Standing alone feeling you on my face...
like a soft gentle bursh stroking my cheek.
A calming, soothing breeze that touches me...
my mind relaxing as you blow across me.
Oh Where do you come from soft gentle wind...
who have you touched during your journey.
Dark clouds gather, the sky darkens and roars...
as you pick up your pace, blowing harder.
Your calmness gone, bending trees in your path...
my heart and breath racing, feeling you intensify.
Oh where do you come from strong blowing wind...
who have you touched during your journey.
Snow falling lightly from a sky of gray...
your touch cold, piercing as you push the clouds.
That soft gentleness gone as you scatter the cold...
my eyes watering from your bitter blast.
Oh where do you come from icy cold wind...
who have you touched during your journey.
You have shown us many different moods...
as you blow across the land.
From soft to hard and warm to cold....
making me wonder where you began.
Wondering where do you come from blowing wind...
how many have you touched during your journey.
Incedibly awesome write. I love the
wind..the storms...and I too have often
wondered who else has the wind touched
in it's long journey to me.
Beautiful~ Hugggs!
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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wind..the storms...and I too have often
wondered who else has the wind touched
in it's long journey to me.
Beautiful~ Hugggs!