Wednesday, July 26, 2017

The Gale

I've had to change out
the ropes that hold the willow
upright despite rain
and wind, gale sized stones
that fall at the shallowest
slant and bounce along
our path through the brush.

You told me this was my job.

Not that I ever
refused you a thing -
I have never refused you.
You know this is true.
and yet you doubt my
purity of heart and soul,
love and devotion.

The gale is winning.

‎July ‎26, ‎2017 11:15 PM


  1. I have to think about this one. The words flow in a beautiful way....

    1. Francie didn't like it. I try to tell her this poem is more like a novel than like "real life" as is true much of the time in my work. I have been formed as a writer by being a reader. I mostly read fiction. I mostly write fiction. This is not lying. But it's not real either.

  2. It's the feeling it gives me, not the words that are meaningful to me. The feeling of being buffeted and forlorn and yet unable to yield. It is strange since words are all I see. Beautiful.

    1. Thank you for your comment. Sorry I didn't see it earlier.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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