Here has become something else without much of the sun The wind takes her toil, she dances about with no care When the South forge towards the cold rainy season The queer climate of the evening is seen in the morning The mildness, softness of the wind makes all, everything cold, Even when the sun… Continue reading Muse: Morning in the rain season
Tag: cold
The call of the hills…
On a night dark as pitch
We stay listening to the swooshing trees
And the strange call up the hills…
A tornado of wind come surfing down
Pushing the brushes and woods apart
Sending both man, child and pets scrambling
Tall and strong wild palms bend double
Threatening to crush who dare stare
The dark clouds growl like a young lion
Shaking the breadths of the firmaments
The firmaments rumblings shook everyone
Wide eyed infants, the whistling pine and the Owl
The dogs bark and hide behind their kennels
Tethered farm animals shriek with fear
The cold came, and with such a surge!
It wooed the candle light
Which danced with such excitement
But the Rain never came
The Rain was locked out
Today was not his own day
A night as such as this
A windy tale to be told
An inspiration hewn down the hill
From up the dark firmaments of the night
From the hills of an African hamlet…
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Cold morning
Monster weather
Heaven filters in
Her dew and airy lather
We stare, we shake
The cold kept us awake
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Once upon a midnight dreary
As I pondered weak and weary
The night was grim and all was damp
Swarms of flyfull insect surround my lamp
And out there the trees stood like Halloween ghosts
Waiting to take a stab, standing lightly on the dusts
The clouds shine, Zeus was trying out his new lamp
His match sticks light the heavens, lands and the swamp
The grey bearded unsmiling Moon shone gleefully
My big head watching it, tired and weary
My head stuck back into the window hole
And at first it fell on a big bowl
A friend lay snoring up the bed
And to me, the cool ground I laid
Strange lonely sounds of the dark
Rent the air, on my mind it left its mark
This night cold, quiet and galely uncaring for its looks
And all I had as a pillow was those books
I thought wild, letting my mind wander
Minding not the quick wind and her asunder
But if I was asked to let be
This night, what the gifts God gave me
The disturbing slow-speed lamplight moth
Or the cold winds this strange Night brought?
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The Wind
There’s coldness everywhere Up the forested hills, the wind surge Throwing up fallen tree leaves In a self heart gladdening sweep Down the hill, the hamlet wakes Pulling cardigans and all manner of rags To keep Warmth from fleeing The noises outside, of the busy wind Sweeping the village square And all the corners of… Continue reading The Wind
