From the window trough
lets feast on pea shoots and chives
marvel at the paper whites
tall and slender
with magnificent perfume
and grow nepeta for our cat ?
Why don't we call our flat Jardin ?
so we may be associated with nature ?
Let our first holiday be to Giverny
The ardour will unfold your artistic eyes
I could talk of hollyhocks for ages
their firmament lasting forever
Oh! How I despise dawn’s blushing optimism
and dried hydrangea blooms sepia skinned and papery thin.
Humdrum hands beat doldrums drum.
Why won’t the summer solstice light this darkness?
A gnawing hollow where my heart should be.
Where cinder clouds float in negative space
memories collect like nesting sparrows beneath eaves.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss.
Your death did steal my breath and heartbeat like a thief
while October’s wind trembled aspens like harp strings.
(Ten Poem Titles)
The Corruption Of My Lust For Life
Autumn Side Of September
Mundane Matters Of Mortals
Theft Of My Will To Survive
In Woes And Throes Of Sorrow
A Vanilla Dove
Escape Of The Bluesman’s Song
The Sham Of My Humanity
Death Is The Bane Of My Existence
The Shedding Trees Of Autumn
Two Cats On A Windowsill
"Hey, Enya."
"Yes, Tammy."
"Do you see what I see?"
"What do you see Tammy?"
"Things in the air, swirling and looking like they're having so much fun!"
"Oh yes, Tammy, you are watching the dancing of the dead."
"Dead, Enya?"
"Yes, Tammy. The leaves are dead."
"I hope when I'm dead I have that much fun, Enya."
"I hope so too Tammy."
*
they don't want dramatic parents anymore
sentimental
they got bored of them
they are sick of exaltation
they don't want the vehemence of which
the parents hung on
convinced that it would be freedom
we
those with a muzzle swollen by history
we look at them with trembling eyes
in hidden tears
we
do we wake up? or die?
we died
we woke up
but they discreetly wrap
around around contre jour
on an old heart
another world
vehemence
our only final reward
they scratch their fine ears
and they offer us
an image about which
we do not know
they do not know
they don't tell us anything
easy
to be as easy as possible
existential flake on an anonymous wall
easy
easy
and no windowsill to look at
no return airport
no word on current status
nothing past or bandaged
just to be easy
you pay this time trust me
at least once
drinking beer together
I just follow the trajectory of a flake
I keep my eyes closed
like a child and I imagine
that you overcome life's difficulties
in that lifetime of a snowflake
and then i let you go
The September days can get very hot
Turn on the air conditioner, then it's not
By late afternoon you are cold again
Turn off the air and let evening set it
The very next day you wake up to a chill
Is that really frost on your windowsill
Get out the sweaters and turn up the heat
The days to come this activity we'll repeat
We are just now entering the first of November
Much talk of a heat wave, so try to remember
Weather change happens so don't lose your cool
Predicting the weather makes a smart man a fool
Author Eileen Clark
yellow daffodils,
a bee visits each flower - -
raindrops on the glass
written 4th March for Constance's Nature haiku contest
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
Empty Windowsill
The sun shines through, feel the warmth
But you are gone now
You leave an empty space in our hearts
Never will be filled again
Your company and all your little ways
So dearly missed
Such sorrow we feel, such sadness and dismay
Almost 12 years, we were blessed
The empty spaces where you once were
I see them everywhere
I can call your name but you will not come
Only pictures now remain
So as the sun shines on, we miss your warmth
Things are not the same
And as the years go by, we’ll always remember
Our dear, sweet Tammy the cat
RIP late Spring 2007 - 11th Feb 2019
A faerie on my windowsill
Carried pink roses from the hill
A pirouette she gave to me
Delicate dainty as she could be
Locks of gold and silver too
Looked beautiful against her blue
Her face an oval deeply set
How much prettier could she get?
She smiled and blew me a gentle kiss
Captivating me now, this darling miss
Effervescent wings twinkled as she flew away
I smiled knowing she will be back some fine day
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.
My plants upon the windowsill
Start dancing in delight
When I open up the windows,
Even if the breeze is slight.
In summertime, quite often,
I must keep those casements closed
So to outside air their leaves and buds
Are sometimes not exposed.
If it’s not too hot, I much prefer
A fan to the A/C;
Judging from my plants’ reactions,
I think they agree with me.
The rain pon the windowsill
The pounding of my heart
The sound that looms round
the empty room
And rends my soul apart
The pillow next, not damp like mine
unslept on lo these many years
yet stained a bit with drops of wine
Spilled along with bitter tears
That beleaguer me and always will
Like the rain upon
...The window sill…
Reflections of dawn
hued on a windowsill canvas-
Sun peeking through morn’
as the hazel light meets with fawn.
January 12, 2017
She left a candle burning bright
in the darkest shadows of her home-
Where the hills were her finest friends,
and her greatest vision-
a sunset lined with white lace
which she poured on paper in black ink.
Her last request was to torch
what remained of the beautiful scene in ink,
for to her it felt so incomplete.
And for what reason does she throw away
all of her wearisome work?
Is it a vanilla scented casket?
An orchid?
Some blue-field violets?
We left her to rest,
but the world will not
until every single character
she scribed has been seen
by our human eyes.
She yearned for death so long,
yet still lives through every word she once wrote.
Now she's gone,
and all the world wants is her return
for a simple explanation.
It's a cold hint of irony,
an unforgettable one
we all must someday face.
The plants on my windowsill are dying
My cacti looks weak
Only my Aloe Vera plant clings to life
I must water it regularly or it too will die
Plants are our fellow living beings
ands should be treated kindly
According to the learned scientists
Our ancestors date back millions of years
by this they mean such beings as Ramapithecus and the like
Plants were around then too
Our friends the flora of this world
will be here as long a man exists
"Life lives at the expense of other life"
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