BLOW WINDS BLOW

by Joy Kreves

 

New Jersey had two Jersey Shore towns report wind gusts of 60 mph on Monday night. More windy weather is expected Tuesday. Canva for NJ.com, December 30, 2025

Kick this era out into the cold

tail between its legs, thrash  

it with your breath ‘till it whimpers

 

Blow   blow    blow

clear out all the hangers-on

clinging to the corners

 

Blast like the pig-hunting wolf

but with strong enough huffs

to tumble brick walls

 

Slide your exhale across cold hearts, 

melt them like the wicked witch,

Ice down, down, drown 

 

Blow, bluster, dust off 

old peace signs, bring back butterflies

reignite a summer of love 

 

Roll sushi, tie tamales, shape samosas,

ribbon takeout containers in rainbow twine

Delight in the fruits of people’s labors

 

Then let us awaken to a calm, 

a steady sun that seeps its warmth

into our naked limbs

Sun Geode Rock, sculpture by Joy Kreves

Joy Kreves is a visual artist and poet living in New Jersey. She detests wind and lives with a big, white fluffy dog who everyone assumes loves snow, but he does not. However, he doesn't mind wind, even in large gusts. Kreves wrote this poem on the recent cold, gusty day.

DREAM OR NIGHTMARE

by George Held

1.

 

Is this dream or nightmare

from which we awaken?

 

Do we live still in the age of Frost

or T***p? The answer is debatable,

 

But our destiny is unknown: do we have

the strength to preserve our ever-

 

challenged democracy, the republic

for which "Old Glory" stands?

 

2.

 

The old, glorious words Hemingway

declared dead in The Great War

 

need renewal or replacement,

but how replace “honor,” “integrity,”

 

“truth”—just uttering that word

in the Senate after the Insurrection

 

earned Romney applause— when “disgrace,”

“fake,” and “disaster” still ring in our ears

 

and lesser poets fill Inauguration Day

with shibboleth and cliché?

3.

 

“The Gift Outright,” while not the poet’s best,

still provides us food for thought—

 

“The land was ours before we were the land’s…”—

 

as we waken from the four-year dream

or nightmare.

George Held is a longtime contributor to TheNewVerse.News.

JANUARY 11, 2016 — FOR ZIGGY

by Bill Hurley

David Bowie turned 69 recently.

I turned 69 recently.

18 months ago, David Bowie found cancer in his body.

18 months ago, I found cancer in my body.

Two days ago, David Bowie still had cancer.

Two days ago, I still had cancer.

Yesterday, David Bowie died.

Yesterday, I did not.

Instead, I woke up, ate some oatmeal, played the piano,

Went to a garden, photographed statues and banyan trees,

Sipped a latte while browsing through Dorothea Lange pictures,

Had lunch in a museum café, went to a jazz concert,

Then helped the sun set in a drumming circle on the beach.

Today, I woke up again and learned that David Bowie did not.

So what am I to do with this one more day?

And how many more will I be given 

Before it’s my turn 

To return 

To Stardust?

Bill Hurley is a retired video/multimedia producer and former broadcaster.  He is a frequent contributor to open mikes around Columbus, Ohio. His work has appeared in Common Threads, The Institute for Poetic Medicine, and he won the 2005 Thurber Treat award given by Thurber House for humor/parody writing. This year he is the humor juror for The Ohio Poetry Association’s Competition for high school poets. He recently was the featured reader at The Poetry Forum. He also is the MC for the annual Poetry at Perkins event at Ohio Wesleyan University. His collection, No Weeds in Wahkeena is available on Amazon.