Image generated by Chatgpt
An Ill-Wind
While floating along on currents of thought,
My mind moves upward and beyond into the past
To where they said it all began with a Big Bang.
Straining my eyes I see what shouldn’t be seen:
Galaxies and worlds fully formed and whole
Where wondering wandering minds reach out to me!
Before I can ask how and why this can be,
I feel myself lifted aloft by a gust of wind
And carried along long ley lines of life.
It is an ill-wind that blows on this day
That sears the eyes and flails the skin,
That tastes of copper and stinks of decay.
Behind, a behemoth gradually gains ground
In the guise of a monstrous boiling roiling cloud
Black and purple lit within by bolts of orange
Along with red flashes and sheets of outrage.
It is an ill-wind that blows on this day!
Like a gnat caught in forces beyond its control
I’m swept through filaments of time and space
And buffeted by cause and effect ripples and waves
As the wind cries havoc with hyper-sonic screams
Turning cities to rubble, lives to ruin and dashing dreams.
The wind then lets slip autonomous dog drones of war;
A humming, buzzing, hovering inhuman horror
Raining terror and death and murdering moral law.
I search for answers that might be blowin’ in the wind
Only to see that cloud enshroud the bodies of the dead.
Above scattered wailing cries of “enough!” and “no more!”
The wind blares leaders’ lies for the need to wage war.
It is an ill-wind that blows on this day,
But will it ever recall all that’s lost along the way?
Hot gusts of outrage and indignation
Tempered by breezes of justification
And the turbulence of distraction
Gives us the wind’s final determination.
Looking down I watch the aimless walking dead
Google Map their way through rubble and ruin
While their leaders over head ride the jet stream
On their way to kneel before would-be emperors
To pay them obeisance and perform proskynesis,
For they know which way the wind is blowing.
Unaware of the coming cloud that wind brings,
Back they fly with butterfly bills fluttering in the wind,
To pay for bigger and better ways to kill and maim
While the walking dead scratch for ways to live.
To them the wind whispers, “march onward unto war.”
And lies about what they’ll be fighting for.
It is an ill-wind that blows on this day,
Buffeting me with hot updraughts and air currents
Fed by wild fire flames fanned by the force of the wind;
A devil’s scorched earth act to starve out all hope.
Is that the wind or the sound of screaming jets?
Or the walking dead pleading “No more, no more?”
But the wind merely blows mercy back into their faces
While their socials busily scoop up views and likes,
Subscribers and followers and gathers comments
To occupy their thoughts for only a few moments.
All the while the cloud looms larger in the wind’s wake;
The wind that cleaves and carves chasms and canyons
Through binary minds divided by thoughts and opinions
On what’s black and white, right and wrong, true and false,
Real and fake, good and bad, and innocence and guilt.
I strain to hear the walking dead shout across the divide
At one another above the wind’s roar as it casts aside
Bridges built of reason, empathy and compassion.
As I wave warnings at those below to show I’m real,
I start to shimmer and undulate in the wind’s grip,
But they just look up and through me as if I’m not there;
No flicker of acknowledgement that I even exist
And this from living ghosts – the walking dead
Who don’t yet know where they have been led
By this ill-wind that blows on this day.
Before I can ask how and why this can be
I feel my atoms being rent and dispersed by the wind.
All I’m aware of is the blackness within the cloud
Shot through with strobe-like flashes of violence.
It has finally come in the wake of the wind
And within I feel nothing but deep hollow grief
As water coalesces around each particle of my being:
A multitude of raindrops that fall and drench the earth
In a flood that soon swamps bystanders who did nothing,
Said nothing and stood by while the wind blew fiercely
In a genocidal blast of murderous cleansing criminality.
The raindrops now become tears that form a deluge
To wash human sin away from the face of the earth
So that none can ever again see what shouldn’t be seen
With only the wind knowing how and why it could have been.
©Chris Christopoulos 2025
[I have a few poems sprinkled throughout this blog in various posts often inspired by the films that are featured. You’ll also find a few in my Sci-Fi Film Fiesta The Lost Last Volume 12, “Speculations & Ruminations,” Part 3: Poetic Ponderings.]
While floating along on currents of thought,
My mind moves upward and beyond into the past
To where they said it all began with a Big Bang.
Straining my eyes I see what shouldn’t be seen:
Galaxies and worlds fully formed and whole
Where wondering wandering minds reach out to me!
Before I can ask how and why this can be,
I feel myself lifted aloft by a gust of wind
And carried along long ley lines of life.
It is an ill-wind that blows on this day
That sears the eyes and flails the skin,
That tastes of copper and stinks of decay.
Behind, a behemoth gradually gains ground
In the guise of a monstrous boiling roiling cloud
Black and purple lit within by bolts of orange
Along with red flashes and sheets of outrage.
It is an ill-wind that blows on this day!
Like a gnat caught in forces beyond its control
I’m swept through filaments of time and space
And buffeted by cause and effect ripples and waves
As the wind cries havoc with hyper-sonic screams
Turning cities to rubble, lives to ruin and dashing dreams.
The wind then lets slip autonomous dog drones of war;
A humming, buzzing, hovering inhuman horror
Raining terror and death and murdering moral law.
I search for answers that might be blowin’ in the wind
Only to see that cloud enshroud the bodies of the dead.
Above scattered wailing cries of “enough!” and “no more!”
The wind blares leaders’ lies for the need to wage war.
It is an ill-wind that blows on this day,
But will it ever recall all that’s lost along the way?
Hot gusts of outrage and indignation
Tempered by breezes of justification
And the turbulence of distraction
Gives us the wind’s final determination.
Looking down I watch the aimless walking dead
Google Map their way through rubble and ruin
While their leaders over head ride the jet stream
On their way to kneel before would-be emperors
To pay them obeisance and perform proskynesis,
For they know which way the wind is blowing.
Unaware of the coming cloud that wind brings,
Back they fly with butterfly bills fluttering in the wind,
To pay for bigger and better ways to kill and maim
While the walking dead scratch for ways to live.
To them the wind whispers, “march onward unto war.”
And lies about what they’ll be fighting for.
It is an ill-wind that blows on this day,
Buffeting me with hot updraughts and air currents
Fed by wild fire flames fanned by the force of the wind;
A devil’s scorched earth act to starve out all hope.
Is that the wind or the sound of screaming jets?
Or the walking dead pleading “No more, no more?”
But the wind merely blows mercy back into their faces
While their socials busily scoop up views and likes,
Subscribers and followers and gathers comments
To occupy their thoughts for only a few moments.
All the while the cloud looms larger in the wind’s wake;
The wind that cleaves and carves chasms and canyons
Through binary minds divided by thoughts and opinions
On what’s black and white, right and wrong, true and false,
Real and fake, good and bad, and innocence and guilt.
I strain to hear the walking dead shout across the divide
At one another above the wind’s roar as it casts aside
Bridges built of reason, empathy and compassion.
As I wave warnings at those below to show I’m real,
I start to shimmer and undulate in the wind’s grip,
But they just look up and through me as if I’m not there;
No flicker of acknowledgement that I even exist
And this from living ghosts – the walking dead
Who don’t yet know where they have been led
By this ill-wind that blows on this day.
Before I can ask how and why this can be
I feel my atoms being rent and dispersed by the wind.
All I’m aware of is the blackness within the cloud
Shot through with strobe-like flashes of violence.
It has finally come in the wake of the wind
And within I feel nothing but deep hollow grief
As water coalesces around each particle of my being:
A multitude of raindrops that fall and drench the earth
In a flood that soon swamps bystanders who did nothing,
Said nothing and stood by while the wind blew fiercely
In a genocidal blast of murderous cleansing criminality.
The raindrops now become tears that form a deluge
To wash human sin away from the face of the earth
So that none can ever again see what shouldn’t be seen
With only the wind knowing how and why it could have been.
©Chris Christopoulos 2025
[I have a few poems sprinkled throughout this blog in various posts often inspired by the films that are featured. You’ll also find a few in my Sci-Fi Film Fiesta The Lost Last Volume 12, “Speculations & Ruminations,” Part 3: Poetic Ponderings.]
