The Wild Wind

Re-posting this, to get the ball rolling in this forum.
I wrote this poem in a flash of inspiration in 2014. I will be framing a printed copy to hang below my trophy buck shot in 2017


THE WILD WIND
‘Tis a mystery, from whence the Wild Wind blows,
a vast northern landscape of pine trees and snows,
But my mind wanders there, as it reddens my nose,
With the scents of the rivers where black water flows,
And forests that spring from the Earth’s granite bones,
All this I feel, as the Wild Wind moans.
Mosses and lichens and dead leaves and stones,
All crunch underfoot as I travel alone.
And the Wild Wind whispers, so soft in my ear,
“The hunt is afoot, your quarry is near.”
And my heart hardens fast against hope, against fear,
My mind focused and sharpened and deadly and clear.
And life spills on the on the snow, in the bright Autumn sun,
The cold Wild Wind and the hunter are one.
Another loop in the fabric of life has been spun,
The story’s not ended, but this chapter is done…

Good poem. Excellent details and imagery. ("...the Earth's granite bones.") Good rhyme and meter.

I like the use of various senses at work--what the narrator saw, heard, smelled.

You should do some market research and send it off to several magazines that buy outdoor poems. Some editor might buy it.

Jim                                                                                                                                                  

Thanks James,
I know it is a repost but I thought it was worth getting this forum off the ground.
I remember you had a great post about submitting such things that is unfortunately lost to the sands of internet time.
Could you maybe PM me some info about how/where to submit? I have no shame LOL, I'll take a swing at submitting for publication.

I have submitted it for consideration to an outdoor magazine (yes, just one LOL).
I guess we'll see soon enough.

Good luck with it.

Jim

That is a great poem. Thanks for posting it.

Very nice. Descriptive. I like it.
Suggestion if i may.
Life spills on the snow, in the bright autumn sun