Neither You Nor I...

Writer's Digest PAD Challenges day 21: For today’s prompt, write a poem that responds (or somehow communicates) with another poem. 

I have felt it fill the sky
Strum the night with umber sigh
I have heard it's lone-song cry
After it has shaken
Every leaf from autumn's limb
I have heard its grief-toned hymn
Murmur where summer grows dim
I have seen it waken
Hills from winter's chilled repose
Rills when April's zephyr blows
I have felt it kiss my nose
After winter's passes
I have danced in phantom arms
Laughed at its ethereal charms
Wondered at its formless storm
Tossing maple-tresses
 I have seen the aftermath
Of his tantrums strew the earth
I have heard his howl and mirth
Romancer and rascal
But I've never seen his face
Never seen the feet that chase
Seasons through his blue embrace
...or is it soft purple?

Who Has Seen the Wind?

 By Christina Rossetti

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

Lonely April Wind

 For a brief bit the sun high-lighted 'almost evening' before clouds scuttled over its attempts at warmth

The latticework of limb lies on day’s welkin winnowing

The air assumes the color of good-bye in every sigh

The back-drop of a rainy April ‘almost evening’

Tugs hard upon the heart-string like an echoed lullaby

   

Silence runs fingers over thought like Want without a name

Darkness is more than light’s denial where the daylight fell

Longing is not a person; no one can quite quell its flame

And rain in middle April after dusk ignites its swell

The wind moans, blue and hungry like a beggar at my door

A wail akin to November when it was hungry too

The fellowship of night-farers and sleepless troubadours

Vexes the face that watches from yon windows swaddled view

The lamplighter that wanders out among the stars is late

The dark enhanced by absent spark in heaven’s emptiness

The April night is weeping for a friendlier soul-mate

But all that it can find is the wind and its loneliness

© Janet Martin

Love-letter to October Wind

Why do you have to be so beautiful?

You brood outside my door with begging eyes

And dash across a world where summer lies

In disheveled abandon, husk and hull

Why do you have to be so debonair?

You sweep me off my feet with coy embrace

You toy with clouds than dip to kiss the face

Of she who dares to dance with naught but air

Why do you have to be so wild and blue?

The color of your eyes fills poet’s veins

To spill at will in spite of common chains

And laws that cannot bind the likes of you

Why do you have to be so beautiful?

You know my best weakness; October eyes

I cannot see you, yet I recognize

The timbre of raw hunger in your pull

© Janet Martin

It was going to be a perfect day to get a lot done, then the wind had to go and put on the perfect shade of ink!

The Intent of the Sky

He is nobody's friend

Moiling from west to east

A glowering and fearsome  fiend

...seething, merciless beast

We watch this dragon crawl

Across the lowered sky

Praying and hoping, one and all

That it will just pass by

For no one can defy

Or threaten with demands

The intent of the stormy sky

is in the Maker's hands

Janet~

side-note; no, it isn't tomorrow;) I needed to adjust the time setting in my camera.

Some anxious moments as the temps drop...a tornado warning was issued tonight but it is gray and raining now and according to the news none have touched down so far.
...at the bird feeder it was business as usual!

  

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matthew 6:26

after Sasha's comment I decided to post one more pic. Yes, this feeder is safe from squirrels but not entirely safe! and I don't know what to do to keep the neighbor's farm-cat away. Nothing deters him for long!! Mostly I throw water at him but he shakes it off and returns...and he can jump high enough to nab one!

I Woke to Hear November's Wind...

I woke to hear November’s wind

Where night-scape sprawled silent and still

Yet noise tore at each leafless limb

With violent and unbending will

..as petal- leaves were ushered, rushed

Beneath a giant, obscure broom

Like children by a mother, shushed

Toward an invisible room

…and how can sound, like a freight-train

Rumble with no distinctive source?

Rattling at every window-pane

A formless brute of fearsome force

It screams; a wild relentless wail

And no one can escape its wrath

Except the moon, round-faced and pale

Beaming to earth a silver path

© Janet Martin

We have had more power-outages in the past 8 months than we have in the past 8 years! Last night I stood in the dark and gazed out at the surreal-ness of shrieking wind over moonlit calm. The trees are bare and nothing seemed to move yet the house shook and rattled in its relentless force. 

Our hydro was restored this afternoon.:)

Matrix of Moments

 

This tree never grew as tall as it should have yet tirelessly tells each season.

It seems it is dressing or rather, undressing for winter.

Brusque blue breeze runs its touch over tresses

Limbs once exuberant, lathered in gold

Have no where to hide; they brace for the cold

Dreaming of springtime and pretty new dresses

Solemn and soulful, a gleaned-garden dirge

Murmurs in echoes where summer’s song swelled

And children grew limber while their mothers held

To mute moments melting on Time’s soundless surge

The wind is a wanderer; a tired troubadour

Searching for music in each forlorn tree

Where is the sighing leaf-song melody?

Its notes snuffed and scattered on earth’s umber floor

Masterpiece moments amalgamate; merge

Amorphic matrix of laughter and tears

Falling in half-breaths to hours then years

Shaping a life as its patterns converge

© Janet Martin

March Wind-song

Above the crypt of Time’s lament

The March wind moans in discontent

Its discourse fingering the limb

Of nature’s stricken diadem

Where soon its dormancy will swell

And fill the void of winter’s knell

Moments startle then pass, benign

Shaping the earth's horizon-line

To seasons where softly we brave

Its rendering, before our grave

Is decked with rose-and-wreath-caress

Tuning the March wind’s wantonness

The shroud of life’s unknowns evoke

Within the heart a tender cloak

Of courage, hope; for what are we

But whispers of mortality

Before we take our place among

The notes composing March wind’s song

© Janet Martin

Today its gray song wanders the gray landscape, threatening to spill in gray snow-tears.

Mistral-music

Blow then, oh frigid gale of howling song

Sweep over argent landscapes petrified

Across blue tree-limbs splayed upon the lawn

Cajole the winter-stricken countryside

Unleash your silver gusto; evergreen

Bows low beneath the tempo of your tune

And over all the earth a gilded sheen

Rivals the opulence of emerald June

Blow then, for every season has its day

A splash, a dash and then it drifts away

The deluge of your gripping overture

Though startling in it raw, ruthless release

Depletes its stores of winter-white verdure

The world is tranquil in snow-muffled peace

The kiss of Father Time is not reserved

For flesh and blood; seasons succumb beneath

His touch; the remnant of its mien preserved

In memories of alabaster sheath

Thus we do not despise your vulgar thrust

For soon your venom dies; dust unto dust

Tonight your song lunges against the sill

It moans outside the door, a lonesome wail

Oh, I would let you in but for your chill

So you remain, a wild and wandering gale

With renewed passion you employ your wrath

And we are at the mercy of its lay

Beneath your shroud the brook and garden-path

Wait patiently for Spring’s imminent day

Then fling your melody into the air

You are the harbinger of breezes fair

© Janet Martin 

Tonight the song rises and falls, from flurry to calm.

Song for a Winter's Night -Gordon Lightfoot 
 J~

If You Could Talk Would you Tell Me?

Are you lonesome tonight?

Is that a tear in your sigh?

Do you find yourself searching

for days long gone by?

Do you miss that soft evening

of silver-green grass

Where we never considered

the hours that passed

as you strummed the fair lily

and she closed her dark eyes

sweetly content

beneath your lullabies

Oh, do you wonder

where the moments have gone

as you whimper and wander

in the dark all alone

over a thoroughfare

stripped of its gold

where Time’s grand proprietor

brazen and bold

steals from beneath you

the moments that be

swept to the hollow

of sweet memory

I hear you rushing

outside my front door

invisible ocean

without form or shore

You howl at my window

just beyond my sight

Cold, roving wind

Are you lonesome tonight?

© Janet Martin

The wind is howling tonight...he sounds sort of lonely.

The Haunt of the Bending Wind

The haunt of the bending wind

Wanders that little path

Of echoes left behind

In living’s aftermath

The hush of the snow-bent pine

Frames childhood’s carefree kiss

We trampled; un-bereft of Time

And its fleet-fingered bliss

The still of midnight’s deep

Bends softly to my thought

Little good it does to weep

For days which now are not

The haunt of the bending wind

Roams life's season-swept wild

Tuning soft whispers in my mind

Of when I was a child

© Janet Martin

Yesterday we spent the afternoon watching a slide-show of photos from my mother and her parent's childhood/youth days, as my mother reminisced! It was keen reminder of the change rendered by time and how some things never change.

November Wind (edited re-post)

Tonight with sullen scowl it strips

The ragged, rusty leaf

From limbs; and curl its sullen lips

Across our summer grief

Tonight the ragged moon is dull

And teardrops lash the dark

Where every hedge and ditch is full

Of autumn’s waning spark

Tonight it preys outside the door

And creeps beneath the sash

Tonight, across an empty shore

Its yearning billows crash

In sulks of sobbing mutiny

Across earth’s barren form

A sorrowful soliloquy

A brusque and brazen storm

Tonight the landscape is a floor

The wind a ruthless broom

Crashing through burnished corridor

And nature’s living room

It sweeps in vile abandonment

The orchards; tattered vines

In gusts of violent discontent

It rages and resigns

Tonight we tuck the little child

Between warm quilts of down

And though the restless dark is wild

And every leaf far-blown

It cannot chill the firelight

Where precious memories glow

We hold their pleasure close tonight

And let November blow

Janet Martin

 Two weeks ago the wind raged mightily; it is attempting a re-play today.

On the Fringe of a Hurricane...an edited re-post

The wind bends the air in mutinous growls

Baring its jowls, a ferocious beast

Yesterday’s sunshine is swallowed by scowls

As hurricane Sandy arrives from the east

Fall's jaunty languor has furrowed its brow

Purpose of plundering rides on the gale

As shutters flung open are bolted now

Respectful of nature’s preeminent wail

Elements tremble beyond man’s control

Over our delicate measure of thought

As we recognize the vulnerable whole

In every achievement that human has wrought

Faith, hope and trust cling tight to the arm

That gives and takes in a flash on the sod

As nature unleashes its wrath in a storm

Mankind acknowledges his dependence on God

© Janet Martin

They tell us the hurricane forces have not yet arrived and it is WILD out there. Many in the area are already out of power. It seems this is going to get worse before it gets better. My thoughts and prayers are with those in the brunt of it now.

Let the heavens praise your wonders, O Lord,
    your faithfulness in the assembly of the holy ones!
⁶ For who in the skies can be compared to the Lord?
    Who among the heavenly beings is like the Lord,
⁷ a God greatly to be feared in the council of the holy ones,
    and awesome above all who are around him?
⁸ O Lord God of hosts,
    who is mighty as you are, O Lord,
    with your faithfulness all around you?
⁹ You rule the raging of the sea;
    when its waves rise, you still them.
¹⁰ You crushed Rahab like a carcass;
    you scattered your enemies with your mighty arm.
¹¹ The heavens are yours; the earth also is yours;
    the world and all that is in it, you have founded them.
¹² The north and the south, you have created them;
    Tabor and Hermon joyously praise your name.
¹³ You have a mighty arm;
    strong is your hand, high your right hand. 

Ps. 89: 5-13

Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The LORD, the LORD, is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation." Isa. 12:2

The Imminence of Autumn-past

The cold wind broods in morose moans

Its iron-girded stance

No longer frolics o’er the stones

In willow-song romance

But tugs and tears fragmented leaf

From stiff, saturnine limb

As heaven sheds its torrent-grief

From dark, nocturnal scrim

The imminence of autumn-past

Seethes in the evergreen

Its petulance an icy mast

Of purple-frosted sheen

The skyline seals its sullen dome

A scowl upon its face

And suddenly the hearth of home

Beckons with warm embrace

Somewhere the languid sigh of spring

Cajoles the budded strand

And lovers, carefree and laughing

Meander, hand in hand

Somewhere in distant, dew-drenched fields

The sanguine sunbeams drip

While here the barren landscape yields  

To Old Man Winter’s grip

© Janet Martin

 We are bracing ourselves for Hurricane Sandy! I didn't know what to do with all the leaves we raked up the other day...I guess now I'll wait and see what Sandy does with them:)

I pray for those without 'home' to go to during miserable weather. Please be warm, dry and safe.

The Darkling Day...

Yellow leaves dive past my windowsill
Like drunken finches pitching to their rest
They pile in pungent layers on the hill
Where musty patchwork quilts a sodden nest
Two seasons worth the chill-wind starves and fasts
Its vigor now turns vulgar, desperate; harsh
It tugs in bullish rage fall’s flimsy mast
And decks with gold, the street, the field, the marsh
As cattails shiver in its iron wrath
The milk-weed spills to sea a silver path

Stark silence threads stripped limbs, exposed and bare
Betrayed by tresses, scattered and wind-blown
If glory to the woman is her hair
Then beauty to the tree must be its gown
The lowered sky offers no modest shroud
But rather it enhances her distress
A backdrop dark; of tumbled glow’ring cloud
Appropriates the ruddy wind’s caress
It sets against the cold horizon-line
Her petrified, yet delicate design

The pasture boasts a shrug of startled green
A folly of ephemeral disguise
Brief is the comfort of deception’s sheen
Too soon beneath an argent sheet it lies
Yellow leaves tumble to earth's ready tomb
Swift, phantom fingers pluck ragged remains
None shall escape the purple-knuckled plume
Of grumbling gale  and raw November rains
As they succumb to winter’s calliope
Waiting for Spring in womb's of quiet hope

© Janet Martin

It is Raining

The demeanor of earth is meek

Its bravado of scarlet-gold waning

Layers its splendor beneath our feet

Dawn remains dark; it is raining

The rustle of parched leaf and husk

Stills in the sodden breeze

Where thought is moody; pensive then brusque

Restless with memories

The dark bleeds into the day

Heavy with tears from the sky

Autumnal beauty is falling away

Stripping the earth of its sigh

Soon the weeping air will be still

Save for the sullen moan

Of winter’s groaning, grievous chill

Turning the sod to stone

The demeanor of earth is meek

Its glorious bravado is raining

In sodden petals beneath our feet

Dawn remains dark; fall is waning

© Janet Martin