Inherit the Wind

I love the sound of the wind lashing

Looking for its lovers, ceaselessly

Driving schooners of cloud, remorselessly

Across stratospheric, swollen oceans

The incognito jet-streams and air-currents

That gypsy breath cooling earth's crust

And sucking away its life-dust with

Inhalations of hemispheric lungs

Pneumatically percussing bass drum-clouds

The snare-drum rattle of pine needles on cones

The moaning of beech trees in ecstatic torture

Unseen hands that rock the cradles

Above the swaying heads of grain

And cleaved armies of meadow grass

The sight of yielding birds flung around

Giving themselves to its wild will

Burlesque leaves showing underwear

Slapping each other without insult

The lake's surface meringued with agitation

Even river currents checked like a crowd

Most of all its cleansing, stripping away

To a fresh start, a new day to wash

The dirty neck of sloth and indolence

Spinning a windmill heart up to speed

 

© Mike Laycock (Silversalt)

 

Storm

 

The roaring wind tests its strength

On muscular oak and beech

Leaves rattle like pebbles on a stormy shore

Greyhound clouds chase yesterday down

Shot-blasting hail, has targets aplenty

Small birds scatter for shelter

Starting at reversing umbrellas

Flying litter and rolling dustbins

This is alternative energy

 

© Mike Laycock (Silversalt)

Done