Adjusting to Life's Changes with Hope… Through Poetry, Haiku, and Commentary
the wind is moving sweetly
from a tree here then over
there dropping a whisper
here then over there but
not for me like the song
of the same name
even so a gentle breeze
touched me to remind me
that hope is never lost
only momentarily forgotten
but always within reach of
a believing heart and mind
there was a time when I
thought that hope was for
everyone else but not for me
the wind pushes the
clouds past while each tree hears
a different tune
the horn blasts of the noon train
were distorted floating in and out
on the strong and gusty winds
the sounds of this train faded to
the right of where I sat on the
back patio
a second faster train followed
horn blasting through town as it
moved away heading north
It seems that my dreams were
not in the wind or on a train
they pile up in my memory like
railroad ties stacked up in an
abandoned siding yard
birds don’t dream they fly
can you tell a bird not to fly
same-o same-o
people don’t fly they dream
can you tell people not to dream
at this point I doubt my dreams
will come true they could they
might but so far they never have
so I’ll be waiting for the wind and
tomorrow’s train
A swarm of birds, if there is
such a thing, flustered by the
coming storm vacated the
tallest pine one street over.
A butterfly zigzagged across
the back yard a few feet above
the lawn. In this wind it couldn’t
fly straight if it had to.
They never fly straight, do they?
I think the wind gusts up to forty
miles per hour have begun. One
big flying bug didn’t get the memo.
All bug operations have been
cancelled today due to weather.
Take a bug maintenance day instead.
Not a bug or critter in sight. I always
think of my Irish Uncle John on my
birthday on St. Patrick’s Day.
I’m guessing I was about ten which
made his daughter, Murphy, around
twenty or so. Long before I knew
girls existed, she was the fairest of
the fair. Uncle John made me feel
special when there was nothing
special. Thank you, Uncle John.
You are the only one who told me
that all today’s parades were really
for me. For my birthday. Because of
you, they still are for me.
winter wind gusts
howl through the
neighborhood
the houses shake
this is the type of
wind that sends
trash cans flipping
down the street
and could blow you
off your feet yet the
sounds of the children
playing outside rise
and fall only to get
lost in the wind
the wind was crisp and
sweet a gift of life breath by
breath grace upon grace
I stepped outside for a break
right into a cold front. My hot
coffee won’t stay hot long.
Wind gusts are pushing
through the trees like a
downhill locomotive.
The force of winter has nothing
in its way. The fall is forgotten
but my brain is still in sandals.
I was watching the
wind’s last playful
tug on the
disappearing day
wondering about
what tomorrow
might bring when
the phone rang. It
was the sound of
desperation looking
for work. My words
of “don’t lose hope”
seemed so empty
after the call. Maybe
not to him but to me.
All I could do was
pray about tomorrow.
Hope for tomorrow.
