Best Windowless Poems
Windowless space screams
Feet spasm in betrayal
It's too late to change his fate
Chair pushed to the side
Life tossed away in the trash
If only the rope could talk...
for Rick's Contest "A Chair On A Shadowy Room"
The Little White Church
The little white church engulfed by the immensity
Of Western Hemlock, Red Cedar, and Douglas Fir
On Nootka Island in Nootka Sound
Confirms the remoteness of the Yuquot Village
On the west coast of Vancouver Island.
The green of the trees towering above and around
Glorifies the whitewashed wood of the chapel.
Surrounding the path leading to the entrance
Are coastal ferns leaning as if pointing the way,
Akin to a Westminster Abbey in the rainforest.
The windowless facade structure faces the ocean
As a defence against the wind’s many directional forces,
While crosses protected in the yard by a picket fence
Bear testimony to Christ’s presence
Among the Mowachaht/Muchalaht First Nations.
Above the door to the house of God,
A steeple rises with a cross on top
And a bell that tolls to call the “people of the deer”
Of Friendly Cove to gather, worship, and pray
In Jesus Christ’s name, Lord and Saviour.
***
Note:
“The Little White Church” is an ekphrastic poem describing the painting of a local church located on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada, by Canadian artist Emily Carr (1871–1945) entitled “Native Church” (1929).
I Write
Less words
in a windowless room
no use for my eyes
Humidity suffocating
what is left of me
I hear the silence of evil
poverty a state of mind
a shiny gold coin
Turns a small man
into a rich thief
Laughter the cause of death
Krystal the Pistol
God has blessed be with such a dear friend
someone who entertains me on the weekend
Lucky I am to have such a unique person to work with
in a cold windowless pit.
A beautiful Libra
Crazy enough to dress up as a zebra
She gets me and my crazyness
Just ask her to paint it on a canvas
She sings like an angel
and looks at the world from different angles
we dance, we laugh, we like to take naps
we also know muay thai so watch your ass
She's my wingman with a tan
and can handle my attention span
I'm glad to have her in my life
any man will be golden to call her his wife
On Growing Older Than I Am
Alas, this growing older than I am
drained me of the will to search for more
my life consumed incessantly with spam
I stood a vagrant beggar at the door
naked beneath the trappings of old skin
gazing through windowless cloudy past
as life, I’d truly love to live again,
roams freely through the shadows I have cast
So as I stiffen now inside this crate
hear sad footsteps slowly mark my fate
I must admit I never made this date
nor planned to leave the party quite so late
Thus, in the silence, I shall take my leave
dream of the life I lived and will not grieve.
4/22/2017
submitted to – YOU 20 Years From Now – Poetry Contest
walled isolation
when a relationship hits hurdles
gripped by the unfamiliar
a stillness that caves in on us
our small spoonfuls of conversation lack direction
closed pod, defensive
my near muted pleas to break free of holding back
for nothing good brews in brooding
sucker punch of speculation
health shifting
the enemy, a diagnosis
to map variables, unknowable
our dreams having no scale
de-stabilized by no surety of self
we hide behind silence like a well placed curtain
balancing on slippery rock sickness
life altering
words perishable
numbing
a fall-to-pieces stillness
like a windowless white room that traps the urge
to breath
Poem composed: October 31, 2021
Around that table, picture the scene
Self appointed leaders if you know what I mean
What were the topics on the Agenda that day
The Jewish race is about to pay
Who gave the right for this decision that's made
Who has the right to cleanse and degrade
To decide who lived, to decide who dies
Another chapter, I still wonder why
They came in the day they came in the night
Women and children pulled out of sight
Herded aboard like cattle and sheep
Many a family awoke from their sleep
Dazed and confused as they are taken away
Where will they be at the end of the day
From their warm houses and their warm beds
What must be going through their heads
As they travel through days and through the night
Up ahead, they see lots of lights
They depart the trucks and board the train
Their faces scared under the strain
Asking questions from family and others
Generations, sisters and brothers
Why are we here, where are we going
Windowless carriages with no way of knowing
We come to a stop, soldiers aplenty
Towers and wire, topped with sentries
What can this place be they have taken us to
As we head to large gates as they shuffle us through
Families separated, herded in file
Women and children, not one did smile
Taken to rooms where our heads were shaved
Is this the way humans behaved
Clothes discarded, as we enter the shower
No signs of water no signs of power
Doors slammed as we are all crammed in
History will recall this evil of sins
As we stand in the dark, chanting Jewish faith
Can hear the voices can't see the face
Noises above, do the showers start
The event has begun that tells us Humans apart
Questions and sighs, as walled vents show daylight
Some thing is falling then their slammed tight
A strange aroma starts to fill the air
As all around are screams of despair
Twenty minutes have passed and the quietness is rife
Two thousand people, two thousand lives
Pellets called HCN, or Hydrogen Cyanide
Contribute to this Genocide
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-2.php
Insulations’ design keeps you warm or cool,
not knowing of others looking a fool.
Among those who can’t reach out.
Pity their attitude, what’s that about?
Living inside silent corpse of bones,
struggle to breathe, no one phones.
Surrounded by scary and unknown,
wondering about seeds you have sown.
Escaping this quagmire’s a difficult task,
often you’re simply too afraid to ask.
Will a liberating arrow straight and true,
pierce bulletproof glass around the inner you.
Years and years painfully fly by,
forgetting to reach out, even try.
Time passes without a moments’ refrain.
Life speeds by trapped in a windowless train
Withered hands that have lived a thousands lives over,
hold me above the sinister ways that life has tricked me.
A grandfather with the weight of the world on his shoulders,
selfless skin tearing itself off again and again, in my time of need.
A grandmother brimmed with hope in every way,
heart glowing with an overflow of spitfire and mellow ways.
An upbringing of jagged edges and congested endearment.
Whispers from the sincere lips, that all would be okay, I find to be my only escape.
A mother with skeleton keys for fingers and hands, heaviness caving in with each breath taken for me.
A father who I can no longer recognize,picture fading faster than his mind did.
An arising of tattered lies and battered promises.
Arms wrapped in an unusual fashion to conceal me from the world.
Hands playing spiderwebs along my eyes, my only blanket against the turmoil.
Sunlight invading a windowless room of my mind, where my skin can finally speak for itself.
The nurturing of sheltered wounds and cushioned mentality.
Simple notes tipping the atmosphere in melancholic seasons.
The only voices that can soothe a shattered vessel,to sew the barriers of a rib cage back together.
Country rhythms the first to entice a soul, lyrics spiraling out hopeless promises.
The blooming of diverse tunes and rattling pipes.
Arms wrapped in an unusual fashion to conceal me from the world.
Hands playing spiderwebs along my eyes, my only blanket against the turmoil.
Sunlight invading a windowless room of my mind, where my skin can finally speak for itself.
The nurturing of sheltered wounds and cushioned mentality.
The flourishing of knitted flesh and stitched thoughts.
Despair.
I am like a
windowless, empty room.
Bleak and dark i steal hope and give
anguish.
Distress
i am to you.
Lonely desolation.
Like a cloak you wear me with great
sadness.
April 12th 2011
Written by Emma Mantle
For contest Traditional Cinquain Contest by Catie Lindsey.
H/M
June 1st 2011 'Old contest entry'
9th place
PEOPLE PEOPLE
Please hear my plea
Those drugs you got will not set you free
That pain and suffering its not the world's fault
Its that needle that straw and even that dot
How much you thought you finally found
The secret to happiness but it drove you straight through the ground
but I'm not addicted I can stop anytime
Well give it a week or a month or until the end of this rhyme
You suffer from this thing some call a disease
And if you continue on you'll suffer a consequence like me
Jail institutions and death what a lie
Until you realize is the truth and quite right
The last thing you want is to be laying in bed
Sick close to death and full of regret
Or even trapped in a small windowless cell
Wondering if this is the end of your tale
So throw away those needles get rid of that line
That baggy those pills
They're just a waste of your time
The truth is simple and lies in a book
Called Alcoholics Anonymous
Read it just once and you're hooked
There's these events called meetings
That are a such a sight to see
Full of fun loving people Living this life called recovery
It might be scary when you enter at first
But I beg you PLEASE give it a chance.
You'll be surprised what you're worth
A woman is strong.
She is loving and wise.
She endures,
She moves hearts,
She laughs and she cries.
She nurtures,
She commends,
She supports and she mends.
All for the sake of her children and friends.
A woman does all this,
And yet,
She suffers the dreaded menstruation.
In modern countries,
She can go to the store and buy things like tampons,
Tampons and pads.
Then she'll be on her way.
She'll be on with her life,
Being a mother, a worker, and a friend.
But in developing countries,
What does she get?
She must stay at home,
Struggling with the bloodstained fabrics and floors,
That look like an accident that had happened during her chores.
She must keep bringing water, to and fro,
She must push on, but even still,
She is struggling.
She can't enter the places of worship,
She is seen as dirty and unclean,
For a natural process that she can't control.
She is sent out into huts,
Small and windowless.
She is sent there with her children,
Because of the blood that shows she is fertile.
A woman is strong and powerful.
She endures hardships greater than some.
She endures sexism and racist remarks,
She endures life and corrupt society,
She endures every day with heavy anxiety.
Every woman deserves to be treated like a queen,
For her endurance,
For her compassion,
For her loving beam.
A woman is strong,
In ways that cannot be seen,
But must be heard, felt, and remembered.
TO BE BROKEN IS TO BE HONEST
Voice: Space Cadet (Wesley C)
The sand is a warm window;
from the sill,
I watch skiffs in the distance sail away from me.
Sea opens to self-sought solitude.
That one day, distant lands became familiar playground
for children of men, cruelly joined in time and place,
by dice thrown into air, dimpled cubes with my name
and theirs.
I hear those children laugh in their sunny day, ice cream innocence.
Their language a sound from once familiar foreign land.
I stand in pain, refuse the hand that asks
to help
And wonder:
if to be a child
is to be honest,
am I blind
to their askance stares? With each step will I
leave behind their glares?
As I lift my head from my feet, with eyes toward the sea, my scars
are only reflections of the footprints they perceive to be as me:
Lines in the flesh-colored sand,
wilted under uneven sea edges, remainders of the battle of separation.
Craters, crimson petals blemished in the glass sun.
A lonely pursuit.
A sand rose's stigmata on my chest.
Silence polished on my window reflection.
Yet I gleam, my back to a windowless beach:
With each day's dusk,
we all fracture,
light decays
myriad aspects
etched experiences
To be broken
is to be honest
WEATHERED FACES
Stone face tower
Scarred mapped neck
Mammoth shoulders of steel
Orange jumpsuit in check
Weathered face of storms
Leather brows define
Burning eyes intently staring
Pupils gorging mine
Distrustfully melts himself
Onto a metal chair
Iron door crashing closed
Vibrates my bones to beware
Now its just the tower and I
Boxed in a windowless cell
Married for an hour
As I try to soothe his hell
Knowing that he’s murdered
Many different times
Sends the hair on my neck
I fly with verbal chimes
No excuses he proclaims
I've done all they say
Puffing his chest out
I can't forget whom I turned grey
Congratulations I do say
You're doing insightfully well
You've integrated your behavior
And aligned it right with hell
On the patio I can see the chameleons
Their necks so red with lust
On the wind the green parrots
Call to one another hoping for a place to rest
The sky is orange and deep purple with the last whispers of light
Twisting the orange peel in my drink thinking of how I felt
About all those days we missed, before we saw the truth
A home in the South of France with all that money could afford
Yet we were so distant like prizefighters circling in the ring
Looking for a weakness and then jabbing in for the kill
It was painful for both of us, but my God the kids
What would they have learned from such broken people?
We were once so much in love that nothing could tear us apart
Living in Jakarta in a one room windowless flat
Even that could not discourage us from a love that always bloomed
We strolled in hot humid afternoons dreaming of better days
I wiped the perspiration from your brow, you laughed in that silly way
The days tumbled by the children came, we were always so very happy
Time took its toll and jobs, like the seasons went round
Till one day we realized that we were no longer
We tried to make it work, for the sake of the kids, but it was a lost cause
Even they knew that we were hiding a truth so profound.
The lawyers came and took what they could and left us with the rest.
There was no malice between us as we smiled, resting gently
In each other arms, hoping for a miracle before we were gone.
Now, it's the morning of the rest of our lives. I ask you if you want coffee
Your look is causal as you say, “If only you had asked me that twenty years ago I would have known what to say.” And so it goes the things we forgot to ask are the things that will haunt us to the very, very end.
(thanks to KA for being so generous)