| Bind Up My Life A Work in Progress Page 7 |
| AN ILL WIND BLOWING I walked the woods today after so many weeks I think of all that is going on outside this wood I think of it as an ill wind blowing How to talk of scarlet leaves How to talk of hearts How to talk at all with such an ill wind blowing In metaphors I suppose One is as good as another It pervades everything Like the stink of smoke After the house burns down This ill wind blowing��. It has rained for five days The sky gloomy grit Oh how do I paint thee? Let me count the ways Yesterday I took a fancy To lint from the dryer All the colors merged into dirty gray fuzz Today grit comes to mind The air smells of rain and rotting leaves Woody pungent not of human flesh I imagine the leaves painting themselves In war paint Before the leap to their deaths Falling for a fallen cause The black hooded mushrooms Have appeared in the night They keep vigil, heads bowed Murmuring their incantations Waiting for the moment To spew their incense on the dead And dying A writer has written of Spring flowers: They are so gay because they do not remember Their past lives But the trees remember Mournful tune of remembrance Scooped up in ancient arms Swaying in the ill wind They remember the fallen comrade Cut off at the knees |
| Roots still chained to the limestone prison Lying there a broken Prometheus While the beetles feast on entrails Yes they look on and see it all I saw a turtle today or tortoise perhaps He had a yellow head �mustard yellow He didn�t hide it as I crouched A curious eye and a slight turn of the head What is human flesh doing in this wood? On this foul day Of an ill wind blowing? There are few birds to mark my coming Most have fled the scene But a blue Herron has been surprised What is human flesh doing here in this wood? On this foul day Of an ill wind blowing? He rises in ungainly flight Wings desperately seeking the updraft I hope he will land close in the tree tops But he flies out to the open marsh Out where human flesh cannot surprise I do hear a red bird call to another They will be grouping soon Territorial throughout the summer They will band together as the weather cools That�s what the guide books say Band together to commiserate Band together to contemplate The fate of blood red bodies Against the white of winter Better to band together Now before the fall And the sentinel crows Always there Accusations and pronouncements Explaining it all To whomever will listen Black prophets Of an ill wind blowing�.. |
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