Blowing In The Wind


It was a windy day

in a windy city

a long time ago,

about fifty years, I think,

I forget exactly when.

A sudden flurry made me the vortex

and I was surrounded by sheets of paper

caught up and blown from a doorway.


When it had settled, 

I collected a few.

They were letters

applying for jobs

dated about fifty years ago,

I forget exactly when.

All were hand written 

in the most beautiful cursive scripts.

I could visualise the care with which

nibs had been dipped in ink,

the concentration in the touch of pen to paper.

These were the stuff of unknown dreams.


The names are long forgotten now

but I wonder what became of them,

those ghosts of a past

who touched my life

in a flurry of wind

only to be blown away.


https://sequoyahcherokeeriverjournal.wordpress.com/2021/10/30/sequoyah-cherokee-river-journal-9/4/





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Image
  Photo Opportunity I watched the man crossing the path underneath the cascade of the waterfall. It had been part of the route wine was carried from the high lands, to be sold on the coast. Back in the old days, that was. But the old days weren’t very long ago. He seemed confident as he placed a foot carefully in each of the footholds hacked into the precipitous rock face. He gripped the thick metal hawser attached to the rock with strong metal rings. Gripped it firmly and proceeded slowly one step at a time. I had a camera and I thought that it was a picture he would like to have when he was dry and safe back on terra firma. Then I thought, suppose he falls, falls into the waves, to be smashed against the rocks far below. I didn’t want to have such a picture, a picture of someone’s last moments and I thought, to take it may jinx his journey and even cause him to fall. So I never took the picture. But it made no difference. The man fell anyway. https://coldrambler.blogspot.com/2024...
Read more
Image
  Frog She looked into the pond where the frog, sitting on a lily pad looked back at her alert   its eyes meeting hers. She remembered the story about a frog, how it became a prince when kissed. She thought of the sleeping beauty and how she awoke to the kiss of a prince. So, it seemed that kisses and princes must have some connection. The frog was very still. She thought it may be   still enough to kiss but she couldn’t quite reach though she tried and tried and tried while the frog stayed there still waiting.   And then it spoke. “I’m no prince,” it said. “But I’ll come closer, I’d still like a kiss.” https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/
Read more
Image
  In The Rocks It was a small gap in the rocks dry and bare for a time in waiting, waiting for the tide   to turn and the sea to wash through to leave it not quite dry; a trickle of   salt water   left behind, salt tears running down a face, pooling below full of life full of creatures brought back to life. Tears can sometimes do that temporarily. https://www.amazon.co.uk/Scissortail-Quarterly-4-August-2021/dp/1955814449/ref=sr_1_1?adgrpid=1289727496319819&dchild=1&hvadid=80608056598932&hvbmt=be&hvdev=c&hvlocphy=42057&hvnetw=o&hvqmt=e&hvtargid=kwd-80608176505703%3Aloc-188&keywords=scissortail+quarterly&qid=1631206123&sr=8-1
Read more