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Aniron  Jul 2015
A Light
Aniron Jul 2015
There is a light in the distance,
yet towards it there is no road.
There is a light, I can see it,
on midnight clouds its golden reflection afloat.

There is a shimmer, among many a tree,
that any eye but mine ceases so see.
A shimmer there is still,
but I can’t reach it, and not I will.

There is a beam of sunlight,
pouring itself through my windowpane.
A bewarming beam it is;
making up for any yesterday rain.

A light is always there,
but no particular place it shines from -
There is a light in the distance,
but distance sometimes
hides together with illusion.
Zywa Jan 2023
The wind lashes rain

on the windowpane, so nice --


that I am inside.
Collection "Foghorn"
Danielle Jones Feb 2012
Call your truths.
The creator called in sick today,
leaving lessons and sessions limping from the skinny
behavior pumping through the day.
Pull up your britches.
The bumbling from the windowpane
fed the starving wind its own tiredness.
I guess it is homesickness in your head.
What happened here in December
could cross bellowing seas and could crumble
in the concaves  of your bones,
but what happens if you do not get out of bed?
Copyright: Danielle Jones 2012
Nik Bland  Sep 2015
Rainfall
Nik Bland Sep 2015
I read the writing of the rain
It's borrowed page, my window
As my fingers trace the lines
Of otherworldly words that flow

I look beyond my windowpane
As curtains of water dance
And think beyond these liquid walls
That these droplets might be returning my glance
JL  Aug 2012
It follows me
JL Aug 2012
Drunken ...
         I can stumble through brick walls
Vapor and steam I fall between the cracks in the street

          
Until I wake up in a certain crooked alleyway
 Made whole by the presence of blood
Crusting to the side of my head.
         I can hardly breathe- the air is too heavy for my lungs
   I am fog resting against each unlit windowpane
      
They put their heads together and whisper
         They laugh at me
I feel nothing when i spit blood and teeth in their direction
I claw at the face of exhaustion
  Telling myself with each step to keep going

to the cave entrance covered in ivy

  it is dark and cold
in it's deepest most ancient cavern
lies a lake with frozen water
A grotto of salt crusted stalactites
Green glowing mushrooms with neon spots

It's quiet almost
I can lie on the bank listening
To water run the rock smooth
Droplets echo as sleep whispers

Somewhere far above
Two black eyes watch
Dilated completely by darkness
It's feet find purchase among the razor sharp rocks
Taking a moment to drink heavily from a puddle in a dark corner


It must be my imagination
I feel as if I am watched
...the sound of bare feet on the wet bank
It cannot be, but my eyes
Something is above me
Warm breath on my face... smelling of rotten fish
A smell of death and decay send my mind reeling into the darkest corners of my imagination

I wake with a start
In my bed
I lie back to listen to
My heart beating in my ears
Jake Bentley Jun 2013
I rest my temple on the windowpane,
Not a thought in my head
save for the clouds in the sky.
Looking at greener pastures
Looking inside golden souls and ashen holes.
I want to find the right place, the right one
And I'll write to her everyday.

Refracted light while raindrops fall
A sunshower amid the cloudy nights
She glows, she glimmers, blinding to the naked eye
Reminding of the image in the corner of my mind.
She's alone, she's home, a golden soul in an ashen hole

Your heart you can hear, rejection you fear, you require more bear
To say the right things, at the right time, to the right one,
You overthink, your thoughts stink, is she the missing link?
Jesse Osborne Nov 2015
Dear Ian
The First always tastes like honeyed-sunlight on cheek and windowpane:
first kiss, first cigarette, first rooftop.
I never wanted to come down.

Dear Greyson
Beautiful and empty.
Our hands didn't fit right.

Dear Anton
Thank you for kissing prayers into the crosses on my forearms.
It wasn't enough.
I'm sorry I kept you on your knees.

Dear Eli
*******.

Dear Wyatt
We were high and you were there.
Your mouth tasted like sour milk
and I was lonely in the morning.

Dear Ian
Snorting coke off my naked body was all you needed.
I think I caught you too late.

Dear Cody
Thanks for the ****.
I'm sorry I made you leave--
I couldn't stop looking at the orchid petals falling on my windowsill.

Dear Howard
I never realized my power
until the day I let you finger me in the seasonal section of a CVS.

Dear Sky
Loving you was like loving river currents.
I lost myself in the way you looked at me like
you were looking past me.
I'm still learning how to let go of dead things.

Dear Jessica
I was high on painkillers for the 6 months you tried
to bring me back down.
But if you had a condo on a cloud
I'd have stayed at your place.

Dear Robert
I just needed a prom date.
Don't read into it.

Dear Sarah
You and spring rains are synonymous.

Dear Vanessa
Venus.
Someday I'll come back.
We'll paint piazzas into dusk.

Dear Maya
Your lips were swollen honeysuckle and I was all hummingbird.
I wish you could've held me after.

Dear Alyson
We never met in person,
but the way you glittered behind my phone screen
fogged up the glass with light-hot possibility.
Our timing wasn't right.

Dear Amélie
"On n'aime que ce qu'on ne possède pas tout entier."

Dear Izzy
I would've sewn stars down your backbone.
That night at the End of the World, we held eternity in our fingertips.
or maybe it was just the *****.

Dear Brendan
Drunken lapse in judgement.
I'm not "experimenting", I'm actually gay.

Dear Sara
I wish I was looking for something casual.
The Washington Sq. Park fountain will always be holy.
Bless my forehead whenever.

----

Dear Jesse*
It's time to fall in love with your palms.
They fit together perfectly.
Plant chrysanthemums in your abdomen
and let yourself bloom again.
Like it's the first time.
Like you owe it to yourself.
Jennifer Marie Mar 2012
i.
she told me to listen to the silence;
count its beats, she said. my eyes slipped
closed but all i could hear were her chandelier
earrings swishing and her sticky fingers turning
the page of ave maria.

hear the music. feel the notes
within you as you breathe in
and out
.

i would have rather felt his hand in mine.

ii.
the last time it rained, i tried to count the drops.
they hit the porch swing with such a force, i thought
a bird had flown into the windowpane again.

i licked my lips and drummed a finger
against my thigh.
one two three four, two two three four
three two three four
.

before i counted a full measure, the rain stopped.

iii.
it was before sunrise, but after sunset
when i heard the thump thump.
so i curled a hand around your arm, and placed
the other on your heart.

i counted:
one and two and three and four,
and two and two and three and four and


you kissed my hair and whispered –
voice deep and raw:
go back to sleep.

but i waited until you snored, laid my head
to your chest, and listened for the metronome.
© 2012, Jennifer Marie
Carla Michelle Jun 2014
(n)        
world /wərld/*

I will continue to write these things
until I have told you all.

I want the world and it's folds.
I want to fight with you, words
to screams to echoes.
I want to cradle my head
swiftly, like a feather,
into the curves of your shoulders
soon after.
I want to continue an ongoing
counterclockwise motion
while we lay our heavy
backs
on the comfort of a
duvet.
I want to appear at your windowpane
at times where the
rain is the
least of your
worries.
I want to gently caress the
stubble which you bloom
in such a careless manner.

I want to find myself
at the side of yours,
every single time,
every single way,
every single moment when I
start to count the times
I've told myself,
that you are the sun,
and I am the moon.
And my charming world
has been found, with its
folds*.
Claude McKay  Feb 2010
Thirst
My spirit wails for water, water now!
My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot
For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough,
Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot.
My hungry body's burning for a swim
In sunlit water where the air is cool,
As in Trout Valley where upon a limb
The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool.
Oh water, water, when the night is done,
When day steals gray-white through the windowpane,
Clear silver water when I wake, alone,
All impotent of parts, of fevered brain;
Pure water from a forest fountain first,
To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst!

— The End —