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The Weather Vane

The weather vane, a rooster
made of tin, turns erratically
upon my former sweetheart’s
rooftop, always undecided
which way to point--exactly
in the fashion of the girl
I had loved--long ago.
She pledged me love eternally
upon a ring she quickly broke in two.

Now, from which corner of the world
do you blow, oh fickle wind?
Whereto do you rush in such great haste
as if driven on by the furies of hell?
Wish I were thus likewise fleet of foot
to leave behind disturbing memories
that raise their heads to plague my soul.

Free at last; I whistle mockingly,
like the wind. I briefly glance
at the turning weathervane
above your loveless house.
As you mournfully think of me,
and ask, “Is someone there,” then
you might hear my carefree reply,
“The wind, the wind; it’s only the wind.”

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


Hi, Jerry
Wonderful comparison - fickle love to a weather vane. Your poem reminds me of the Garth Brooks song "Unanswered Prayers." I've stated before that I am a big fan of the final line of a poem, and yours is very cool indeed.
Thank you!

I agree with you; a poem's last line should always be meaningful, and I will strive to never disappoint you, the reader. It serves as a signature, I suppose. Glad you like it, Lavender. Thank you for the nice comment.

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Hi Jerry, I love your poem, as well as weather vanes! Sometimes I wonder where you get such original ideas. It's so romantic and the imagery is brilliant.
The title is the perfect one and the content has internal logic. So I leave you, kind Sir, whistling in the wind. Gracy

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

not only am I a wordsmith but one who tinkers with iron and bronze as well. My entire yard used to be seeded with iron art of every sort till the pieces began to disappear. I still have some items left, such as a hummingbird with outstretched wings, stored well within the perimeter of our fenced property. I also love weather vanes. Thank you for liking my poem, Gracy (you have great taste, lol). Take care of yourself, dear. Jerry

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As others have commented before, i too loved your poem and for the novel use of weather vane to your mind spinning and imagination about your ex ....

be well..

raj (sublime_ocean)

the wind Abby, Mariah, Jane, etc... Yes, a love can be fickle as the wind and as strong as a Gale. [pun intended]. I liked the wishing that one could be as fleet of foot, to leave behind disturbing memories behind. It does seem as though the wind is carefree and just goes wherever it will. Nice. ~ Geez.

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these days I call the wind "Lynda" or she won't call me in for supper or--dessert--if you get my drift. Lol. Thanks for the comment, sir. Jerry

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thanks very much for the comment, and it's so great to meet you here. Glad you like my poem that, remotely, speaks of heartbreak and the whistling wind, lol. Thanks, Raj.

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