Best Window Poems
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue,
Momentarily ignited by stray
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly
Spills
Into the trickling replenishments
Of many gushing and silvery little
Rills.
Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find,
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its
Back on the social conflicts
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome
Strife!
And still stood,
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost
Unawares,
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing,
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which,
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold
Reveals.
Window cleaning is my trade and I want to tell my story
Like the time I saw the Vicars wife in the bath in all her glory
Or when I saw the Vicar tied up, I thought there'd been a slaying
I called the police but it turned out, t'was a game that they were playing.
And Mrs Smith from two doors down, well she is kind of hot
Always leaves big gaps in her drapes just to show me what she's got
Next door to her a stripper lives, well she just doesn't care
She walks around as I try to clean and yes she's totally bare.
Then across from her a nymphomaniac lives, she's always wanting more
Whenever I call to clean her glass there's men queueing at her door
I always cringe when I knock her door to ask her for my money
She always offers payment in flesh; winks and calls me honey.
Next door to her is 'Dirty Pete' watches movies all day long
Not Hollywood films you understand but titles like King Dong
Well I'm no prude each to his own but quadrophonic sound!
The first time that he blasted it, I fell off my ladder to the ground.
Round the corner is Jim and Sue, she always calls me handsome
I heard it from the man next door they want me for a threesome
Well maybe to some weirdy folk, it is their fantasy
Not my thing I assure you 'cos she is eighty three.
The sorority house I'd leave till last ' cos I found it hard to cope
They always leave the windows ajar to let out the fumes of dope
Then the world around me, would turn colourful and bright
My eyes would see some very strange things and I'd fly high as a kite.
See that's what I have to endure, to make an honest living
I never tell my wife you know, she'd be so unforgiving
When I get home she always asks, "Darling how was your day?"
I tell her each time same old same old, but it helps me pay my way.
Written on the 8th November 2020
Love feels like it has gone far away
She used to exist everywhere it seems
Now she hides in fear of being used up or let down
Most now, don’t even remember what she feels like
I remember long ago
Love used to have big bright colors
lightening bugs would soar through the night sky
with dancing white beams that glowed in the dark
four leaf clovers would spring from green pines of grass
but would ever elude being found and plucked
by those wanting a taste of its Irish good luck
floral beach balls and pink rubber kick balls were the center of summers delight
camp fire girls adorned navy blue vests and strutted proudly holding red white and blue flags down main street on Memorial Day
lazy polka dot burnt orange black lady bugs
would sleep under the sun
waiting to be scooped up
each child hoping to find the lady
with the most dots
to win the game
cotton candy colored May Day dances held in the public-school yard always on the hottest and sunniest day of the year
each student excited about dressing up in colorful garbs from different cultures around the world
Love was innocent then...
Love had the best aromas too
tide detergent, vanilla extract
talcum powder, wonder bread
sweet potato pie
hot dogs on toasted rolls at the public pool
Chanel #5 on Church Sundays
lots of Chanel #5
Love had the most wonderful sounds
the rustle of fall leaves under your feet
the crunch of plastic sofa covers at grandma’s house
sitting on the porch listening to night crickets on dad’s lap
Maybe love is actually still here
Waiting for us to love her back
She has not been treated well lately
I hope that she will give us all another chance
And come back soon
Hopefully this time
She will stay
she holds to her eyes
two lovely white daisies
window dressings
that conceal
a sullied soul
For PD's Photograph #1 -under 10 lines- Contest
rain streaks down window pane
sadness echoes in thunder's roar
teardrops falling from cloudy eyes
yet in some distant place
laughter colors sky with rainbow
5-18-19
Writing Challenge 2, May 2019, Lind68868 Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Theme 2: Comparative Thought
As long as I have a window
I have the wonder of the world
What I can see is as limitless as the sky
with every possibility
As long as I have a window
I can never feel alone
For I am one with every living thing
and can touch every star
As long as I have a window
The light will always find me
I can dance with the rain and tickle the sun
I will always have a friend
Eyes are the windows of the soul
But what if you don’t do windows
What if you keep eyes closed
As if reality is too much to devote
Or you may hide behind shades
Dark and obscure hiding away
Or you may bravely parade
Bloodshot eyes from detoxing days
Are you bold do you silver stare
Deep inside and see what’s there
Do you cry from happy prayer
Or is it just from black despair
Eye see you do you see me
I wear my truth upon my sleeve
I see you mocking mahogany
Looking for a grace for saving
I watch this world pass by,
miracle after miracle,
overcome with thoughts
of life and death -
heated in a buttery sky;
the air melts into far corners,
farther than my eyes can see.
Faster, this world spins into
eternity, faith, and possibilities.
An open window becomes a gate
to step through, a starting place -
as a bluebird dips in the birdbath,
squirrels scurry across green grass,
a blue horizon darkens like a memory.
Those who hurriedly pass by feign contentment
with plastic smiles, earbuds, cell phones,
a false sense of purpose.
I feel content, at peace, and yet, I ache for more -
a yearning from deep within.
I feel it wash over my skin.
Cars drive by, everyone’s going somewhere,
but not I. I sit here…I watch.
I whisper a short prayer for a friend,
I remain silent with His answer –
patience…all will work out in time;
head bowed, I pray for His healing hands
to touch me. In my father’s arms,
I am comforted and whole.
I am who He sees…
sunlight traces storm clouds
painting rainbows over shadowed trees,
a beautiful canopy.
His love flows through me,
pouring out at Calvary.
In the afternoon rain,
I see each drop of blood.
A choir of clouds congregate.
I hear their worship song.
I see a crown of thorns around them.
I feel the weight of the cross
He struggles to carry.
Mangos fall with the rain
from a shaken tree,
then lay bruised on limp, wet leaves;
flies begin to swarm around them;
following the clouds trajectory,
I envision more than I can bear -
His slashed skin and mangled bones
flash before my eyes.
With hands nailed, He's hung
on the cross in shame and suffering;
every labored breath taken
until death for an ungrateful world…
my soul seems to understand
what I cannot grasp…all of this,
He did for me….and you.
Love becomes more than a word,
a blessing becomes more than a concept.
I sit at my window unnoticed;
I watch the world pass by -
every leaf, pebble, bird, raindrop
and new life, I see,
like a child with a loving father,
a miracle…
From my window lofty high
I sit and watch the passersby
Safely from within the womb
Of this quiet and private room
That's my asylum in the sky
And, I imagine...
From the safety of my perch
Above the elm, the oak, and birch
Alone, I slowly drift through life
Exempt from conflict, chance, or strife
Away from any harmful search
And, I imagine...
From my pinnacle of peace
Much like the eagle, lark, and geese
I wrap myself in solitude
Safely from the multitudes
And their evils that never cease
And, I imagine...
I imagine a world doing good
With folks behaving like they should
A world glowing with brotherly love
That's flowing down from God above
With all faiths lovingly understood
But then...
From this prison lofty high
I'm left alone to wonder why
Why the world became so cold
And, why compassion can't unfold
Out there perhaps a soul could try
But here alone,
...I can only imagine.
Timothy I. Brumley
In the middle of my plain white wall
There is a plain white window
And next to my plain white window
Is where I sit in a plain white dress
On a plain white chair
And every morning the sun rises
And every evening the sun sets
I see them all from my window
They are very pretty
With many colors
And then one day
A man stops by my window
He calls to me as I sit
In my plain white dress
On my plain white chair
He calls to me to tell me of the world
That I may come and join him
But I have seen the troubles of the world
All beyond my window
And I say to him I'd rather stay
And sit here by my window
Where troubles cannot reach me
He smiles a sweet sad smile as he walks away
Though the next day he is back again
And he talks to me of grass
Of green lush grass that is soft enough to walk on barefoot
I tell him of the glass that is hidden among the blades
He just smiles a sweet sad smile as he walks away
And back again he comes
To tell me of the ocean and sandy beaches
With white sand so pure you can lay naked upon it
I shake my head and tell of the pirates
That come to kidnap young and pretty girls
He smiles his sweet sad smile as he walks away
The next day he walks softly to my window
And he tells me of a garden untouched by men
Where flowers are the size of children
And blooms reach to the heavens
He tells me of the grass that hides no glass
Of a sky that is of the brightest blue
And a stream that is so pure you can
Be unwary of drinking from it
He talks of fish and birds of indescribable beauty
All this he tells me is mine
I must only leave my window and I may see it
I shake my head sadly as I tell him
I am afraid the world holds too much danger
For even if there were such a place
What misfortunes may befall me
On my way to this so called garden
He smiles a very sad smile and as he walks away
He says that paradise belongs to those who
Take risks and battle hardships to reach it
These are the words I remember as I watch the sun set
And the next day when he comes
To my plain white window
He will see me missing in my plain white dress
On an empty plain white chair
For I have gone to walk on glass and battle pirates
On my way to paradises garden
High above the quiet, darkened streets of January, the night wind begins to whisper secrets through my apartment window casements. Far below me lie four cafes, all in sync as they awaken from daytime hibernation to begin an evening ritual of turning on lights, welcoming thirsty patrons, discouraging lost polar bears, trying to survive.
Light bulbs hang in lazy swags, dripping evenly from the edge of each identical awning. Predictably, their glow travels as fast as the light itself creating a sudden and uninvited interruption of the Arctic desert landscape.
Sitting apart on their respective corners below, the cafes squeeze into a single pane near the bottom of my window. Leaning closer, I blow a hot and intoxicated breath onto the glass in defiance or retaliation, an attempt at immolation perhaps. Instead, my unused air lies wasted across the cafes on the other side of the window, in an irregular oval of futility.
I use a balled-up fist to wipe away the misty scene before it has a chance to evaporate and leave me alone, a desperate and inevitable disappearing act in the face of my curated isolation.
Gentle breeze come my way
release your secrets held at bay
I'll leave the window open
even just a crack
in hopes your winds
ever slightly blow back
into my never ending dream
Gentle breeze set me free
carry my worries out to sea
I'll leave the window open
and pull back the curtains
in hopes her scent wafts
aimlessly upon my
storm tossed pillow
Gentle breeze bring me solace
guide her thoughts flawless
in through my open window
float past doubts and apprehensions
into an inner sanctum
bringing a whole
to a fractured soul
The tree next to my window
Waves with its leaves all day
As if it thinks I'm lonely
Or does it want to play?
Its branches create shadows
That dance across the room
I wonder if it notices
My smile full in bloom
The small birds living in it
Sing music to its dance
From dawn to dusk I listen
Smile at their bird-romance
And then I see the butterflies
With colors bright and true
Reds and greens and violets
Mixed in with shades of blue
Don't think my bed is boring
I never feel depressed
For I just need to look outside
To know that I am blessed
***
June 7, 2017
Copyright © Chris Green and Darren White
When through my window flew a tiny bird,
she straightway went to where she chose to roost.
I laughed because it seemed a bit absurd
her perching on my bed post! I deduced
she'd lost her way, but now that she was here,
she seemed at home. She cocked her head at me
as if she had a thing to say. No fear
did she display, no sign that she would flee.
She had the sky and trees. What could she need
inside my little room? Why did she stay?
I offered her, from open hand, a seed.
She bent and pecked at it right where it lay.
The world is huge. . . we're free! Yet what explains
that from my room now pours a bird's sweet strains?
Oct. 11, 2019
For Writing Challenge, October 2019 - Bird - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart - Wiishkobe Ode
~
I stood at the unopened window,
watching it rain from the sky
Complaining inside of a future
that seems to be passing me by
Regrets flooding every emotion,
moments no longer appear
Searching for hope in the downpour,
since you are no longer here
Wrapped up in clouded decisions,
feeling the glass wet and cold
Dreaming of reasons I love you,
swallowing words now untold
Hoping for merely a sentence,
no longer needing the sun
Puddles collect in the fractures,
knowing it soon will be done
And as the rain drops are ending,
nothing much left now to view
Here at this unopened window,
drenched in the days without you
~