It's time to start our one poem a week challenge. Victoria has given me the honor of setting the first topic. So here goes...
Out the window.... where are you? look out the window and describe the world going on beyond it... are you sitting in a restaurant or coffee shop, an office building, traveling and stopped at a hotel/motel with a view to the world outside the building...perhaps you are just siting in a room in your own home. How often do we look out and observe what is going on beyond that window? Tell us about it...
Out The Window
ReplyDeleteRain draws me into
the little coffee shop
where hot coffee and muffins
soothe my soul as I watch
out the window.
People hurry to reach their
destinations. Umbrellas pass by
in a colorful rainbow
brighten the gray, dreary day
out the window.
When the door opens
a familiar scent of an old
steam iron fills my nostrils
as rain dances on hot pavement
out the window.
Children laugh and splash with joy
through puddles - reminds me
of when I was young and carefree
as my life passed by
out the window.
Car tires swish through the streets
splatter water onto the sidewalk.
I sip my coffee slowly
watch the rain play
out the window.
Awesome poem! So much nostalgic color and imagery. I love reading it. It's a keeper!
DeleteYup. I remember the sounds of playing in the rain. Nice write.
DeleteI want to go there and have coffee.
DeleteYou really grabbed me with the scent of an old steam iron! That's one had forgotten - until I read your poem.
DeleteVery evocative, very nice. thanks! I could sit right there with you, only I'd have a tea.
DeleteI looked out my window at six this morning
ReplyDeleteI saw three white tailed deer graze my grass
I watched a bunny laze in the new dawn light
Song birds sang as they munched on seeds in the weeds
I saw three white tailed deer graze my grass
The new born sun climbed the horizon
Song birds sang as they munched on seeds in the weeds
While the birds beautiful songs make orchestral harmony
The new born sun climbed the horizon
Such glorious morning colors, red, purple, yellow, orange
While the birds beautiful songs make orchestral harmony
The deer raise their majestic heads to search me out
Such glorious morning colors red, purple, yellow, orange
I want to take a photo but, I'm paralyzed by beauty
The deer raise their majestic heads to search me out
I'm behind the window pane where they can't see me
I want to take a photo but, I'm paralyzed by beauty
Birds flit in and out of the weeds tiny bursts of color
I'm behind the window pane where they can't see me
If I hadn't pulled back my wolf curtain I wouldn't have seen
Birds flit in and out of the weeds, tiny bursts of color
I watched a bunny laze in the new dawn light
If I hadn't pulled back my wolf curtain, I wouldn't have seen
I looked out my window at six this morning.
Awesome pantoum and a beautiful scene.
DeleteOrchestral harmony / paralyzed by beauty / etc the language is wonderful.
Deletenicely done... i actually saw the deer lift their heads looking for you as I read that line. beautiful scene painted for us with your words.
ReplyDeleteAt your funeral mass
ReplyDeleteI am not listening to the priest
not looking towards the altar
Not saying the words.
I stand up, sit down
when told, but no
song no words come forth at all
no call and response
I look to the side
avoid the casket
hidden under a symbol
that means nothing to me now
I look to the side and try
to look right through those
dark stained glass scenes
I notice the vibrant blue
red green, not the figures
or the stories they portray
I wish I could see the sky
or a river, the sea or a mountain
bright in the daylight
beyond those windows
Or you on the lake in your sail boat
with your boys, family and friends
and your ready nonchalant smile
awesome write! powerful imagery. I could see the scene as I read as the words made the images visual
DeleteWow. Beautiful poem. A different kind of scene.
DeleteNewer version:
DeleteAt your funeral mass
I am not listening to the priest
not looking towards the altar.
Not saying the words.
I stand up, sit down
when told, but no
song no words come forth at all,
no call and response.
I listen to the resonant soprano singing,
the echo of it in the empty space above.
I look sidelong, avoid the casket in the center isle
hidden under a white cloth and a symbol
that means nothing to me now.
I try to look right through the
vivid stained glass scenes.
I notice the intense blue
red, green, not the figures
or the stories they portray.
I wish instead I could see the sky
or a river, the sea or a mountain
a tree bright in the daylight
beyond those windows.
Or you on the lake in your sail boat
with your boys, family, friends
and your ready nonchalant smile.
I liked the poem better with the breaks, it had a stronger effect. The poem itself is lovely. And so very poignant.
DeleteHARD RAIN
ReplyDeletea 5/4 poem
The pond overflows
again, gravel,
scatters down to the road.
We wonder
how high the grass will
grow before Karl
can mow the yard again.
The places
I live seem to bring
cliches to life.
In Texas, summer sun,
relentless,
literally beat
down, my shoulders
and back bent with the weight.
Up north in
Connecticut I
could not see past
my headlights in fog thick
as pea soup.
Here in Tennessee
we watch because
a hard rain's gonna fall
today, fall
again tomorrow.
I like this - the relentless physical convolutions of nature, the shortcomings of technologies to deal with it.
DeleteI wish I wasn't so tired because I like this a lot but can't find the words I want to say what I want to say. i love how you show the differences and yet as you say cliches of weather in the different parts of our country. gives us a view of more than one scenario.
DeleteWell this turned out to be a surprise!
ReplyDeleteHere it is:
Out the Window
New people live in the house I see
from my studio window. I do not know
these new neighbors who never wave
back when I am outside.
There are two small boys who rarely play
in their big backyard. I wonder if this new family
is happier than the former owners. Once
I watched two little girls grow into teenagers.
They were pretty girls, and lots of boys rode bikes
back and forth on this short street. I knew
the Mom, an art teacher at the middle school.
My grandson had a crush on her – the Mom,
not one of her daughters. My grandson sometimes
mowed their lawn. Later, one of the girls mowed mine.
Our neighborhood was friendly like that.
I remember when the Dad stood out on their deck,
talking on his cellphone. My boyfriend said that guy’s
cheating , that’s why he goes outside to call his girlfriend.
I didn’t think so. Cellphone reception is poor out here.
But soon the Dad moved out. The Mom cried a lot that year.
The girls graduated, went on to college. The Mom moved
away to a nearby town. She comes back in December
for the neighborhood Christmas party.
My boyfriend is no longer my boyfriend.
I don’t know much about the new neighbors.
I rarely see them from my window, and they
never come to the Christmas party.
©Priscilla Anne Tennant Herrington
wow! this is quite powerful with the images you paint for us with your words. love it!
DeleteI love the changing scene out the window. I had actually planned to do one like that but it was all scenery and just didn't work. Changing families show a whole different world.
DeleteInteresting poem, I liked reading about the changes in the scene and your responses to them. It was a good story, well told.
DeleteSo many different people
ReplyDeleteSo many just the same
So many different reasons
To go out-
Sieze the day
Yet here I sit in silence
In solitude confined
As I stare outside my window
And listen-
To the ramblings of my mind
Each person I see passing
Has a story just as intricate as mine
So many different pieces
A puzzle-
Impossible to define
It is so I sit
Observing others who mil about
This is how I write their stories
From-
The inside looking out
very profound and introspective... i like the different idea of looking out making you look inside yourself. awesome write.
DeleteI am a people watcher also. I can make up their stories but never actually meet people and find out. Of course now I live in the country so I don't even have people to watch. Nice poem. Thanks for joining us!
DeleteA revision:
ReplyDeleteFrom My Window
New people live in the house I see from my window.
I do not know these new neighbors who never wave
back at me when I’m out in my side yard. There are
two small boys who rarely play in their big backyard.
I wonder, is this family happier than the former owners.
Once I watched two little girls grow into teenagers.
They were pretty girls, and lots of boys rode their bikes
back and forth on this short street.
The Mom was the middle school art teacher. My grandson
had a crush on her – the Mom, not one of the daughters.
My grandson mowed their lawn. Later, one of the girls
mowed mine. Our neighborhood was friendly like that.
I remember when the Dad stood out on their deck, talking
on his cellphone. My boyfriend told me, that guy’s cheating;
he goes outside to call his girlfriend. That’s what guys do.
didn’t think so, cell reception so lousy out here.
But the Dad moved out. The Mom cried a lot that year.
The girls graduated, left for college. The Mom moved
to a nearby town. She comes back every December
for the neighborhood Christmas party.
My boyfriend is no longer my boyfriend.
I don’t know much about the new neighbors.
I rarely see them from my window.
They never come to the Christmas party.
©Priscilla Anne Tennant Herrington
love it! took the theme to a whole new dimension. love the changing scenarios as the poem progresses
DeleteBetter late than never. Just saw the prompt for the second week. Here is my first.
ReplyDeleteWatching from my Window
I have been watching a Maple tree unfold.
First the small green buds of its flowers
thrust their soft green tendrils
into the warming air,
questing for sun, seeking to stretch
up into the becoming of spring.
Next the leaves began to manifest,
uncurling bit by bit into the fullness
of their unfolding, reaching for light
stretching toward the spring brightness
that day by day enlarges upon
the light that unfolds itself in minutes.
Now its seeds are clustered beneath the leaves
dangling themselves as they swell
to the point when they will be ready
to be released into the wind to seek
places to grow, to be watched
somewhere far from my window.
By Tasha Halpert