Frank James Ryan
Woodwinds - Poem by Frank James Ryan
Begin the day... and I awaken to the gentle tingling,
Of the morning mists even flow, nights final breath.
And malaised by the gaunt and murky shroud impeding the sunrise;
I intently await the unfurling of natures morning crest.
Enter...an eerie chant of pipes, its echo invokes my intrepid sense;
A sudden, biting thrust of woodwinds approaching with intrusion.
Its sound a whining, writhing pitch as I spin in awkward motion;
To reveal the source and contain my paranoia's quench for peril.
But Woodwinds in the air?
I'm alerted to scriptural warnings
Woodwinds in the air... Read the Book!
I have long lamented through each yellow parched page... Now I pause;
When, my God, I am besieged by a thunderous chorus of woodwinds.
Are they in six or seven? Its numeral symbol represents the entity;
Shall I prepare for strike or implore absolution, when suddenly I...
Ascend my head to the screaming skies, my eyes a affixed in awe;
To a flock of natures feathered flyers, ensconced in melodic exchange.
Juxtaposed in arrowed flank, their conductor at the cusp;
No steeds or trumpets in this group, nor beasts with jagged horns.
Yes, woodwinds in the air indeed, but the message speaks of Genesis;
And I close The Book and embrace the sounds of natures free concert.
Comments about Woodwinds by Frank James Ryan
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You