by Brian Francis
The wind howls tonight, a chilling howl;
a howl, that whispers and roars,
that interrupts sleep, denies rest.
In the field, the stubble of weeds
bend away from its harrowing blast,
leaning down to the ground to huddle
among the decaying leaves cast away.
The placid moon cast its blue light
among the branches of the trees
that dance and sway celebrating.
Tumbleweeds race bouncing and bounding
Spreading their seeds of spikes
along the way their potential met in death.
Hardwood burns a warming glow
As oxygen does its work, feeding the flames
And releasing its heat stored away.
Drafts wriggle on the slate floor coiling
Blindly searching for its enemy
Darting toward movement’s displacement.
Cold cries in the wind a banshee scream.
Voices, almost heard, titillate the mind
listening for the wind’s words of wailing.
As the wind howls its chilling howl.
Posted on 12/02/2018
Copyright © 2019 Brian Francis
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Glenn Currier on 12/03/18 at 02:49 PM|
Brian, your brilliance always takes me aback and challenges me to work harder at this craft. I do so appreciate and savor your facility with words, the way you take a seemingly simple experience of hearing the howl of the winds of fall and winter and stretching out a carpet of words that cause the reader to pause and enter into that experience in its depth and breadth. Thank you sir.
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 12/03/18 at 03:25 PM|
Everything that Glenn said. You take me to the natural, organic aspects of my life that I love and share with the world what it feels like in elemental ways. A fine piece.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/07/18 at 11:46 PM|
Very very good...everything that the others said and more. Captivating piece Brian, and great title.