Poet’s notes: this poem was written for this week’s poetry challenge: Write a poem with exactly seven lines.)
water rises in the clear bowl, a small cosmos gathering itself.
bubbles bloom like breath returning to a long-quiet body.
copper and blue tiles hold the warmth of forgotten mornings.
on the sill, bottles keep vigil — lotions, perfumes, small reliquaries of touch.
the faucet’s flow feels ancient, a quiet force older than ache.
the sky beyond the glass window moves in pale currents, clouds drifting close to the sill,
and I lean into the moment, letting the water’s rise settle something unnamed.
A coin spins once
on the warm windowsill~
thin ring of light,
quick shimmer,
a brief bright circle
trying to stay
in the day
a little longer.
Midnight often weighed the pros-and-cons of freedom
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
spring
my vase is ready
on the broad window sill~
spring rains bring beauties
summer
my vase overflows
on the broad window sill~
sunlight warms petals
autumn
my vase stands silent
on the broad window sill~
leaves drift down like thoughts
winter
my vase gathers dust
on the broad window sill~
snowlight fills the room
my vase is ready
on the broad window sill~
spring rains bring beauties
Bury me under the tree
Just mentally, so you can forget
Easily where exactly
I lie, and what tree is that
Plant me like I’m a seed
Put me into the pot
I’ll be a pepper, or an orchid
Just anything what you want
It’s nice on the window sill
I don’t have to talk or wait
So it’s not with me you will
Speak about something great
Those who don’t know about me
Would listen, and make their remarks
As silent as heaven, I’ll be
When it turns from blue into dark.
Selected unknowingly
unwillingly
To protect and provide
for the world ahead
Expected towards greatness
at no fault of his own
Yet selfish ranks are ineligible
unfathomable
The careless mixing
A job for unrefined fellows
Out to grab a piece
to bring home
for wonder time
While the steadfast
Keeps clean of jilted roses
bloody next steps and promises
out of reach
Yet the sill
enigmatic and demure
offers foundation
and a firm grip to those
that seek beyond themselves.
(8/30/13)
I have a window without a window sill
My eyes wander outside when the crickets sing
Birds refuse to come into this part of town
I try to escape but my window has grills
Those who live nearby cannot, will not know me
Residing in a one story tower, still
And when it rains, droplets flicker towards life
Far away from the window without a sill
Happiness, very absent in this town wing
Into this part of town, birds refuse to come
Maybe they would if I had a window sill
Date : 19 May 2021
Contest: A new Abracadabra poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Pigeon’s red lollipop on a wet window sill
I gave it big licks until I had gobbled my fill
Some naysayers warned it might make me ill
Did you see it drop from the pigeon’s bill?
I did, lied my dishonest cousin Jill.
My sister gave her a look that could kill.
I picked up a pen with a feathered quill.
The pigeon saw me and began to trill.
Another lick made that pop taste dill.
Family surrounded me, began to mill.
It has some sweetness, I told them, still.
They all took a lick ‘til they’d had their fill.
Damn the window sill
It's never needed
It's filled with arze
most times impeded
And rubbed for dust
in times gone fleeted
For lost time served
in sense depleted
No tranquility in the morning breeze
No serenity in the rising sun
No romanticism I find in the drizzling
No love of colors wraps my heart in the brightest moon
Now venomous snake is crawling on the living paths
Democracy is now hugging the hidden ghost rider of imperialism
Religion is killing the independence of thoughtful conscientious humanity
Poisonous evaporation of living breaths are ravishing all over the world
Oh! fragrance of flowers are now hailing the immature death of conscience
Butterflies are carrying the teeth of vespers
Graveyard are decorating everyday by the eyes of crocodile tears
Undone screaming in the mute languages of the political saintly deaf
Doors of the dead are carrying the elegy by the ink of silent poet
Pen ink of wise though is mighty holy but nothing can do
Cruel jaw of the political earth paints the lie in dead true
- December 27,2019 CTG BD
If so inclined with reservations
Amniotic baby will float on water
Just around the corner of a smile
Embryological y correct you could say
Adequately enclosed in fluid aquatic
Practicing goo goo and gaga for mommy
Clothes would be nice
Naked is better
A hotel will suffice
Is this a room with a womb?
With an ashtray to steal?
With a balcony overlooking tomorrow?
A window to parachute out?
A room with a view would be nice
Where's the glasses and ice?
Where's the towels and mommy?
Umbilical ready for birth
Thumb in the mouth for security
Cord is secure according to Forbes
Don't want to bounce off the walls
Not exactly a Wall Street journey
It's baby's first flight out
Thrill Seen On Window Sill
Many ways we can measure a thrill,
And you may see it on window sill;
Have felt within,
Again and again,
Until had been buried under the hill.
Jim Horn
jay lounges on sill
grasping worms for morn's breakfast---
trilled choir forgotten
Bird themed haiku for Tania Kitchin
7/27/2018
light breaks across my window sill
golden rays of early morning sun
filtered by the window’s pane
a symbol, another day has come
i gaze out across my window sill
watch the play of two young squirrels
hear the songs morning birds sing
feel the warmth upon my face
i linger in front of my window sill
staring at the green of the woods
and dream of passing this day
here, at my window sill
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.