Best Windowpanes Poems
The cold hand of Winter swiftly approaches
Its breath etches frost on my windowpanes
Nearer my threshold, Death now encroaches
Blood is slowly chilling inside my frail veins
Reaper's wild winds pelts hail on my roof
His breath etches frost on my windowpanes
Snowdrifts climb higher on the sills in reproof
Huddled in a corner, my fear is spurred
Reaper's wild winds pelts hail on my roof
This room is the chamber where I'll be interred
On the threshold of madness, I'm losing grip
Huddled in a corner, my fear is spurred
Winter's hand has caused a temperature dip
I flinch at the sound of a knock on my door
On the threshold of madness, I'm losing grip
Terror incites me to curse what I abhor
The cold hand of Winter swiftly approaches
I flinch at the sound of a knock on my door
Nearer my threshold, Death now encroaches
August 17, 2017
It seems that time...is calling out my name
As raindrops beat ..upon the windowpanes
While scanning through the pages...of my life
In a book...where empty pages...still remain
What, I ask?...will be the final ending
So many pages...so in need...of mending
Now...with so little time to write the wrongs
And find a title...for a cover pending
Tattered pages...the story of my life
A beaten trail...of harmony and strife
A tale...more strange then fiction...in reflection
With paper pages...cutting deeper...than a knife
So many pages...yellowed by the years
Words lost in faded ink...and salty tears
As I read...and re-read...each page again
With voices...from the past...ringing in my ears
For years...I put these pages...on a shelf
This endless quest for truth...to know myself
Went on to write...so many poems of love
And a book for children...all about an elf
The past...I thought...I'd finally put to rest
Thought I'd finally sent those demons...to their death
But a restless wind...keeps calling out my name
To write the ending...before my dying breath
Grace and Solitude
Peaceful stillness covers me - wide eyes embraced when I see
Luna rise up with her pale face, with a humble yet simple grace,
That waxes large and then wanes, beckoning to clear windowpanes;
Hypnotic awe in harvest light or when blue moons ride starry night -
Teasing, changes her April name from pink to fish yet remains the same -
With her ever changing shape – crescents thin to full moonscape -
Now unfolds a glimmering gown while tip-toeing through a hush a bye town;
No fanfare, no rockets to proclaim her silent ascent, dark skies to claim,
Blesses silence – clamor sent away; nocturne opened - solitude to pray
Swaddled in a silver cape – floating into dreamy escape -
Breathing in her unselfish grace in borrowed light from a solar birthplace
Cradled in her cradle song – soft midnight murmurs to prolong;
A silent whisper – a prelude - to reverent reveries of gratitude;
A gentle light - peace to expand – her solitude and grace walk hand in hand.
A nail goes in the barren wall to bring the spring alive
I can almost hear a bird that begs a morning sun to rise
There's a garden now between my palms, and dew within my eyes
The fog lifts high and drifts away, and clouds that hover high
While butterflies, and bumble bees, bring color, oh, so grand
Addressing spring, caressing things, a rainbow in my hands.
I glimpse, as if through windowpanes, and fall in love anew
Enchanting me with roses, red, that bloom around my head
A cottage quaint, with paint of gold has cheered me from the blues
Such charm invites my soul to rest, in shades of Monet hues
From nature is a vast array, of color, by the best
I wish to hold the magic long, to frame, to keep, ... to last
__________________________________________________________________
Inspired by "Springtime By Monet" For Ekphrasis Contest Sponsored By Rick Parise
1/5/15
Pick a Title – Wild Is the Night – Sponsor: Edward Ibeh 1-9-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wild Is the Night
Night wakes
In atonality of imploding infernos
Stretches,
Tossing matted tresses,
Throws off serene quilts
Of winter’s full golden moonlight
To thrash about with bare feet
On icy floors,
Tripping over the remains of dawn
Where shreds of crumpled thoughts,
Like shards of icy hailstones,
Claw at windowpanes
Clothed in nakedness.
Night shivers
As jumbled fangs of hunger
Rattle chimes and unbroken stares
When gusts of darkness ravage lullabies,
Gnaw on jawbones of savaged dreamscapes,
To race through hairpin curls of obsession
Night huddles
In tempests of dead ends,
Decorated by fixations,
By graffiti of the grotesque,
Where despair masquerades in cyclones of deception,
Storms of mania as solutions.
Whispers of wind driven earworms hatch,
Step in front of Heaven’s voice,
Cutting into Heaven’s heart
With blades of infected gales;
As the blood of angels stains doves
Anxiety floods in downpours
When the litany of the hours tosses and turns
In explosions of black noise;
Wild night paces in midnight,
Caught by scurrying tornedos,
Waiting
For the first light of resurrection.
Are you thinking of me tonight?
I sit on the warm carpet
in this mountain hut,
in front of a blazing fireplace,
where flames flicker fitfully
and logs crackle in delight.
Outside it's chilly cold,
snow softly cover the land,
owls seek shelter and warmth,
while windowpanes
are covered with frost
that looks like a lover's lace.
And you? Do you feel cold or warm?
Are you thinking of me tonight?
Outside of my inner self
I feel the fire's comfort.
Inside I'm as cold as the snow.
Of what use are the burning embers?
I prefer the welcoming warmth
of your endearing arms.
Give me your hot breath
on my cold neck.
Let me imbibe your fragrance
even for one instant.
You are so far away.
When will you be back from work?
You said in about half an hour or so,
We will be together in the warmth.
But are you thinking of me tonight?
Creamy hot chocolate
bathes windowpanes
Two Clydesdales trot smartly
down cobblestone lanes
Through the trees, moon rises
pools of light, reflection's prayer
Rest now, reminders
~ of an era unscared
Coffee bean scent still fills the air
with each new sunrise in our log cabin
My arms around me,embrace the winds of winter gone
Every sky-night windowpanes glow in silent mist
Lunar limbs stream through bedroom blinds
reflecting shadows on empty sheets
Star clusters shine above velvet shores
Sand-wish away from my bare toes
Another month,another year,another thought
I can't freeze time or make a clone
First magnolia blooms on a bare branch
Buzzing bees extract nectar from moist corollas
Coloured wings flutter on melting icicles
Sun birds return in a sweet song
But what is a song without a symphony
What is music with no slow dance?
His hand-pressed petal
still marks the chapter between stained pages
The dusty shelves recall my mind
recall my heart,recall my soul
For the last time these eyes would linger
before leaves curl,before buds wither
before moons move on,and I let go.
Song for the Sky
I sing of the sky's beauty today.
Holding our hopes to its
watchful heart,
As we go on our way.
It's the soft, loving cloudscape, we hold in awe.
As birds bless blissfulness
and our humbleness.
On special days, the sky, like
magic, waters our Spirng thirsty flowers.
I love to watch raindrops on windowpanes.
Doing creative dances for hours and hours
Sky~ thank you for being there!
I whisper to you ever so softly of
secret dreams, that only we two share.
May 14, 2020
5pm PST
Poem # 1268
They hang like a beaded curtain
in a fortune teller’s parlor,
each buoy a bauble
from the sea’s own trove—
sun-faded,
barnacle-bitten,
unstrung from nets
that once strained tides for omens.
Now they sway in the wind,
rattling secrets and guarding
the doorway to elsewhere.
Who dwells behind the curtain—
a castaway witch, perhaps,
who brews fog in mason jars
and weaves seaweed into capes?
A fisherman’s widow still waiting
for him to return from
his final fateful voyage?
Or maybe no one at all,
just wind and longing
and salt-stung light
curling around a chipped enamel cup.
Or maybe an infinitely
unfolding maze that traps
who enters in eternal twilight
where each corridor breathes
with the hush of retreating tides,
walls papered in kelp and longing,
ancient air that smells of old shipwrecks
and unanswered questions.
Some say you can hear a voice
calling your name—not as it is,
but as it was
before you forgot
what you came looking for.
And yet the house remains,
perched above the tide line,
porch sagging like an old shoulder,
paint peeled by salt and time.
Through warped windowpanes
the ebbing light still flickers—
not warm, exactly,
but not unwelcoming.
Seagulls gliding in a gyre.
A foghorn’s distant intonation.
And always, the buoys tapping,
as if to say:
You’re closer than you think.
"Christmas Spirit"
(Christmas Day in Italian Culture)
as a snowy blanket of white caresses in Winter's glow
and frosty icicles kiss windowpanes in glazy show
a silent atmosphere embraces a starlit sight
while magnificent choir of Angels sing Hosanna O! Holy Night.
Church bells chime in twilight mist to welcome Christmas day
wishing holiday greetings while children glide on sleigh
glorious festive mood captivates inspired light
as heavenly Angelic voices praise Hosanna O! Holy Night.
decorations adorn to honor the precious Infant King
candlelight illuminates the Manger Scene as carolers sweetly sing
the scent of fragrant pine cones creates an aura to ignite
hymns of worship as heralding Angels proclaim Hosanna O! Holy Night.
soon family gathers to partake of traditional Christmas meal
"Feast of the Seven Fishes"prelude to tree trimming feel
the fireplace mantle glows where stockings smile so bright
and hark the herald Angel hosts greet Hosanna O! Holy Night.
Joseph is the patriarch who shelters newborn babe
a gift of God from Heaven sent to Earth to save
a glorious time for celebration in precious moment of delight
majestic music from Angels chanting Hosanna O! Holy Night.
sheer warmth of having a personal relationship with the Lord
a unique experience enlightening as He is adored
sharing love with everyone, the human spirit takes flight
melting their voices with holy Angels singing Hosanna O! Holy Night.
*For Cyndi's Season of Lights, Delights & Enlightenment Contest.
*Nov. 14, 2012.
in the Italian culture we begin our Christmas celebration ...
Christmas Eve - Feast of Seven Fishes Dinner for good health & prosperity
Tree trimming ceremony with music and singing toasting wine
Midnight Mass at Basilica in Rome or at Church in N.J.
Dessert Party after Mass with eggnog
Christmas Day exchanging gifts and visiting children and seniors at hospitals
Pasta dinner with salads and baked stuff shells with meatballs
Desserts of creme puffs laced with rum, cannolis pastry filled with chocolate
Wine tasting from orchards of Italy imported with olive tray
Candlelight ceremony where all hold a lit candle making a wish for a
Happy New Year.
When darkness falls and finds us all alone,
When the heart becomes a small grey stone ...
Bravery is all there is.
When thunder shakes the windowpanes,
When those we love lie wracked with pain ...
Bravery is all there is.
Bravery concedes its fear;
Does not attempt to hide its tears.
Bravery is born of holding calm,
In quietly, doggedly, carrying on.
When reason fails to light the dark,
When the answer is a question mark ...
Bravery is all there is.
When justice seeks to rule in vain,
When sorrow sweeps the roiling brain ...
Bravery is all there is.
Bravery trembles while it stands,
Accepts what it cannot command.
Bravery bears its burdens well,
Looks not to see if others tell.
Be brave then, Mystery asks of us;
Face the unknown with silent trust -
For at the End, there is only this:
Bravery is all there is.
Bravery is all there is.
When I awoke this early morn
I looked out upon a magic fairyland
Last night a whole new world was born
Nature had been making surprising plans
To paint the world with an icy hand
I looked beyond the windowpanes
And spied a welcoming winter's view!
Enchanting houses up and down the lane
With frosted roofs, and sidewalks too
All the world covered in crystal hues
Frosty art upon the window glass
Beautiful designs that Jack Frost has left
I wish his artwork could be framed to last
But as morning leaves, and Jack takes his noontime rest
The chill will leave, and the sun will bless
For Carol Brown's contest "Welcoming Winter"
When the morning light,squeaks through the vanes;
of wooden casements and windowpanes.
When eyes glued shut,from night time fears,
are opened wanly to mornings clear.
That’s when in the corners of my mind,
thoughts of you rush forth to find;
Soft smiles, open arms and a warm heart,
You know I’ve loved you from the start.
A diaphanous mist hangs over me
Blurring my thoughts and fancy
Or is it that my Muses have gone into lazy slumber?
Whatever thoughts I have, they come fragmented and scrambled
In no way I can piece them into a string
As I try to nest them together, they wheel away like pigeons
When I struggle for utterance,
Like a child, I lisp at the very first word
Though thoughts strike me like pellets of rain against windowpanes
I fail to broil them in the crucibles of my imagination
I am a miner searching for a nugget of gold
In tons of drilled out mineral ore
In the dead of the night, in frightening stillness
I am awake, with a pen in my hand
A heavy weight pulling me down
Caught in a creative maelstrom, I whirl and whirl
I hope the ink will soon spill over
Scrawling coherent lines and letters
Like an emboldened farmer,
I sow seeds of my thoughts into a land barren,
Not fecund enough and not watered with imagination!
Who can say some of them won’t strike root
Even in the cleft of a rock and struggle bravely into sunshine
Spreading over their sterile birth place
With beauties any eye would love to behold!
I wait for that moment...
Yes, I am a poet in the making...!
October.1.2022
~ Placed Seventh~
2022 Marathon mile.23 Poetry Contest
Sponsor -Mark Toney