Members of our message board share their poems about March wind.




I come and go fast at times
other days I whisper through the pines
Somdays the breeze
shimmers through the trees

somedays my power
takes down a telephone tower
When I am angry and storms come through
I can scare the lot of you

tornadic winds are out of my control
I do not intend to hurt a soul
It just happens what can I say
I hope you all have a windless day today.

By Amy (fabulousfilly@aol.com)



Wyoming Wind

Wyoming wind I will begin
to say to you and it is so true
if you are light, you must have fright
and cinder blocks carry, do not tarry

A hat without a string
ding a ling ling
will soon in Nebraska or
Colorado be, don’t you see

But the air is so clean
I do not mean to be mean
just a truism I speak
and it ain’t weak

But when it snows
and the wind does blow
fourteen inches comes down
oh so profound

Two inches stay here
oh my dear
but twelve inches to
Colorado and Nebraska go.

And it surely is so
oh I must go
but don’t be slow
and laugh at my rhyme, even not if in time.

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)



Mr. Wind

Mr Wind, are you mad
Or angry or even sad
Or do you like to joke and play
As you blow Men’s hats away

For Mr Wind does laugh out loud
As he rattles windows and blows the cloud
So Mr Wind as you blow
Make those kites fly high, go, go.

But can you blow the winter away
As you come out and play
For those wintery winds are high
But really spring is so nearby

By Doreen (traveller94@gmail.com)




I live alone out here in my little cottage
at the edge of the prairie –
alone – well, not completely…
there’s always the wind.

When I go outside she rushes up,
pushing me as though
I am needed somewhere urgently.
She tosses the tresses of the trees
like a wanton woman demanding attention.
In wild fits of pique,
she overturns garbage bins,
and throws papers and plastic
to cling to pasture fence line.
She prods me swiftly up the street,
around corners, down alleys,
tugging at my clothes and hair,
leaving me in disarray and robbing me of speech.

Arriving home, I shut the door behind her
attempting to catch my breath.
She howls at being left outside.
She moans at the windows and doors
and sporadically rattles them with a
fusillade of rapid bursts,
complaining at the unfairness of it.

She would like to come inside,
toss plates, glasses and napkins into the air,
clothes into confusion, fling towels,
bedding to the ceiling.
Create havoc, push me from room to room
until I sit crouched and trembling in a corner.

By Cottagelady (patience@bresnan.net)




I am the Arizona wind
Sending tumbleweeds up the road
Go ahead sweep off patio
I come to add to your work load

Have you noticed big dust devils
Oh yeah, you guessed, again that's me
And when you drive down the highway
I blow up dust so you can't see

And oh the joy I get when I
Swoop down and steal someones toy kite
Snatching it from it's long long string
Sending it high so out of sight

That gal who put her wash on line
I swiped her sheet and sent it far
Sailing to several streets away
It landed on a parked red car

Hats and scarves wildly wave about
Trees and shrubs bend with my great blow
Leaves dance all over on the ground
Birds struggle to fly as they go

I am the Arizona wind
Sending tumbleweeds up the road
Go ahead sweep off patio
I come to add to your work load

By Sharon (ByGolly25@aol.com)




I love to swoosh it up through a town,
Turn trash-cans upside down,
Lift the womens' skirts,
caress dimpled cheeks...and flirt.

I give voice to the leaves,
assist in the flight of honeybees.
I ripple the pond and wave the rushes.
All through March, I'm as busy as a bird in a row of bushes.

I wave the flags, I toss the trees,
If you hear your windows rattle, it's usually me
Wiggling between the cracks,
So I can tangle your covers and chill your back.

What fun it is to swoosh through an apple orchard,
Teasing the honeybees and laughing when they cry they're being tortured.
I sing, I caress, I whip, I sigh.
In March I'm active; in August, I pretty-near die.

When I'm bored, I like to whirl and kick up some dust.
When I'm angry, I puff myself up and produce some terrible gusts.
Most of the time I'm harmless, but don't make me mad.
I like having fun; I really don't like being bad.

After I've destroyed, I might sulk for weeks.
I'm ashamed of my dark moods, my over-blown cheeks.
There are those who have harnessed me and captured my power,
And that's okay. 'Cause I kinda like those silver arms that whirl on a tower.

By Marilyn (LaraOct7@aol.com)




Before winter winds down
I must throw out the leftover
Tantrums make way for gentle spring
Disgruntled I exit –
Blowing raspberries.

By Mercedes (mercedes1947@gmail.com)




Stinging pink cheeks neath winter wool,
The cowboy winds begin to blow,
Dusters rolling tumble weeds,
Scattering about the hollyhock seeds.

Whistling, the leader puff drags his crew,
Of dust devils, sands from last year’s blew,
Children’s legs chaff amid the smiles,
For all know in a little while,

There will be the storms of overkill,
Rolling over all yonder hills,
And hardy zinnias and castor beans,
Will color the west ‘neath returning wings.

Then when it settles maybe in May,
And the colts and turtles dance and play,
Serene blue and orange skies will show,
Curls of where cowboy winds did blow.

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)




I come from nowhere
A wanderer that cannot rest
Always lonely always seeking home
But never finding it

Unwelcome everywhere I go
As soon as I arrive people wish me gone
How I long to be a brother to the Sun
And everyone would say:

"Oh, Wind he is OK he belongs to the family
He can stay a while sit with us and visit."
But that is never what happens is it?
The minute I arrive I am cursed
And I cannot help it
I thirst...for love.

By Mercedes (mercedes1947@hotmail.com)




I am the Wind of Spring that visits you every March
And from the clothes you are hanging, I will blow out the starch
The new Spring grass awakening I will blow back against the ground
I will bring occasional gusts of rain, even snowflakes can be found

I am the Summer breeze that warms the flower beds
Sometimes I am so bright and hot folks have to cover their heads
I blow the sea waves to the shore, then sweep back the sand
I am the Summer breeze that blows over the land

I am the Autumn wind blowing warm or cold
With hints of Summer and predictions of weather bold
I blow the colored leaves from their branch
The liquid sap I always stanch

I am the Winter's roaring, storming breath
Cold, and freezing everything to death
I make life miserable, there is nothing warm
Around the fireplaces families do swarm

I am the Spring Wind, returning once again
Bringing the sunshine and the earth growing rain
All four seasons of wind are necessary for our world to grow
So regardless of the season, let the four winds blow

By susi (Texaswishr@aol.com.net)




Whenever anyone mentions March and wind, I always think of this childhood poem.

The North wind doth blow poem

The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He'll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
and hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@comcast.net)


Brought Forth from the Archives.

Morning Chats

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Woman in Brown (several writers)

A Wee Irish Poem


'Twas the First Snowflake

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