I opened the large central window of my office room to its full on the fine early May morning. Then I stood for a few moments, breathing in the soft, warm air that was charged with the scent of white lilacs below.
quote by Angus Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wren
It was a quiet morning;
As usual my wife Laureen opened the front door (leaving it open wide) in hopes that the cat would follow her out. (Little did she know that a small intruder had flown in through the open door.) After retrieving the morning newspaper, with coffee mug full of steaming coffee Laureen settled into
her morning ritual, with "Neferkitti" (our cat) snuggled on the bar stool next to her.
Suddenly there was a flutter and thump as a tiny wren flew into a window in the dining room.
The bird fell to the floor momentarily stunned. Taking advantage of the moment, with great speed and agility Neferkitti pounced on the helpless bird. Mouthing the bird softly, she presented her catch to her master. Horrified Laureen admonished the cat, screaming "Let her go". With great reluctance the cat dropped the bird on the floor. After a few moments the bird flew up to a tall cabinet, where she landed to assess her predicament.
At this time I was laying in bed reading, when I heard Laureen shout loudly "Ray get in here there is a bird in the house'. I slipped on a shirt, grabbed my glasses, and walked in just as the bird took flight and landed on the rail leading to my upstairs office. Walking up the stairs slowly I reached for the perched bird who quickly flew back down to the family room. Not seeing where she landed I searched the room. Suddenly she flew into a large picture window in the family room. The confused bird sat on the sill looking out of the window. I approached the bird, who made no attempt to fly off. I reached down, and with cupped hands gently picked up the traumatized bird. She chirped once and settled into my warm hands.
Making my way to the sliding door that leads to the outside deck I stepped out and opened my hands to release the bird. Gripping the index finger of my right hand she was reluctant to fly. I stood there, and time froze.
Our eyes met, and I felt the impact of what was happening;
From the wren's perspective here stood a god-like giant with the power of life and death over her. From my perspective there perched on a single finger was a tiny creature who I could crush with hardly any effort. In that brief moment we were both experienced the miracle, diversity and fragile nature of life.
"All creatures great and small"
Walking over to a bench on the deck and with palm up I waited for the bird to step off onto the safety of the bench and freedom. She gripped even more tightly, as if she'd found safety in my hands. With my left hand I gently coaxed her off my right hand onto the bench, where she stood looking around. She made no effort to fly away, so I went back through the door, closed it and stood watching, hoping that she was not seriously injured.
While walking up the stairs to my office I heard Laureen (who'd been watching) exclaim loudly;
"She just flew away"!
Gratified...I went up to my office to write an account of this magical and humbling event.
ROTMS
View ROTMS writings, images and video at;
rotms.blogspot.com
poem by Ray Lucero
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Lilacs At My Funeral
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs when I’m dead
Lilacs in my coffin
Placed gently by my head
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs when I’m gone
Lilacs to help send me
On my journey home
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs for my grave
Lilacs instead of roses
Think of the money you will save
1978
www.dakotaraeaustin.com
poem by Dakota Austin
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Encounter.
Isis had let the girl into
her small private room
at the school, she should
have said no, but she was
of two minds, and then
one, and then she just let
her in, and turned to the
window, not wanting to
face the girl, and let her
look break through to her
heart, and she had heard
the girl whisper, I love you,
so soft it seemed as if breathed,
as if a small knife had entered
under her ribs and inched
towards her heart, and she
had not turned around, and
had just replied equally softly,
I know, and then a few moments
Later, I love you too, and then
there was silence, and she
sensed the girl put her arms
around her waist, but she had
done nothing, just stood there,
looking out on the school grounds
at the playing field, and the girl
had released her, and Isis had
uttered, Best go now Jodie, and
she heard only quiet footsteps
and the door closing with a dull
thud, and the room seemed
suddenly empty, as if a world had
begun to die and another been
born, and over the playing field
a warm sun opened up like a
young god to a bright new dawn.
poem by Terry Collett
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Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Morning is The Poetess
as you relax
this early morning
you meet it ... and
greet it,
saying hello to its
newly arrived light
from the window of your
soul
from the gates of your
temple
from the warm arms
of your room
you hug
a very intangible
lover .... this morning
this cool
beautiful morning
dressed in light
golden
you do not compose
a poem for it
it composes a poem
for you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the White
In the white, early morning
I hang my face
over her head
and kiss the flesh above her brow.
I hang my neck, a bow in the air
and kiss the tiny, tickling hairs above her brow.
In the white light of morning
I hang myself over her
and kiss the flesh of her skull
Her white skull
sleeps in the early morning as I hang myself
to kiss her.
I hang myself to kiss her
as she sleeps in the white, early morning.
She does not wake to my touch.
I hang myself above her
on the white bow
of early morning.
She does not wake to my hanging.
The window is cracked and taped.
The outside air is cold, forceful.
I bend myself
above her sleeping body
to kiss her, gently on the brow.
To kiss her gently on the brow
I hang myself.
poem by Chavisa Woods
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The starlight shone through the window frame
The starlight shone through the window frame
while it broke here and there
through some clouds
and I heard you breathing against me
and every now and then your hand stroked
over my head as if you wanted to make sure
that I am all right or really there
and I heard you mumble in your sleep
and there was a golden full moon
when the clouds later opened
and much too early the alarm went off.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Love That Does Not Die
early morning
how can birds be seen inside this room?
how can an agnostic be so definite about
the blueness of the skies?
early morning
there is no sun here
where i have sacrificed so much
about writing
and i think of you
because i have loved you
such thoughts
grow flowers in the fertile fields of my tongue
my eyes become suns
my ears twin mountains
from my palms birds nest and lay their egss
in my heart
another universe is born
inside this room
the door shall not be opened
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lighter Side Of Things
it happens
when there are no attachments
when you sleep in a room
and you leave
early morning
you leave a trace of the scent
of your body
and you pack all your things again
you walk fast
to another destination
you think of other things
those that do not sink you
nothing metallic
at all
just the soft cotton side of life
a feather
thin air on the mountain top
distant little towns below
and the wide sea at the horizon
clouds hover
fog reside temporarily
mists come
and everything just leaves away
when the sun
gets in over the shutters of your window
you dabble on
a far sighted view
these things
do not settle you
you float on them
on the wings of the winds
silence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Leg Anne's Escape
One leg Anne
crutched herself
to the window
and stared out at the rain
Look at the pissing weather
she said
she let go
of the handle
of one crutch
and scratched her thigh
you stood just behind her
watching her standing there
like a dejected Napoleon
What do you think
they'd say if I got you
to push me out
in the wheelchair
in this Skinny Boy?
she said
looking at you
over her shoulder
They wouldn't allow it
you replied moving up
beside her
and peering out
at the rain
on the lawn and trees
I don't give a donkey's tail
what they'd allow
she said
being politer
than she usually was
Why do you want
to go out in the rain?
you asked
Because I hate
being shut up
in my room
or being pushed
around the corridors
like fecking Guy Fawkes
she crutched herself
away from the window
Come on Skinny Boy
let's venture out
But we'll get wet
you said following her
out of the room
Hush do you want
the grown ups
to know our plans of escape?
you stood beside her
by the backdoor
your eyes watched
the rain falling on
the path outside
Bring me a wheelchair
Skiing Boy
we're going to explore
you went to the store room
and pushed a wheelchair
to where she stood
and she sat down
and gave you
the crutches
Right off we go
she said
and you opened
the door
and wheeled her out
the raindrops
pattering on
and around you both
and she bellowed
Go go
on on
and so you pushed
and the rain fell
and she laughed
and opened her arms
and her hands
and said
This is living Boy
better to live
and be wet
than dry indoors
and dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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At The Window
Every morning, as I walk down
From my dreary lodgings, toward the town,
I see at a window, near the street,
The face of a woman, fair and sweet,
With soft brown eyes and chestnut hair,
And red lips, warm with the kisses left there.
And she stands there as long as she can see
The man who walks just ahead of me.
At night, when I come from my office down town,
There stands a woman with eyes of brown,
Smiling out through the window blind
At the man who is walking just behind.
This fellow and I resemble each other -
At least so I'm told by one and another,
(Though I think I'm the handsomer by far, of the two,)
I don't know him at all, save to 'how d'ye do, '
Or nod when I meet him. I think he's at work
In a dry-goods store as a salaried clerk.
And I am a lawyer of high renown,
Having a snug bank account and an office down town, -
Yet I feel for that fellow an envious spite,
(it had no other name, so I speak it outright.)
There were symptoms before; but it's grown I believe,
Alarmingly fast, since one cloudy eve,
When passing the little house close by the street,
I heard the patter of two little feet,
And a figure in pink fluttered down to the gate,
And a sweet voice exclaimed, 'Oh, Will, you are late!
And, darling, I've watched at the window until -
Sir, I beg pardon! I thought it was Will! '
I passed on my way, with such a strange feeling
Down in my heart. My brain seemed to be reeling;
For, as it happens, my name, too, is Will,
And that voice crying 'darling, ' sent such an odd thrill
Throughout my whole being! 'How nice it would be, '
Thought I, 'If it were in reality me
That she's watched and longed for, instead of that lout! '
(It was envy that made me use that word, no doubt,)
For he's a fine fellow, and handsome! -(ahem!)
But then it's absurd that this rare little gem
Of a woman should stand there and look out for him
Till she brings on a headache, and makes her eyes dim,
While I go to lodgings, dull, dreary and bare,
With no one to welcome me, no one to care
If I'm early of late. No soft eyes of brown
To watch when I go to, or come from the town.
This bleak, wretched, bachelor life is about
(If I may be allowed the expression) played out.
Somewhere there must be, in the wide world, I think,
Another fair woman who dresses in pink,
And I know of a cottage, for sale, just below,
And it has a French window in front and - heigho!
I wonder how long, at the longest, 'twill be
Before, coming home from the office, I'll see
A nice little woman there, watching for me.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Window
All night long, by a distant bell,
The passing hours were notched
On the dark, while her breathing rose and fell,
And the spark of life I watched
In her face was glowing or fading, -- who could tell? --
And the open window of the room,
With a flare of yellow light,
Was peering out into the gloom,
Like an eye that searched the night.
Oh, what do you see in the dark, little window, and why do you fear?
"I see that the garden is crowded with creeping forms of fear:
Little white ghosts in the locust-tree, that wave in the night-wind's breath,
And low in the leafy laurels the larking shadow of death."
Sweet, clear notes of a waking bird
Told of the passing away
Of the dark, -- and my darling may have heard;
For she smiled in her sleep, while the ray
Of the rising dawn spoke joy without a word,
Till the splendor born in the east outburned
The yellow lamplight, pale and thin,
And the open window slowly turned
To the eye of the morning, looking in.
Oh, what do you see in the room, little window, that makes you so bright?
"I see that a child is asleep on her pillow, soft and white,
With the rose of life on her tips, and the breath of life in her breast,
And the arms of God around her as she quietly takes her rest."
poem by Henry Van Dyke
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I Know You Live A Very Simple Life
i know my friend that
you live a very simple life out there
waking up in the morning
working in the office
buying food in the market
watch tv
sleep early at night
wake up early again
listen to the morning news
a visit in the chapel
work in the office again
a chat with friends
a little drink of cali with them
sometimes
and no broken heart to nourish
like a wound that does not heal.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Passing The Time
By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passing The Time
By ginger baker and mike taylor
It is a cold winter,
Away is the songbird.
And gone is her traveller,
She waits at home.
The sun is on holiday,
No leaves on the trees.
The animals sleep
While cold north wind blows.
The snowflakes are falling,
The roof a white blanket.
Theres ice on the window pane,
She waits alone.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Her children are sleeping,
She waits in their home.
Passing the time.
Passing the time.
Everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, drinking red wine.
Passing the time, everything fine.
Passing the time, wine and time rhyme.
Passing the time.
It is a long winter,
Away is the summer.
She waits for her traveller
So far from home.
She sits by the fireside,
The room is so warm.
Theres ice on the window,
Shes lonely alone.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morning Sky
The morning sky
was one of those
cold January mornings
with redness
up there
amongst
the off white clouds
and she said
I dreamt of you last night
And you came into my room
and into my warm bed
and even my sister
didn't know
you were there
and you said
I dreamt
of Marilyn Monroe
and entered
into her room
and tried to get
into her bed
but I didn’t want
to disturb her sleep
so just sat
and watched her
like studying some
fine work of art
then I woke up
to a cold morning
and she said
you were better off
in my dream
where we kissed
and cuddled
but then
my sister woke me
and you disappeared
into the cold morning air
and you said
yes I remember
I dreamt
of being there.
poem by Terry Collett
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Outbreak of Peace
I awakened this morning...
So early I was shakened!
Did I hear someone say...
'There's been an outbreak of peace!
A recipe of peace is in all ovens baking? ! '
Did I hear this correctly?
So I went to the window to see!
And sure enough...
I saw Morning Doves!
Morning Doves at the base of a tree!
I opened the window,
And they chirped and moved on!
Leaving me with a 'song'...
To carry with me all day long!
Something perhaps I reflect,
And can be detected by others...
Who will take and pass it on!
I know something felt different...
Within me.
Yet in my heart it kept singing
Stronger until it longed
To belong.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In The Warm Room
In the warm room
Her perfume reaches you.
Eventually youll fall for her.
Down youll go
To where the mellow wallows.
In the warm room
Shell touch you with your mammas hand.
Youll long to kiss those red lips,
But when you do
Itll feel like kicking a habit.
Shell tell you that shell stay,
So youd better barricade the way out.
Shell tell you shes true.
Shell tell you she loves you.
Shes waiting in that warm room.
In the warm room
She prepares to go to bed.
Shell let you watch her undress,
Go places where
Your fingers long to linger.
In the warm room
Youll fall into her like a pillow.
Her thighs are soft as marshmallows.
Say hello
To the soft musk of her hollows.
Shell tell you that shell stay,
So youd better barricade the way out.
Shell tell you shes true.
Shell tell you she loves you.
Shes waiting in that warm room.
In the warm room.
Shes waiting in that warm room.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early morning rain
Early morning rain
~
Rain taps upon the window
while the faint light of morning
lines the gap between curtains
a halo of pale blue illuminates
the darkness of the room
a cold beyond the duvet
invites a reason not to move
while tired eyes open and close
motionless I lay here listening
to the sound of the rain
like restless fingers drumming
upon the windowpane
in the early hours of morning
I lay awake
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Full Moon By My Window
full moon by my window
dark night as hair
light and warm her body
full moon by my window
i bathe in love
full moon by my window
i breathe happiness
full moon by my window
she is fast asleep in my arms
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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