OctPoWriMo Day 23: Santa Ana Winds
It’s barely seven in the morning and I’ve just gotten out of bed.
The sun has just come up over the horizon
and I’m already sweating what seems like bullets of lead.
I get dressed, walk out the door, and feel the wind on my face.
The weather is brewing something evil
and spewing the devil’s hot breath like a canister of mace.
The mountain gap winds, so dry in their origin,
whip past giving whiplash to those who can still
withstand Southern California.
The Westward winds fan flames so unbelievably high
it feels like standing in front of a heater while dressed in a wool sweater.
Sadly, it seems the warm weather has made all my plants die.
OctPoWriMo Day 24: Water
I watered them anyway,
and the brown shriveled leaves
from all of the tiny sprouting trees
have come alive again.
carrying tiny boatloads of green chlorophyll
return to their life-saving rivers of nutrients
to revive the plants
after hot devil winds.
has soaked into the dried brown dust
and turned the brittle soil into a damp mud
in the hopes of sustaining the lives
of those who came back from the dead.
OctPoWriMo Day 25: Writing Prompt – “Taste of Satisfaction”
tasting freshly brewed coffee
after a poem.
OctPoWriMo Day 26: Fire
You dance wildly against the sky
defying gravity as you reach up
to tear holes in the heavens.
Sometimes you sit quietly
in the background
as a single sliver of light
on a scented candle stem.
You often remind us of your power
when we graze our hand
against your brilliant skin.
We watch you break down
and destroy worlds.
We create new things
and survive off of your energy.
Still, you continue to dance
violently into the night,
as you defy gravity
while tearing holes in the heavens.
OctPoWriMo Day 27: Earth
The clacking of high heels against the grey concrete
get washed away as the sounds of machines
powered by fossil fuels go whizzing by.
The swirling of one-sided conversations from people
holding up plastic slabs go in and out
as loud sirens wail and horns beep.
Talking pictures on large flat screens
move in the background as air from swirling fans
move noisily around moving blades.
Engines from metal tubes in the sky
dispel controlled combustions
and cut through the Troposphere.
But then, those sounds begin to fade,
as the sun falls from its high perch in the sky
and trades places with the glowing moon.
The talking, swirling, and whirling of machines
take their daily breaks
and let the other animals speak.
Small crickets move their bodies
like violins to create high-pitched notes
and release them into the night.
Howls from coyotes and distant wolves
fill the air while hooting owls
argue next to trickling streams.