,
Leaves stop moving in silent anticipation.
I duck under a tree branch as the clouds smile coldly
As the first drops of rain brush the top of my head,
And the wind starts to breathe again,
Heralding the beginning of the storm.
To the longing
Call of a lone bird
Its harrowing voice filled
With secrets snatched away by
The constant curling of the writhing wind.
To the wailing
Whistle of the browning
Trees their boughs bending
Forced to release their brittle and aged
Secrets to the howling of the maddened wind.
To the whispers
Of the swaying brown
Grass edged with green voicing
The rebirth of the season the circle
Spinning secrets stolen by the avenging wind.
To the deep
Song of the flowing
River reaching through the
Land laughing and weeping for
Its secrets claimed by the mighty wind.
To the cries
Of the souls as they
Travel across the land
Holding to them for comfort
Stolen secrets on the wings of the wind.
I am in the woods
Thundering sky through the trees
I am alone
Listen to my heart beat
Boom Boom Boom Boom
There’s nothing there
Sudden gust of wind
Go with the wind
And I am gone I have become the wind
I chased the wind
As it slipped over the hills,
Flowed through my fingers,
Twisted my hair
My face turned into the cool, belligerent breeze
That whispered mockingly, its breath alight with life
I chased that ice-tainted spring wind
Through the brooks, over the sky,
But as it slid between my outstretched palms,
I couldn't catch it
Eyes on fire with a fierce, angered joy
I leaped over the invisible flowers,
Flew over the glassy clouds
I soared, bare feet flying over
Half snowy, half grassy plains
My clothes whipped in the wind as I flew,
Running blissfully, angrily
Over the world,
Under the moon, over the sky
In the uncertain glow of the shy sun,
I chased the wind,
But it outran me
I flew after the wind,
My long, long hair billowing behind me
Like a butterfly adrift on the contrary breeze
I soared, a comet,
Over the uncertain ground,
Caught between summer and winter,
A dazzling painting of beautiful confusion
I chased after that breath of wind, Read more »
The Wind’s a Treasure
By Molly Duncan
In the mess that the sky makes and leaves behind, between every scattered cloud is something that no one notices. It scuttles its way around looking for the perfect place to blow. The wind can be a friend to all nature and earth though it still has its fights. It still skips and plays in the moonlight. It picks the leaves up when they’re down and turns them all around. Everything has its picture perfect part of them that’s solid silver and gold. The wind is something that’s all around and is a precious thing. The wind’s a treasure that no one notices and its blizzards create a show out of the tiniest details, and its sudden breezes ripple the waves. Its quick blow lifts the objects below into the heart of the sky.
What do you whisper in the wind?
that no man's ears may hear,
and drift away to oblivion,
secrets carried, burden done,
and released in the touch of a breeze.
What little secrets can you see
in the caverns behind my eyes?
reading me like a book, and see
the story of life and what may be,
a happiness I'll never know.
Where the wind blows, who can say where.
For no one knows, whether here or there.
Dafty, the breeze plays music on the leaves,
and with a sudden gust it is gone.
Whisper and willow a leaf in the sky.
The quick gusty burst sends the plant petal high.
Dart over trees in their lush emerald seas,
and lightly it falls to the ground.
Gold autumn breeze in the mapple leaves shiver.
Ancient oak, aspens, and birch will all quiver.
And scatter the seed of a new arbor breed,
Till the sweet-giving rains of the spring.
Melodious dance in the life giving sun.
the leaves in the wind, draft away in their fun.
An elegant dance, earthly spring-time romance,
forever the leaf and the wind.
The lesson in Physics today,
was about exercise and diet,
We learned that the body is 25% efficient,
and it uses 426 watts, just try it.
For doing stenuous exercizing,
you burn 367 calories in one hour,
That doesn't seem like much of a reward,
for using that much power.
The second thing we learned about,
was the energy of the wind.
The kinetic energy is taken out of it, Read more »
I sit here
By the door
I sit here
To the clock tick
And the wind blow
The glass pane,
Just beyond my grasp.
I see them
In this wind
As I sit here
I want to leave
Want to go
And join them
But something inside me
Is holding me down.
I want to join them
In the fresh wind
Beneath my feet as I walk. Read more »
The wind blows harsh
and I'm alone.
No one here to protect me,
deeper and deeper
descending into, not blackness
but a darker shade.
Denser than black, deep, enveloping, deadly.
An undefined hue,
a color not seen by anyone
except the few.
The few left standing
alone on this cliff
surrounded by grass as dead as their dreams. Read more »