WIND
At times it is gentle, on my face it unfurls
A caress eases fever and heat
With one puff of its breath, moves the clouds o'er the world
Musses hair, cools the cheeks, tickles feet.
In like a thief it steals under duress
Riffles your hair and your clothes
In a pique of mischief it flings up your dress
Pulls your hair as it billows and flows.
Ever so stealthy, it creeps, though not caught
Through the clouds in the gathering dark
You never see wind, just the things it has wrought
It fans raging flame from a spark
Grows angry, then surly, it howls and it snarls
Destruction and ruin its goals
With a blast of fowl breath with the chaos it quarrels
Tears roofs off, drops buildings and poles.
In an instant it stills o'er the rivers and hills
And you'd think it the gent'lest of lambs
Then all too soon it flings splinters and chills
It'll blister your cheeks and your hands.
But what would we do without wind's great might
Driving windmills and watering crops
Moving the rain and the snow's icy bite
Until life-giving burden it drops?
©2020 by H. Linn Murphy
If you want to learn how to do a rainbow poem, go here.
Red is the cheek of my dreaming babe, tender and innocent in sleep
Orange is the flesh of a salmon I caught when the world was young
Yellow is the earliest offering of hope which peeks above blankets of snow
Green is the promise of new life unfurled when the darkness of winter departs
Blue is the ocean on a brilliant day, reminding of childhood lost
Indigo, my favorite, mysterious and elusive--it's new jeans and dark lilacs
Purple are far mountains marching rank on rank into the West
Rainbow is a stolen promise.
©2020 by H. Linn Murphy
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