Free verse.

The wind, without welcome
carries crunchy kisses
to my wooden window sill.
 
Leaving in its wake,
a pool of particles crackling,
experiencing flight only long enough
to seek refuge among glass houses.
 
These gusts simply insist upon exhibiting  
a loud, garish display of affectionate adoration.
Roaring up a ruckus; leaving littered gifts
for her transparent amusement.
 
Tiny sands made of sparklers play a lustful melody.
While branches of a neighboring tree
sway and dance excitedly to this
naturalistic tune.
Adding percussion upon
the clash of the branch
with the glass.
 
Dried leaves detect this song of intimacy,
desiring a doubtful escape
from their droning decomposition.
These ghosts of leaves once lively and green,
chime lazily,  reluctant to pick up tempo.
 
Cheery contributors, birds begin adding volume,
whistling wildly to the wind’s ballet. Eagerly flocking to her sill,
offering boisterous sounds of seeds being shelled.
 
A crunch all of their own.
 
The wind slowly ascertains momentum,
and with this force comes stead-fast strength
to carry larger tiny stones, producing
yet another instrumental. Not so much a crunch,
but more along the lines of clink.
 
My window must be flattered by this
exotic display of collectively spontaneous praise.
For now she adds her own voice,
sounding much like crunching crystals
singing songs of gratitude.
 
All too quickly, the wind dies down,
forcing the debris to settle back to an earthly home.
Entangled by excitement,
without pane nor protest,
her polarized, ill tempered glass
belts out a shattering solo.
 
The birds stiffly vacate her sill with speed,
to seek entertainment from another source.
The beaten branches obediently
follow suit, requiring a rest
from this most unusual enjoyment.
 
My old, whiny window proceeded to carry on,
continuing her solitary crunching all through the night.
She sang her shrieking serenade  without reservation.
Never once noticing her own shrill and smiling screams.
 
Without hesitation, I joined in noisy window’s
candid concert of crunches after making way to the kitchen.
Upon pouring crispy rice cereal,
loudly,
from the box to the bowl; I merrily crunched along
with her temperamental glassiness...
 
'Til the quiet crack of dawn.

(2013)

This free verse is the result of a challenge given to me by a fellow poet. I'd been writing only formatted, rhyming poetry and my friend proposed that I write a free verse poem with a theme of "the wind is crunchy." She had gotten the idea for this particular theme from her little one that day. He had made a remark that the wind was, "crunchy." She couldn't have been happier with my result.

free verse, nature, philosophy

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james matthew coleman
almost 6 years

Love this! The conclusion had me smiling :)

Callyope
almost 6 years

Well, shucks... I think I'm blushing 8^)
Thankya thankya!

Cory Garcia
almost 6 years

I didn't want it to end... nicely done :)

Callyope
almost 6 years

Thanks, 'stiltskin! I believe the wind's howl to be much like an unspoken lullaby. But if you're able to listen closely enough and with an opened mind, you'll hear it's tender lyrics...

'stiltskin
almost 6 years

Fantastic translation of natures sounds into words...isn't it awful being kept awake by wind...:)

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Julia W steven t. 'stiltskin james matthew coleman Cory Garcia