Quotes about sill, page 17
Ode to a Dressmaker's Dummy
Papier-mache body; blue-and-black cotton jersey cover. Metal stand. Instructions included.
-- Sears, Roebuck Catalogue
O my coy darling, still
You wear for me the scent
Of those long afternoons we spent,
The two of us together,
Safe in the attic from the jealous eyes
Of household spies
And the remote buffooneries of the weather;
So high,
Our sole remaining neighbor was the sky,
Which, often enough, at dusk,
Leaning its cloudy shoulders on the sill,
Used to regard us with a bored and cynical eye.
How like the terrified,
Shy figure of a bride
You stood there then, without your clothes,
Drawn up into
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poem by Donald Justice
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Alms
My heart is what it was before,
A house where people come and go;
But it is winter with your love,
The sashes are beset with snow.
I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
I blow the coals to blaze again;
But it is winter with your love,
The frost is thick upon the pane..
I know a winter when it comes:
The leaves are listless on the boughs;
I watched your love a little while,
And brought my plants into the house.
I water them and turn them south,
I snap the dead brown from the stem;
But it is winter with your love,
I only tend and water them.
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poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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The Haunted Chamber. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Third)
Each heart has its haunted chamber,
Where the silent moonlight falls!
On the floor are mysterious footsteps,
There are whispers along the walls!
And mine at times is haunted
By phantoms of the Past
As motionless as shadows
By the silent moonlight cast.
A form sits by the window,
That is not seen by day,
For as soon as the dawn approaches
It vanishes away.
It sits there in the moonlight
Itself as pale and still,
And points with its airy finger
Across the window-sill.
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Lonely And Me
Hold yourself tighly through the night
And await the rescue of sweet daylight.
Tears that your soul have cried
Wait in the corridor of suicide.
On your window sill lie remnants of a thrill
Fallen from a moon that smiled
On our love
- Vagrant wind lent to ocean child.
A brief licence to be free.
Born on lost promise in the wild,
Dying in captivity.
Caged - the lonely and me.
On a balcony
Your hand in the night
Reached out for me.
And our dreams ascended a moonlit sea
- To call like a harp on the breeze.
To fall, on sword sharp to my knees.
But not expire in fever for she.
Left in eternity-abandoned
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poem by Kevin East
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Leave Taking, After Matsuo Basho, Circa 1978
'There is a blessed fidelity in things.
Graceless things grow lovely with good uses.' - John Tarrant
Expecting more rain.
Not yet light though 6 a.m.-
night still over the barn.
From the porch, high wind.
The moon, a corner of it,
rides comfortably in clouds.
Clouds moving over mountains,
their night work -
some rain in the buckets.
Bestowing order,
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poem by Warren Falcon
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To an Athlete Dying Young
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
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poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Where Do We Go From Here?
after 70 years
of so much planning
nothing exciting
really happened in
his life,
he concludes everything
is wrong
because he is actively doing
everything
for him
he did not give fate a chance
to shape his own life
it is life that takes us
where to go
and life is a silent friend
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Simple Awakening
Birdsong. From no lone singer but multitudes-
Breaching the shutters, the curtain's hem
Choristers of indeterminate hue, because viewless-
Canzone spilling over the sill,
A tree branched with pure gold, doubtless, their oratory,
Casting a silver shadow.
Another perfect day. Like someone still with air aplenty
Launched, flutter-kicking, from the floors of sleep
Through quivering blue toward a shimmering scrim
He cannot see past, I glide-
The distance not so great, no need to hurry.
Golden-that is the morning
I must enter, eventually, reluctantly.
Sleep was nice and full of visitor fishes, who
Vanish when you try to feed or obligate them in any way
But this is, after all, the novel day
Full of choices-chances to improve the past and
Tool the future.
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poem by Morgan Michaels
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I found your old Christmas card in my bookshelf
I love that water color painting
printed on your precious card!
In 2009, far away Salem church appears
with snow flakes
and a woodpecker rests
on a cypress branch.
Your boisterous flowing hand tells
' Thinking of you as Christmas
and wishing you only the best
in the New Year! We keep you in our prayers
Take care! '-Sandra & family.
Yes Madam! I am really worried of your long lull
And thank God! Your prayers worked out.
My colonoscopy results were good
The polyps they found in my large intestine were benign tumor
and not Malignant?
I am happy as I could scribble further
If my old friends appear soon?
Neighborhood birds started singing
in the absence of Virginian nightingale?
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poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Farmer's Bride (Cavatina Sequence) (In Answer To Charlotte Mew)
There was a farmer's wife, who was afraid
every day,
was driven wild with unmentioned fear;
always away
she was hidden beyond some lock and key,
never was gay
but doves gathered at her window sill,
many birds fluttered near at her will.
Without much love she was driven to work,
once she did flee
with the farmer and his labourers searching;
she was happy
while she was hiding in the large cornfield,
was from fear free,
later sneaked into the nearest church,
while drunk from the bar her husband did lurch.
Like a small animal she was hiding,
the minister
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poem by Gert Strydom
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