"roosted" poems
a storyteller's perspective, steppin' off the ordinary edge, into the unknown
An unsent letter lay on the rustic log cabin floor
A cold wind musta’ blown through the cracks the light comes in,
where it laid fallen, half *** crumbled, yet never a wadded ball;
never an unspoken thrown paper stone, a befallen regret was all.
Silently atilt and leaning against the canted wall's slant
behind the gathered dust a squeaky hinged burl wood door
A timeworn tarnished copper wind up clock roosted,
an old lip smirched coffee cup time stood still;
an empty bottle of gin sat near the bed post headboard
where the ink stains and blotted spillings let the memories in.
Stained pages torn and bent like fallen paper wings
returned to the unread sender … postage due, south a heaven sent ―
A sullied envelope, gnawed and mouse chewed,
for a nest of new beginnings ―
just read: Lydia ... ♡
... followed by a scribbled empty heart
The time aged brown tattered tablet paper left behind
stifled like the unread heart it holds upon the threadbare pages
of smudged tear’s ache and spilled gin
The weathered rock hearth fireplace filled with spent ashes,
hand rolled cigarette butts, traces of an aching lament;
scratched up old vinyl records lay ***** and tired out,
from a time of sweeter fallen fences, a musical bliss, and
a lost angel's abandoned red slinky party dress,
aside a busted off black velvet high-heel stuck sullied
in a hollow knothole in the ancient barn-wood floor
a sparkly pearl pink jewel entangled in a spider web
An unsent letter lay on the rustic cabin floor
A cold wind musta’ blown through the cracks the light gets in
The final unread words silently said:
*"We lost our way,
it all went wrong,
it all turned bad"
..."This is the outcome when someone you love
up and throws you away"
...“I’ll reach out from the inside
I’ll rise up again and do without”
..."You went out into the world
with an untamed hankerin’ ―
like a carefree restless gypsy breeze
and come back worlds apart"*
The Unsent Letter,
just whispered words to the dust in the wind
in quivering ink:
...*"how can I ever unremember you...?
a thrown stone sinks wordlessly as a rock...,
an old wood bucket with a rotten hole the heart,
fallen forgotten, rock bottom as an empty well"*
just signed: ... ❤ August
January 1st, 2017 ... august ... wild is the wind ♡
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 12:20 PM UTC
I wonder if the trees could talk
Would they tell about the breeze?
Would they talk about the sunshine?
Or of their many different leaves?
Would they talk about that woodpecker
That's roosted on their limb?
Or maybe devise a brilliant plan
To rid themselves of him
Would they tell us of their thirst?
And celebrate the rain
Would they talk about their fear of fire?
And how they hate the flame
Would they talk about the winter?
How it robs them of their shields
As the winter breeze scatter their leaves
Across the barren fields
Would they talk about the summer heat?
And the sacrifices they've made
As they hold their limbs high and stong
To cast our needed shade
Would they talk about their Creator,
Who rules from Heaven above
And profess undying gratitude
And their never ending love?
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
+
A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night.
As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light.
Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away.
Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in
Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag
plenty of time plenty of time.
Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds
A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat.
Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all.
As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline
Un angle vole un angle vole.
Rockall - Malin - Hebrides
Humber - Fisher - German bight
Thames - Dover - Wight.
Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words
North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good.
Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air.
The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me.
Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about.
Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm
As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day.
Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone
But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers
I
have
yet
to
meet
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
GREEN LEAVES: Inspirational poems
Healing Hugs by Piusha Singh
" Erased the salty tears of love, yesterday
Roosted in these healing hugs together
Severed the shackle of mortality of life
Tethered in this cosmic union forever"
Written by Poetess Piusha Singh
____________________________________
• Inspired by the above lines,
• Williamsji Maveli writes…
___________________________________
Love creeps into minds when nature fulfills,
Blue Lake in silence never flow towards hills,
Awakes in thirst when pure sweet honey pours,
Passionate devotion extends its hand for hugs.
____________________________________
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
Close to our ancestral home
Is an ancient champak tree
It now stands almost leafless n’ bare
With its face turned to the sun and sky
Once from far, everyone could see
This lush green Champak tree
It stood in all beauty and grace
And carpeted the ground in fallen blooms
Its lovely blossoms were so redolent
Like tube roses, heady and fragrant
In its dark and leafy glade
How as children, we sat and played
Men weary of work in its sprawling shade
Were sheltered from the heat of midday sun
Once it was a bower of sylvan ease
And on its boughs, birds merrily sang
Rustled in wind and shaken in storm
It braved the inclement weather all these years
With its roots boring deep into the ground
Nothing could uproot the tree from its base
How many stories it has to tell
How many robins roosted in its verdure
How many fledglings took wings into the sky,
From the tiny nests built on its twigs
Now its ancient trunk and gnarled branches
Proclaim sadly that it is about to wither
The tree has just turned itself into
A ghostly shadow of its former self
But the fragrance of these champak flowers
Which still bless the tree in one and two
As if determined to proclaim themselves
Continue to perfume the surrounding air
This tree is much like my ancestral home
Once it was the seat of life and bounty
Now it stays desolate and empty
Spreading memories sweet and fragrant
What solid shelter the house once gave
And how my parents fulfilled their task
Putting all they had into making it a sweet home
That nurtured three generations of our family!
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Heard from the bathers that-
The Princess had been abducted
By the Dark Beast.
A bounty of thousand gold coins was announced
If you brought her back alive and the beast dead
And Death if you brought the beast alive and the Princess dead.
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Hung their drums around their necks
And drummed their way
Through the Forest Dark
When the Elder Brother drummed the sleep-inducing roll,
The storks that roosted in the trees
Dropped as if they were one big bunch.
He picked them up one by one
While the younger one,
Elated,
Shouted 'Pelicans!' and drummed the defeathering roll
Upon which the plumage came off
The Elder Brother drummed the roasting roll
And the birdflesh caught fire.
On the second day a leopard that looked-
More like a boulder in leopard's clothing
Lurched at the brothers.
The Elder Brother drummed the age-reversing roll
And the poor old leopard grew younger and younger
Until it became a watery foetus which-
The Drummer Brothers ate,
Dabbing crushed chillies, and sprinkling salt.
On the third day a bear of grisly proportions
Ambled, roaring, into their sight
The Younger Brother drummed an organ-enlarging roll that-
Stretched the bear's mammaries far too long-
They dragged on the ground like two pythons.
The Elder Brother drummed the light-the- candle roll
And the oily **** caught fire like wicks.
Having vanquished the two deadly beasts
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku met,
On the fourth day of their journey,
The Dark Beast.
The Dark Beast, as it turned out,
Was no beast as such
But an Outcast once expelled
Into the heart of darkness
Who wrapped himself
In the dark of the Dawn
And became one with All the Beasts
And rumbled.
The Princess' pygmy horse was impaled
With the stake coming out of its mouth
Grossly gory, its hindlegs missing
And the blood, coagulated, hanging like icicles.
Near it was the Princess herself,
Naked, except for the gold waist chain
And the anklets.
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Drummed a very ordinary roll,
Steady and throbbing.
The Dark Beast who listened to it
Was transported into his past,
His memory of listening
To the old drummers of Ikku Ukku.
Excited,
He spun on his heels and stretched out his arms
He gyrated and pirouetted-
And on reaching the peak of his frenzy
Exploded, like a watermelon
The pieces flew in all directions.
The Drummer Brothers picked them up
And licked
While the Princess, shaken out of her languor,
Rose and sauntered towards them.
Holding out her honey hands
She said, "Now I belong to both of you."
The Younger Brother came up with a plan:
The elder one would have her from the waist up
While he would have her from the waist down.
The Elder Brother approved.
Vain and coquettish,
The Princess rammed her fists into either drum
And said: "I loathe their sound- too unrefined."
On the fifth day,
The Drummer Brother drummed a jazzed up roll
On their new drumhead
Made of the Princess' hide.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 6:15 AM UTC
#
*I never said to you,
my love
That you are growing
within so hazardous
and
always
It’s expanding within the sky
but
I have
twisted,
roosted,
boosted
and hosted
by
You
As Always -
#
@Musfiq us shaleheen*
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
In sweet warm winds of mono Summers night
when the villagers are sleeping snug and tight
when you hear the Lilly ponds songs of freedom
you will know the greens chaps are marching
With sinuous limbs of mortal marshlands
they lift their prizes to their honoured Queen
with sweet roosted dragonflies and mayfly pie
they justly do homage to all her glories
First to mark the parade
are the one's in the French frog wars
all those legless, now with stumps
in wheel chairs still smelling of garlic
They salute their queen
those hero's of cuisine
their emerald attire
and strong hearts of fire
Then come her sweet tadpoles
so liken to your navy seals
when bite comes to munch
these brothers are the ******** spawn of the bunch
The Queen she waits for water
she calls out orders for water
but not from her solider sons
but her handmaiden daughters
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
I do often gather onto these ledges
Alone, I save me where the sea beats.. and
Rustles, waves, blue and green reflections,
Bubbles, shattering in grains, foaming. I think
Many more millions, just like me, here,
Had roosted, to observe, to listen;
Perchance they felt the very same
Strong, dulcet, genic quietness. Any one,
If they please, can just go ahead, and
Join me: here, some inches over the sea. I
Ceased to write as the dusk went by.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
When rain had gone and dusk had fallen,
When birds had roosted and their chirping stilled,
When sky had cleared and the lone clouds trailed,
You held me close and whispered in my ear.
Your voice, like a tremulous rivulet gurgled,
With passion sweet, you did chant,
“In your eyes I see, the blue of the sky,
In your soul, you hold the depth of the seas,
Love swells, like tides on rise,
My life, I vow, by Jove, never to part,
On this dimpled cheek, a kiss I plant,
A gesture warm with abiding love.
Crisscross lain as warp and weft,
We together shall weave the garb of life”.
Words that served as balm to the soul!
Still they echo, gushing a flurry of thoughts,
But alas! To a far unknown land you fled,
‘From whose bourn, no traveller returns’,
To be wooed by a thousand glimmering dames,
Who peep down from Heaven’s insurmountable heights.
My life has mouldered and mildew grown,
Where my Love! Whither have you gone?
Who bid you slink into deaths secret hide?
Why left me to languish in Love’s solitary bower?
Seasons roll and years glide,
‘At my back I always hear,
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near’.
Youth has withered and memory fails,
But in my mind is etched deep,
That beautiful dusk, we rambled free,
When the rain had gone and dusk had fallen,
When the sky had cleared and lone clouds trailed.
Along the winding paths we roamed,
Two hearts musing a single lay.
Down the alleys, betwixt moss grown walls,
With hopes galore and dreams anew,
On we walked to the edge of the world,
A pair of dots merging in infinite space.
When rain is gone and sky gets clear,
When night turns deeper and silence creeps,
I transverse back to that dusky eve,
To retrieve those moments, I sadly cherish!
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
The rooster Chanticleer roosted on the chandelier and knowing that he hated crowing to wake the children up for school which as a rule they did,
he hid his cocky doodle crow and sang instead to let the children know the time had come and the rising of the sun was nigh.
A loose wire became Chanticleers undoing,the shooting bolts of five hundred volts cooked his goose,now
he's hanging loose in the pantry
poor old
Chanticleer.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
China Blue
China blue and snowy saucers
On the old oak table where you once sat
Alone and plaintive, dusty
I haven’t had the heart to move them yet
There’s to much of your spirit
Still in the house
It seems wrong to clear it away
When you’re supposed to come back
And drink your tea.
I went through your desk, though
It was necessary.
You never were organized
And I found myself buried in mountains
Of old bills and notes and wishes
And by the time I found the will
Paper birds had roosted all about the room
Their inked markings unreadable
Thanks to the flapping of their wings.
Your sketchbook I left by our bedside
Your notebook and Hemingway
Rest under the alarm clock
That will never wake you again
Though it rings its mournful, piercing wail
At 6:00 every morning
It scared me, the day after the funeral
I hadn’t slept all night, screamed,
Clutched your pillow
And threw mine at the foot of the bed,
The Phantom shadows of dreams disappearing
In the light of a grey morning.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:45 AM UTC
Anxiety and fear
such a happy couple
they make their home
in your place of strength
and make you such
a wretched coward
unless you excise them
before they get comfortable
but they're a sneaky pair
they often fail to notify
before they take up residence
you could
remove them
once they've roosted
in theory.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
His staff struck the stone
and his words echoed in the valley
Only then
when the night sky is lite up like day
and the moon turns a blood red
Only then
will you return
For seven years I flew as a Hawk
high in the clouds
stalking my prey
I roosted that summer's evening
as I have for the last seven years
only to see the moon turn a blood red
the night never came
I watched a comet steal across the sky
all stood silent
I fell through the branches to the earth
A boy now a man
never to walk that path again
I vowed
Lest the staff strikes the stone
Feb 19, 2023
Feb 19, 2023 at 3:54 AM UTC