Poetry Blogs (window)

Low early autumn sun

a lone long strand of spider silk

                stretched across the window glass

                above a tiny downy feather like a snowflake

shivering in the breeze

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This poem is a reverie and contemplation of my mother.

Time and Windows

If the past is a tattered old book,

then why am I a ghost

at my mother's window,

so clear I can sense her mystery,

and her brown eyes, so alive?

Look, I can fly to her

through the high windows

of my memory

until I'm so close that she disappears,

and the curtain flutters silently.

A...

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Reflections...

times and places and being....

always there...

always just out of reach...

glimpses flitting between lenses...

shimmering a way off

in the play of the light in your eyes...

reflecting back

from the window to my soul...

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I was looking at that window thinking

there's someone I love in there - 

and she was

I looked at your window later

waving a thousand times - 

and yet couldn't stop

I'm looking at that dim lit window

as cold rain struggles to freeze white -

And in there are my mad life's beauties,

as I lean against the first of January's nights

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