New Poetry : December 6, 2011

Been thinking about all the winds they've been having back in my hometown.  Here's my take:

An Ode to Santa Anna Winds

Petulant, angry gusts

that shove across

the desert floor,

whooshing,

howling,

dry as flint,

hot as tumbleweed cinder,

filling the night

with piercing cacophonies

of sleepless song,

stunning the silence

of a starless sky,

loud,

jarring,

running through nothingness

straight to walls and windows

passin’ through

on the way

to ocean’s end.