Quotes about sill, page 19
Barometric Pressure
Twin brass helm wheels, (like Gilligan’s) , gilded, not for
steering, Airguide
imprint in elegant cursive, the thermometer part long inactive.
“It doesn’t work, ” big brother said, “it’s indoors.”
Relative Humidity and Barometric Pressure tracked while
seeping thru the Screen to the
Sill, the daily variation between black and lazy red finger suggesting- @
least as presciently as Bob O’Wrill or Willard Scott- “Nor’easters” &
“thunder boomers” &
those suffocating summer days when
fans and flies hum, dipping in
warning (along w/
double-knee pain- one the instant replay of a
softball tumble; the other an inflamed echo of mis-
spent love) rising in
[...] Read more
poem by Cretan Maineiac
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
My Home
This is the place that I love the best,
A little brown house, like a ground-bird's nest,
Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees,
Summer retreat of the birds and bees.
The tenderest light that ever was seen
Sifts through the vine-made window screen--
Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls
On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls.
All through June the west wind free
The breath of clover brings to me.
All through the languid July day
I catch the scent of new-mown hay.
The morning-glories and scarlet vine
Over the doorway twist and twine;
And every day, when the house is still,
The humming-bird comes to the window-sill.
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Cap And Bells
THE jester walked in the garden:
The garden had fallen still;
He bade his soul rise upward
And stand on her window-sill.
It rose in a straight blue garment,
When owls began to call:
It had grown wise-tongued by thinking
Of a quiet and light footfall;
But the young queen would not listen;
She rose in her pale night-gown;
She drew in the heavy casement
And pushed the latches down.
He bade his heart go to her,
When the owls called out no more;
In a red and quivering garment
It sang to her through the door.
It had grown sweet-tongued by dreaming
Of a flutter of flower-like hair;
But she took up her fan from the table
And waved it off on the air.
[...] Read more
poem by William Butler Yeats
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Creatures
The lights in the house have all gone off,
perhaps the storm is the reason why.
The flash light batteries are all dead,
but there's a candle to get you by.
In the dark you search for a box of matches
and swear they were in the kitchen draw.
You come across a box with only two inside,
that's one extra just to make sure.
One match is spent, but the candle is lit,
what will you do with your time
The thunder claps and lightning flashes,
and shadows dance on the blinds.
You are nervous and alone in your house,
and decide to retire for the night.
The shadows accompany you to your bed,
one jumps and gives you a fright.
[...] Read more
poem by Orlando Belo
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Voices Of The Night
'The tender Grace of a day that is past.'
The dew is on the roses,
The owl hath spread her wing;
And vocal are the noses
Of peasant and of king:
'Nature' (in short) 'reposes;'
But I do no such thing.
Pent in my lonesome study
Here I must sit and muse;
Sit till the morn grows ruddy,
Till, rising with the dews,
'Jeameses' remove the muddy
Spots from their masters' shoes.
Yet are sweet faces flinging
Their witchery o'er me here:
I hear sweet voices singing
A song as soft, as clear,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Keys of Morning
While at her bedroom window once,
Learning her task for school,
Little Louisa lonely sat
In the morning clear and cool,
She slanted her small bead-brown eyes
Across the empty street,
And saw Death softly watching her
In the sunshine pale and sweet.
His was a long lean sallow face;
He sat with half-shut eyes,
Like a old sailor in a ship
Becalmed 'neath tropic skies.
Beside him in the dust he had set
His staff and shady hat;
These, peeping small, Louisa saw
Quite clearly where she sat -
The thinness of his coal-black locks,
His hands so long and lean
They scarcely seemed to grasp at all
[...] Read more
poem by Walter de la Mare
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Don't Follow
Ingulfed in flames,
I'm through with your games.
I'm leaving,
To be free.
I'm leaving,
To get away.
I'm leaving,
To find someone else.
Don't follow,
Unless you're hollow.
I'm through,
With you,
So leave me,
And let me be free.
As the leaves fall,
I walk into a hall.
I'm alone,
Finally.
I find a dark spot,
[...] Read more
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
My Body Is Going Through Some Changes
Some of you have heard this comment before...
'You look good,
For your age! '
What does that really mean?
What is implied?
And how should the comment be taken?
I see some people react with a smile.
As if they have been complimented.
While others have a puzzled look on their faces.
As if to say...
'And how old should I look? '
And then there are those,
Who are so frightened to appear their ages...
They are the ones behind sunglasses.
And under toupees, weaves, wigs...
Moisturizes, nip, tucks and cosmetic masks!
Making the aging process a scary thought for anyone!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Vexation
S
Always the same with anger against us,
War for freedom sounds insane.
Torture ended
And began with a vengeance,
War and freedom became the same.
J
War and freedom is not the same girl
Where did you get that sill rot?
War is when cruel words are spoken
Love is when cruel words are not
S
But hate is always thrown against us,
With war and freedom cast the same
Hard to see
Where one war ended,
Clear when freedom began to wane.
J
Freedom didn’t wane my dear
Look around at the way we are
[...] Read more
poem by Sandra Osborne
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Wounded Bird
In the wide bed
Under the freen embroidered quilt
With flowers and leaves always in soft motion
She is like a wounded bird resting on a pool.
The hunter threw his dart
And hit her breast,--
Hit her but did not kill.
"O my wings, lift me--lift me!
I am not dreadfully hurt!"
Down she dropped and was still.
Kind people come to the edge of the pool with baskets.
"Of course what the poor bird wants is plenty of food!"
Their bags and pockets are crammed almost to bursting
With dinner scrapings and scraps from the servants'
lunch.
Oh! how pleased they are to be really giving!
"In the past, you know you know, you were always so
fly-away.
[...] Read more
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!