Long Windows Poems
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He speaks of the soul that must,
laid aside all emotions and its dust.
That balance which cannot be shaken,
by misfortunes and its taken.
Before one can see the world of magic,
realizing its virtues ecstatic.
For that within to become an outer gateway,
the peace in itself as determined pave way.
Windows of the soul and solution door,
threshold that provides always more.
The borrowed nature of sublimity,
caught in loving caring spirituality.
The heart hears it and the soul dances,
strength in humility advances.
The exaltation of human soul is divine,
a time and space at hand design.
The wizard climbs through space,
and accomplishes in time at place.
The ever moving life as nature,
providence glorious moments labor.
Written: March 08, 2025
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The silence keeps us apart—
quivering quietly near the cusp of dawn,
when hushed voices disappear.
It can be both tumultuous and challenging—
dark, dynamic, and daunting,
all at one breath.
Only the windows to the souls glimmer,
mirroring our reflections,
unveiling secrets often overlooked,
a striking scene,
painted in gentle pastel hues —
Intense passion drives us,
fracturing our spirits within.
My heart, once haunted and burdened,
by painful hints of deceit.
Now it dangles divinely from a tree.
Worn and weary,
the tearful, wine-tinted wails linger,
lost in the luxurious,
lusciously dark.
As his crimson-coated souvenirs
spill into disarray.
As I step boldly toward my true self—
I feel the beginning of a reshuffling
emerging from a past, steeped in silence —
I embark on an exhilarating journey,
one that shines as a starry night sky.
Standing before the mirror,
I experience a profound alteration
reconnecting with my sparkling plexus,
of the resplendent stardust within me,
I feel the tides of self-doubt gently receding.
This harmonious melody—
brings to light the hidden strength inside,
allowing me to find solace and peace.
Behold this remarkable wave,
of determination washing over me.
I stand resolute in the face of distress,
shake off gloom heavy grip,
and let pass of the burdens
of anxiety and self-doubt.
I gather my fractured thoughts,
as they scatter across the ground,
and pick them up with care,
grasping the precious insights
that send shivers of excitement through me.
Witness my whimsical mend,
as I become something epic,
allowing my potential to flourish,
nurtured by the legacy of my roots.
Their steadfast support
resonates deep within my soul,
instilling in me courage and resilience,
my needs exceed my expectations.
In honor of the victories
that comes from my success,
and newfound freedom,
I celebrate the journey of
the weary traveler who has
carefully chronicled my life's stories;
my strength has blossomed beautifully.
Now is the utopian moment for me
to seize control of my destiny.
Colored wings of beauty full of light
you are the reason that I fly away
Inside this wooden swing I feel alive
living out each moment while I soar,
Colored wings of love,
meet my Y E S T E R D A Y S
Colored wings of orbs and halos
why can't I be an Angel in the middle
Inside these chains I'm but a ghost
reaching out to stars, I feel alive
Colored wings of Love
meet my Y E S T E R D A Y S
Colored wings of Beauty Bright
whats with all this blinding light
Inside His Kingdom lantern nights
touching windows of the past
Colored wings of Love
meet my Y E S T E R D A Y S
meet my Y E S T E R D A Y S
meet my Y E S T E R D A Y S
The world had taken everything
and left the man as broke.
When anger rose up in his gut
and this is what he spoke:
I've given my life for everyone
who only sought to take.
And now that I have no more luck
it's time that I forsake.
He tore off all his clothes to say:
"I'm naked in the street".
While others stopped and stared at him.
Their shock to be his treat.
He stood there just as Adam did
and waited for his sake.
The people thinking he was mad
and called the cops to take.
He didn't have to wait for long.
His plan was working well.
The ride to come as quickly
as this taxi was to Hell.
They wrapped him in a blanket first
and put him in the car.
These chauffers posh to say the least
were armed and trained to spar.
The drive was one of comfort
for his mercy being there.
And the blanket now his clothing
warmed his heart were he to care.
When soon the ride had ended
that they'd finally reached his home.
A mansion having 13 floors.
It's windows lined in chrome.
The orderlies had come to greet him.
These servants to prestige.
Him wondering if they'd come to realize
how they played into his seige.
With escorts he'd travail the halls.
Their pathways feeling spacious.
Soon coming to the elevators;
the doorman being gracious.
They rose up to the Penthouse suite.
It's atrium well lit.
Where off they whisked him to a room
with pajamas made to fit.
When dressed they moved him to another.
six doctors there attending.
Assessing him for moving on
to one nurse for an ending.
The nurse to give him their decision
injected him with health.
All free for being there as their guest
despite his lack of wealth.
They offered him a bed to sleep
with fresh sheets and some drapes.
And told him he could get some food
for just a little traipes.
The cafeteria there to serve,
he always got a meal.
At night he even got a snack
as justice got more real.
Soon workers offered him their service
and got him an apartment.
The government sending him his cheque
each month from their department.
Right back to where he started off;
he smiled at what they'd done.
but felt the only difference being
too high to just have won.
Engines snarl the quiet open. Our street forgets its name and becomes a dare. Headlights stitch the midnight dark too fast to hold, mailboxes flinch, trees lean back.
Tires scream first, then the sirens, blue red prayers bouncing off porches, windows waking like startled eyes. Someone laughs. Someone swears. Time skids sideways.
The cars vanish, but the echo keeps racing, heart still pinned to the redline, long after the law and the boys are gone.
Afterward, the street exhales. Oil hangs in the air like a secret. Dogs bark at nothing. A loose can rolls, applause with no hands. Tomorrow, chalk lines, rumors, scorch marks, proof that for seconds, speed owned us, and we let it.
© daniel miltz
While wand'ring ghost town scenes of memories
Loose mind like shutters bang in channeled thoughts
Old haunting spirits restless and distraught
Now roam deserted streets like tumbleweeds
Dirt devils funnel, scattering dead seeds
As rattling chains of broken bonds stretch taut
Dark tortured faceless shadows, though not sought
Appear in screenless windows taunting me
Behind saloons in alleys where we played
Lie trash cans spilled of hope and broken dreams
Discarded remnants of relationships
Have all but disappeared from time's decay
Those youthful days spent by the sun dried stream
Are now recalled in silent somberness
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
A quiet spot in the house,
not frequented by visitors,
set aside, distant, aloof
solitary refuge, retreat,
escape, safe haven, sanctuary
from life trials and tribulations;
points of memory, subtle laughter,
remembered heartache and tears,
in picture frames, photographs, and reading books,
old school technology with paper, ink, and pen
scratchings of time and place,
etchings recovered and erased;
windows clean and wide,
open view portrait, vignette, a snapshot
to the world outside
visionary images of changes of the seasons
spring buds, blossoms and blooms
summer gardens exuberant with living visions
autumn color cavalcades
glistening thru the shade
warm sun lilting in reflective passage,
aging armchair warrior greeting time as it passes
clinging to the memories revived
within my sitting room.
Man’s the window to world without, within,
Wider be it, exciting gets the scene.
The trouble is: window gets too narrow,
He neither keeps it clean, nor any bright.
Trouble is: man’s not tolerant enough
Of those that see from a different window.
Trouble is: trying to bang down locked doors,
He misses out widely open windows.
That, madly in love of same old windows,
He forgets to forge new to see new world.
Trouble is he forgets: an open mind
Be like a window that lets in fresh air,
And that the windows are not kept open,
And like windows, his mind too remains closed.
And there’s always a new world waiting out,
But then, his window’s shut and so is mind.
When a window of opportunity
Appears, the window shades oft are down.
The trouble is: vast be the outside scene,
Windows far few, tight shut, or shutters down!
And man’s marooned with just today’s story,
An epic’s waiting when to get unfold.
__________________________________________
Musings |04.08.2022| Blank verse
Sex 101
by Michael R. Burch
That day the late spring heat
steamed through the windows of a Crayola-yellow schoolbus
crawling its way up the backwards slopes
of Nowheresville, North Carolina...
Where we sat exhausted
from the day’s skulldrudgery
and the unexpected waves of muggy,
summer-like humidity...
Giggly first graders sat two abreast
behind senior high students
sprouting their first sparse beards,
their implausible bosoms, their stranger affections...
The most unlikely coupling—
Lambert, 18, the only college prospect
on the varsity basketball team,
the proverbial talldarkhandsome
swashbuckling cocksman, grinning...
Beside him, Wanda, 13,
bespectacled, in her primproper attire
and pigtails, staring up at him,
fawneyed, disbelieving...
And as the bus filled with the improbable musk of her,
as she twitched impaled on his finger
like a dead frog jarred to life by electrodes,
I knew...
that love is a forlorn enterprise,
that I would never understand it.
Keywords/Tags: first love, sex, sexy, lust, passion, desire, school, student, teen, teenage, learning, bus, foreplay, fingering, odor, musk, romance, romantic, humiliation
there is a rumor that in Eden
when God created woman
the heavenly hosts all exclaimed
woe unto man
Adam lost in the marvel
of what he beheld
repeated what he heard, although abbreviated
mumbled in amazement, woman
and what i want you to take away
from this story, i weave for only you
as i watch you across this table
red checkered, the chianti bottled candle
while its enchanting flames dance
across the Madonna vision i hold
one age will never erase
only adorn as a seraphic potpourri
is that we must not fault those angels
know not lips that are my precious reward
have never had the experience
of the heavens, i feel in your arms
nor the ichor in your kiss
the empyreal fields in your touch
or why this poor wordsmith
writes in short bursts his odyssey
but tho i may fall short
truly this i do say
in my heart as i watch you
a thousand ships have been launched
that no matter what the costs lie in Troy
if i can hold your undivided attention
but for one more precious moment
that tug upon a pigtail
is the carnage i gladly pay
for the privilege of being the only vision
you hold
a rose is but a rose
but in that moment it became for me
in those eyes
lost in eternity within Athena's garden
and by that approving smile
i see your poor version of Homer
is leaving the shores of Troy's carnage
where not even the sirens of Capri
will keep him from the heavens promised
in that approving smile
pity the angels my love
denied dinner with you
who will never experience the ride home
windows down, and listen to Doris Troy sing
Just One Look
there are those who will tell you
the words of love are too lofty
the difference is that turkey vultures
never soar where eagles fly
Oregon 8/23