The wind whips up more often as the temperature inversion takes hold. Today we will deal with the wind. There is much that is affected by the wind. Write on one of them.


Autumn’s Abscission

Leaves heave themselves, as they,
Gutsy as this gusty day,
Beg the children come and play
Before autumn slips away.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018




The wind of change blows; it comes and goes,
and the life in its wake is subject to an upheaval.
The retrieval of all usurped is best left for when the winds die;
unsuccessful tries will be your score until winds are no more.
Ride out the storm, keep warm, with visions of better days ahead,
there’s nothing with which to concern yourself.

Your one charge is you. Your solitary existence. Yourself.
From the day you were born, you were always on the go.
Not sure where you were headed, but it was full steam ahead,
causing your ruckus; an unspoken upheaval
that gave you a hunger to achieve even more.
The retrieval of all usurped is best left for when the winds die.

On the day you that you die,
will people speak as highly of you, as you refused to do of yourself?
Or, will they shake their heads and lament your potential to do more?
Take your acclaim as you go,
and continue your expressive vent despite the expected upheaval.
Ride out the storm, keep yourself warm, with visions of better times ahead.

Express  with your last breath; show you are more than a heart and a head.
Carry through with worded wisdom, stand and fight, or quietly die.
No one will blame you for the casualties of your upheaval,
in the end, your passion will make them better poets, in spite of yourself.
Leave them to embrace you, or to scratch their heads as they go.
Unsuccessful tries will be your score until the winds are no more.

And if you just happen to leave them wanting more,
then get out of bed, because once again, it is full steam ahead.
The direction in which the wind blows determines how we will go,
for life is to be savored, despite its labor, until we die.
Don’t live in delusion, you need them as much as you deny yourself.
Everything in its wake is subject to an upheaval.

So, take up your armor daily, determined to up heave all
that tries to force your hand. Take a stand. Give them more!
You’ll find the confidence that has eluded. Treat yourself
to the accolades of which you are most deserving, and ahead
of all else, ride out life’s windstorm until the day you die.
The wind of change blows; it will surely come and go.

And as the prevailing winds go, the only obstacle to their upheaval
dies in the face of a strong will and words of a more direct nature.
It could leave you short of breath. Nothing with which to concern yourself.

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2018




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  2. Walt, I love that I wrote 17 words today, leaving the rest of them to you, and you used them! Nicely, too. MEG, my Facebook intro to today’s prompt included a joke about gutsy/gusty. Yours is no joke, however. Simply lovely.

  3. Defiant

    Trash cans disappear like cash.
    Staid maples suddenly crash
    like balsa gliders. Plastic
    bags perform gymnastics.
    Everyone knows it’s windy.
    The season’s cute skirts, trendy
    as flags around elections,
    demand to rise. Beckoning
    gusts, flying down the isobars
    like runaway gondola cars
    target umbrellas and coats
    for their roughneck games.
    Dodge ball, bats, hats, anything
    that isn’t tied down, some things
    that were. The wind is a blue bull,
    red cape waving from its horns.

  4. Plunge into the dizzying wind
    That rules the air come next fall
    Refreshing, thought-provoking hints
    Of life’s never-stalling ball
    Wind of heaven, fill my ships’s sails
    Til Spirit-air fills my lungs
    And I can fly the heavenly trails
    Way is clear, bell’s been rung
    Until the day I land at heaven’s gate
    I’ll go wherever the wind blows and wait

    Darlene Franklin

  5. Whirlwind

    Fortune and fame grabbed her like a whirlwind
    Only eighteen and already a chart topper
    For the first time in her life she was worshipped
    Adored by millions of perfect strangers
    And jealously hated by millions more

    Night after night she stood in the spotlight
    Singing songs written just for her voice
    By writers paid handsomely for each verse
    With generous bonuses for chart topping hits
    These coattail leeches sucked on her success

    By nineteen her life was fully in the fast lane
    On the road all day and the stage every night
    The lights, the songs, the life turned to a blur
    The nights blended together as she lost direction
    Here handlers more than happy to help her cope

    All too soon the coping became an addiction
    The nights, the lights, the applause sufficed
    As long as the coping supplies didn’t end
    She would continue to make others very rich
    She would continue to sing chart topping hits

    Then a hot Saturday night down Miami way
    A sold out show of adoring and loving fans
    Clapped and sang to her list of hit songs
    Until out of nowhere she passed out on stage
    Off to an undisclosed ER she was hurried

    Ten shows left on her fully sold out tour
    All concerts cancelled without explanation
    No news whatsoever of her mental condition
    Or any reason why she suddenly blacked out
    In fact, no one even knew where she’d gone

    She was warned about fortune and fame
    And how it had brought the strongest down
    She said it would never happen to her
    But she was young and invincible
    That is until the whirlwind quit blowing

    Appreciative people can be generous
    But not those that were riding her coattails
    The same ones that got her into this mess
    Were the same ones that kicked her out
    And left her on her own out in the cold

    Her name appeared a few years later
    In a short paragraph under obituaries
    Not much said other than she died alone
    Found along the side of fast lane road
    This once famous teenager that fell from grace

  6. Had to throw this one in since the prompt is wind. We in the Panhandle know all too well about that force of nature. Please, keep the victims of Hurricane Micheal and all the workers, volunteers, and others that are trying to put this puzzle back together again.

    An Ode to Hurricane Michael
    (a combination of a Viator and a Tanaga. Now does this make it a Tanagator of a Vianaga?)

    As Hurricane Michael grew
    Those who knew hurricanes knew
    ‘Twas time to evacuate
    Pack the car, don’t hesitate

    We knew what we had to do
    As Hurricane Michael grew
    Make sure those we love get clear
    And pack what we hold most dear

    It’s not worth the risk to stay
    We’ll wait ‘til he’s gone away
    As Hurricane Michael nears
    His size and his strength cause fears

    So mighty his winds and rain
    Destruction’s all that remains
    Give us the strength to move on
    Now Hurricane Michael’s gone

  7. Windblown Memories

    Frosty mornings wilt the flowers
    Thoughtless Maple trees litter the
    Ground with discarded leaves creating
    An alien landscape of brown despair
    In my backyard
    Then the wind swoops in chasing
    The leaves into untidy piles
    Uncovering the lush green grass that
    Hints of warmer days, of bare feet
    Now tucked away in wooly socks and sturdy boots

  8. Plunge into the dizzying wind
    That rules the air come next fall
    Refreshing, thought-provoking hints
    Of life’s never-stalling ball
    Wind of heaven, fill my ships’s sails
    Til Spirit-air fills my lungs
    And I can fly the heavenly trails
    Way is clear, bell’s been rung
    Until the day I land at heaven’s gate
    I’ll go wherever the wind blows and wait

    Darlene Franklin
    (‘m continuing t o take a line from powm 1 and a line from yesterday’s poem to start over with today’s prompt.

  9. Marie…love you playful words. Splendid!
    Walt…wise words and a great reminder. May the winds blow gently on your back!


    Tired autumnal castoff’s scattered everywhere
    like the remnants of a tag sale on Sunday morning.
    The quaint green, dressed in purple and burgundy mums,
    waits for those who find New England in October breath-taking.
    Late comers, however, find that the flurry of leaves from oak and maple
    have congregated like naughty school children into the manicured gardens
    and around monuments, obscuring what was once pristine and picturesque.
    How can this be? The mystery is ever-present, seen only as a feeling on the wind.

  10. .
    venture across
    some uncharted woodland,

    mountain peak,
    windy sea scapes

    spirits to
    dare to do.

  11. Catching Leaves

    The wind would whisk the leaves about
    On chilly autumn days
    We kids would chase them with a shout
    Looked like a dancing craze

    I also loved the vibrant sound
    The wind would make through trees
    Our feet would keep time on the ground
    As leaves would tempt and tease

    Sometimes they’d flit just out of reach
    And we would leap and grab
    And then we’d yell and squeal and screech
    Until the leaves, we’d nab


    The wind
    blows by and by
    and scatters, bit by bit,
    leaves fleeing fury from the west
    by north.

  13. Walt, I’m in awe of your facility with that form, and am still breaking up over “up heave all.” Wonderful.

    • Walt, I especially enjoy ” Ride out the storm….. visions of better times ahead.”
      So encouraging.

    • Sometimes I wonder why I challenge myself so, and then it hits me… I’m of a poetic mind. Why the heck not, Bill?

      We are all encouraging people here, Marjory. I like to lead by example. I wouldn’t expect you to go where I’d refuse to tread!

  14. Havoc

    Wind has come out to play
    havoc with hats, leaves,
    and limbs of trees, that bend
    backward and forward,
    checking after each gust
    to see if another piece
    of their clothing is lost.
    Cost of dealing with a windy day–
    October teeth nipping at
    the heel of November.

  15. Effects

    Rosetti asked who’d seen the wind
    we see only results
    trembling leaves
    showing their gray undersides before the storm

    trees bowing their heads
    shaking dust from their treetops
    like a mop after cleaning
    broken twisted-off branches
    and sometimes uprooted

    humans bow to its force as they make their way
    see orange pylons garbage cans
    moving up the street by some unseen force
    anything in its path
    turns umbrellas inside out

    As the wind slows and stops
    trees once more stand upright still
    humans walk tall again
    not pushed along or resisting

    Rosetti was right, we do not see the wind
    only the way it works

    Carolyn Wilker

  16. HOO WHEE

    Today the wind was so strong
    it woved to drop my house on a witch.
    I truly was hoping to get her shoes
    but she tricked me into a switch
    and I wound up with dried up leaves
    in every corner, cranny and ditch.
    So if the wind makes you a promise,
    believe me, its just a sales pitch.

  17. (I have only scanned your fine bouquets above, and will have to return to read tomorrow. Have traveled all day, and will have to relax tomorrow catching up. However, I do have my bloom below.)


    A season’s come and gone,
    and I wonder how it went.

    Did it fade in the new light
    of some odd day that
    came around, uncounted, uninvited,
    who refused to go away?

    Did it get a call, some urgent
    call to slip away and tend
    to things unknown that seasons
    tend to elsewhere?

    Did it simply sigh in boredom,
    leave the room by some invisible door,
    an obscure window,
    or by way of an unknown hall?

    Or did it, quite unwillingly,
    get lifted off its feet, swept briskly
    away by a brusque unseasonal wind,
    surprised, muted, stunned?

    I wonder how it went,
    that season come and gone.

    © Damon Dean, 2018

  18. Marie, the leaves who heave themselves…that was genius, taking on the character of the wind that ‘moved’ them there. Loved it.
    Walt, your charge to us as artists/humans erupts straight from that “passion” that makes us “better poets.” Thanks, again.

  19. The Spirit’s Wind

    On His wind new life breathes in
    to hearts that are deadly dark with sin
    blowing away fallen leaves that cluttered,
    a whirlwind sweeping away lies once uttered.
    Gusting through the black of night,
    His wind kindles faith’s bright light,
    tumbling bonds that held in captivity
    and teaching hearts to beat free

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