WIND - A POEM FOR THE FEAST OF PENTECOST

By Philip Quirke

Wind.. blows wherever it pleases. John3:8

High wind in the sycamore turns the leaves to storm alert;

they resist the assault in jerks and twists.

This erratic dance swishes into intermittent and irregular

‘whooshes’, which rise and fall in baffled music.

High wind off the coast :whips waves to a laborious rush

with convoluted crack and hiss as they break upon themselves.

Wind, agitator of restlessness, disturbs our comfort zone:

unsettles what we see, questions what we hear.