Short Windowsill Poems
Short Windowsill Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Windowsill by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Windowsill by length and keyword.
The snowflakes drift upon the wind
And settle on the windowsill
But also on the winter winds
Comes the sting of winters chill
Form:
yellow daffodils,
a bee visits each flower - -
raindrops on the glass
written 4th March for Constance's Nature haiku contest
Alone the demon sleeps–
Alone the demon weeps.
Last night mother died–
Last night father cried.
Yet here I sit by the windowsill,
Watching the doves fly by.
A dozen pretty tulips
grace her chateau
Ten yellow daffodills
on her windowsill
Eight bright-red roses
in a floral vase ~
Tickling her nose
queen anne's lace
I left my window
open every
night but you never came
to the windowsill
like you always promised
you would
and it's not
that I mind really but did
you forget?
Hurting and wilting.
Silent.
Indifferent.
Boring and never moving.
I am a flower on a windowsill.
People are kind to me.
But I am lonely.
Because flowers don’t have friends.
Listen to poem:
thunderstorm approaching
coffee cup in hand
with bated breath
i await the sign
you are there
within my reach
and all will be alright
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
Posted on July 13, 2021
a green garden snake
slithers in the apple orchard
mother crys
rooster puffed chest pride
caged birds lay hollow eggs
fox father red eyed
pies baked on the windowsill
long shot gun in the shed
Margaret's fingers clasped and still
white wings upon her windowsill
silent doves that came to rest
sleeping now upon her chest
each settled bird that came to land
will fly no more from Margaret’s hands
Bought myself a cactus plant
With flower on the top,
Such a dazzling orange
It seems phony, like a prop.
Set it on my windowsill
So light and air will fill it;
Wonder how long it’ll take
Before I start to kill it.
I awoke this morning, in a depressed frame of mind.
The Sun not shining, the weather unkind.
My cover lay upon the floor, the room was quite a chill.
A cross looking Robin upon my windowsill.
I think I'll sleep in.
Form:
Reflections of dawn
hued on a windowsill canvas-
Sun peeking through morn’
as the hazel light meets with fawn.
January 12, 2017
Old jars on the windowsill,
collect the dust from arid days
when the sun beats down on them,
making labels fade away like
memories of long ago when hearts
were younger and the logos were
brighter and easier to read.
A mockingbird sits on my windowsill,
Eyeing the shelly beans I am cooking
He snaps open and shut his sturdy bill
So intent is he in his window peeking,
He fails to see the black cat sneaking.
written July 8, 2021
Time and enough world. But we had
memories came, which lace at ends;
weaves that space 'tween callused derma.
Evokes at it's windowsill dust
particles. Life, I cry out.
Our story would take another;
falling into love was enough.
Midnight:
The gentle patter of each drop unfolding on my windowsill.
Morning:
The smell of freshly fallen beads like diamond glitter upon the grass.
Thunderous:
Where the clouds hold notority but cry tears pure and plain.
Windmills
standing still
no wind
empty windowsill
minds
at sleep
a death
of another time
heartless
flowers that never grow
no wine
tears fall silent
fragments appear
shooting stars at night
dispersed onto the dark
windmills of my mind
The fog thickens
streching up and over
the edge of my mug
leaning on the windowsill
draped in wool
waking slowly
A deep breath
to rid the morning frost
From my chest mixing
with mint green
and honey
so sweet
remembering your eyes on me
lifts the fog
She is called Little Princess
And the reason is very plain
Her charming personality
Is her claim to fame.
To sit on a lap is to feel pure bliss
But beware!
For you may feel her kiss.
A windowsill becomes a palace throne
Upon which to watch her family grow.
Form:
I learn to live
with the silence.
Thoughts echo
in the empty house.
I transform your room
into my space,
place
candles and shells
on the windowsill.
Your books are still
on the shelves –
old friends
who keep me
company
and speak of you.
August 13, 2018
Benumbed was all focus
Each element that descended
Within my wake
Mirrored a distinguished display
Of carmine cloudbursts and vanilla memories
Whilst I gazed above the windowsill
Though each and every existence
Defines the epitome of significance
Now and infinitely forevermore
rosy redbird skies
wednesday wind tosses tulips
plump pink peonies
days greener than green
wren visits my windowsill
magnolia scents
springtime's come again
with the snapdragon fridays
memorable hues
scarlet saturday
the red roses in full bloom
peach sunshine falling
Stabbed in my soul,
With a kiss,
Trust and honesty,
Shoved away by her lips,
In meeting with his,
Compromising love's mission,
Distubing the serene,
My heart put out on the windowsill,
To dry up and condense,
Into solidified pain,
Served to me for dessert,
After a painful meal.
a teenage girl
with so much pain.
insane thoughts running through her brain.
she reaches out
but no one sees.
this girl im describing
is really me.
no one listens, to numb to feel
wondering if heartache
can ever heal.
will have to wait
and hope it will.
teardrops falling on my windowsill.
a flea jumps across
the arm of the recliner --
athletic insect
fly tastes the surface
of the bureau -- wood's polish
must be flavorful
a garden spider
darts along the windowsill
as on in-line skates
roach peers at me from
the chair across it's rapt --
antennae flex and twitch