Quotes about sill, page 8
A Bird Sometimes Does Not Sing
like you
beautiful woman, a bird on the window sill
sometimes gets tired of singing,
there is not usual tune
and the day becomes darker
than the usual night,
the sun not brighter and the
grass not green
as they are wont to be
there is no hope for flowers
that wilt today
the buds are falling.
i want to talk, but i cannot
like the bird that decides not to sing
because there is nothing
worth singing anymore
in my case
because nothing seems to be
worth living anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Know You're Hurt
i know you are there in your usual
electronic silence, facing the monitor of your laptop.
the kind of person who keeps all the hurts inside her heart
you bleed and you simply let the blood flow from your hands to the floor,
and the blood flows like water spilled from your
drinking glass.
the beauty of your pain
shows through those beautiful flowers
sprouting on the floors
all the vines of green and blue tendrils
spreading on the window sill, the ceiling, the roof.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Home & the Butterfly
I built my life with muddy bricks and a tin sheet for the roof,
My history teacher suggests the name; poverty
But it's weather-beaten knows everybody.
Am I heavy to carry on your soft wings?
If you prefer I could have join your pilgrimage
Leaving all my burdens aside
I was carrying since my childhood.
I see the outer world through my little window, nothing; but gloomy.
Only I hear the secret murmur of the souls.
Red ants on the window sill very busy and I heard a butterfly's crying.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Once before Christmas
I sit in the glow of the Christmas tree
All alone, no one else but me
The house is quiet, hushed and still
As the cat sleeps on the window sill
As I sit and reflect on Christmas’s past
I ponder how they’ve gone so fast
How, not long ago I was just a child
With great anticipation of presents piled
Now, most of my children are all grown
I’m just thankful, that they’re all at home
Now, what of Christmas’s that lie ahead?
I leave those to my dreams, once I’ve gone to bed
12/21/09
poem by Rhonda Baker
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The House on the Hill
They are all gone away,
The house is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.
Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away.
Nor is there one today
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.
Why is it then we stray
Around the sunken sill?
They are all gone away.
And our poor fancy-play
For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.
[...] Read more
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Kiss to Love's Cheek
No art can compose the love thats you
Dressed in sweet red and light pink hue
For thy look like the passion of love's most tender part
As thy look at me with all thy heart…
Sweet pinkish red with the glow of gold
Thy face ethereal, in time never old
Silky soft thou caress me
With the look like the waves of earth's blue sea
I love none but thee and none else still
For thy look is my life, my hearts sill
In it I am raised to love's final peak
To find thy pink reddish look and glow of golden cheek
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Memories
My childhood flashes across my mind,
How everyone at home was so kind.
Whenever I would fall sick
And vacantly stare at the window sill.
My father would quietly sit on my bed,
And put his warm hand on my forehead,
And softly ask me how I was
And kindly reassure me this too shall pass.
But now he is no more.
He is never going to walk through that door.
That’s life, we have to go on,
And let go and not forever mourn.
Oh yes they will forever live in my heart
As if never ever had to part.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Frost Song
HERE where the bee slept and the orchis lifted
Her honeying pipes of pearl, her velvet lip,
Only the swart leaves of the oak lie drifted
In sombre fellowship.
Here where the flame-weed set the lands alight,
Lies the bleak upland, webbed and crowned with white.
Build high the logs, O love, and in thine eyes
Let me believe the summer lingers late.
We shall not miss her passive pageantries,
We are not desolate,
When on the sill, across the window bars,
Kind winter flings her flowers and her stars.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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Misty Day
Glancing out of the window I see the potted plant
on the sill and the house on the other side of
the road… the light is fading and the plant looks as
sad as a whitewashed wall in rain… its whiteness
was an illusion caused by the sun.
Mist of grief encircles olive trees there are blank
tears on my almond tree´s spindly twigs, yet inside
each droplet I see a tiny world reflecting my own,
only with greater incorruptibility of the untested.
And far away, as a whisper, a mother sings a lullaby.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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O Janus
My knuckles crack at the places they fold
And between each joint swells a reddened blister
During the bleak winter month,
In January
When troubles swear allegiance
Stagnant in the hollows of the old naked birches
Webbing the bedroom window with shadow
The drawers hang open
Like mouths snoring in slumber
Drinking the stars’ blanket of glow
The clock’s arms are weighed down with lead
When the stretch of the night is before the peak
And spying over the window sill
Waits the last late evening snowfall
poem by Alyssa Rieper
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