Long Sill Poems
Long Sill Poems. Below are the most popular long Sill by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sill poems by poem length and keyword.
The moon is full and white, and chill, this night,
it cascades past my open window sill,
and all the color fades to dark from light,
a monochrome of gray which can't be stilled.
The armoire's shadow strays across the floor.
I watch it from within my canopy bed.
as a nightmare gallops through my open door,
a Pooka* black as coal with eyes which bled.
Its jaw agape red gore froths from his maw,
and it slowly paws the cover from my bed,
a scream freezes in my throat to bird-like caw,
it dips for me to mount, as I am led.
Upon a demon spawn, I scour the moor
'til dawn descends to end this foul glamour.
6/7/13
*The pooka is a primarily a creature of Irish folklore. Considered to be both bringers of good and bad fortune. The creatures were said to be shape changers which could take the appearance of black horses.
The end of the day splays on my window sill
Complete with soft rays from the setting sun
That casts long shadows from an oak tree
To be painted on my shirt before day's done
Night creeps in at its own pace.
The windows open, feeling a cool breeze.
My dog Sam and I rest in our cabin's space.
Sam with a bone, me with a beer, crackers, and cheese.
Today has been calm, us just sitting here,
Watching the quiet movement of another day.
Through the window was a passing deer.
Sam barked once or twice, the deer went on his way
Night falls dark and stars brightly shine
Some clouds from a North prevailing wind
A chilling fog could cover the coastline
And keep all the fishing boats locked in
I may fall asleep sitting right here
With Sam my companion and friend
Hope when we wake the morning skies clear.
So Sam and I can do it all over again
9/10/15
I had this old potted flower just sitting there on the window sill
And with each passing day and hour it was none the better still
Half dead it never really seemed alive with only a few leaves left
Where what once had thrived was some how taken like a common theft
So sad did it seem to be slowly wilting away right in front of my eyes
It's beauty I could no longer even see no matter how hard one tries
And with everything that I tried nothing ever seemed to work
So I sat there and sighed thinking what happened to all that perk
As a last ditch resort I decided to replant it with some new soil
And using just a little effort with this meager job I began to toil
Putting it back up in the window just to allow it to come to rest
And now at least I would know that I had tried my very best
The next day as I entered the room something seemed different
I noticed this little baby bloom and it had such a fragrant scent
And in the following days I really couldn't believe what I saw
That plant began to amaze, one of the prettier one's that I ever saw
And so it is with our Children for they are all planted somewhere
You remember way back then as everyone has once been there
So if the blooms always spoil and they just don't seem to grow
Put them in the proper soil and their beauty will certainly show
Her stare is a scent tied to memory.
Hanging long as a searchlight out to sea.
Here where Times only purpose
Is to punish in fluid translation,
mocking with it's lap of tongue across the beach.
She breathes in Her re-treasured re-collections -She fills Herself with the Hope- She must find the courage to reach.
But fingertips erode fixture.
In the sill, grooved to place, memory foams security brace.
Her soul shackle-ready for flogging.
Her silhouette in fade,
replaced by panes fogging.
Circled by wraiths.
As She shakes from Loves Palsy.
Numbness ebbs and flows like a Tide creeping in.
Tears irrigating Her face
to punish love as sin.
In Her lonely garden that grows
In the absence of caretaker, wild
into the forests of delusion.
But just then as the fade turned it's black from her bones
the Lighthouse beacon flickered, then shone,
Eyes open- to life brought back.
Back from it's tomb of empty night.
The light it forlorned,
Like Archangel rising from Her Throne.
Stands up to tolerate Her state No More!
No more. No more
Piracy flying it's black masts along Loves Shores!
He was there! In a pathetic looking dingy, so beautiful and worn.
It Was-clear ahead of the Ship, barely touching the water,
as She bit down on Her lip-
running to forgive the ocean and accept it's Eternal apology gift.
Of the Reborn.
A cold front moved in overnight
and morning’s air made me breathe deep,
like an athlete before an event.
Yesterday’s humidity pushed aside,
creates a feeling of zest,
as if it’s the first touch of Spring.
But this is Autumn chasing
a recalcitrant Summer,
like the sun chasing darkness.
Following my early morning walk,
I sit in the corner of the kitchen
drinking coffee and watching the cat
on the window sill.
The neighborhood is quiet
and my eyes move to a leaf,
floating to a breeze-appointed place
near the fence in a flower bed.
I wonder how many more
Autumns I’ll experience,
now that I’m retired.
How I remember walking hand in hand
The morning chill in autumn air astound
When October golden days rolled around~
Slowly through the forest across his land
Reached dad's cabin ~ giving the door a push
He'd roar up the wood stove perk some coffee
Soon the cabin would be warm as toffee~
His mancave retreat hid deep in the bush
To be invited I glowed with honor
Sharing the pride he felt down to the core
Yet never dreaming time would not stand still~
Each October fondly I remember
Never would I~ could I have asked for more
Fall memories outside my window sill~
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 20, 2022 for contest A BRIAN STRAND 1093 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
See them flourishing in the field with vines running up and down the street, petals of hope are springing up everywhere opening up branches far and near and the lessons that we learn are hidden beneath the fallen leaves that descend on the earth with the ferocious breeze and the shadows climbing up the hill lay bare on my window sill and natures bears the burden.
I stand on top of the mountain of hope and view the vast landscape below, miles and miles of grass lands staring at me with empty hands but somewhere beyond sea another universe was waiting for me.
I could not see it clearly but I could visualize it internally, the trees were blocking my view preventing the deal from coming through and so I have to journey to the other side of the sea.
I used to visit this place that is full of grace, I used to roll up and down the hill and go horseback riding around the track and when night fall I use to camp out in the open space and watch the moonlight gleaming in the sky and the stars gather around it spreading its light upon the sea and singing sweet melodies.
There is so much memory in this place, the orchestra, the music the band, its memory is soaked in blood upon this land, I can still hear the screams and shouts when the curtain opens and at curtain call the voices are still screaming, everything seems like yesterday.
The smiles, the touch, the laughter and lovers romancing at the alter is still there oh how it makes my heart fear, sweet music is playing in the air but no one is there, the land is dry, empty and bare; its occupants roaming from village to town without a proper home.
A town that once stood in the heart of the country is crying out for mercy, I will buy this town and rebuild the homes and bring back the joy it once had,
Petal of hope is coming to town, petal of hope will rebuild the town, and Petal of hope will flourish in this town.
Midst midnight flashes
a poet’s pen shattered
in the hand of him who simply muttered
O, for a sign from above
O, for a sign from above
Creatures howled ‘bove his window sill
the poet clutched a box of pills
that grew a pair of purple gills
O, for a sign from above
O, for a sign from above
Ah, a fiberglass arrow split the air
Jezebel’s or Beezelbub’s he never knew
when his hands and feet began to mew, he cried
O, for a sign from above
O, for a sign from above
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.
A nascent hodgepodge
of gobbledygook from me,
or alternatively yours
nada soo true lee,
this incipient harm
less bumbling in das scribe
hubble wordy monster prithee
lee, nonchalantly, and lovingly
enjoys generating inscrutable mish
mash vocabulary,
which vapid unsolicited
largesse - from this dip see
dude dill ling, jabbering, dee
pull hoar rubble casket base,
and quacking rub bush pre
mere ring this harried
styled and swiftly tail
lord gibberish - dee
lib writ lee doth
write play full lee
to maximize obfuscation, dee
fie interpretation, and que
zook lee (quizzically)
silently ha...ha...ha
dis Matt chew wing,
chuckling, unremarkably
lamb baa sting king, she
push lee, dauntingly we
sill lee (weaselly) undermining
comprehension, whar ye
dear reader feel trapped
without a turn key
continually sliding into this
old rotten Goth theme be
have (behave) Ural
sink - as aye blithe lee
undoubtedly matter hoof
act corroborate with (be
leave me you) this
"FAKE" sniveling dee
mean nor (demeanor), the least
bit concerned if ye
unfairly find mine cumber
some harried style i.e.
spooner than later
lore or mess free
dissociation, viz parched
stream of consciousness me
thinks meandering into
an oxbow lake hee
ping (by Dickens) yar rye
ha (Uriah), where yar
tried patience probably
didst syrup pass smoldering rage
against this may pull leaf tree
cooly le (treacly)
slap dash helter
skelter brash poppycock
bereft, devoid, and fee
bully, sans ex tolling extra help
pings of gibberish glee
fully - totally tubularly
gloating how thee
moost experience
utter frustration re:
garding figuratively wading,
thru thicket of faux pre
tent shuss verbiage
omitting even so mooch
as a fore warning from
this one percent nee
and dare dearth hull
(Neanderthal) - as re:
veiled from genetic test
23andme, an
endeavor taken by me
eldest sister, - whose
first name iz a male lee,
Harris - hyphenated with Mug gee
Hen (McGeehan).