Every Wind
Every wind loses itself,
no matter where
it starts. I want
a little piece of you.
No.
I want your atmosphere
bundled in a small rice paper packet
and labeled with strings of new rain
and stepping stones.
I want
the grace of silence
blowing in through the cracked
window, disturbing only
the shadows.
Everywhere I go, bits of me linger,
searching for you.
Grief ages one thread at a time,
lurking like an odor
among the lost
things,
or your breath,
still out there,
drifting.
“Every Wind” first appeared in The Lake in July 2016.
Mister Okaji, Sir, this is so deep and soulful, not to mention intensely visual. Wow…
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Thank you, Bob. Much appreciated.
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Oh my.
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π
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This reached into my soul.
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Thank you, Leslie. It was one of those pieces that popped out on a gloomy day…
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This poem pulls me (blows me?) in multiple directions … got my heart racing … that singular “No.” is the culprit … else I could read along expecting sweet reunion. But no.
Thanks for waking me up this morning.
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Good morning!
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Reblogged this on Black Cat Alley and commented:
Robert Okaji’s poems always offer something stirring – and today is no exception.
Please be sure to stop by his site and say hello or just linger in the wealth of word wonder.
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Thank you for your kind words and for reblogging!
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my pleasure – it’s always a treat to read your words π
have a wonderful weekend π
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Beautiful, Bob.
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Thanks, Cate.
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This pulled all the blood from my extremities, distilling it into a viscous mass in my heart. I little piece isn’t enough, is it?
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It’s never enough.
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This is beautiful.
Now and then, I encounter bits drifting about. I remind myself that that’s a good thing. It would be nice to have a nice, neat package to turn to, but I think those unannounced encounters are the best, since they come unbidden.
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The accidental (incidental?) encounters with drifting bits are all important, coming as they do, unannounced but timely for the occasion.
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The spaces we hold are by definition void of the wind that first pulled us in. Eventually, we get around to deciding whether to stay or go, realizing that nothing’s keeping us there.
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What moves me might best be described as an emotional riptide rather than a wind – tugging me here and there, leaving me stranded, then tossing me out to find the way back to a changed landscape.
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Ah, yes, the manhandling riptide. The only way to avoid it is to stay out of the water altogether. That’s about as realistic a prospect for the poetically inclined as expecting a fallen, dried-up leaf to avoid the wind…
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It’s all over once I dip my toe in the tide.
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Reblogged this on apboustead.
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Thanks for reblogging.
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My favorite part? Your description at the end… βEvery Windβ first appeared in The Lake in July 2016″… like it literally appeared ( a piece of paper) in a local lake one summer and you fished it out, or that, like the name of the next Dalai Lama mystically written on the surface of Lhamo Latso…it was written on the surface o said summer lake and you copied it down! I am now wondering where all your other poems appeared:
“In Praise of Gravity” first appeared on a park bench in Hakodate in the spring.
“Glass With Memory” first appeared in a Ukrainian wheat field, after which it subsequently appeared in a cup of coffee in Baltimore, a street sign in Munich, and on a driver’s license in Hanoi last Fall…
LOL!!
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“…first appeared in a fleck of vomit in Medina County, Texas, after which three escaped convicts and a chimney sweep passing through Swamp Angel, Kansas noticed it in a cracked headlight’s flickering glow…”
Somehow this appeals to me. π
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…the cracked headlight of a local avocado farmer, who noticed that his crops formed the first three lines of Nine Ways Of Shaping The Moon, which were first noticed by the Hubble Telescope after massive amounts of radioactive particles started forming visible macro-chains. A similar phenomenon also occurred at CERN when the Large Hadron Collider’s liquid helium system leaked and spelt out the first six letters of Portrait In Ash…. which, incidentally, first appeared on a karakoke bill in Tongdo, South Korea.
This is of course not including the complete (and accidental) rendering of Portrait In Ash in coloured sand during a Mandala building ceremony at Qoikang Temple in Lhasa….
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That karaoke bill has never been confirmed…
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….the karaoke bill has never been confirmed, yes… BUT…recent scholarship on Luce irigaray has revealed that Portrait In Ash appears in part of her work Thinking The Difference as the anagram “Thickening Fender Thief”, while fragments of ‘Consider The Hand’ have been located in an ancient recipe for the Hittite entrΓ©e known as Tarnished Hen Cod.
So karaoke bill aside, your work proves that – while Einsteinian relativity precludes physical travel backwards in time (infinite mass at hyperlight speed) – conceptual consciousness is immaterial, thus can escape the effects of gravity and behave as quantum phenomena across greater and greater expanses of the time/space continuum… or so the Germans would have us believe!!!
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Beautiful
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You are always so kind, Barbara. Thank you.
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Not an easy thing to catch the wind. i try but…no.
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Agreed. But the wind catches me frequently.
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Tornado?
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Or just a straight line wind slapping me around like the ingrate I am.
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I don’t know what it says abouy me but i love a good wind slap.
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I often find it refreshing, after I catch my breath.
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‘Grief ages one thread at a time’ … π
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Thank you, Naomi. So pleased you like it.
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Very nice Robert. I especially like “disturbing only the shadows”
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Thanks very much!
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What a lovely piece with my Sunday morning cuppa. And resonates strongly after a season with a client last night doing grief counseling. .
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The wind can comfort us, too.
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Very beautiful and soul stirring.The winds never pass by without stirring something deep within. Wonderful .
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Thank you, Veena. The wind always stirs me, even when it’s not apparent.
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full of soul
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Thanks, Maureen. The wind’s doing…
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Such a beautiful piece, Robert! Very well done, love it.
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Thanks very much, Fiza!
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Superb imagery in a swirling piece
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Thanks, Derrick. It is a bit drafty in here!
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Another lovely read this morning! Thank you!
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Thanks, Annika!
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A poignant reminder of all I have lost…
(Stopped by from Black Cat Alley.)
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Thanks, Jules. Loss is something we all share.
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Just scrolling through before bed. Off to sleep now with “the grace of silence” in my heart. Thanks for the read, Robert, very beautiful.
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Thank you, Hannah. Much appreciated.
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Totally love it.
The style is unique and capturing
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Thank you very much!
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Keep the pen to paper,
Spit the words and warm the soul,
Inspire leave no time to moan.
Words are powerful!!
Stay blessed fellow writer, do follow Memeza Mzansi π
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Either an illusive wind or an illusive interest.
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Or elusive. π
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Arghhh! Did I misspell that? Oh how dreadful. Sorry about that! >.<
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It could be either one. Or both! π
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So illusive, is elusive. Don’t ya just love words π
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I do, I do!
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I truly love this poem. My favourite line:
“Everywhere I go, bits of me linger,
searching for you.”
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I’m so pleased it resonates for you. Thank you!
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