A Mighty Wind...

Again I reply to the triple winds

running chromatic fifths of derision

outside my window:

Play louder.

You will not succeed. I am

bound more to my sentences

the more you batter at me

to follow you.

And the wind,

as before, fingers perfectly

its derisive music.



..... January by William Carlos Williams, Rutherford

Isn't this poem perfect for today?  I didn't step out of the house once.  Too cold.  Too windy. Vacation and holidays over.  Brrrr!  Who wants to listen to the wind's derisive music, anyway?

Keep writing,

Maureen