Photo Play 2: Air, Breath, Wind

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There are moments when the air is still, silent. There are moments that leave us breathless and still. Last week, through photos and words, each contribution from our community captured a moment in time with air, breath, wind.

In this photograph, S. Etole illustrates a scene of a long-forgotten windmill, stark against bare branches and a cloudy sky. You can almost hear it creak to the playful nudge of the north wind.

air, breath, wind

Darlene captured the quiet serenity of a humble piece of fabric draped over a clothesline, its well-worn and tatty edges wave hello in the breeze.

air, breath, wind

Thanks to everyone who also participated with poetry. Here’s part of a poem from Bethany we enjoyed:

Remember our laugh?
That sudden air gush,
lung-crush of hilarity
that roared from our cheeks–while
everyone else held their
breath?

—by Bethany

PHOTO PLAY 2 POETRY PROMPT:  Find inspiration from one of the photographs you see here and respond with a poem. Share it with us in the comment box below.

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Be sure to check out the highlights from Photo Prompt participants on the Photo Play Pinterest board! And keep clicking and/or playing with words. 🙂

Feature photo by Donnie Nunley. In-post photos by S. Etole and Simply Darlene. Creative Commons license via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.

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Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!

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Comments

  1. Here’s one to go with Darlene’s photo:

    Don’t zip on a windbreaker,
    synthetic strands machined
    into tense fabric
    armoring what can’t breathe.
    Don the linen, its own threads
    loosely gathered, covering
    yet allowing the wind
    to breeze through.

    Reply

  2. http://tinyurl.com/lf6ghfs

    Myth of Wings

    It is not enough to leave the ground.
    You know this—what you imagine is real—

    the dark fish leaps, armor softens
    into flight: yet, the sea pools in a raven’s wing,

    the bent world turns impossibly: look
    even the angels are drawn to its cage,

    slights of hand, tricks of light, it’s not enough
    merely to fly—

    listen: in the frail air
    above the earth, where all cries are whispers,

    the falcon, feathered hyphen, rises,
    vanishes in the illusion of morning blue.

    Ask yourself, what is this, if neither wing nor eye.

    Reply

  4. Thank ye for including my image here! Here’s the double haiku I’d penned for the initial prompt (of air, breath, wind):

    elastic topped, sheer

    silk, lace-edged, rides high among

    black skirts, button-ups,

    jeans, faded towels, bed

    sheets – wooden clipped to clothesline –

    quivering, a slip.

    Reply

  5. for the windmill pic by S. Etole — another double haiku:

    when wind blew more than
    power for water’s lifting,
    the dust bowl stayed too

    long – people fled, left
    homesteads, traveled west or pulled
    inside, went crazy

    Reply

      • Hi Donna – thanks for the kudos and for the link to the song. I really like it. How have I not heard of this woman before?

        My husband’s kin homesteaded in NB and most left during the dust bowl — what harsh conditions, but more so, what tenacity and strength in those who stayed.

        Reply

      • Trouble in the Fields is a beautiful ballad. Thanks for posting this, so appropriate to compliment Darlene’s poem (kudos to you, Darlene!). At one time I had several albums (yes, the big vinyl ones). I remember Poet At My Window, if I remember right. I also saw her in concert once in Houston.

        Reply

    • Nice one, Darlene. My mother used to tell how the dust gathered in the pages of closed books in the little country school where she taught.
      Thank you TSP for using my image.

      Reply

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