I walk the many streets around my home daily and notice empty lots, neglected old
houses, and cracked sidewalks. The thought came to me about planting wildflowers
in these abandoned areas. It would bring a sense of life, vibrancy, and purpose, give
beauty where none existed. Inject color into the drab. But, of course, there are those
private property signs . . .
wildflowers swaying
from concrete and dirt growing~
in the sun thriving
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I notice the halcyon spaces between my thoughts. Thoughts come and go, but spaces are always there—between written words, between objects, between thoughts, between sounds, between words, between musical notes, and inside a cup—around and inside it. Spaces are everywhere. They’re all the same spaces, and they’re always there.
Before the thoughts came and after they left, the space is. Before the music was born and after it died, the space is. Before the words were written and after the words are read, the space is. Before and after death, the space is. All these spaces are the same.
space is the entrance
the transformative vortex
window to Spirit
Between spaces
Between wavelengths
I’ve taken offense
Passive aggressive towards projections I acquiesced
Syretta
What makes (places/spaces) sacred?
Is it the structures in place? Or.
Is it the shape of the structures in space?
Is it the energy portals that have been there before the veil? Or.
Is it the veil that separates these (places/spaces)?
Would it lose it sacredness if visited by a giant?
Would it crush and pulverize all existing structures?
Would it be buried by the sands of time?
Would it make people forget the attention of details?
Would it crush cultured beliefs?
Convent hate constant rate concentrate consecrate see create sacred secrets.
I followed doubt; It locked me in tight spaces. I followed courage; It set me Free.
Ghosts that haunt empty spaces
Like objects in cabinets
that drift on window pains
As light out places the things
left in the corners of
attics and In-between
the walls and hidden faces,
memories like objects
that linger as bookmarks
to someone's history,
yellowing pages,
trinkets and toys,
old books and broken vases
sit like old photos faded,
memories of something
best left untouched or forgotten,
never stated, between the moments of memory
Like things left in shadows last and fated,
ghosts linger here and there,
pale movements in the Either,
objects of history,
a fall of light, a twist of shadow,
objects that haunt
like old souls in empty spaces…
You left the chair, but not the room,
The silence clings, a flower in bloom.
The kettle waits muted, cold and dry,
Empty spaces haunt me as I go by.
No space is bare, if love stayed there,
Your breath floats in scented air.
Your shadow clings to every chair.
No space is bare - if love stayed there.
Your love shapes what’s left behind.
It pulls the door, draws the blind.
The cup you left, is still steaming.
Pictures on walls are still dreaming.
Your laughter still rings in all my rooms
Strumming our much-loved songs and tunes.
Fire’s died back to glowing ember coals,
Stoking the flames of everlasting souls.
You're gone, but you're carved in stone.
In every space you've left here alone.
The room still whispers your name.
Scrawled on every timber plank and frame.
One book alone, sags into space meant for two,
Your fingerprints trace the vital clue,
That I long to be - back with you.
Your space is here, when you break-through.
No space is bare, if love stayed there,
Your breath floats in scented air.
Your shadow clings to every chair.
No space is bare - if love stayed there!
No space is bare - if love stayed there!
Urban Spaces
The world is getting smaller.
People become dwellers.
A newlife of solo living.
A single life of well-being.
Do weall have anxiety?
Through loneliness especially.
Maybe we have lost trust in each other.
Walk on by, don’t even bother.
Some live in urban spaces.
Pass on by many faces.
Webecome too independent.
Individual living to the limit.
No social life.
Just breathe to get by.
Welost the human touch.
With no one to love.
Wecan’t see in the fog.
A lonely life is now common.
Where did everyone go?
A generation hiding behind their cell phones.
What happened to you and me?
Everything was wonderful in the blue sky.
Maybe, will have a chance through the sunlight?
I would hold you close at night.
I guess we are now all solitude.
Just a lifetime to wake up next to you.
I exist in liminal spaces
Forever in the shade despite my longing to be warmed by the sun
A foggy filter laying over every scene before me
I'm always in love with life, in love with death and crushed by everything in between
Flightless
Delighted by beauty and plagued by sadness
Only birds can get close to God I whisper pushing my fingers through the veil
I never knew what to fill the spaces with
Sometimes I didn't even see them
They were disguised under many coats
With hidden pockets of shallowness
And oversized buttons to mismatched holes.
It didn't matter most of the time
Because the tailor never stopped sewing more
And I was content to let them lie
Beneath the growing pile of tweed
And gaberdine and wrinkled linen
Kind fabrics who wrapped them up
And kept them warm and unprepared
But as time went on and more people
Left the party, the pile of coats
Gradually disappeared and the tailor
couldn't keep up the pace of making
The spaces could be easily filled at first
With dreams, with passion, with sorrow,
With the wrap of a Cherub's leg in bed,
With the carefree knowing there'd be time
To butter them with tears or laughter
Or use their emptiness for meditation
But in the spaces that are left
A greater contemplation is required
It is necessary for them to be filled
With greater aspiration which in itself
Brings further sorrow for deep within them
Is the simple indication
That I will not have enough time
To fill them all.
© Allen Ansell 2025
I miss my old room
it was nice being in a small space
at least i could call it mine
mine mine mine mine mine
putting my arms straight out
i could touch each wall, ghost my fingers over
the fresh gray paint and random posters
and string lights and photos of my friends
and the twin size bed i slept on till i was too old
A Room For A 14 Year Old.
staged for a 5 year old who loved pink and frilly toys
it didnt feel like mine but it was
the walls echo’d with phone calls till 4 am
the projector on the popcorn ceiling when i pulled my first all nighter
door to my life open for all to see, in that tiny twin room
the slanted roof didnt help with its expansion in my mind
claustrophobic as it was,
it
was
mine.
CATARACT OP
The mist lifts slowly
??
A new vista is unveiled
*Gael Turnbull(1928-2004,a Scottish doctor-poet created the imagist Spaces form in his collection Briefly (1967) a three line poem with a larger than usual blank space( ??)for 2nd 'line'.
Turnbull called poems using his device ‘Spaces’, and noted of these ‘The visual “space” is,a pause or hesitation, even a temporary dislocation of attention’ . Thus the reader supplies his own imagination thereto.
Sperate the spaces,
Tracking our traces
We're not ever far apart,
The finest composed
Written with our prose
We'll sing slow songs of the heart
Feelings of freedom
Subset is seldom
Distancing, us from the start
Dissolve all the years
Bandage all our fears
Brought this harmony so smart
Can you connect the gaps
With me, nonetheless?
Will you spread yourself thin,
For the few and far between?
Fill the crevices
No matter how deep
Bridge the chasms
Even if its jagged at the seams
Do you see the sliver of spaces?
The look on our faces
meaningful gazes
Try as you might
And hug me so tight
Even if you bleed through
I still feel the sliver of spaces
Between me and you
We sit on conversation chairs
Not speaking, not saying a word
But all is heard in the palpable
Elbows abutting, yet not touching
But feeling everything in the tangible
Misconstrued what you overheard
Misunderstood my every word
I crawl in spaces between worlds
I find your wounds in places
I've never heard
lying here aching in my bed
waiting and watching
thoughts of you humming in my head
waxing and waning
hoping I'm not dead
You prod, I poke
you push, I bleed
The tracks you played
Salvation I prayed
I felt the emptiness
Of the sound as it fades
Falling in love, falling out of
Falling in the ravine
I still see the sliver of spaces
between you and me.
Where you used to live is now empty
loneliness is beyond a lack of oxygen
your scent lingers as candles ~
a blend of spice and sweetness
you bestow steady impetus day or night...
Chart a course in seas of vagueness,
a murky future, a hazy doubt
I wish time could be reversed
An empty bed fills my empty room,
sorrowful reins, uneasy mind
no rainbow, no colors, just a grey sky...
everything is made out of stone,
upon walls dressed in cobwebs!!
Memories we vowed would last,
vanished in a blink of an eye
This bare space in my heart,
in which you used to live
flooded with sorrow ~
How much I miss and adore you
how you've beautified my world!
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