SPIRIT AND / OR WIND

The wind has brought its 
army of rowdy ghosts to 
the windows and doors 

of the house, tonight;
“We know you’re in there,” the wind 
is saying, pushing 

and tugging at things.
“Why won’t you come out and play
like you use to. Come 

on, man, is it true 
what they’re saying; that you’ve just 
taken too many 

hard falls, too many 
blows to the heart and head and 
come up lame (and left 

for dead or worse, one 
of the barely-living dead)?
You’ve only got your-

self to blame, you know.
But hey, suppose we were to 
bring some serious 

thunder and lightning 
and rain? Would that fire you up, 
a little, mother-

fucker? Would that take 
some of the sting from your pain?
All we want is a 

little of your time
and maybe an offering 
(or two) of some of 

that wine you’re drinkin’, 
there, for all our fallen and 
missing brethren that 

just never managed 
to find the spirit or the 
wind to rise again.

Jason Ryberg is the author of eighteen books of poetry, six screenplays, a few short stories, a box full of folders, notebooks and scraps of paper that could one day be (loosely) construed as a novel, and, a couple of angry letters to various magazine and newspaper editors. He is currently an artist-in-residence at both The Prospero Institute of Disquieted P/o/e/t/i/c/s and the Osage Arts Community, and is an editor and designer at Spartan Books. His latest collection of poems is Fence Post Blues (River Dog Press, 2023).  He lives part-time in Kansas City, MO with a rooster named Little Red and a Billy-goat named Giuseppe  and part-time somewhere in the Ozarks, near the Gasconade River, where there are also many strange and wonderful woodland critters.