Best Windowsill Poems
Oh! How I despise dawn’s blushing optimism
and dried hydrangea blooms sepia skinned and papery thin.
Humdrum hands beat doldrums drum.
Why won’t the summer solstice light this darkness?
A gnawing hollow where my heart should be.
Where cinder clouds float in negative space
memories collect like nesting sparrows beneath eaves.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss.
Your death did steal my breath and heartbeat like a thief
while October’s wind trembled aspens like harp strings.
(Ten Poem Titles)
The Corruption Of My Lust For Life
Autumn Side Of September
Mundane Matters Of Mortals
Theft Of My Will To Survive
In Woes And Throes Of Sorrow
A Vanilla Dove
Escape Of The Bluesman’s Song
The Sham Of My Humanity
Death Is The Bane Of My Existence
The Shedding Trees Of Autumn
if
just for a moment
seasons change
as river water slows
morning dreams
wake upon
the sweetest of memories
you are lost
between years
and nowhere
are there tears
a wind whispers
cold
across a windowsill
open
where lingers
the flavors
of a young man’s summer
snow
lies frozen in the
still of silence
as air holds like ice
in a throat
just about to speak
rhyme
across an acoustic guitar
strings
eyes go closed
where autumn stalls
a voice sings
across chance
a man
sees
water
fall across his sighs
as sweat upon
his tries
if just for a moment
you believe
in the mirror
nailed to a closed door
where less than nothing
is only more.
- jude
Form:
She left a candle burning bright
in the darkest shadows of her home-
Where the hills were her finest friends,
and her greatest vision-
a sunset lined with white lace
which she poured on paper in black ink.
Her last request was to torch
what remained of the beautiful scene in ink,
for to her it felt so incomplete.
And for what reason does she throw away
all of her wearisome work?
Is it a vanilla scented casket?
An orchid?
Some blue-field violets?
We left her to rest,
but the world will not
until every single character
she scribed has been seen
by our human eyes.
She yearned for death so long,
yet still lives through every word she once wrote.
Now she's gone,
and all the world wants is her return
for a simple explanation.
It's a cold hint of irony,
an unforgettable one
we all must someday face.
Two Cats On A Windowsill
"Hey, Enya."
"Yes, Tammy."
"Do you see what I see?"
"What do you see Tammy?"
"Things in the air, swirling and looking like they're having so much fun!"
"Oh yes, Tammy, you are watching the dancing of the dead."
"Dead, Enya?"
"Yes, Tammy. The leaves are dead."
"I hope when I'm dead I have that much fun, Enya."
"I hope so too Tammy."
*
The September days can get very hot
Turn on the air conditioner, then it's not
By late afternoon you are cold again
Turn off the air and let evening set it
The very next day you wake up to a chill
Is that really frost on your windowsill
Get out the sweaters and turn up the heat
The days to come this activity we'll repeat
We are just now entering the first of November
Much talk of a heat wave, so try to remember
Weather change happens so don't lose your cool
Predicting the weather makes a smart man a fool
Author Eileen Clark
The plants on my windowsill are dying
My cacti looks weak
Only my Aloe Vera plant clings to life
I must water it regularly or it too will die
Plants are our fellow living beings
ands should be treated kindly
According to the learned scientists
Our ancestors date back millions of years
by this they mean such beings as Ramapithecus and the like
Plants were around then too
Our friends the flora of this world
will be here as long a man exists
"Life lives at the expense of other life"
Reflections of dawn
hued on a windowsill canvas-
Sun peeking through morn’
as the hazel light meets with fawn.
January 12, 2017
yellow daffodils,
a bee visits each flower - -
raindrops on the glass
written 4th March for Constance's Nature haiku contest
Tattered Grey -
It bends against an unkind wind;
An ugly thing so commonplace,
Against a leaky corner.
A thing so grand has never been
So thin -
And yet it hangs;
Against the heavens weathered attempts
To prove it wrong.
It lasts so long -
Holds tightly, oh so tightly;
Not squandering it’s mighty will -
Duct tape on a windowsill.
In the depths of twilight, in the cradle of shadows that rest on the windowsill,
I call you to a mysterious reunion,
Where silent lamps pour their gentle glow
On the tender lines sculpted by time.
Forgive me for the longing that calls you in silent whispers,
Invoking vivid memories like the blossomed wrinkle on your cheek.
Awaken the dormant forest within me,
Let us walk through its mystical paths,
Even if the coming night prompts the foliage to change.
Ignite the fire within me, quench my thirst,
Unleash the passions captive in the deepest cracks of my being.
Let the echo of a weeping horseshoe resonate
Through my heart, driving out the wild stallions from my blood.
In the grass sick with longing for you,
Grown beneath towering trees,
Nourish my sighs and weary horses,
Call out to me even when you are silent,
Let your presence sculpt a symphony of unspoken truths.
Bring the storm to water the land
Where the seeds of our story grow.
Soak this sacred ground
Where hope grows wild and raw
Amid the unnatural encounters of fate.
Let the storm breathe life into our roots,
Anchoring them in the hard and fertile soil of boundless love.
Forgive me, scold me, cast me far from evil and deep despair,
Throw me into vast realms where purity reigns,
Keeping our love flowing unrestrained,
Carving its path through the essence of your soul.
It’s nice to have a windowsill,
A place to perch your plants
Or your solar flower so the sun
Can start it on its dance.
Tomatoes in a bowl will ripen,
Warming to the rays
And a pretty vase will brighten
Even all the gloomy days.
You can prop a picture if your sill
Is wide enough for staging
Or place knickknacks you’ve collected
Which are fun for rearranging.
If your window is deficient
Or a sill is not a must,
Just take comfort in the fact that you
Have one less place to dust!
The rain pon the windowsill
The pounding of my heart
The sound that looms round
the empty room
And rends my soul apart
The pillow next, not damp like mine
unslept on lo these many years
yet stained a bit with drops of wine
Spilled along with bitter tears
That beleaguer me and always will
Like the rain upon
...The window sill…
they don't want dramatic parents anymore
sentimental
they got bored of them
they are sick of exaltation
they don't want the vehemence of which
the parents hung on
convinced that it would be freedom
we
those with a muzzle swollen by history
we look at them with trembling eyes
in hidden tears
we
do we wake up? or die?
we died
we woke up
but they discreetly wrap
around around contre jour
on an old heart
another world
vehemence
our only final reward
they scratch their fine ears
and they offer us
an image about which
we do not know
they do not know
they don't tell us anything
easy
to be as easy as possible
existential flake on an anonymous wall
easy
easy
and no windowsill to look at
no return airport
no word on current status
nothing past or bandaged
just to be easy
you pay this time trust me
at least once
drinking beer together
I just follow the trajectory of a flake
I keep my eyes closed
like a child and I imagine
that you overcome life's difficulties
in that lifetime of a snowflake
and then i let you go
From the window trough
lets feast on pea shoots and chives
marvel at the paper whites
tall and slender
with magnificent perfume
and grow nepeta for our cat ?
Why don't we call our flat Jardin ?
so we may be associated with nature ?
Let our first holiday be to Giverny
The ardour will unfold your artistic eyes
I could talk of hollyhocks for ages
their firmament lasting forever
Empty Windowsill
The sun shines through, feel the warmth
But you are gone now
You leave an empty space in our hearts
Never will be filled again
Your company and all your little ways
So dearly missed
Such sorrow we feel, such sadness and dismay
Almost 12 years, we were blessed
The empty spaces where you once were
I see them everywhere
I can call your name but you will not come
Only pictures now remain
So as the sun shines on, we miss your warmth
Things are not the same
And as the years go by, we’ll always remember
Our dear, sweet Tammy the cat
RIP late Spring 2007 - 11th Feb 2019