Long Pane of glass Poems
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(Spoken)
I was shopping for a new gun just the other day
When, out of the blue it hit me what was right there on display
For under a pane of glass, there were hundreds of broken dreams
And that's made me think:
What's the story..... of a pawn shop ring
Half off hopes
Discounted dreams
Is what, the sign should read
But instead, it said half off
All our rings
Underneath a pane of glass
Broken love for trade with cash
And that's the story of a pawn shop ring
They're selling carats for pennies
On the dollar
If you see one you like
Feel free to make an offer
Each one's been certified
By a love turned cold as ice
And that's the story of a pawn shop ring
I'm guessing they've all been washed....
In teardrops
And a few were even given...
A fling
We're not here to discuss
If they're bad luck
Yeah that's the story of a pawn shop ring
I'm guessing more than most...
Hold unmade memories
And a few, never even, saw the day
A month and a halfs wage
For each dream there on display
And that's the story, of a pawn shop ring
You know I left there that day feeling a little down
With no gun in my hand, I lifted my head feeling real proud
Just realizing that my woman still cares for me
Through all he hell I've put her through
Knowing we still have many dreams to come our way
But I still wondered
How many tried to propose
To only hear the word no
That's the story of a pawn shop ring
For in a glass case
Sits loves final resting place
And that's the story of a pawn shop ring
The frost bites sharply at my boots,
a quiet thief stealing warmth.
The world hums in silver tones,
its breath a shiver brushing my crimson cheeks.
Each step cracks the silence,
a fragile defiance in a realm
that stills itself before the year’s end.
Trees wear crystalline armour,
their branches mimicking brittle fingers,
whilst clutching at the pale, indifferent sky.
The earth beneath me trembles,
thin as a pane of glass,
each foot step a gamble,
each crack a chime of survival
in this frozen scene.
My breath unfurls,
ghostlike and restless,
carrying the weight of months undone -
Regrets that sting,
hopes like fragile snowflakes,
unique, imperfectly crafted,
melting too soon.
The air tastes sharp,
like memory laced with frost,
but I swallow it whole.
The world is a frostbitten canvas,
its hues drained by the cold’s steady hand,
edges blurred by winter’s sigh.
Yet within the ache,
there is a strange beauty:
The way the chill settles deep,
an unrelenting grasp
you learn to crave.
And so, I walk on,
my thoughts trailing behind
like naughty shadows.
Each step marking time
as the frost whispers its secrets.
This is the year’s final breath,
its splintered waltz,
dancing on the edge of stillness.
And I wear it like a crown -
each shard of ice a fragment of truth,
sharp and cold,
etched into me.
I wait for you in the moonlight
In the quiet of the night
Within this room that holds
So many moments of your life
The dreams you've dreamed
Still linger here
Between these flower-papered walls
That look beyond the window
At the Autumn leaves that fall
A quilted robe lies draped across
A wicker rocking chair
That held you and rocked you
When grief
Was more than you could bear
A bassinet now empty
Where once a baby slept
Remains enshrined
Chained to a time
By the million tears you wept
A picture of a handsome man
With you there by his side
A bride and groom so in love
With stardust in their eyes
Stands behind a pane of glass
Within a gilded frame
Where your lip prints and
finger prints
On its surface..still remain
And now...
I hear your slippers
As they slide across the floor
And I hear...
Your laboured breathing
Outside this bedroom door
And I know that soon
I'll hold you
Here in this flower-papered room
And soothe your old
And frail body
In the light of a silver moon
I...your old companion
An antique Rosewood Bed
Let me hold you...Mary Beth
I..the best friend you've ever had
Let me hold you through the night
And bring you back...again
Sweet Mary Beth
Into the morning light.
Looking at me from under the shades
of your eyelashes, will not solve the problem.
i see on your chin a stubbornness that is you,
you would say nothing, fearing it may lessen you,
neither will you let me say anything,
in fear it may lead to a path to friendship.
I know you have been hurt before,
yet no reason to live in an emotional prison.
there is perhaps some goodness still out there
to seek, to know, to make it your own.
in the long path to love and salvation,
there are many moments for wisdom,
that make our resolve stronger, the destination
easier, and further journey a pleasure.
looking at me with those beautiful yet sullen eyes,
only make me fall in love even more.
we are across a thick pane of glass
longing for an embrace.
we deny each other the friendship
we deserve, and yet I can only watch
and admire, with a resolve that at some point
the divide would shatter.
When one is in love, eternity is
only a brief moment in time.
We stand on ice that feels much too thin,
six feet suddenly feeling like miles.
Our footing is loose on this shaky ground,
and the cracks can be heard all around.
I see the fearmongering, the conspiracies,
the boredom and the sadness of separation,
the blame and the vitriolic remarks -
yet amidst it all, I also see sparks.
They reside in the eyes of the kind, the saints,
they light the fires in our heroes' hearts.
They shocked the minds that took this crazy race to space,
and they'll carry us out of this frightening place.
They kindle the muse in the artists,
keeping everyone as sane as can be.
They ignited that burning midnight oil
that fuels the healer's noble toil.
There they are, surrounding so many hands,
touching but for the pane of glass;
there again, glinting on that man's flag as stars,
shining for those in the passing cars.
On our media they jump from post to post,
from puzzles to videos, to jokes and "I spys",
from pictures to chatting, and all in between -
living in smiles passed through a screen.
Yawning before us is this chasmic abyss,
but we have what it takes not to fall.
Hope is in those sparks, our humanity, our drive -
let them burn, let them spread, and we will survive.
I flipped the switch and it roared to life,
With gears spinning and blinking lights,
Dials with arrows swinging left and right,
And a GPS screen to track my flight.
Then I closely examined my historical map,
While holding the keyboard on my lap,
And paused to wonder, where in time to go,
But with so many choices, I just didn’t know.
Maybe to the Pyramids, to witness their building,
And to speak with the aliens about their helping,
Or to Dealey Plaza to see firsthand,
If Lee Harvey Oswald was really the man.
Or to the “56” World Series, which would be nice,
Where Don Larsen put ‘dem Bums’ on ice,
Or maybe I could warp to Normandy’s beaches,
To see what history cannot teach us.
Or possibly a journey to Independence Hall,
Where our Founding Fathers were starting it all,
And I’ve always wanted to see ancient Rome,
And the chariot races at the hippodrome.
Then it dawned on me where I should go in time,
To Jersey City - nineteen-forty-nine,
So, I typed in the coordinates and stepped inside,
And in a micro-second, I completed my ride.
And I found myself standing next to this guy,
Who had a big wide smile and a gleam in his eye,
As he gazed at a bundle all wrapped in blue,
Through a pane of glass that provided the view.
And when the spell was broken, I heard him say,
“That’s my son, right there, he was born today,”
And as we looked at each other, I’m sure he knew,
That I was that bundle wrapped in blue.
For Zoltar…
I put on my best Sunday clothes
And began my journey to get my fortune
I drove over bridges and through alleyways
To get to the amusement park
In which he resides
Earlier I visited the bank to change my twenty
To get a fresh one dollar bill
Of which his machine will consume
My adrenaline peaks as I arrive near
I’m shaking and trembling in anticipation
Of what my fortune will tell
And then I see him
seated behind the crystal ball
Protected by a pane of glass
I insert the green paper
And Zoltar comes to life
Speaking to me, wishing me well
My fortune is dispatched
I read it
It was worth the visit
ONLY YESTERDAY
Looking ahead through
A dirty pane of glass,
I remember yesterday,
The old man on the bench,
A drenched French
Loaf of bread, forgotten
Beside an empty
Bottle of wine,
Half asleep in the cold
His hair whipping
Beating his face
The rain harsh,
Dripping from his
Bent head,
One shoe was gone
His naked foot
Swollen and red,
He had no bed,
No one to care,
On Planet Earth's realm
About to enter the next,
I thought for him
This was best.
I felt my heart quicken
As his stopped,
And he fell
To the ground
He was found,
For no soul dead
Or alive around,
That was yesterday.
Today, I sit on
The same seat
On the same bus
Taking the
Same journey
To my little shop
On the corner,
Where I greet the same
People every day,
I look up gratefully
And say,
Thank you God
For my life.
my eyes are open
no thoughts to disturb the silent space
the mind has become a void
where existence is only a breath
exhaling desolation and cold
I peek through curtains
to find the world alive
filled with noise and motion
the light outside, the dark inside
two worlds separated by a pane of glass
it reveals how thin the distance is
between yesterday and today
it all appears the same, trapped in a darkness
that has finally bloomed like weeds
from a mold that entrenched itself long ago
when I was a frivolous farmer
consuming everything I grew
without care or reservation
not thinking of the dark husks
I left scattered on the empty fields
of my needs
tomorrow haunts me
and it has yet to arrive
I close the curtain
and cry, where no one hears me
8/17/17
Walking down this road rattling my tin of pain, like the man on the corner asking for alms.
Destitute and racked outside looking in at one who was more than friend or kin, won’t you take from me this burden this cloak worn tattered and thin.
At the edge of this abyss, seeing me gaze back at myself, no railing’s or hand grips to keep me from falling in. Take a piece won’t you please, just a little of my soul to keep my feet on this shaky soil.
Know that my heart still thinks of you, arms will never hold another because none can compare. Never stopped cannot love but one as fair or so true.
Wanting to be the one whose arms you seek to hold tight in the cold dead of night, dry tears with a kiss not a silk or cotton handkerchief.
Can we not be what once we was , get pass this time of where we are, hearts joined as one not splintered and shattered like a pane of glass dropped on the cold floor.
Take me back give me a chance, let me hold your face fill me with all your loving grace. I was a man now just a broken boy, when out my life you left and closed the door.
By
Patrick D
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