Best Paned Poems
Breezing trees heard the whispers of leaves
in the fardel of branches as they trembled
beneath the relentless breath of april's storm
i watched them from my window
this paned glass smudged over
with the splatter of lashing rain
pulsating against my hands
as i struggled to see clearly
through the ambages of drops
gliding down in an oblique trail
as they fell from ashen skies
and sullen eyes the same
this window has become my passage
to the forbidden outside world
where society once traipsed freely
upon these cobblestone streets
yet all i hear are the echoes of rain
as it plummets downward
all i see are these trees
struggling to remain grounded
in the lash of storm's fury
forthwith i see
you, me, a society
clinging together
likes these leaves
in the midst of this storm
trying to break free
april 24, 2020
* Breezing trees heard the whispers of leaves*
line credit to Vijay Pandit
Poetic lines Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Curled in the fetal position, snug and warm in the bed under the fluffy down
comforter dreaming as day breaks. Then suddenly a storm brews and explodes
through the large double-paned window lifting me up higher than I had ever been
lifted before. Sucked up out of the warm covers, surrounded by broken glass but
still in slumber but terrified, heart pounding trapped in a nightmare that doesn't
seem to want to end. Then the alarm buzzes bringing back to reality falling,
falling back down to the soft warm bed where dreams are made.
glass crunches with weight
can't move for shattered pieces...
tornado sirens
Life as known up until this time has changed. Trapped in fear any thunderstorm
cower in a basement each time there is a cloud remembering, remembering that day
when a horrific storm blew through my window.
Inspired by one of the pictures
in Debbie's contest page but
not an entry.
Dancing circles in the air
Pirouettes to seek and share
Feathered frenzy of delight
Such a wondrous, joyful sight
Framed by windows paned of glass
As I feel the morning pass
Wings that catch the dawning breeze
Entertain my heart with ease
From my station, perched and warm
Guiding me through every storm
Birds of yellow, red and blue
Dip and sway in fluttered hue
Free and fair and all things sweet
Minding me with every tweet
Life has soarings yet unflown
Dancing circles of my own
I sit and watch.
Changes come so slowly.
So, vigilance is required,
an attentiveness to minutia.
There are layers of wardings
erected between
the watch and I.
Thoughts, which flit and skitter
fight for outward movement.
Flesh that is too weak to hold attention,
leans toward the walls of cracks;
where even the plaster pulls
from its sheaf
and the dirty
double paned glass
waylays the eye.
Enthralled by the changes:
rain to sleet, to snow, to hail, to rain,
the maple buds leaving
their pointillist, rouge-lacquered shells,
dropping like the wings
of an emergent butterfly; I root.
Nights of storm-slapped branches
unfurl orchestrated by wind –
How the maple now dangles leaves like earrings
from the tips of the smallest twigs.
Tomorrow they will open
to palm the morning breeze
and welcome the spears of Lilly of the Valley,
as they emerge overnight beneath the mother tree.
The deer have eaten the tender,
green, tongue-rolled, delights of Hosta and Day Lily,
but they are stalwart plants and will return.
I’ve watched and watched but not seen the deer
though I have seen their bedding spots
among the mulch beneath the maple
in the winter and their hoof
prints in the snow.
Today, I will watch
temperatures are rising
and soon there will be
lilacs.
First Published in Latchkey Tales 2014
Behind paned glass, she’ll pass her days.
Eyes fixed across the frozen fields.
Her ruby smile, a thin disguise.
Betrothed to him, steadfast she prays.
On coldest day, they said goodbyes.
Forever true, with their love sealed.
The summer orchard’s ripe with plums.
She waits and cries for dreams untold,
as farm chores help her days to pass.
Her soldier's safe return shall come
when laughter climbs from greenest grass
and warm sunrays paint lovers gold.
Summer’s steps wane to fall’s swift stride.
In fiery heart, her love still burns.
As leaves rustle and gently strum,
only her cat holds tears she’s cried.
She’s lulled with neighs; the old barn hums.
His angel keeps till he returns.
A year has gone, she passes days
with animals to feed and groom.
Their bright eyes seem to understand
how fears can burrow under hay.
In uniform at altar grand,
A bride dreams of her handsome groom.
I dusted a single crimson lock
from my mouth
as I whirled my body
Away, away--
from the crusted white paint
and
single
paned windows.
My favorite shoes met blackened tar
in light, airy steps--
Left, then right.
Shifting my WEIGHT
wind in my eyes,
my hands grasped
two shiny plastic handles
below--
Left, then right.
Balancing myself with determination,
I s l o w l y turned my body,
aligning it with your gaze.
I remember,
your eyes were perfectly
CENTERED
in the door frame.
I looked into each individually--
Left, then right.
Each pupil was dilated with images:
colorful crayons,
straightened teeth,
paid tuition.
The wind suddenly escaped
my eyes and r u s h ed
to your throat.
You exhaled it from each
of your lungs--
Left, then right.
The wind carried y o u r w o r d s,
vibrating toward
my ears
in a weakened croak.
“Take Care."
As the wind made its
wayBACK
to my eyes,
the creases on our mouths
loomed upward...
I silently curved my body
BACK--
The wind waiting
behind me, ready to carry.
My hands GrippeD
on two shiny plastic handles,
It lif t e d me away--
Away from the crusted white paint,
and away
from the single paned windows.
PANED REFLECTIONS
Here lies the glazier, Peter Lee
His wife is shattered, naturally!
LAST NIGHTS ON THE TILES
Alas poor Joe, I knew him well
He fixed my roof before he fell!
SNAKE IN THE GRASS
Here lie the bones of Jones the vet
Inside his boa constrictor pet!
HE KNEW HIS STUFF
Ted, taxidermist, here doth lie
He stuffed himself with too much pie!
HAMMERED HOME
Here lies my auctioneer friend, Ron
His final ‘going, going gone!’
14/09/18
Moonlight through a window frame
casts a shadow grill on the floor
from my bed I watch
the six-paned moon dial
climb across the floor and wall
I can't sleep, again.
Like a movie clip
that loops over and over
Faerie and Flesh, I wonder
where She might be
again and again, until I fall
asleep, again.
The Portables
Baby boomer fourth grade,
We overfill Longfellow school.
Like coffee running over the cup brim.
Caught in a saucer of portables,
Two garage like class rooms,
Like Siamese twins, joined at the middle.
Flanked by rows of single paned windows,
That shake and rattle when the wind blows.
Bulletin board doors filed across, the back,
Masquerading as a cloak room.
Hiding coats, hats, shelves and boots from view.
One door between the two,
At the conjoined middle,
Side by side exterior doors from each class,
were never just opened,
But burst or exploded with a blast.
As forty five of us fought,
For the first breath of freedom.
As salmon fight to swim upstream.
Two teachers shared responsibility,
For weaving the fabric of our education.
I was lucky and got Mrs. Cuddly,
Who taught us times tables, decimal and fractions.
And reminded me of grandma, instead
Of every fourth grader's constant dread.
Whose wooden arm, it was rumored,
Was used to beat you over the head.
Mrs. Wooden arm turned out to be quite kind.
And taught nouns, verbs and spelling.
And the magic of the written word,
Like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly,
She gave our imaginations multi-colored wings.
And taught them how to fly.
Which is really the difference,
Between great fiction and an obvious lie.
The b ba baaa backbeat of backup beeps
and the engine rroarrrrs
join the whizz of rubber wheels
and the lingering laughter of lovers
at the intersection
The beep-beep tootelie-toots
of arriving transit buses
tickles the funny-bone of morning
waking somnambulant walkers
who dot the sidewalk below my perch,
even the slap of skate-boards
and the clinking tweeter od metal shopping carts
makes music…
Each raucous sound rattles
the single-paned windows of clap-board relics
pinging off plaster, vibrating through ancient oak floors
coming home to roost in the mingled fragrance
of brownies and mary jane.
I’ve learned that no matter how hard life seems there’s always something to be learned from the negative experiences in the end.
I’ve learned that you never really know someone until you’ve lived with them.
I’ve learned that just because someone says they care for you doesn’t necessarily make them your friend.
I’ve learned that you can’t make someone love you no matter how much you care for them.
I’ve learned that it’s okay to be alone just as long as you’re not lonely to the point of having suicidal tendencies.
I’ve learned that you alone can define your destiny.
I’m learning to accept others as they are and to live my life in deep humility.
I’m learning to forgive others who have offended me no matter how much the situation infuriates me.
And of course I’ll never forget what they did to me,
But at least we can be civil to each other and exist harmoniously.
I’m learning that procrastination is unacceptable and that with my life I need to be more responsible.
I’ve learned that common sense is not something that everyone has.
And I’m learning to stop behaving as if my patience and nerves are made of thinly paned glass.
I’ve learned to take everything to God in prayer.
And I’ve learned to be patient and wait for His answers because I know for me He cares.
I’m trying to forgive my father for the times he should have been there.
He’ll never know how his negligence showed me how much he really cared.
I’m learning how to write my expressive thoughts down.
Now my frustrations don’t build up so much and they’re no longer weighing on my heart now.
I’ve learned that life can sometimes be as hard as we make it.
And I’m learning that people can really get under my skin and sometimes I just have to swallow my pride and take it.
And that doesn’t make me a punk at all.
It just reinforces my faith in God cause I know He’ll be there for me when I stumble or fall.
I’m learning how to be a better daughter and sister.
Even though my mom and Courtney don’t know, there are times when I really do miss them.
I’m learning to accept that my family has issues and that they are not perfect.
And when they do and say hateful things to each other to not even indulge it.
Life’s short but the journey is long.
God still has plenty more lessons for me to learn.
Duluth Warmbilt factory blanket
placed over his shoulders
after dinner cookie in lap
untasted
facing out the long
double-paned window
grinning hard
scaring the new hire
A skull she thinks
waiting for it to melt
just enough
so the two-ton truck
The crazy kids drove out
onto the frozen lake
stuck out there
all winter now
gets swallowed up.
I was studying in the library where
the solitude almost lulled me to sleep,
when out of the blue heard
a quaint noise that startled me,
Curious I got up from my seat
and started looking around,
replaying the noise I had heard
of the ping, poing metal sound,
Something had fallen or dropped
off a table or shelf,
something that sounded metallic
and nothing else…
I knew it would be in the
vicinity of my table close by,
because the noise was earth shattering,
considering the atmosphere morgue like and shy,
Thats when I stopped and looked down at the floor
and spied an object glistening very small,
next to the the librarians feet whose hair was in a untidy bun,
was her lone bobby pin that shone from the window paned sun.
3-5-17
My armor is diminished,
to nothing more than a paned glass,
too easily shattered.
My will, the only barrier.
The kisses closed, I dream open.
The delicate flavor of virgin musk,
screaming out at me.
My heart a puddle.
Her every glance,
a stone birthing a new score of ringlets of anguish,
in my mind.
That runs in panic with desire.
To hold her tenderly, deeply and passionately.
As a woman; to love her fully,
The same as I would hold her hand,
and she mine.
Fingers wholly interlocked.
Loving touches that break my soul.
And I have to
BELIEVE
I still have one.
Because it soars at night when it sneaks away from me.
It lifts her gently in its love; it cradles her in it's infinity.
It shares its cell.
With those ringlets of anguish she formed in me,
she gave them to me.
She gave them life,
and watched non-sensically as they rippled
across my flesh.
Leaving it rich in its own signifigance,
filling my mind with impossibilities,
and gluing to my soul
like papermache'
I see the light through faded vision
I see times' flight in this faceless prison
Scorned by death yet banished from life
In stasis somewhere beyond day and night
Somewhere I am but nowhere it be
Nowhere can I be alive or dead you see
I hear the sound of the babbling brook
I hear bird song as evening comes
I feel the wind pass through my soul
I taste the rain and feel the snow
Though sight I have no paned window
I see the movement and feel the shapes
I watch the sounds and colours escape
For they can pass through this place
They can find a peace some way
For I know not of what deal I made
I expected peace when I found my grave
But I can not live or die in this life or game.