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Wind Bodings
by Kristina WoodhillNow is the wind of regret
hear how it blows and blows
how does it know
her sounds
her bones clicking
her old clocks ticking
their chimes long muted
ears no longer want
to hear crisp momentary
markings
of Westminster elegance
through her halls
now
somber, silent, still
the window
cracked
just
so
paint-sealed open
its angled triangle
airing out
letting in
a
whiff
of fresh
ghosts its way past
suffocation soon
surrounds
and
gone
now is the whine of the keen wind
feel how it cuts and cuts
tired feet fit worn road ruts
a cliché of cast off
what ifs
strew her path
hinge her swinging
rusty gate
the latch no longer
catches as each pass
clicks an echoed
aching
past
click
the wind does blow
as winds do
and shoves
and pulls
and grooves
into the cracks
and moves
the clouds
the sails
the seeds
and birds
and tumbles weeds
and sends the dust
a merry dance to
spin about
a partner to these bits
fine bits, all bits
now is the wind of regret
for all its urgency
for all its gentle blow
or puff or raging
tearing roar
it carries not
that spark
she blew out
long ago
it cannot break
her chains
to change
this stagnant air
she breathes
and breathes
and breathes
04/20/2007 Posted on 04/20/2007
Copyright © 2025 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rhiannon Jones on 04/20/07 at 06:54 PM When I read this aloud, it really came to life. Very auditorily wonderful! |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 04/20/07 at 07:43 PM Hi Kristina....my, there's much I like here! Wonderful opening line and this is great: "crisp momentary markings of Westminster elegance". Just an excellent poem from you (again). Thanks. |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 04/21/07 at 01:37 PM Congratulations on POTD today!
Excellent formatting emphasizes the sense of regret and its "aging" effects! I agree with the comment about the read aloud as well. (Really needs a gale to blow the regret away! Clear the air so to speak!) |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 05/02/07 at 09:16 PM The wind scattered "these bits fine bits all bits" --it seems in the scattered list it is as if the poem is blown through by that wind "of regret" and the "what if's" are strewn, the "lost hinges". The poem is full of airy breezes and echoes... it's a path swept with memory, and regret, the air "stagnant" still, even all of that, the spark cannot be lit again... a very sad poem, and ends with such a strong juxtiposition of the breaths, and breathing...of stagnant air! |
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