Best Skylights Poems
I chance upon her
in the far reaches of the backyard,
a place I never go. There she trembles.
A tiny tiger, whose newborn eyes blur the world,
secreted in mother-scented-shadows
below blackthorn shrubs.
Faint mews draw me closer.
The power of her vulnerability
fills my veins with a ripple rising,
brimming me with a nectar needed,
like a dry stream bed restored by remedy rains.
How helpless she is with new eyes open.
Her eyes like skylights — clear
and filled with new-wild-blue innocence.
Neglected yet beautiful, I sense in her
the familiar phenomenon of the impulse to pulse.
Her outsized feistiness belying
such a petite package of plea and need
with teeny needle claws and barely a wisp of a hiss
...and I recall when I felt the fear
of being small and voiceless in a choiceless world.
Born a feral kitten, her mother likely lost
to speed-wheels of a car or snap-jaws of coyotes,
whose throats float steaming howls above black
saw-toothed pines to haunt the long night moon
...and I wonder, if she wonders,
if the sweet-milk-purrs with soft belly fur
will ever return to snuggle her.
She’s been cold and alone for far too long.
So I gather her in the hug of my hands
warming her as I draw her in and curl
my chest around her littleness.
A shield formed against her lone-ness.
...and I, a long-ago-child abandoned,
a child whose silent cries heard only by stoic walls,
reclaims a voice that helps me make a choice
not to let Nature decide how birth and fate collide.
So I sit with her, swaddle her, love her.
Nourish her with eye-dropper milk where
hearth embers still glow after the fire,
to heal the orphan and raise the phoenix within.
I speak to the skylights
of your tender soul
in formless forms
in eccentric accents
aching in aloneness...
when tragedies of footprints
remain a sculptured secret ~
like an untitled nightfall
dressed in denied definitions
avoiding the touch
of perception
for mindfulness mirrors
memories I hoard
within titanium trays
of masked melancholy…
but I long for you to wear
chronicles carved within
my cold conscience ~
a universe layered
with moulded memoirs
tell me how it feels
to be a beautiful burden
to the jinxed jewels
feasting upon
scrutinized skin of silence
skeletons of psyche ~
too complex
for concave light...
let me stay ~ stretched
in the still solitary sketch
of surrealism ...
I am not a vision
of gold and glitter
that wicked weavers
can materialize
but an unnamed sight ~
a breathing mystery
the eyes of unfelt dusk
fail to stroll through…
intoxicated on pain
~ an ecstasy etched through angst ~
to never be tamed
to never be told
Eyes like a clear lake,
reflections of a dreamland,
skylights for two hearts.
Walking amidst the cloud tops,
the light brightens up their day.
Edward J. Ebbs - March 15, 2015
Written for a Contest, TANKA 2
Moonlight tango
It was a Saturday night, in Buenos Aires, 10:30pm, to be exact. It was a hot summers night, and you could see, and feel, the steam rising from the cobblestone street, here in La Boca barrio*. This is where it all began over a hundred years ago, and you can still see pictures of tangos faded heroes of yesteryear hanging on the walls.
The tango hall was packed with caballeros* in their suits and suspenders, and the damas* dressed in their red dresses, and stiletto heels. Still feels like the roaring 20's fedora hats and all! With a glance, and a flick of his baton, the orchestra leader motions to the bandoneon* player to begin, and so he starts dum dum dum, dum dum, dum dum dum.
The men tilt their fedoras slightly to one side, and stride ever so elegantly across the hall to pick their partner, and together they glide over the black and white checkered marble tile dance floor. The moonlight filters through the skylights, illuminating the smokey haze, that permeates the Milonga* hall.
The dancers have their gazes fixed on each other, and they move and glide to the incessant syncopated rhythm of the bandoneon. The violins and cellos join in with their plucking sound matching the tempo of 2-4 time. The dancers are dancing chest to chest, and then cheek to cheek, moving and gyrating, in time to the beat. As the tempo picks up the pace, arms and legs entwine, and then separate and entwine again. Spinning and twirling, strutting and whirling, they dance into a frenzy, at a frenetic speed, all the while staring with a look of love, (or at least of passionate desire) and what else would you expect to see dancing the moonlight tango?
* La Boca barrio- downtown neighborhood where tango was born
*Caballero(s)-gentleman(men)
*Damas- Ladies
*Milonga- tango dance hall
*Bandoneon- Small accordion style instrument.
John Derek Hamilton
February 07,2017
I sip compliance from a cardboard cup. Tight fine steel lines, hoist five lifelike life sized paper mache white swans. The birds seem to wing from sunlit atrium up and over an oak railing to the mezzanine. Dazzling beneath skylights, they depict ascent, flap, glide, brake and then descent towards wrought iron tables. They mimic our trek from mall entry up the escalator to feast at the food court. I sit alone at the railing, gliding swan overhead, and pretend to eye my phone. Today I secretly study humans. Food court stuffed with youthful staff, bargain hunters, transit transfers, mobility scooters, mothers, babies, bags, phones, the braggadocio of men meeting, gaunt faces of the needy. Bodies milling, streaming, yearning. The bubbling cocktail of pop rock, chit chat galore, languages, slanguages, giggles, and that one guy yelling. The carnal essence of commercial cookery. Unspoken competition for tables, at times nearly a blood sport. Each of us tiptoeing through our daily hopscotch. Only children wonder at the swans. Do mall swans search for lost wetlands, or do they strain to join us? Mythology has it that swans shift between human and avian form. The enchantment of Tchaikovsky’s swan, princess by night pirouettes into swan by day. In the wild, sudden bright white, raucous landing, huge bold birds calling, splashing power and grace. I wish we each burst into swan. But flight feathers do not anchor to my bones, nor contour feathers pierce my skin. I vow to visit the wild ones, and leave.
published in "Unbroken" 2025
A house
Is a house of course
But a home is a home
Wherever you go
Wherever you come from
Be it roof overhead or
Park row bench
With my pigeon friends
Pondering
Where I go next
Be it plains
In euro Spain
Be it lights
Of Manhattan
skylights
While Shadows hunched over
Singing the blues at night
My home
Against white graffiti walls
Faceless
Women clamor around men
Negotiating favors
And flavors amore
Where is my home
Not here
Mabye there
Hell i dont care
I don't know
I see an angel
In disguise
Woopie
Excuse me
Mr. sir
My good man
They call me
Phil
Wonder if you can
Spare a dollar bill
Some change
Want to buy
A bottle of Wild Irish
For old time sake
What do you say my
Friend
Want to rest my head
Weary feet
And dream some
More while I drink
My rose and
Forget where I
am....
A cabin by the lake would be a dream come true.
Large picture windows would bring nature into view.
I will sit outside on a porch that wraps around,
Surrounded by a serene mountain lake, playground.
Skylights will allow me to see God’s creations.
I’ll enjoy wondrous tranquil accommodations.
Imagine deer grazing peacefully in the yard.
My pristine lake is stunning beauty that’s unmarred.
My log cabin is built with resilient white oak.
Each day I’ll commune with all the animal folk.
I’ll thank Jehovah for the blessings he gives me.
Soon this dream of mine will be a reality.
Dragon really shouldn’t have borrowed the penguins, away from the Zoo.
Now he was their baby sitter at the lake, from morning till night, so true.
Not to mention a catasaurus was now stalking, his delightful little friends.
The Trolls volunteered their time, to help defend those cute ones, to the end.
He wanted to take them everywhere, wherever he could and had ever been.
Though most of those we’d been kicked out of… Well, here we go again.
First we passed our illustrious church, where the organ and voices rang on.
But as the penguins began to sing, it came out a screech, so I hurried them along.
Next we went to the local Ice cream Stand, where the Trolls devoured icy delights.
Brain freezes naturally ensued, so the penguins sat on their heads, what a sight!
The crowd applauded such an ingenious save, now penguin hats, are all the rage.
The Mayor gave them animal service vests, so in the news, he wouldn’t be upstaged.
This allowed them into the Mall, where lit fountains flow, a fascinating place, indeed!
Dragon became their slide, as the kids marveled at their fancy whoop-de-do deeds.
Next dragon herded them to a western shop, for sunbonnets, cowboy hats, and duds.
The mayor up for re-election, again, came along, and also got completely, gussied up.
Next was a candy store, where Dragon bought them a few, Yep, they’re like all kids.
A sugar rush ensued. Dragon reeled them in, before: who knew what, heaven forbid!
He even had to get them, out of the skylights, not easy for a bird that doesn’t fly…
But by directing them to the ice ring… he let them wear off their lengthy sugar high.
At the Mall Food Court, was sushi, and the children got to feed, the penguins they knew.
Naturally, the further they went, the more crowds ensued, until they bid the mall adieu.
But first they went to the bookstore, as yes, penguins like to read and be read to, too.
They’re now planning a penguin adventure book, ‘All the Things a Penguin Can Do’.
Then leaving the crowds, they went home on Dragon’s back, a lakeside nap, overdue.
Now I ask you very simply, if the penguins were yours to baby sit, so true…
Where, oh where, would you go… with such a precious little cargo, and you?
Basement full of odds and ends
in metal bits and comprehends
Glue and gumption, grease and grit
born from nimble hands of wit
Dimming evening, find him there
in the basement, light of care
winding ribbon through the glass
watching movies from the past
Tiny brushes, sticky paint
Clock strikes one, it's getting late
Dolls in poses, birds in wood
whittled and misunderstood
Nuts and bolts of stainless steel
forming legs and arms so real
Skylights etched from glass in lead
with words he hears inside his head
Beauty that he pours out free
stuck inanimate though they be
All these hobbies free the mind
Tinkerer, you are divine.
We are living in such a paved jungle!
There are miles of concrete and sidewalks
There are skylights and many skyscrapers,
but we really have to pay attention!
At any corner are waiting: snakes, lions and tigers.
Oh poor walker, can't really enjoy peace and hope ...
It is just the pursuit of happiness!
It's just a struggle for better!
There is just one solution to this crisis,
to eradicate the beasts of our society
and then transform it in a paved garden.
Doing so, the peace and hope will settle in forever.
by Florin Andronic
3/25/2015
Whenever the rays of the sun begin to fade,
And the twilight hours and dawn appear,
Whenever the stars begin rushing to queue and ride,
Their skylights’ ships tearing the zephyr,
Your radiant beauty emerges to cover and shade,
All this universe, front, middle and rear,
How can I describe it? How is it made?
Only God almighty knows it well my dear,
Your spring smile overcomes winter and fastens the year,
But when you’re sad bursting into tears,
It calls winter again, flashing its lightening and thundering its blade,
This is only a small verse and a mere,
Description of your emerald dew,
Flooding diamonds over your chicks are laid,
I could neither torment myself to go further or hear,
My eyes are full of lights, your light and shade!
far past eventide
skylights eluding capture
mornings crest draws near
Good morning Soupe.
A weapon based affiliation is neither a cat cavern or a divided field. Marshals could be described as marshmallows as they are often rounded mush balls. Often a cape is found staring at a calender in a midday glaze. But guidance from sandstorms glow in minds. Entering like breadsticks. Forcibly correcting wrongs in specifies locations globally. Wisdom is not held in a button or a shoe lace. And lacrosse is an extremely busy explosive experiment when attempted by nine foot rabbits. How wonderful it is to sit by a plumage which is radiating. Undirected individual skylights of assorted colours and hue. Adjusting with the many lights. Across all regions but where to put a sparrow is the question for a branch. Perched placed pecking. And one must always admire the flowing of elephant steps. How quite quickly they assemble and move. Latter day layers then. No hahahaha actually for the fractions of house us segmented. Jalapeño halogen bulbs. Xxxx terminology xxxx tripods. *** gravitational gravitation xxxx
Goblins prance and dance beneath skylights;
Their contortions create shadows as they swirl.
Ghouls are disgusted by their cavorting and
go along their way;
searching for victims to terrify;
a game they relish.
Ghosts will have their say in the darkest night and
haunt children’s dreams.
Nightmares are where they meet to party.
On All Souls Eve, only the spirits of ancestors and
angels will stop these dream invaders;
monsters will run back into closets for safety;
keep the light on tonight;
souls are not the only celebrants.
In the clear light of morning,
candy swaps ensure comfort until next year.
9-21-18
Fiction - October 2018 Writing Challenge - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart a.k.a. Broken Wings
There was a blizzard the day I heard you
were getting married.
The morning news reported-
Roads covered in black ice and
widespread whiteout conditions.
Work closed.
Mid-morning, I ventured out,
The storm's alabaster glare blurred my vision,
I recalled the lifespan of our relationship.
Thick flakes stung my cheeks,
I recalled what it is like to miss you
Landscape painted in black and white,
I tried to be happy for you.
Later, snow blanketed the skylights,
Leaving my flat in shadow.
I turned on the television and lied down,
and wondered why your good news caused nausea.
I closed my eyes and
envisioned spring.