(a found poem blown from Theodore Roethke’s ‘Words for the Wind’)


Bees and lilies
there were;
thought does not crush to stone.
I hate my epidermal dress.
…………..Kiss me, ashes,
I’m falling through a dark swirl.
(Slow swings the breeze above her head.)
Arch my back, pretty bones,
……………………….I’m dead at both ends.
Can feathers eat me? There’s no clue in the silt.

When I stand, I’m almost like a tree. Leaves,
……do you like me any?

My dearest dust, I can’t stay here.

I quail,
lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.



With Margo at PoMoSco, day 22. Come join us. There are Bloody Marys. 🙂


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7 Responses to Windward

  1. gh0stpupp3t says:

    Nice poem. I’m there for bloody marys! LOL

  2. Mia says:

    “I hate my epidermal dress.” … Favorite line.
    “Kiss me … through a dark swirl” … Gorgeous.
    “Arch my back, pretty bones” … Love.
    “I’m dead at both ends.” … No kidding. DITTO.
    “Can feathers eat me?” … Big smiles for this.
    “I quail, lean to beginnings” … This also becomes “I quill” and “I quail-lean.”

  3. I thought of “lean-to” as a shed to be built! To contain all that ash.
    I love the epidermal dress as well. As well as the first line. And “thought does not crush to stone” – indeed, the energy remains.

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