http://spillwords.com/author/phyllispcolucci/
https://www.amazon.com/Phyllis-P.-Colucci/e/B00VMU8B44
One word becomes one idea, becomes one sentence, becomes one poem, becomes one story. It must start from just “one word”. Today my one word is “Wind”.
WIND
That notorious force will hit upon you with such strength that you may think someone is after you. It will push you, pull you, tear at your clothes, and send your hair flying in knots. You will hold your coat down, pull your hair back, wipe the tears from your eyes, and run home as quickly as you can. It will whistle, it will howl, and swirl you about, as you struggle to remain on your feet. Just keep running, get out of its way and head straight for your front door. Leave it behind as you enter your house – and just know it was simply the “Wind”.
WIND
Whistling, howling, swirling through
His meandering fingers violating you
He blows into your ear and taps upon your nose
Then harshly whispers of life’s pleasures and woes
He messes your hair with both love and lust
He shoves you fiercely with an almighty thrust
You aim to outrun his prowling charm
As he kisses you with his chilling calm
He captures you ‘neath the sun’s soft glow
While your footsteps ease, upon the fallen snow
You lose your step and fall to your knees
He toys with you wildly, under watchful trees
He possesses you with his clever embrace
You fight to see this predator’s face
But your eyes are blind to this obscured force
Who straddles you mightily, with no remorse
You rise to your feet, disheveled and cold
He tears at your clothes; pulls at every fold
Your hood is dangling in disarray
You run in fright, but can’t get away
Cars are passing, throngs of people laughing
You wonder why no one offers a hand
You keep on running, for he is quite cunning
He is Huge, he is Dominant and enticingly Grand
You turn ‘round to see him, with every step
But he is surely nowhere, e’er to be found
Yet he tugs at your arm, and pulls at your hair
And, once again, forces you to the solid, hard ground
Your shoes fall off, but you care not
For your home can be seen down the path
You make a “marathon run” for your lovely front door
As he is now caught up in YOUR vengeful wrath
So barefoot are you, as you reach your abode
The home fires burning inside
The ice on the ground stings your bare feet
But you are safe while he runs off to hide
You slip your key in your “home-sweet-home” door
Your poor knees - they are painfully skinned
Embarrassed – you smile, hiding your shame
For “HE” was simply the notorious Wind…
