They Turn the Wind to Whispers

"Headwinds" ---Fred Turpin's Poetry Blog

Old pinesThey make their stand together,
Huddled so they turn wind to whispers.
As fog creeps in, they seem to soak their feet,
Raise their skirts above bony knees,
Thin long legs more sturdy than they seem.

Always humble, never single do they speak,
But candid in their contribution to the glade.
This stand of pine was here before my birth.
I trust they’ll still be standing when I’m gone.
One language do they speak with needle tongues.

If you are running fast, you’ll miss their quiet grace.
Pause one morning in your hurried race;
Breathe deeply into your lungs the fragrance offered.
Be grateful for what they offer to the world.
Tell me what you think they whisper in full moon.

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The Threshold


Before I go to bed
the darkness of the night
turns a gentle shade of gray,
announcing dawn an hour away.

I dip into the sheets
just as the wren’s first trembling
bursts forth in song
from trees across the road.

I am at a threshold,
between wakefulness and sleep,
darkness and the dawn,
the stillness and the song.

This is the time
when dew forms on grass
but does not fall,
lingering for the sun.

The waters of the lake are still,
its luminescence hidden in fog
that hugs the waterline
and shrouds the world in silence.

This is the time
when the spirit of reproach
yields to the spirit of blessing
and the dead are given voice to speak.

This is the time
of silent necessary prayer,
when prostrate before the face of God,
even angels begin to weep.


ImagineStop for a moment and pause upon this scene—

Glade of trees and field of purple blossoms,

Sunrise rising above the hills, shadows shielding light

Creating a breeze if you can feel with heart.


If you can truly see, hold the beauty,

Absorb it into your deepest senses,

Then you can envision it in heat of day,

Bring it back in dark of storms at night.


Now you possess it, hold it forever

Within your mind and call it forth at will.

Imagination is powerful, essential

For healing and happiness.


Come with me now. I’ve spent hours

Walking into this scene, lying among flowers,

Cool dew upon skin, smelling fragrance drifting in air,

Breathing Into lungs and deep crevices of memory.


What Only Soul Can Sense

What Only Soul Can Sense

The eye of the poet is always open,
Even during sleep….
Searching deeper for images and words
To match what only soul can sense,
Looking, not with but through the eye
For hidden spark within the dark.

Bend your knee under great Sequoia
In silent, wordless prayer….
Watch in wonder beside Old Faithful Geyser;
Stand in awe at sunset on rim of Grand Canyon,
Walk along sandy shores of oceans—
You find yourself within great cathedral.

Walk alone into sanctuary of wilderness—
Camp under Milky Way and see above the wider web,
Billions of stars that set boundaries of our galaxy,
Each star a light to germinate imagination….
Who can measure depth of blessing,
Wide as any hope we know?

As long as I live, I will interpret weathered stone,
Get as close to the world as I can,
Rest beside old river’s bank,
Climb mountains whose immortal age
Can only be an estimate by height,
Shifting, always shifting in my mind.

Once we’ve seen deep into Reality,
We lift the veil that blinds us to beauty,
See rainbows in another’s cloud….
Can you feel burdens of an ordinary day
Fall as lightly as raindrops upon naked skin?
If so, you’ve tasted quickening yeast of poetry.

Sacred Wonder in Our Eyes

Sacred Wonder

Of course there are times

When I am lost—

Hours or even days spent gazing

Spellbound in whimsy by empty space—

Light shimmering on the lake,

Counting rolling waves upon the shore,

Watching lightening as it boldly strikes….


Times when I walk alone upon some path

Not knowing which way to turn,

Perhaps melancholy deep in forest,

Out upon some field in burning sun,

Jumping in puddles when it rains,

Trudging through heavy snow and wind.

And part of me is lost; and part of me is wild.


Last night I danced in reverie

Beneath that big old Moon….

Whether I danced naked or had

Clothes upon my back is my secret.

No, you may not ask.

Go dance your own dance—

Do not ever judge my own.


There is a world of dreams within,

Fantasies that come and go

As sparrows fly inside large barn

Before they find the door and soar

Somewhere among white clouds—

Precisely where I will never know.

And if I could, never would I bring them back.


If you find me barefoot, splashing in the brook—

Do not ask to dry my feet

Nor come back to drink your tea.

Do not say a word. Just stay with me.

Try to understand the fire inside my belly.

Imagine all the pain within my broken heart.

Find me. But do not bring me back.


Do you yearn to know this part of me?

If not, then never assume I am ready

To lose my soul for your reality.

Leave me lost in mystery of my own.

Though I may be alone,

I fear someone may take away my magic.

Only offer me a hand to hold.


Perhaps I will take you for wild ride—

I own the sky and ocean blue. And so do you.

I skip from mountain top to deep of valley floor.

Spread your wings and fly with me.

Whatever time we spend will not be wasted…

For time does not exist when we blaze

With wonder, sacred wonder burning in our eyes.


My Private Cave; My Secret Cove

Private CaveToday I pause and feel compelled
To clear my lungs of every worry—
When eyes are closed and darkness
Surrounds my very being….
Why am I not lonely, though the world
Begins to fade away a thousand miles an hour?
No lights from cities reach my inner self.

In the stillness, I am at peace.
No other love than the Great Love,
Thin blue spot deep from my interior
Rises out of silence to secure.
Here I am completely defenseless.
No hope. No fear. No shadows
Cast by others from shallow smiles.

Is this my private cave? My secret cove?
My cul-de-sac well hidden from main roads?
Perhaps this is an intimation of death,
A falling away into soft brown Earth,
Contending with no yesterday or tomorrow,
No wish for more, yet satisfied at last.
Finally, I am at peace with myself.

Cannot Lose My Way

Cannot Lose My Way

Forever will I be a stranger
Upon round spinning Earth.
This is not the Home I seek,
Though it be the only home I know.

For me, this Earth is but a school—
Its sorrows and cares always teach,
Then I retire into cool shade
For balm to calm my soul.

Here in evening mists
Moves living Spirit in gentle winds
That cause my heart to dance,
Tremble as do green leaves upon the trees.

Deeply do I breathe this cloud of Ages,
Trust it as my clearest guide
When freely as a bird I fly,
Wings held by murmured breath.

There is eternal blessing
In this soft breeze upon my cheek,
From vast unknowns it comes and goes.
I follow as I can, yet cannot lose my way.