Weather Warning

This poem won Honourable mention in the 2003 2-Day Poem Contest

Chinook winds gusting to 80 km/h

This afternoon the wind's

on a barometric rush

ripping the last brown leaves from November poplars

beguiling the litmus-pink

out of frozen geraniums.

It's a manic phase

the wind is loath to lose

a boisterous gene from the Roaring Forties

that makes it fumble plywood

down a dead end alley

badger sullen cardboard boxes

into unaccustomed air.

The wind's multi-lingual, been around the world

more than once

blustering words from billboards

wherever it roams

Calgary nach Kairo

and on to Hong Kong

barefoot in a wild saraband the wind

won't dance alone.

The joyful have no patience with inertia

all's stop and go

like an oversized puppy

untrained to the leash.

Don't sing the wind Gimme shelter

it never will. Let it drink

old snow, lap ice from the outdoor faucet

take you someplace

you've never been before.

Published online June 01 2003.

This poem was a winner in CV2’s annual 2-Day Poem Contest. Every April, CV2 challenges players to create a new original poem that uses all 10 words of our choosing. It’s poetry under pressure for prizes, publication, and personal bests. Learn how to sign up for the next 2-Day Poem Contest.

Art of the Game cover image

This piece was published in ‘Art of the Game,’ the Summer 2003 issue of CV2.

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