Thursday, April 23, 2015

Poem #22 for Poetry Month-Free Verse

I tried to get the poet engine running earlier today but Life intervened. Then my mind intervened, after looking at complex sonnets and Irish poetic structures so forthwith, a free verse about lighthouse weather reporting, as performed by the Greek god of wind, Aeolis. 

I wish I had a photo of the aeolis harp we once sold in our bookstore in New Denver. The aeolis was likely the earliest form of wind instrument--and I don't mean brass instruments but instruments through which the wind itself blows. Someone, a bored yet musically-inclined shepherd perhaps, constructed a stationery object with, and now I'm really out on a limb, strands of thinly sliced and dried sheep gut. Possibly. He'd have to use the materials on hand for starters.

Think of a primitive harp but only the wind will make it sing. 

Or just enjoy your wind-chimes, which we also sold in the Motherlode Bookstore, a perennial favourite for wedding gifts in particular. But once we brought in an aeolis harp and I wish we'd kept it but somewhere, someone has it perched on a windowsill with the winds playing around with its strings... No photo today. Go out and enjoy the wind.

Calling the weathers

Aeolis is running
up and down the minor scales
from three knots
to fourteen, flitting
around the Sound
a lightweight flirt
at the summer’s end party.
Even he doesn’t take
himself too seriously.


  1. Motherlode. Best bookstore, ever. Love the story about the harp, and this is a fine wee poem, too.