The arrogance
of ignorance
Where narcissism
hides
A hall of mirrors
paned in shame
Reflecting
— only lies
(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)
Dry stacked
the walls arched
We're a window quadruple
Paned stood statuesed
Risened and marbled
the counter top
the unfinished mastering
the beams, the beams
She spoke
As we on the unfinished floor
had in reproduction
Created our first child
Months later I sat there
With a bottle of wine
Smoking a cigar
Smiling in happiness
Knowing some foolish truffle
Would challenge our happiness
Some unexpected frivle would
try to undermine our togetherness
Which word to speak might God
Protect us
Then again what words to speak
Might we again be as one
They shall oppose all things
to have me shake my fist at the
Angred by the frustration of not belonging
So that my efforts of failing her and him
Would be in vain
Might they hiss like snakes
to speak us in tenses
The suns of each tomorrow
Be days of us together
Raindrops pelted against the window, rolling down the paned glass like tears,
Not unlike the way tears were rolling down my pained face,
The sky was crying with me,
As the plants drowned in the rain,
It felt like I was drowning in my worries,
There was a restlessness within me, and I knew I couldn’t just sit there,
I knew I couldn’t just allow my anxiety to take over,
I stepped into the rainstorm, just for a moment,
And let it wash away all the negativity, all the overthought thoughts,
And as I stepped inside once more,
I could take a proper breath,
I was calm once again, everything was okay.
Night is locked down within its darkness.
I am not driving into the morning
but slipping deeper into a night-tide.
Occasionally the road is almost lit
by stuttering neon signs,
mostly the roadside houses
seem unplugged from any light.
Black paned bedroom windows
seem to reflect the dreamers behind them,
each dreamscape is different
but collectively the same.
I'm driving, watching the headlights
scanning the road ahead
as if my car were a luna vehicle
exploring an alien landscape.
I had a plan, I had a destination,
now I have to crawl my way
along this endless road
knowing nothing of journeys.
Somewhere ahead of me
there is a dawn awakening
yet now I see
that it is further away
then far. It is beyond,
and in my head
phantom eyes are closing.
a thousand tragedies paned
onto the community headlines
slashes the idle spirits
the wound enrages them to
seek out sadistic glee for the sake
to title themselves as 'woken.'
pitchforks and torches raised
looking for the guilty farmer
with swift words and stories
all the crops seared in the name
of the mindless chase for "justice."
“no god or jury; only us”
the next day arrives new tragedies,
sprouts new farmers to fight,
old pitchforks and torches to light
burning all but ideas
immortalised by martyrs made
from setting the flames
not one man asks for
the purpose of the hunt or be
branded as “the problem”
they walk the same burned soil
refusing to admit that they are
only casting flames on scarecrows
to the new age cult
criticism is blasphemy
indifference is hatred
Dancing circles in the air
Pirouettes to seek and share
Feathered frenzy of delight
Such a wondrous, joyful sight
Framed by windows paned of glass
As I feel the morning pass
Wings that catch the dawning breeze
Entertain my heart with ease
From my station, perched and warm
Guiding me through every storm
Birds of yellow, red and blue
Dip and sway in fluttered hue
Free and fair and all things sweet
Minding me with every tweet
Life has soarings yet unflown
Dancing circles of my own
Duluth Warmbilt factory blanket
placed over his shoulders
after dinner cookie in lap
untasted
facing out the long
double-paned window
grinning hard
scaring the new hire
A skull she thinks
waiting for it to melt
just enough
so the two-ton truck
The crazy kids drove out
onto the frozen lake
stuck out there
all winter now
gets swallowed up.
The mountains are calling me back,
determined not to give me slack.
Windy road leads me to the place
which is emotional to face.
Summers spent at the old homestead,
Nanna would bake her tasty bread.
Red and white gingham curtains hung
on paned windows where they were strung.
The old picnic table stood in the back,
meals were served with love and no slack.
A tire hung on the oak tree,
hours were spent swinging with glee.
Bitter-sweet thoughts hit so rough,
family gone and it is tough.
Breezing trees heard the whispers of leaves
in the fardel of branches as they trembled
beneath the relentless breath of april's storm
i watched them from my window
this paned glass smudged over
with the splatter of lashing rain
pulsating against my hands
as i struggled to see clearly
through the ambages of drops
gliding down in an oblique trail
as they fell from ashen skies
and sullen eyes the same
this window has become my passage
to the forbidden outside world
where society once traipsed freely
upon these cobblestone streets
yet all i hear are the echoes of rain
as it plummets downward
all i see are these trees
struggling to remain grounded
in the lash of storm's fury
forthwith i see
you, me, a society
clinging together
likes these leaves
in the midst of this storm
trying to break free
april 24, 2020
* Breezing trees heard the whispers of leaves*
line credit to Vijay Pandit
Poetic lines Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Moonlight through a window frame
casts a shadow grill on the floor
from my bed I watch
the six-paned moon dial
climb across the floor and wall
I can't sleep, again.
Like a movie clip
that loops over and over
Faerie and Flesh, I wonder
where She might be
again and again, until I fall
asleep, again.
PANED REFLECTIONS
Here lies the glazier, Peter Lee
His wife is shattered, naturally!
LAST NIGHTS ON THE TILES
Alas poor Joe, I knew him well
He fixed my roof before he fell!
SNAKE IN THE GRASS
Here lie the bones of Jones the vet
Inside his boa constrictor pet!
HE KNEW HIS STUFF
Ted, taxidermist, here doth lie
He stuffed himself with too much pie!
HAMMERED HOME
Here lies my auctioneer friend, Ron
His final ‘going, going gone!’
14/09/18
I see the light through faded vision
I see times' flight in this faceless prison
Scorned by death yet banished from life
In stasis somewhere beyond day and night
Somewhere I am but nowhere it be
Nowhere can I be alive or dead you see
I hear the sound of the babbling brook
I hear bird song as evening comes
I feel the wind pass through my soul
I taste the rain and feel the snow
Though sight I have no paned window
I see the movement and feel the shapes
I watch the sounds and colours escape
For they can pass through this place
They can find a peace some way
For I know not of what deal I made
I expected peace when I found my grave
But I can not live or die in this life or game.
I was studying in the library where
the solitude almost lulled me to sleep,
when out of the blue heard
a quaint noise that startled me,
Curious I got up from my seat
and started looking around,
replaying the noise I had heard
of the ping, poing metal sound,
Something had fallen or dropped
off a table or shelf,
something that sounded metallic
and nothing else…
I knew it would be in the
vicinity of my table close by,
because the noise was earth shattering,
considering the atmosphere morgue like and shy,
Thats when I stopped and looked down at the floor
and spied an object glistening very small,
next to the the librarians feet whose hair was in a untidy bun,
was her lone bobby pin that shone from the window paned sun.
3-5-17
Behind paned glass, she’ll pass her days.
Eyes fixed across the frozen fields.
Her ruby smile, a thin disguise.
Betrothed to him, steadfast she prays.
On coldest day, they said goodbyes.
Forever true, with their love sealed.
The summer orchard’s ripe with plums.
She waits and cries for dreams untold,
as farm chores help her days to pass.
Her soldier's safe return shall come
when laughter climbs from greenest grass
and warm sunrays paint lovers gold.
Summer’s steps wane to fall’s swift stride.
In fiery heart, her love still burns.
As leaves rustle and gently strum,
only her cat holds tears she’s cried.
She’s lulled with neighs; the old barn hums.
His angel keeps till he returns.
A year has gone, she passes days
with animals to feed and groom.
Their bright eyes seem to understand
how fears can burrow under hay.
In uniform at altar grand,
A bride dreams of her handsome groom.
Curled in the fetal position, snug and warm in the bed under the fluffy down
comforter dreaming as day breaks. Then suddenly a storm brews and explodes
through the large double-paned window lifting me up higher than I had ever been
lifted before. Sucked up out of the warm covers, surrounded by broken glass but
still in slumber but terrified, heart pounding trapped in a nightmare that doesn't
seem to want to end. Then the alarm buzzes bringing back to reality falling,
falling back down to the soft warm bed where dreams are made.
glass crunches with weight
can't move for shattered pieces...
tornado sirens
Life as known up until this time has changed. Trapped in fear any thunderstorm
cower in a basement each time there is a cloud remembering, remembering that day
when a horrific storm blew through my window.
Inspired by one of the pictures
in Debbie's contest page but
not an entry.
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