Wind Words: Poetry

By Magenta Reynolds

Wind Words is a collection of travel poems inspired by nature and written in an endeavor to capture the many movements of the seasons and the lives of those who inhabit them. In her verse, Magenta explores love and lust, grounding and grieving, history and home using the imagery of the natural world as a catalyst for her own human experience. This first self-published collection includes 50 poems. These poems were written over the course of a decade and gathered here in hopes of preserving their impact not only on Magenta herself, but also her readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magenta Reynolds
• Release date: Jan 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201227982

Magenta Reynolds

Magenta Reynolds is a writer, artist, leatherworker, and small business owner. She grew up on a little family farm in Montana and recieved her BA in English at the University of San Diego. The blend of her experiences in expansive nature and dense culture easily inspire both her writing and her artwork. As a believer in heart forward movements, Magenta speaks to languages of healing, love, and our shared inherent wisdom. 

Book preview

Wind Words

Poetry

Magenta Reynolds

Published by Magenta Reynolds, 2022.

While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

WIND WORDS

First edition. January 1, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 Magenta Reynolds.

Written by Magenta Reynolds.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Wind Words (Poetry)

About the Author

For my mother who gave me life,

and for my ancestors who gave me grounding.

Little Me Chased Constellations:

––––––––

from the back porch

hot tub on the dead

end road at the base

of a montana valley,

––––––––

where I tried to peek

through holes in mother's

black blanket that masks

death from the living,

––––––––

only catching glances of

the world behind the sky

and never feeling closer

to gravity's bare ground.

––––––––

Now I hide

from light

pollution

under this

––––––––

plaster ceiling

and inside

the caves

of my bones.

––––––––

But sometimes the moon

sneaks in to connect

my time made marks

with her own neon lines,

––––––––

creating new constellations

and hoping to remind me

tracing my skin’s stars will

always guide me home.

Let Me Fly:

––––––––

Sometimes

I dream of hawks

gliding above rain

touched brush.

They beg for well

fed white rabbits,

while I’m just

hungry for wings.

––––––––

Sometimes

I hear hawks

screaming to

claim more space.

Can I feast on their

wide clouded skies,

or is it better to

leave me starving?

We Are Tired, But We Are Lonely:

––––––––

We want to cherry

pick the ripe parts.

We want to roll

the