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poetry: wind 

21/30

dirt between toes
grows nothing
summer heat takes it
cooks me in caramel sauce
loss
forget peach pits
sticky skin peeling
beer bottles stuck in sand
give me wind
thinned 
veiny see-through leaves
silk scarf blowing
coffee bear hugs
bury the acorn
reborn
stones stacked higher
letters scratch
pinecone hearts sing
sit with me
dear
here
where the air blows
again
and again
and again
forever

More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember
5/30: graduation
6/30: big love
7/30: Heavy and light
8/30: delicate
9/30: leaping
10/30: Dad gave me…
11/30: solstice
12/30: twisted
13/30: starving
14/30: open up
15/30: lines
16/30: daybreak
17/30: moon water
18/30: bedtime
19/30: typewriter
20/30: supermoon

33 thoughts on “poetry: wind ”

    • Thank you. I was kind of unsure about this one. I was trying to let the sounds guide me from one image to the next, be more abstract, but I’m not sure I was that successful in doing that. I’ll try again 🙂

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  7. Everyone sees how they see. Everyone feels how they feel. A passing breeze or just something all inside. More than fingers, more than toes. I like getting to listen to some of what is happening inside of you. Not being the same is half the beauty I think. Nice job. Think I like where your poems are getting comfortable going to.

    Just me being a fuss. Some words are easily overused, but at the end I think you “earned” using this one – last last line – “forever”. How might that sound to you? Not to intrude on your sensibilities.

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    • Thank you. This poem is probably the most meandering one I’ve written. I tried to let the sounds lead me from one image to the next, but still it found itself wanting to be about how I’m tired of summer. I suppose that’s just how I feel this time of year…ready for something new. Ready the fall. No escaping that feeling.

      I really love the idea of adding forever at the end. It packs a different punch, one that means there’s no ending to being together. I like that.

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      • I read this a second time just now. Fresh. You know, I wouldn’t use the descriptive word meandering. Gravity is its thread, like those piles of stone that wondering people make. The passage is thus clearly marked. Rather than careless motion, here there is purpose, stacking stone onto of stone. Sssh, might be a new “form” of poems. Ssssh.

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