POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.


Go outside and inhale. It’s there. You can feel it. What is it? As the title indicates, it’s “IN THE AIR TONIGHT.”

Your poem today involves something “in the air.”  A flock of birds, ominous clouds or the sweet smell of success are all fair game for this prompt. And the air is an infinite concept. Even writing about your home planet will qualify.

So take that lung full of fresh air and sit down to pen your poem. If it’s “IN THE AIR TONIGHT,” it’s in there, alright!


EVAPORATION (a Fibonacci)

pulsing prayers ascend –
cares vanishing into thin air.



Living on the flight path,
hearing the roar of jets heading
to and from parts unknown. The noise
has grown on me, or at least
the beast has been tamed in my mind.
I find myself fantasizing, that I’m up there;
a window seat and a sweet escape
awaiting. I’m debating – Florida
or to L.A.? It does not matter.
Any place would be better, I’d say.
“Up, up and away!”

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309 thoughts on “IN THE AIR TONIGHT – PROMPT #58

  1. Ah, yes…together you have a wing and a prayer! 😉

    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      Hahaha! So we do! 😀 !


      • Oh, Paula, groan/wink! Marie, loved your “fib,” with its take on “thin air” and its graceful settling.

        Walt, you sound like you’re ready to hit the road! Great rhyme scheme and bouyant attitude. Sorry I’m late posting, but busy weekend… Peace, Amy

      • Both of these are inspiring Walt and Marie Elena – from the pulsing prayer to the up, up and away … yes, I say – let’s get a move on!

    • I love that you used a fib for such an achingly poignant prayer poem, Marie. To me, because it is the mathematical pattern found in nature it makes your poem so connected to what is, so very powerful. ❤

      I'm with you, Walt, a trip to anywhere would be just magical for the muse me thinks!!

      Excellent prompt and poems you two…

      BIG warm Hannah-smiles to all the poetical peeps!!

      • Henrietta Choplin on said:


      • Iris D on said:

        I had to reread to see where the “fib” came in! lol Everyone is so clever around here. Marie and Walt, awesome poems to start us off. What a prompt. I wrote two yesterday already, and a couple more dancing in my head.

    • :-)) Too true, Paula!

  2. Pingback: CAULD PIPE REELS «        Say Aye to The Heart

  3. Cauld Pipe Reels

    Men in plaid, skirted
    and flirting with machismo
    where’er they go they blow.
    The sound sweet as chocolate
    filling the air; making the hair
    on my arms to stand and salute.
    The intonation is a sensation
    that any Scot would devour.
    It is our theme, the soundtrack
    that brings us back to the sod.
    My God, it fills the air with flair,
    whene’er the cauld pipe reels play there.


  4. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    If I could but fly upon a wing
    Just to and fro I think I’d go
    Perhaps to fly with birds that sing
    If I could but fly upon a wing
    Then gather treasure to homeward bring
    From lands that no one else can know
    If I could but fly upon a wing
    Just to and fro I think I’d go.

  5. Beyond Circumstance

    Blink your eyes and stumble
    through another day so bright.
    You can smell it and you hear it
    coming at you in the light.

    There’s a vision that’s been resting
    in the gray behind your eyes,
    seeping out in subtle hints
    and half-hearted tries.

    It’s in the air that lifts you up
    on wings as you shall dance
    while moving to a special place
    far beyond circumstance.

    By Michael Grove

  6. That song will be going round in my head for days now! Hence the crabby poem.

    The tail end of a tropical storm from America
    has arrived here to put an end to summer.
    Beryl has crossed the Atlantic
    upsetting French weather
    wind and rain are
    in the air

  7. In the Midst of Pomp

    In the midst of pomp
    there is very little left
    to circumstance.

    Inhale a deep breath
    of the strong wind
    that is blowing in your face.

    How about a little less flash
    and a bit more substance?

    By Michael Grove

  8. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Meg, lovely… Walt, please have great fun wherever you fly off to! Happy Sunday :)!

  9. ~Another Rainy Day Lament~

    It won’t be long before sun’s golden song
    will sanctify and saturate the air again.
    I feel the time is approaching,
    swift slivers of fragile filaments
    will sift through the ethereal;
    but for now the matter is gray,
    the mind is abated by the constancy
    of this perpetual plinking on window pane.
    I take heart; I rally and rejoice for nature,
    peace is found when looking to ground.
    I’m assuming the attitude of rot-resistant alders,
    damp and soggy, foggy is their norm;
    they embrace the storm with telling twiggy arms.

    ©Hannah Gosselin 6/2/12

  10. Connie L. Peters on said:

    Snap, Crackle

    It’s in the air
    like lightning ready to flash,
    But I’m going to think
    Gurgling creeks
    For what else can I do
    when writing deadline
    and first day of summer vacation
    are in five days?

  11. Pingback: Change | Awakened Words

  12. CHANGE

    Her fickle affections changed
    with the wind —

    a fact I knew, a risk
    I was willing to take —

    and I could smell

    She lifted her face
    to embrace
    the breeze.

  13. Got a case of numb brain, so I stole some words from the prompt and from M.E. and Walt and pretty much made a mess

    Poor Beast
    is up in the air tonight,
    in the aetherous realms,
    and the ruby
    the apple, the carmine core
    the heart of the beast is home, back home
    The heart is alone in Tennessee and wishes
    Great Beast-God of air and beasts and hearts
    put one and one together, make one. I wish
    for a flock of silent wings to fly me home
    beast to heart and heart to beast, tearful
    to bleeding and beating to hearing.
    But all the ominous world
    holds back its signs
    and the heart hears only its pulsing
    and the beast its own susurrant breath,
    the whisper of its breathing.
    Where in the noise of the planet
    where is the song to lift the beast home?
    To teach the heart to ascend and escape,
    what spell would qualify?

  14. Marie Elena, Walt–thanks for the invite! Perfect prompt for a poem.


    the screen door slams
    as I step out onto the front porch

    lavender lingers in the air tonight
    fills my lungs with precious pause

    spritely sprigs of white and pink and mauve
    replenished with today’s June showers
    emit their secret scent to the night air
    smile as they line the flagstone walkway and
    border the garden
    filled with white daisies and pink roses
    that renew my spirit each year
    on every summer’s day

    now, after midnight
    the moon hides from me
    in a black cloud-filled sky
    but I am reassured
    as I breathe in the sweet mist of lavender
    that lingers in the air tonight

  15. Two Bright Windows, Another Usually Shut

    You can never have too many open windows.
    I have not given enough to the air lately,
    not a drop of poetry, hardly any voice particles,
    not even the time of day or night.
    Whenever I don’t feed the air poetry
    Calliope pulls it out of my nose with catastrophes
    or awards other pieces of me to the universe
    until I take notice.
    Poof! Gone your peace of mind.
    Whoosh goes another friend.
    A poet must never give 100% to anything
    and must come to realize that 100% of everything is poetry.
    See: William Carlos Williams.
    Hear: Dali savouring his mistakes, being born on a horrible stormy day.
    Some days you see a dozen people carrying surfboards
    but of course the surfboards aren’t just creative flotation devices,
    they mean something else and it’s your job to figure out what.
    Else returns the daughter of Zeus to taketh away some more stuff.
    Else she shows you something beautiful
    about your life on her tablet
    and then makes you watch as she eats the pages.

  16. hummingbirds
    at morning glories-
    instant joy

  17. CHANGE

    It is in the air.
    Fear follows
    not knowing
    what is next.

    It is in the air,
    but hope rises..
    It could always
    be better.

    Change has claws,
    and teeth,
    and a smile,
    and muscles.

    It can be creative
    or destructive.
    It is our choice
    how we use it.

  18. Iris D on said:

    Inhaling You (A Triolet)

    Your fragrance entices me
    I breathe in each molecule
    Ephemeral scent of thee
    Your fragrance entices me
    I inhale you religiously
    Essence not miniscule
    Your fragrance entices me
    I breathe in each molecule

  19. Dandelions

    Summer offers
    her warming light
    so playful children
    can butter their chins.

    Finally going to seed
    it takes only a puff of air
    to tear them limb from limb
    and send them flying.

    Each little fluff
    flies to a tender place
    that welcomes it
    and lets it grow.

    And dandelions, too,
    want nothing more
    than the wind to lift them
    and carry them home.

  20. Grandmother’s garden rests at eventide

    Soft is the air which strikes my brow tonight
    The moon has swung her silver scythe and disappeared.
    The stars have gathered close and now have neared
    The horizon’s edge and merged within the dying light.

    These scents of early summer the breeze unfolds
    Sweet clover hovers close upon the still warm air
    Tangled honeysuckle spreads her honey without a care
    The garden heavy with perfume from the blooming rose.

    Summer’s sweetness overwhelms my brain
    Do I sigh from beauty or from pain?

  21. Iris D on said:

    floating like bubbles
    across the spring horizon
    dandelion seeds

  22. Air, Apparent

    Breath of Heaven,
    how can I forget
    I am your child?
    Heir to all
    bruised by fall
    scattered small piece
    of your very self.

    Inhaled, now whole
    I sooth my soul with
    loose dandelion wish fluff
    and the stronger stuff
    of shrinking garden

    Wooed by crimson leaf kites
    and moon spilled nights
    and tickle of butterfly wing,
    these lungs long
    to sing your song,
    heart aches
    of space
    only you can fill;
              will breaks,
              grace spilled.

  23. Pingback: Air, Apparent | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  24. Only a Sigh

    The dark summer night
    hid their desire
    till the stars came out
    and kissed their skin.

    Her breath came slowly
    only a sigh
    but he inhaled it
    till it filled his soul.

    The rhythm of the night
    lulled her to sleep
    and he blew out the stars
    with only a sigh.

  25. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    A Dodoitus – in ‘honor’ of the local dairy farmers’ spring chore.


    Winter honey pots are capped
    Fermenting and slow growing
    Spring the farmer fills his truck
    Spreading ‘honeyed’ air.

    • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

      My hubbie says that ‘city folk’ may not know what ‘honey pots’ are and so not ‘appreciate’ the honeyed air. The honey pots are the solid piles of ‘piles’ or the lagoones at dairy farms. The resulting manuer is spread in the fields in the spring and provides a distintive ‘honey smell’ the region.

    • LOL I recall that ‘honeyed scent’! :-))

    • Poetic Bloomings on said:

      HAHAHA! Oh, Marjory … your poem brings back a family memory! My big sister started an all-girl rock band when she was in high school (she graduated in 1972). They wanted a great name, and were having trouble coming up with anything they could all agree on. Then my mischievous dad suggested “The Honey Dippers.” LOL! They didn’t have a clue what it really refers to, and just fell in love with the name! If memory serves, Dad didn’t let them go tooooo long before telling them what it means. 😀 Great poem, and thanks for the memory!


  26. claudsy on said:

    New form for me today.

    Balloons always rise,
    Balancing on Heaven’s air.
    Bubbles float across assumed
    Boundaries, delicate memories of
    Time spent in children’s smallest joys.
    Bouncing brings on admonitions,
    Balls thrown for hours of fun,
    Battering the outside walls.
    Brave roundness seeks

    Okay, peeps, everywhere else this is a circle. Use your imagination. Sorry, Walt. I just can make shapes remain in format when bringing them over here.

    • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

      I will visualize and can ‘see’ your circle.
      I would also like to know how to hold a shape poem.
      Walt – I remember you giving the clues once – but can not find
      where you posted it.

      • Marjory, The spaces required have to be “inserted” as characters. Each space is keyed as ALT+0160. You manipulate the words into the shape you want with these spaces.

        • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

          keyed together? Hummmmm
          I can do it – I can do it.
          Have to practice.
          Thank Walt
          (Love challenges like this! 🙂 )

        • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

          spaces required have to be “inserted” as characters. Each space is keyed as ALT+0160. You manipulate the words into the shape you want with thes spaces.

          (inserted.)…..keyed ALT+0160 insert
          row 1
          row 2

          Keep ALT DOWN (type the +) then type the numbers, then hit insert …. ???

        • claudsy on said:

          I’m so glad you know what you’re saying, Walt. I’ll have to really think about this before trying again. It’s the time factor as much as anything. I will try soon, though. Thanks, my friend.

    • So fun to play with shape…this is a perfectly buoyant poem for a circular shape, Clauds! 🙂

      • claudsy on said:

        Thanks, Hannah. I always new how difficult these concrete poems were, but it’s not the writing, it the formatting that’s a killer.

        I’m glad you liked it.

    • Henrietta Choplin on said:

      I got so caught up in the technical comments that I forgot to say how this so wonderfully reminds of my little ones having fun with circles and spheres! 🙂 !

    • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

      claudsy – I hope you have another go at you circle. love to see it. I have not been sucessful so far with shapes, but will try again. Figure that I have to post a try before I know it it will work. I am working on a ‘mini-circle’ 🙂

      • claudsy on said:

        Thanks, Marjory. I haven’t had time to try for it again. I keep telling myself, soon, soon. I’m glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t get it.

    • Forget the shapes; the poem is brilliant.

    • I can see them Claudsy — floating on the breeze! :-))

      • claudsy on said:

        Thanks, Pamela. I love to watch balloons rise on a summer’s day. But on a winter’s day the sight is marvelous and uplifting.

  27. claudsy on said:

    Second for the day.


    It fell, Prickly cone,
    Dented head.
    Left for dead,
    Stunned instead.
    On my own,
    Ten pound cone
    Rolled away,
    Spilling seeds.
    Foot traffic
    Beware what’s
    Up in the air.


  28. janeshlensky on said:

    After Rain

    The rain has gone,
    sun jeweling grass
    and leaves, sky
    filled with songbird
    thanks, hummer
    happiness, insect,
    squirrel, and tree frog
    voices relishing fresh life
    dripping from trees,
    soaking into earth,
    the tail of a breeze
    stirring sweet
    rain-washed breath,
    the air filled
    to overflowing
    with blue.

  29. And now for something completely different 🙂

    By: Meena Rose

    I will tell you alright
    What’s up in the air tonight;
    We have to end this fight.

    The mortals quiver and quail
    With each blow, without fail;
    This violence we must curtail.

    Uriyah – vale the deadly bolt,
    I tell you, they will revolt;
    Withdrawn beliefs, a primary jolt.


  30. Electrifying

    The heat evaporates in ten seconds flat
    as the cold front slams into the sun’s dying rays
    and they are swallowed by the roiling, dark gray beast
    of an early evening thunderstorm.

    The hairs on my arms stand at attention
    even while my body is rocked by the wind
    and the deepest bass drum beats grow louder,
    riding the dark, gray waves of the approaching apex.

    Then the drum beats reach a crescendo,
    over and over again, and the strings hiss
    and crack like a whip with white light
    and I, I revel at the concert before me.

    Note: There is a picture to accompany my poem, you can see it on my blog (which I posted a bit early), as I used PB’s prompt for my blog post for June 4, 2012. Thanks!

  31. What is that? What’s
    in the air tonight?
    I am high on
    it, on
    that is in the air.
    Tell me what it is, please.

  32. Scent of Summer Evening

    In a far corner of the yard,
    hinoki tree trembles, twists,
    and bows politely, pushed
    by a swift breeze picking up
    speed, puffing gusts that riffle
    burgundy feathers
    of the Japanese maple,
    which responds, in turn,
    with an impromptu hula.
    Chimes clang as crazed
    clocks, losing all sense
    of time. Dog nails tap
    on the glass back door,
    feeling a fist about to open
    and dowse them like a child
    tossing a water balloon
    off a rooftop. In that one
    special moment before
    silver falls from the sky,
    there is a scent of cut grass
    mixed with basil freshly potted.

  33. “hinoki tree trembles, twists,
    and bows politely, pushed
    by a swift breeze picking up”

    I love this image, Sara and the scent lingering in your last two lines…two such distinct and lovely smells!! 🙂

  34. “In the air tonight”

    The days are a feast; the nights are a fest
    of open roads that bridge a shallow past.
    Locusts strum a metered dose of peaceful
    midnight songs on a breeze of tenderness.

    I step steady on stony plateaus blessed
    with breath of spirit and breath of beauty
    in the night air, a fusion of life where
    the days are a feast; the nights are a fest.

    I confess, I behave like an honored guest
    among night creatures who travel by star-
    light and invite me to harmonize with
    midnight songs on a breeze of tenderness.

    The days are a feast; the nights are a fest.
    The air wakes the deep and I sleep singing
    midnight songs on a breeze of tenderness.

    (This is a Villonnet.
    It is a hybrid of the Villanelle and the Sonnet.)

  35. I could not help posting this poem as I was thinking abut God thinking of me all of these years. I wrote it a while ago, but I liked it when I found it a few hours ago, and so it is what is in my air tonight. BTW–I love your example poems.

  36. All leading to this minute!
    “there is a scent of cut grass
    mixed with basil freshly potted”

  37. Pingback: Backyard Evening (Poetic Bloomings) « Sharp Little Pencil

  38. Late but worth the time… busy weekend, and a lovely time in our condo “neighborhood” back yard…


    Step out our sliding back door
    and step into a condo-life miracle.

    A huge yard, formed by buildings
    on every side, protected play space.

    Little Graham next door draws
    on the back stoop: smell the chalk.

    (Oops! He also needs a change,
    says my keen mommy’s nose.)

    His Dad drills heavenly brats and
    neighbor Diane drools, “I’ll take three.”

    We sit in lawn chairs, share local
    beers; a whiff of malt wafts on the breeze.

    Freshly mown grass, green aroma
    mingling with fading lilacs.

    And now Jean’s baked muffins add
    a gentle vanilla to the other scents.

    One perfect June evening… with
    our neighborhood potpourri.

    © 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
    (See with an image at my blog, http://sharplittlepencil.com/2012/06/04/backyard-evening-poetic-bloomings/)

    For Poetic Bloomings, to the prompt, “In the air.” Also at my poetic playground, Poets United. This new neighborhood has brought back some wonderful memories, especially the yard – it’s patrolled by every stay-at-home parent and home-office resident. We have all planted gardens to our own taste, and it’s burgeoning blooms here in Madison… Peace, Amy

  39. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    Home is where the heart is,
    sounds (smells) like you have found a heart-filled place.

  40. a haiku about life being found in the air

    in the beginning
    man was formed from dust – life came
    with the breath of God

  41. I’m On Hiatus

    Through the atmosphere
    somewhere between Indus and Orion
    Boötes manages the herd led by
    Apus, Pegasus, and Monoceros
    when Pavo isn’t showing off
    The Hunting Dogs are kept on tight leash
    lest The Greater Dog outdo The Lesser Dog
    or worse, The Arrow from Sagittarius find it’s mark

    I seek the unseekable
    I crave the unknowable
    I reach for the unreachable
    I dream the undreamable

    I call the Milky Way
    hearth and home
    just a side street
    off the road
    of the Gods
    The Constellations are just
    mere lawn ornaments
    in my front yard

    ~ Randy Bell ~

  42. Air Time

    In the yard the scent of French lilac flits
    Does battle with fresh-mowed lawns
    And dandelions, both yellow and those eager
    To go to seed early, all aromas combining
    To announce spring departing and summer
    Ready to waltz in on a whim or the west wind

    There’s excitement in the air, the end-of-school
    Breathlessness carried on the shrieks of kids
    Calling to each other overjoyed and eager
    For summer vacation to start right now, now, now

    And the adults too find themselves antsy
    Combing through travel brochures, perusing
    Seat sales and hotel room specials hoping to find
    That particular place that will solve their heart’s
    Desire … if only they can decide just what that is


  43. Pingback: IN THE AIR TONIGHT – PROMPT #58 « cloudfactor5

  44. The brightest planet, Venus, is due to pass right in front of the sun, to stage one of the rarest of predictable astronomical phenomena: a transit of Venus across the sun’s face. This upcoming transit of Venus will be the last one for the 21st century. It will take place across a period of nearly seven hours on June 5-6, 2012. During the transit, Venus will appear in silhouette as a small, dark dot moving in front of the solar disk. This exceedingly rare astronomical event – a transit of Venus – won’t happen again until December 11, 2117.

    (cinquain: 2,4,6,8,2)

    “Something’s in the Air”

    cavorts the air.
    Flaunts herself in his face.
    Heroine, we track her teasing
    the sun.

  45. iLove You

    love is in the air ~
    I wonder: does that leave
    cyberspace connections
    with no strings attached?

    P. Wanken

  46. Pingback: In The Air Tonight « echoes from the silence

  47. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:


    Abounds with
    Promises of spring

    Fragrances of
    Fresh cut grass

    Honey bees
    Kiss the flowers

    Soft breeze
    Cools the air

    Settle dust
    Refreshing the day

    Clouds drift
    Through blue sky

    melons, berries,
    baked beans, cakes

    With essence
    drifting from Bar-BQ

    Sits with
    Seniors in shade

    Youthful musicians
    Strum quiet tunes

    Floats from
    Children at play

    Swirls behind
    Small racing feet.

    • Iris D on said:

      Marjory, you have captured the smell, sights, and sounds of summer in the air. A refreshing poem!!

      • Henrietta Choplin on said:

        Yes, a lovely summer picnic…. I just love: “…Serenity Sits with Seniors in shade…” !

      • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

        Thank you both – I really like this prompt.
        and I best identify with those in the shade 🙂

  48. Missing the Wonders

    While I slept, meteors zipped across the sky
    like fireworks set by dozens of small boys,
    and only later did I learn that I’d missed
    the transit of Venus, not to recur again
    for at least a century. I set the clock
    and rise the find that clouds obscure
    the lunar eclipse. The giant moon slid
    up the horizon without my witness.

    I wish for wonders in the heavens,
    one-in-a-lifetime alignment, mystery
    or portent, science or mysticism,
    but my timing’s always off. Star shine
    and shadow, the heaven’s showing off
    and I’m not there for the punch line.

    Had I been a wise man or shepherd,
    I might have heard too late, arrived
    in Bethlehem only to learn the babe
    has fled to Egypt and to wonder
    at the wailing
    in the streets of Judea.

  49. nposey on said:

    oops– I rise to find…

  50. Rough night last night — for some reason, sleep was difficult to capture. Other than the moonlight sneaking past the clouds to wake me in the wee hours (which I wrote about for the alliterisen prompt), the only thing “in the air” was the chiming of clocks… hour after hour after hour, so…

    Walt, this one’s for you. I feel your pain. 😐

    And I’m not even gonna TRY to format it. Use your imagination, and center it on the page. :-] G’night!


    Midnight knelled before bed was attempted.
    One whanged (seeming) hours later,
    Two ticking off after that.

    Three thrust itself in,
    Four fretted fitfully,
    Five waxing frantic.

    Finally seduced
    by fickle slumber
    at 6:30,
    buzzed in
    all too soon.

    • Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

      If I ever figure out how to “Shape” … I think your poem could be shaped to be called something like “Cheers” 🙂
      Bummer of a night , but great poem.
      I hope you have a better go at sleeping tonight (or last night when you read this) 🙂

  51. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    Was working on an ALOUETTE then realized that I had not followed the right meter rule — It should be 5-5-7-5-5-7 I put an extra 7 in there 😦 as shown in the (…) – Hate to dump them after the work of getting them figured out! You may read with or without the (…) 😉 or it could be a new form called ALOUTTE plus ONE. 🙂

    Moving in the air
    Pushed by currents there
    Is a big, bright dancing kit
    —– -(In its solitary flight)
    Swirling and dipping
    With red tail chasing
    Tethered by a string held tight.

    As a child watches
    Under kit he marches
    —–(Tiny body keeping stride)
    As in his mind he can ride
    That red tail’s wild churn
    Bob, dip, wayward turn
    That he mimes with jumps and slide

  52. Memories in the Breeze

    Sitting at the ball field,
    memories waft through the air.
    Fries with vinegar,
    infield dust,
    fresh cut grass,
    pre-teen sweat and
    doggie doo.
    But today as I sit
    just past the outfield fence;
    I get a whiff of
    Irish Spring soap.
    Now, I am truly back
    in left center on the
    Ashton avenue fields
    forty years ago!

    © KED 2012

  53. Nuʻuanu Pali and the Trade Winds

    You catch your breath
    before it blows away.
    You hold it tight;
    you cannot breathe.
    Nature is in the air.

    Such views that
    soar on high,
    on winds that
    take your breath away.
    Nuʻuanu Pali.

    Those cliffs so high,
    so sheer
    so steep,
    siphoning air
    from moist valleys below.

    Air swept up to ledges
    and deep ravines
    of lushly dressed mountains
    in tropical green attire.
    Nature is in the air.

    Lift your arms,
    lift your chin,
    lift your spirits
    and soar with the wind
    that frees your soul

    to weightlessness
    and clears your mind
    of mere and meagre
    worldly worries.
    Nature is in the air.

    there’s info here about Nu’uanu Pali on O’ahu

  54. Pingback: Nuʻuanu Pali and the Trade Winds « MiskMask

  55. Waiting

    I’m waiting for you
    a thousand miles from New York
    my hand caressing
    the phone, fresh sheets on the bed,
    your words charging the night air.

  56. Sunshine (a Shakespearean sonnet)

    I look above, into the sun,
    And squinting, feel the rays
    As one by one they shine and come
    To earth to warm our days.
    Without this radiant, golden orb –
    I shudder just to think –
    We’d have no sunshine to absorb,
    And shivering, shrivel and shrink.
    I look above, and in great awe
    Gaze up towards the skies.
    My wonder is anew, and raw.
    It comes in grateful cries
    To the One who put the orb in place
    To shine this warmth upon my face.

  57. Marjory M Thompson (MMT) on said:

    Thank You, that is so beautifully put.

  58. Pingback: TGI Friday Freeforall « Margo Roby: Wordgathering

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