Anemoi - a Balad of the Four Winds

This is my first attempt at a ballad style with an ABCB rhyming and an 8, 7, 8, 6 syllable pattern.  I didn't worry too much about keeping exactly to a pattern for the stresses in each line.  Any music written for this ballad will be in Aeolian mode, which is naturally found in A minor.

Anemoi

Astraeus and lady Eos

It is told, conceived in Twilight

Anemoi, the Four Gods of Wind

Between day and night

Boreas born in cold winter

Strong, harsh and devouring

Did blow down from the red, red North

Short days, cold breath, he’d bring

Notos ripened in summer heat

Billowed forth a scathing breeze

To fruit or fall Iounios crops

Southerly he would rise

Then Zephyrus came out of the West

Fructifying, gentle and fair

Flowers would hear his call for Spring

His songs, softly he’d share

Last, unlucky Euros emerged

From Helios’ Eastern sky

His warmth and rains, washed trees of leaves

He’d guide the Vernal cry

Astraeus and Lady Eos

It is told, contrived in Twilight

To make Aeolus mind their sons

And keep them out of sight

Brave Aeolus took the challenge

With laments and songs, armed well

He’d hail the winds to his side

And their chaos he’d quell

Blessed King of the Four Wild Winds

Their parents ever grateful

Did grace Aeolus the minder

Deep peace, from heart and soul

Astraeus and lady Eos

It is told, conceived in Twilight

Anemoi, the Four Gods of Wind

Between day and night

The Gift of Voice

As a small child, 

when I had little cares, 

I knew myself.  

I knew my tribe.  

We, who are...

Transmitters of sine, saw and square,

Mend broken hearts with the resonance of Love.

The Great Creatrix breathes through us,

as the piper blows into his whistle.

Harmony and Dischord dance our bones alive

and birth themselves into the bodies of passersby.

We are sung as the Gifts of Voice.

Donum of Vox Vocis

Nameless

Windwalking

Northwesterly winds spoke of heat and fire: 

"With the right fuel for flame, I am a ferocious foe indeed. 
I would whip these hills into a frenzy. 
Alight this heat-stroked landscape mercilessly. 
Just like this sky at sunset, in a blaze of orange, yellow and red. 
For now, I cool your burning skin.
For later, I give breath to the fire."

Active Listening

In the heat of the afternoon, there were only three sounds.

The purr and whirr of the fan.

The intermittent, insistent, electric buzz of cicadas.

The broken beats of my heart.