"casements" poems
The shutters are rusted open on the north
kitchen window ivy has grown over
the fastenings the casements are hooked open
in the stone frame high above the river
looking out across the tops of plum trees
tangled on their steep slope branches furred
with green moss gray lichens the plums falling
through them and beyond them the ancient
walnut trees standing each alone on its
own shadow in the plowed red field full
of amber September light after so
long unattended dead boughs still hold
places of old seasons high out of the leaves
under which in the still day the first walnuts
from this last summer are starting to fall
beyond the bare limbs the river looks
motionless like the far clouds that were not
there before and will not be there again
2.1k
*Casements to the soul
Lovers find reaching in dark
O what hands can hold*
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 8:20 PM UTC
The pounding of the drum
was sheets of white paper
Each clap falling to the floor
Settling slowly
Like geese alight to water
We were there for this landing
Nosily, gracefully
The geese were
Ourselves
The drumming of the drum
Was a shell around us all
And we all spiraled in
Till the casements of the
windows shook
Till throughout the basement
And up the stairs
Was the sound
Lifted up again
Like the geese
And the paper pushers
And the polished
thrumming,
drumming,
humming
of
our
hearts
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 6:39 PM UTC
Predecessor of the morning hour
Bleeding through the gilded fringes that hang aloft in the wood
Breeze withheld its embraced dower
Humid casements held where I stood
The singeing lash did not come
Caged o’er the ridge
Melancholia, and the sky did shun
Ebon armada sent all the cavalry
Halberdiers and lancers, to contend a bitter rivalry
The brooding cataract washed
And I could only run
Towards pale shades and curtain rods
Towards uncertain suns
On the backs of Titans, the shoulder of Atlas my flight took rest
Before I, the ashen dome expands.
As though at my behest
And through the slaughter, the fray(!)
A presence of the light of day
Through the flush pillars
And fell beasts of rain
The bones of its enemies
Could be seen
Naked, exposed by eye so tiny and wan
Dispersed, did they
Frightened by valor of dawn
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
you stopped visiting the ocean after your brother died
so we drove inland, instead, that day
and found the pit of old bunkers
left to decay
from a more actively
apocalyptic age
and, inside, the
eschewal vision of
tinned food,
concrete pillars,
liquid flesh
warm comfort in disintegration,
emerald concavities that lace the sky
we considered stealing some **** but just drove on back instead,
leave history to history
if you stack the boxes, there will be more space, you-
yeah, just like that.
the chairs have no back, sorry, so you'll have to be careful.
sorry, i just have to deal with,
yeah, the drain pipes broke again,
it now decants into the living room, all
dammed up with paper mache and static
so uh
make yourself some tea if you have to
-ah, no, sorry, i didn't mean to be curt
it's just,
there's no time
but stay, anyway, please
it gets lonely at night
all boarded windows and
old casements
till in the end you're just
embracing a
damp ****** guilt
just to pass the time
with a forgiveness complex
do you think you'd do it?
they make you wear their shirt, and take a photo,
but they give a free ice-cream at the end.
i mean, it doesn't cost you anything,
nothing palpable, anyway
remember that time we drove inland?
and found that petrified forest,
buried in basalt and pumice?
we walked among treetops, near the old crater lake
and
skipped stones
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 7:09 AM UTC
.
*Casements to the soul
Lovers find reaching in dark
O what hands can hold*
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
when Death calls
at the casements of this mortal home
he’ll not scythe my soul
into the black unknown -
No!
with feathered feet
and honey-breath
will dance my lucent Lord of Death
i’ll breathe - aaah! -
in bright and velvet arms
here you are
my Prince
at last
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 8:55 AM UTC
We try to relay
what we see
or seem to see
through the
smudged
frosted
or
fogged-up
windows
or
casements
between us
Seeing what we
see or seem
to see may
seem
delightful
or
troubling
at
times
but it's
all about
the inclination
of
wanting
and even
needing
to
see
the
truth
or truths
of what we all are
deep down inside
and trying to
at least be
a piece of the
puzzle
that can
aid the
receptive
listener
or reader
in
seeing
a bit more
of who they are
and who we are
in the picture
of our lives
and in the
wider picture
of life
and
living
in
a
volatile
and
complex
world
We need to keep
testing the waters
and acclimate.
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 8:53 AM UTC
What must it be?
What must it be that doth
Pour from those cracked casements,
Those scarlet striped pools?
What must it be that doth cause my
Sodden mind and ground?
That doth cause me, in darkness,
To drown.
Does it match the dripping stain
On the shard of glass that has
Burrowed itself into my hand?
Did this shard destroy the
Mirrored surface of those pools?
Or perhaps embed itself into that
Beating ***** inside of you.
Does it match the glass itself,
Whose fissures now grow?
Did I remove those casements
And leave nothing but the black
Pits behind? Or perhaps I tore
That structure apart in fear of
What you might find.
What must it be that doth
Drain form those dark globes,
Those black doll-like spheres?
What must it be that doth
Shovel atop my cringing body?
That doth implant the nails into
My buried crib?
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
**** sings standing on top of the clay topped roof
Peeping out of my blanket looking at the wallclock
Struck tick,tick five with the sparrow popping
Tape recorder switched on filling my ears
With some heartwarming morning mantras
Sparrow's head out again striking six bout
Got up from my bed to open the casements
Green fields dancing in the windy breeze
A blanket worm lento climbing the wall
White rain lily smiling at me with yellow tooth
Moo-oo cries the calf for his mother to feed
Chickens follow mother hen pricking grains
Why to go in search of a place to meditate
When I am in a heaven of Peace, my beautiful village!*
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
There's no sign to tell you it's heading your way, no friendly face that pops up to say, don't worry it never lasts longer than the hours in a day, but what if you're a mayfly? that's a lifetime, throw me a lifeline or a bottle of pills.
Hills.
Peculiar things which we climb and the higher we go and yet cling on to the things that we know we never really leave the ground.
I have waited in subways expecting the writing to happen on the walls and that's a load of ***** if you don't pen it yourself it will never appear.
I don't go near subways now I prefer hoardings and boarded up basements crouching and whispering to ink out my fears on casements and windows, the bard of glass shards and broken down men.
I cut out imperfections to place in my scrap tray and they tell me,
it never lasts longer than the hours in a day.
It's funny though
I never know
what day that
will be.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 8:25 PM UTC
Polychromatic facades
Coruscating sculptures
Translucent casements
Fragmented colorations
Monochrome halftones
Multitudinous trances
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 9:11 AM UTC