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Lazhar Bouazzi Jul 2018
The first thing I saw early this morning
When I pulled back the light green curtains
Was a hectic blue 'n orange butterfly
Wavering in the fair sun of my garden -
'tween the enclosed well and the laurel tree.

On a sidewalk, red and radiant,
Strutted two maidens together,
A turquoise skirt wore the one,
A chocolate T-shirt the other.

Jubilant they were together,
As the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air like Tunisian silk.

No harvest did my screen display today,
No mountain range did loom far in the distance;
All that was shown were a laughing sidewalk,
And a quivering sun in a small garden.

(c) LazharBouazzi
September Roses Aug 2018
Crystal eyes
Fall for them
Over
And over
Drown in oceans stormy grey
Lost in forests emerald green
To get drunk inside and snap away to sober

An underground lake cavern
A still, silver cargo ship docked by the bay
A sky and sea beyond the windows
2pm on a shady spring day



Catching a glint in the light
I find my teeth biting my thumb
Oh god how I love to gaze
In what you use to gaze apon
Targeted towards absolutely anyone with eyes, at all
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
The night is closing in as the rain is drumming on the drain outside.
Long streaks on the window run like tears down my cheeks
reminding me of you.

The oneness of being alone is swallowing me alive,  
eating me from the inside out,
from my heart to the arms that once held a love.

I am struggling to make it through the puddles
and the moat that has wrapped itself around my heart;
afraid of getting wet again, afraid to get hurt.

The cold and damp have camped out in my soul,
without the warmth of the fire of love
to keep me warm.

You moved me to take a chance and make a change
scaring the hell out of me along the way.
I should have listened to the voice inside  
and stayed away.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
L B Sep 2017
The ocean through an opened window
Frontier between all that's known
of here
and sleep
riding out the waves as they come

A gull cries in passing

Waves sating themselves
in the womb of the earth
kissing the neck of Bride's Brook
Her seaweed streaming hair
in wind of tides
The moon's pull to release
coaxing spent and tender moans--

the farthest reach of sighs
Actually, this was from a place where I stayed on Cape Cod, MA.
Lazhar Bouazzi Apr 2016
The first thing I saw early this morning
When I pulled back the light green curtains
Was a hectic blue 'n orange butterfly
Waving in the fair sun of my garden -
Between the enclosed well and the laurel tree.

On the red radiant sidewalk,
Two damsels strutted together;
A turquoise skirt wore the one,
A chocolate T-shirt the other.

Jubilant they were together,
As the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air like Tunisian silk.

No harvest did my screen display today,
No mountain range did loom far in the distance;
All that was shown were a laughing sidewalk,
And a quivering sun in a small garden.

(c) LazharBouazzi, April 21, 2016
Jesse stillwater Apr 2018
The woman in the window
  Looks out beyond the glass
Beyond the reach of her whispers
  Befogged upon windowpanes glance

Farther  than  the  bounds
  Her own breathe imbues
Out of reach her long fingered touch
  Tracing her murmurs on looking glass dew
Grasping for the shadowed artifacts
  Only time does nonchalantly drift past

Perched alone upon a cloud of silence
  Her thoughts eddy in soundless swirl
Spinning like dizzying shadows
  Swallowed by a thirst for light

The other side of window beckons
  Only she knows she’s looking out through a sigh;
Seeing no one familiar looking back ―  
  For what hidden jewels within abide

She dreams of dancing leafless by daylight
  Twirling beneath the whispering willows sway
Just a step away from being free
  Just a step away from feeling alive

With first step beyond imprisoning hesitation
  Crossing over the threshold of a dream
Through a liberating portal outside the glass
  Just on the other side of the windowsill ...


                  Jesse e Stillwater
13th  April  2018
Terry O'Leary Jul 2015
The dawn unfolds beyond my fractured windowpane
and breezes tease while drapes, like serpents, slip aside
exposing worlds that race and run aground, insane,
displaying scenes obscene that savants strive to mask and hide.

Outside, the streets are stark (last night they seemed so cruel
when demons danced as lanterns 'lumed the lynching tree -
its shadow shuddered, lurking in my vestibule -
within the night, I sense these things I sometimes cannot see).

Perdu in darkened doorways (those which watch the ones that weep)
men hide their shame in crevices in search of cloaked relief.
The ladies of the evening leave (their time to sleep!)
the alleyways, retaining bitter tastes of untold grief.

Soon drifters (distraught dregs that stray from street to street)
abandon benches, squat on curbstones some call home,
appeal to strangers for a coin or simple bite to eat -
refused… gaze down… left empty-handed in the morning gloam.

Observe with me, beyond my fractured windowpane,
the boy with crooked smile - the one who's seen the  beast -
with tears, he stoops and clasps the cross while wiping off the stain -
the abbey door along the lane conceals a pious priest.

While at the mall, Mike sees some cigs, and stealth'ly steals a pack;
the Man, observing, thinks ‘Hey Boy, this caper calls for blood’,
takes aim, then shoots the fated stripling eight times in the back.
Come, mourn for Mike and brother Justice, facedown in the mud.

Fatigued and bored, some kids harass the alley now -
to pass the time, Joe smokes a joint and Lizzy snorts a line;
computer games (which quake with doom) can help somehow,
so Eric plays with Dylan on the road to Columbine.

The shanty towns have hunkered down as if in mortal sport
while broken bodies' shattered bones repose supine,
and mamas (now bereft of child) in anguished pain contort,
their eyes drip drops of wrath which wither on a twisted vine.

Now Mr Baxter, private bankster (cruising down the road,
pursuing profit pushers, waving magic mushroom wands),
adores addiction to the bailout (coffers overflowed)
and jests with all the junkies, while he's dealing with the bonds.

Marauders man the marketplace (with billions guaranteed)  
while kids with swollen bellies beg neath hollow sunken eyes,
and (cut to naught) the down-and-out (like trodden beet roots) bleed.
Life's carousel invites us all, though few can ring the prize.

A washerwoman, timeworn, totters from the tram -
she shuffles to her hovel on a lonesome distant hill,
despondent, shuts the shutters, downs her final dram -
a magpie quickly picks at crumbs forsaken on the sill.

Jihadist and Crusader warders faithfully guard the gates,
behead impious infidels, else burn them at the stake
(yes, God incites each side for good, the other side He hates),
with saintly satisfaction gained provoking pagan ache.

The watchers pry behind our fractured windowpanes
inspect us all, tear down the walls of privacy
controlling every point of view opinion entertains,
forbidding thoughts one mustn't think, with which they don’t agree.

Come, cast a furtive glance… there's something in the far…
from towns to dunes in deserts dry, the welkin belches sudden death
by dint of soulless drones that stalk beneath a straying star
erasing life in random ways in freedom’s final breath.

But closer lies an island, where the keepers keep the wards.
No sense, no charges nor defense - a verdict? Yes! … grotesque -
the guiltless gush confessions, born and bred on waterboards.
Impartial trials? A travesty instead, indeed quite Kafkaesque.

Now dusk draws near beyond my fractured windowpane
while mankind drowns like burnt-out suns in fading lurid light;
and scarlet clots of grim deceit and ebon beads of bane
flow, deified, within the rotting corpse of human night.
Outside Words Sep 2018
Gazing within, I can see the warm light
Where I sit, the rain and cold bite.
A big coat fits but doesn’t satisfy,
On a familiar portal - my eyes lie.

Cars roar by, water flies in air
The sky pours sideways, all over my hair.
Sitting outside, peering in, eyes wide -
I view my long-lost family inside.
I jealously watch their fun
And silently pray for the sun.

Raindrops on glass in front of my face,
Oh, how I yearn to be back at this place.

The faces of my heart wave and invite me back,
Grabbing the doorknob, it breaks with a snap.
I dearly miss this house, for it is no longer mine,
I watch at the window for days at a time.
© Outside Words
Brianne Rose Feb 2015
One window is all I need,
To see what the future will be,
To become the hidden me,
For a trip to the heart,
To see myself for who I am,
And be happy with myself.
Leal Knowone Feb 2017
The crack in the window brings the light, beautiful to many, vile to to my sight.
Can I sleep?
don't remind me of what I must do.
Leave me my silence, leave me my grace,leave this ***** grimy disgrace.
We all should lie in obscurity.
The cracks in the pavement wont break her back.
If you fall , get up, if you don't break your neck.
You can make it through.                                      
Leave me in the distance.
Recognize the light.
Walk paths of fear, and acceptance takes flight.
Things cloudy eyes may not see.
Leave me in the distance, I'm not here to race, another dawn the darkness breaks
In my opponents I see teachers, family, monsters, men and preachers.
Lie in the shadows, or a darkened room.
Lie in the twilight, to embrace the light.
Does anything have one side? how much does it take?
This is just a play, can you make it through.
We all hold the pen in our hands, we all sing the tune
many stories will be told, many pouring out their soul, was it love or rock and roll?
M Solav Sep 2018
Hear the asynchronous pulsation,
Clicks of eyelids, toggling,
And the beating of a heart:
A Life, in thick layers of rhythms,
Coating a stubborn core.

Watch the white curtain of the mansion,
Behind windows, dancing,
And the fire in the hearth:
A Life, in thick layers of stones,
Glowing it out with warmth.
Written in August 2017.
KiraLili Oct 2016
Octobers coastsl rain
Fills the 1950s
Picture window
Boom laden tugs
Pass by
Fighting north
To the mill
One wet Eagle
Guards the passage
Steadfast against the rain
The islands lighthouse beacon
Barely visible through the fog
Gray is the colour of fall today
#pnw #fall #october #westcoast

Powell River BC Oct 2016
Jeff Gaines Mar 2018
Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback.

Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines

Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world

  Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!

                                Big, Biggest Love,

                                               Jeff Gaines
This poem was inspired by the Company of Thieves song "Window".
It may not be about the same things that Genevieve was expressing, but it was the inspiration, nonetheless.

Such a moving and beautiful song.

I hope that they don't mind.
Daniel Sep 10
I
don´t
have any
person close
to me, a person
I can turn to when
things get tough &
I have no place left
to             call home,
no             roof´s left
that could be above
my head. Not even
the door of a friend
would be willing to
open for me to enter

                                                          ­                                                  Danny
tried something new
Rick Jan 2018
Girl with her head laid against the window
Hair that's bleached the light color of yellow
Why does your sadness bring me down so?

I wish to wrap arms around you
And earase all the pain that lies above
To replace your broken hart with love

But our relationship could never start While I would try to cure your hurting hart
There is no doubt, ide tare it back apart
Ashleigh Black Apr 2014
Well, it’s 3 in the morning
and you’re still standing
Beside that rain-covered window
And I don’t know why

I hope that you are
Just admiring the mosaic tones
The raindrops give as you try
To stare right through

But you know and I think so too
That this is all we have left
You and your window
And me here just watching

And still the rain pours
And the sheets stay creased
And it’s been awhile
Since I’ve noticed either one
Through the dirt and past the grime
a window pane shows gentler times
Still, eyes can hope but tongue does bind
with ropes of doubt I spoke from mine
restraining mind from truth divine

And yet, in heart I know this to be
a brilliant portrait incomplete
For light shall cut through dark to shine
and put to rest my pondering
of death and hate and suffering

For there’s pain in seeing through this glass
The atrocities that come to pass
The weeds that choke the green from grass
The hatred killing future seeds
of the hope we need to let love last
For when there’s hope it stills the need
Through knowing that true love did bleed

And if one day your will be mine
I too shall witness truth divine
And wash the sludge from window’s glass
to see that love shall reign at last

Caroline Ward Mar 12
I watch my window weep
Condensation
Small droplets drip
Onto the sill.
I should learn to listen
To sorrow
I cry
And always will.

I hate the burn of rejection
It cuts with a claw
That will sting
My heart wants
Only devotion
And yet
Craves  
Any small thing.

My mind calls out
For an answer
And thinks silence
Is a thing to be missed
I miss the warmth
Of a lover
And my lips still
Long to be kissed.

It's lonely here in the ocean
My boat floats
Far out to sea
I only wish
That somebody
Was home and
Calling for me.

So my window weeps
Condensation
And I cry for the lost
And the free
I face the fear
Of a world that is open
When I am caged
And oh so empty.
Qweyku Jun 2016
Why do the tongues of little birds
converse with the morning?
And their hearts stanza their beaks
to parley each dawn?

Have men lost their voice?

That creatures so small;
Should be the guardians of days night.



**© Qwey.ku
Kitt May 2018
I sat by the window and gazed out
at the rain falling down
in torrents and sheets.
The night was black as ink, save the stars;
barely visible behind thick storm clouds,
pinpricks of silver in the ebony scape,
as the rain continued to fall.

I thought of you, of the deliberation in your face
etched into every feature a painful, wavering resolve.
The decision before you:
two fates, the ending, or the prolonging of the time before the terminal predetermined.

I grieved as I remembered the pain in your eyes.
I know you too well. I have seen too much of you
for you to hide this from me. I broke
-a silent cry of realization, collapsing my furrowed brow into a contorted countenance
as I realized that you were gone
not just for now, but for good.

And so there I sat that night,
after I removed the gold chain you rested around my neck
after I scrubbed away the makeup
after I traded my lipsticked smile for a mourning countenance
-I sat, alone in the dark, and gazed out the window into the rain.
I wondered where things had gone wrong.

And so, May showers
drove away April's flowers.
It was all I could do to cry quietly,
face soaked with the saline of sadness
that dripped now on my chest.

Now, I sit again at the window
and the same song plays that had consoled me before
'you'll feel better when you wake up'
And I did.
The sadness stayed safely at the bay
while I tried to channel it again
But this time it wasn't the same.
Though I duplicated the mood down to the clothes I wore,
the heartache was no longer fresh
and my face remained dry.

Sure, I felt sad. But it was not from you.
It was not from a heartbreak or a brokenness.
It was inorganic sadness, brought on by my own need for closure,
the thirst for a goodbye that burned my throat in agony and sorrow
that my parched lips would never find.
Song quoted: "Wake Up" by EDEN
You are the almost-silent
of my coffee-stained summer.
You are the clear and tender
plucking of guitar strings
on a lazy afternoon;

With sunlight streaming through
the painted window,
just bright enough to fill the room
but gentle enough to fall asleep to;

with the smell of everything we love—
caffeine and chocolate and banana muffins—
seemingly coursing through our veins
with every breath we take;

with the daydream of
what-could-be lingering
in the haze, in the silence
it sits,
it waits.

I proceed to the only thing
I know how to do
at this hour of day:
I stare at the cars passing by,
all the while wishing
I was staring at you instead.
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