Valley of the Winds

In a desolate valley at the top of the world the four winds gather to play. They like to tumble and roll over one another and create blizzards and tornados and play catch with lightening bolts. When this palls they hold singing contests and howl like the choirs of Hell. One day the North Wind, who's the King of the Winds, had an idea. "We will hold a poetry contest," he declared. Kings get to do this kind of thing. "Travel around the world and bring back the sweetest, saddest and funniest songs and poems that you can find."


So the four winds rushed off to the four corners of the Earth. The North Wind roamed the icy wastes of Russia and Siberia. The East wind travelled over the deserts of Arabia and into India and China and the isles of Japan. The West Wind blew across the seas to England and Ireland, and even to the far off Americas. Lady South Wind ventured into darkest Africa and across the red plains of Australia and even into the stormy wastes at the bottom of the world. Then they all came back to the Valley of the Winds to share what they had found.

Here's a few of the poems they brought back with them.



Lord East Wind found this poem while he was blowing about over Transylvania. It seems they have this problem a lot over there.

Confessions of a Warewolf Lover

I look at the hairs in the carpet
and think of you. I miss you already.
Your funny smile, your hairy palms,
the way you used to come home
on the morning after a full moon
so blood stained and dishevelled
with such a hang-dog expression
like a puppy who's been caught
chasing cars.

The house is so empty now you're gone,
free of your barking and your howls.
I got used to your odd little ways,
and the sacrifices I made
for your peculiar monthly cycle,
like giving away all my mother's silver.
Still you left me for that bitch.
I used to think our love would forever,
now I know you were always just a beast.


Lord West Wind found this poem in America.

Queen of the Junkyard

Queen of the Junkyard
she sits on her throne.
Her fenders may rust
but her headlights are chrome.

Her tires are missing,
her windscreen's not there,
but me and my friends
we just couldn't care.

We move the gear lever
We tread on the brakes.
We roar through the traffic
with rumbles and shakes.

We drive down the highway
and cruise up the coast
We let the dogs come
'cos they love it the most.

We like to chase robbers
We've caught quite a score
In our great police cruiser
Gold star on the door!

And then she's a starship
that flies into space,
to comets and planets
and that kind of place.

Around about sunset
we come back to earth,
we run home to dinner
with laughter and mirth.

Queen of the Junkyard,
she rusts in the weeds,
but when we ride in her
she's the finest of steeds!


Lord West Wind found this poem in England. He apologizes but it seems to have gotten mixed about slightly in transit. Maybe you can make out the original intent from what remains, however?

The Pink Rabbit's Tea Party

There was a pink bunny who was awfully funny,
And she sent all the creatures a note:
Come to tea, said she, it'll be a tee-hee,
Bring the manners you've all learned by rote, by rote,
Bring the manners you've all learned by rote!

So the creatures came all, as if to a ball
And they crowded the hall in a throng.
And they sharpened their nails and tied bows in their tails,
As they yearned for the ring of a gong, a gong,
They all yearned for the ring of a gong!

So the gong was rung long with a bing and a bong,
And it summoned the creatures to dine.
They ate pastries and pies and roast chicken thighs,
And washed it all down with some wine, some wine,
They washed it all down with some wine!

And there was there a Dove who was often in love,
With a Piggy-wig down from the hill.
She'd fret and she'd pine for he owned a gold mine,
And the thought of it made her feel ill, feel ill,
Yes the thought of it made her feel ill!

Said the Dove to her mate as she ate from the plate
Some melons and half of a scone,
Oh isn't it funny, he has lots of money,
While I must make do with none, with none,
While I must make do with none!

There was also an ape who was eating a grape,
And she cried by the light of the moon,
I swear that this girdle,
Is killing my murdle,
It will cut me in two very soon, very soon,
It will cut me in two very soon!

And the Peacock was there, but she hadn't a care,
For she knew she was looking her best.
While she's not one to preen,
For that's awfully mean,
She knew that she outshone all the rest, the rest,
Yes she knew that she outshone all the rest!

So after they'd dined and been thoroughly wined,
They all started to chatter with glee.
For there's many a beast,
They can't stand in the least,
And they each knew a rumor or three, or three,
Oh they each knew a rumor or three!

All too soon the tea's done and the prizes are won,
And the creatures all flock to the door.
If there's been a fur fight,
It will all be alright,
Once the blood has been mopped from the floor, the floor,
Once the blood has been mopped from the floor!

As they head home with ease in twos and in threes,
They each shed a solitary tear.
Now they've all had such fun,
And they know who to shun,
So it's certain they'll be back next year, next year,
Yes it's certain they'll be back next year!

                                    (With apologies to Edward Lear)


Lady South Wind heard this poem as she breezed across the distant shores of eastern Australia.

Singing the Rain 

The mountains are eternal
rising upwards through the haze. 
Heads among the clouds they sit
singing the ancient songs, 
their endless dreams are rolling 
across a million years.

A bearded warrior crouches
singing his bloody songs 
of death and glory. 
Come, gather round me in a circle,
and listen to my song, 
children of the thunder.

Hot from my hands 
the burning spear points fly,
Blood flows like rivers, 
across the parched and thirsting land 
quenching the fire for vengeance,
like the rain.

Listen to me! 
Last night I dreamed a dream 
of old times, and great men. 
Your fathers dreaming
runs through this land 
like the rivers run to the sea.

Will you let the strangers take
the land that is our heart? 
To this land I belong - 
My body is it's earth, 
It's waters are my blood. 
The dead cry out on every breeze.

So let the rivers flow! 
Let the dark earth 
drink up the streaming blood! 
Sing down your father's ghosts, 
take up your spears, 
and walk with me to war!

I sing of death 
before the sunset dies! 
Tonight the skies will open 
and swallow up the silent dead 
the elders sing 
to campfires in the sky.

The women will wail, 
But the women always wail. 
The fight is just, and 
burning is our rage. 
Sing with me now, my brothers, 
pick up your spears, and strike!

Looming dark, his brothers huddle close. 
Their stony brows are clouded
filled with thoughts of rain. 
The thunder booms, 
his dreaming echoes through the years, 
Singing down the glory, and the pain.  

Lord East Wind found this short poem but he's forgotten where it's from.

Perfume

Long skirts rustle
as she sits
pressing memories
between the pages
of her book.

Dried and preserved
a dusty resurrection
to a curious afterlife,
long ago memories
and perfume of summer.