Windowsill Poems - Poems about Windowsill

A French Windowsill

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

In The Chill By My Windowsill I Sit Alone

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

A Bird in My Windowsill

Once a bird sat on my windowsill
Chirped for me to hear
I opened up the window
The bird just had no fear
I wondered how it could be so
And spoke to the little thing
It looked at me as if knowing
Whatever I was saying.
It was the cutest bird that came to me
With blue wings and some green
Such a pretty

In the depths of twilight, in the cradle of shadows that rest on the windowsill

In the depths of twilight, in the cradle of shadows that rest on the windowsill,
I call you to a mysterious reunion,
Where silent lamps pour their gentle glow
On the tender lines sculpted by time.
Forgive me for the longing that calls you in silent whispers,
Invoking vivid memories like the blossomed wrinkle on your cheek.
Awaken the dormant forest

Two Cats On a Windowsill

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

The Chimera of Generations

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

September and October

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

Windowsill

yellow daffodils,
a bee visits each flower - -
raindrops on the glass

written 4th March for Constance's Nature haiku contest

At My Windowsill

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

Empty Windowsill

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

A Faerie On My Windowsill

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

Old Jars On Windowsill

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.

Upon the Windowsill

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

Rain 'Pon the Windowsill

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

A Windowsill Canvas

Reflections of dawn
     
                 hued on a windowsill canvas-
           
   Sun peeking through morn’
        
 

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