Friday, January 29, 2010

My Poetic Muse has Been Waxing Again

I don't know why, but my poetic musings seem to run in spurts. Sometimes it just seems that I want to write something, and then, for a while, I don't write anything. When I am in the poetic frame of mind, I can be very prolific. I'm not saying it's always earthshattering stuff, but at least I'm writing.

The last couple of weeks has been like that. I have not only written a couple of new poems, but I have been finishing a few that had been just sitting in my notebook. I recently posted one of these on the blog here, and I think I will post another. This one came from an inspiration given my my youngest son--Lightning.

Wind Wisdom
By Stick

I woke up this morning to a howlin¹
Round the eaves of my old shack.
It rocked the doors and windows
So I thought of an attack.

I could feel a breeze a creepin¹
Round the cracks and seams,
And hear the willows slappin¹
'Gainst the water in the stream.

Now I knew that the wind here
Could work up quite a blow,
And it could get quite bitter
If it took a mind to snow.

So, I slipped my tired old feet
Into each battered boot,
Then I paused before the door
To plan my working route.

I buttoned my old coat
Right to the very top.
I opened up the door,
And then I had to stop.

It wasn¹t that I didn¹t
Want to continue on outside,
But it took all my strength
To push the door open wide.

Once I got the door opened
Past the halfway mark,
It ripped itself out of my hands,
And flew off towards the park.

It was all that I could do
To keep standin¹ in the gap,
And I looked out in awe and wonder
As I held onto my cap.

I didn¹t have to guess
If the cow was in the shed,
For she went sailin¹ by
Hooves and tail up over head.

The shed was right behind her
Along with all the hay,
And where it ended up,
I just couldn¹t say.

Leaves, twigs, and sundry
Were all flyin¹ in the gale
Causin¹ such confusion and destruction
That a weaker man would quail.

I saw no sense in checkin¹
If my flocks were in the coop,
'Cause it was on its way to town
With all my little troop.

The trees up on the hillside,
Were all blown down and lyin¹ flat
And with a final glance around,
I sat down and took off my hat.

I braced the table in the frame
From where the door had fled,
Then I kicked off my boots,
And climbed back into my bed.

I said to myself, ³Don¹t worry
³Bout the cow, and coop, and shed.
The wind¹ll blow again tomorrow,
And you¹ll have yer neighbors stock instead.²

Have a Great Day. Stick.


Delirious said...

LOL that's great!

Inklings said...

My creativity comes in spurts too, unfortunately.

Nene said...

That's a great poem! Made me think of the wind in Lubbock, and also the "noon winds" in Hatch!

Mr. Giggles said...

I know what you mean. the only time I can write is when I'm not TRYING to. Nice poem, by the way!