Listen to the wind sweeping autumn leaves,
pirouetting amongst a citrine sunset.
Whilst light rain collects at corners of windowsills,
illumination from a crackling fire
bounces upon unpigmented mourning walls.
Silent weeping occupies microcrevices,
confined within the splintering memories.
The creaking of an antique rocking chair
melds with the restless nocturnal atmosphere,
of time no longer waiting in the shadows.
Sheer onyx fabric draped over photographs—
death came much earlier, not from hate or spite,
but to erase the endless suffering,
of years wreathing in perpetual chronic pain,
locked within fragile bones and a trapped mind.
So do not curse the gods, my dearest love,
nor get lost in voids of sorrow oblivion.
Know peace has now been brought to my tired soul;
I wait patiently until we are one again.
In lacquered boxes, six feet down,
Rest whispers of the unbought crown -
The paintings left in mental drafts,
The kindness stored away in crafts.
Between the satin folds they place
The morning walks at slower pace,
The letters crumpled, never sent,
The wild dreams left unbent.
A coffee-stained rejection slip,
The novel's pages, torn and ripped,
Three cigarettes crushed in despair
When winter stripped our cupboards bare.
The day we sold mom's silver spoons,
To pay for pills that came too soon,
While mice made nests of unpaid bills
Behind the walls of windowsills.
These fragments sealed in knotted pine:
Dead houseplants, dried in '99,
A pawnshop ticket, never claimed -
Now feed the earth we never tamed.
-
We talk small in big spaces
Leaving the words around us empty
helium balloons floating
Wasn't my voice atmospheric
It's disappearing into the clouds
My muffled thoughts, my meaningless mumbling
Enter the room before me now
lagging emotions left in the windowsills
The sighs escaping my lips etching their homes in the fog forming on the glass
Vanishing quickly
these fleeting feelings
And me always dragging behind
Perched in a leafy tree
sipping on poetry
eyes trained on rolling hills
toggling ‘tween windowsills
points of vantage as yet unimagined
heretofore ne’er examined
Dare one say ‘the thrill is gone’
~ leave him listless lie on languid liquid lawns
Blackout
I sit in a blackout
What can I do
Wind is a howling
The rain's angry too
Windowsills rattle
High up on my floor
I live on the seventh
And hear every roar
I'm starting to find
A still quietness
Mixed with a thunder
Of solitudeness
I sit in a blackout
What will I do
I'll sit here and bask
In my gratitude
Bill MacEachern December 18, 2023
Alberta has pulled me many miles,
her hoofs are placed one after another,
But on this night of Christmas Eve,
She pills a load of hay behind her.
So many young smiles with laughter,
Candles flickering in windows,
With snow deep upon the ground,
Alberta pulled all behind her,
With Christmas songs being sung.
Fireplaces lit with stockings hung,
Sights of snow drifting to the ground,
Carolers singing at each door passing,
With smells of turkeys cooking,
Apple pies on the windowsills cooling.
Alberta an old friend of mine,
A cold winter night but still she trotted,
Trudging through the snow,
All for the faces with glowing smiles,
She kept her hoofs moving until the end,
Then sat in the barn with wondering eyes,
her hoofs tender hoping that someday,
They will invent a gas-powered wagon
This week, snow is expected in the hills
A bitter cold Halloween like I remember
Thinking about it gives me the chills
Mostly the looming winter heating bills
It’s time to caulk up the windowsills
Against a blustery, blizzardly November
This week, snow is expected in the hills
A bitter cold Halloween like I remember.
Written October 16, 2022
Tulips fronting daffodils
Azaleas in pots on windowsills
Rows of rainbow chrysanthemums
Mingle with orange geraniums
Bright pink peonies ready to pop
A bird of paradise sits on top
Still ~ Red roses always make my day
Arrange them in a sweet bouquet
curious little humans
attacking flies in mid air
tapping the air with tiny paws
sitting on windowsills
watching birds
I welcome the silence of falling snow
the virginity of pure crystalline flakes
gathering to frost my windowsills
But I watch while snuggled beside a fire
a cup of cocoa and soft rock playing
A warm hand to hold is all I need
Succulent lined windowsills
Coffee seasoned air
Crimson colored daffodils
Home, rich of boho flair
Silky, velvet, puppy tails
Pup breath to peer the vibe
Pleasing sights, delightful smells
Assure me, I’m alive
A familiar lilt, treats my ears
A melody, so fine
Hushing all my pesky fears
All demons left behind
A joyful state, my happy place
Curled tightly, in a ball
There truly is no other space
I care to be at all
Peering though their windowsills
Their diamond studded eyes glaring
wicked laughs whispered as I pass them
heeled sandals strapped Black
and leather combat boots
gleam and glow in sarcasm
never to be approached, unless custom made.
Chilly wind blows over white hills
Outside snow falls on windowsills
Life comes to halt o'er frozen lakes
Dazzling the eye are snowy flakes
Woollen caps and coats are worn now
Icicles cling as snow sleds plow
Nippy weather bites the strangers
Translucent ice creates dangers
Eerie the storm that howls about
Raring to go are children out
Below zero degrees they fall
Lights dimmed, bleak conditions for all
Uplifting skis and skates enthral
Eventide blizzard does appall
Slowly snow descends at nightfall.
10.07.2020
golden beams of dawn
are glinting amber prairies--
smiles of daffodils
enchanting day break
are red, white, purple tulips--
pride of early spring
waltzing lilac winds
charm violet hyacinth--
gems on windowsills
June 4, 2020
Placed 1st: Fresh Traditional Haiku by JCB Burl
Placed 2nd: Brian's Select 5 Contest
ODE TO ODES ®
Patterns of raindrops on my windowsills
And a rivalry with the scorching sun
Ordinate and baste me an idea
Light filters through the raindrops
Weary wind pluck me a leaf
Cascading down on the patched pavements
Breakdancing of leaves swirling
Sour and dove into the windy music
Sojourning on a brain pulsing quest
Thunders brought me shivers
And slice the sky and the rain
The cold chill poked me
Like the soft tread of a child's feet after a bath
Resort to my noble comfort
As I broil a memory
To marinate a poem.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2014
Related Poems