From the biography of an unknown woman: XL
Looking out through the window
She saw a sky of melancholy
In shades of ink-blue and black
In the ticking of the clock on the wall
She heard the loud and clear hollowness
Filling the empty room
Some stray memories sweet and bitter
Simply struggled like a flickering candle
Placed on the window sill
In the distant night is heard
Painful whining of dogs
As she struggled to close
The window against the blowing wind
13sep2010
14.14hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Related quotes
Forcing The Window To Flow
At the window, rain drives
Drizzles and drizzles glow and go
Pushing and loosing the window to and fro
And some-one asked, who is at the window?
Pushing and pushing the window and dash?
In the dark of the night free and roll
Going for the next fresh candle of the day
At the window a hand goes and more, who is at the window?
She cried and roared the mall
And forced the window and banged and go.
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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A Candle In The Window
Written by susan longacre, walt aldridge, and gary baker
Theres a road that I remember leading to a special place
Where the door was always open to a smiling face
Theres a picture on the mantle of a boy that looks like me
Its always the same, theres a stocking with my name
And a candle in the window, a flame against the night
Theres a candle in the window, its like gods perfect light
It dont take a lot of money to know what riches are
Just a candle in the window
Maybe its just wishful thiking I can hear the sleigh bells ring
Almost taste teh pie shes baking, its christmas eve
And theres a candle in the window, a flame against the night
The candle in the window, its like gods perfect light
It dont take a lot of money to know what riches are
Just a candle in the window and christmas in your heart
Wherever the years may take me no matter how far I go
Theres going to be a candle burning, its always nice to know
It dont take a lot of money to know what riches are
Just a candle in the window and christmas in your heart
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Room
(chris waters/tom shapiro)
When I pull in the drive where your car used to be
It doesnt hurt me like it used to
I can walk through the door, and not wonder anymore
Where you are, like I used to
I can go down the hall, see the pictures on the wall
And not miss you
But I just cant bring myself to go into..
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Id remember too much if I opened that door
And Im not sure if I could face it
The beds emptiness would remind me youre with
Someone else, and I couldnt take it
So, I sleep on the couch in our living room now
Since our love died
cause Im still not ready yet to go inside...
The room
Where I spent every night with you
And the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
Where the light of the moon
Came through the window
And I held you
We were so close
And its just too soon
For me to go into the room
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Window
I was staring out the window
The whole time he was talking to me
It was a filthy pane of glass
I couldn't get a clear view
As he went on and on
It wasn't the outside world I could see
Just the filthy pane that I was looking through
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
I was never focused on just one thing
My eyes got fixed when my mind got soft
It may looked like I'm concentrated on a very clear view
But I'm as good as asleep
I bet you didn't know
It takes a lot of it away if you do
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
Because the fact in fact
Whatevers in front of me is covering my view
So I can't see what I'm seeing in fact
I only see what I'm looking through
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window
Then forget what I had to say
So again I've done the right thing
I was never worried about that
The answer's always been in clear view
But even when the window's clean
I still can't see for the fact
That when it's clean it's so clear
I cant tell what I'm looking through
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window
Then forget what I had to say
I had to break the window
It was in my way
Better that I break a window
Then forget what I had to say
Or miss what I should see
Or breaking him or her or me
song performed by by Fiona Apple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Extremes
I
A little boy once played so loud
That the Thunder, up in a thunder-cloud,
Said, 'Since I can't be heard, why, then
I'll never, never thunder again!'
II
And a little girl once kept so still
That she heard a fly on the window-sill
Whisper and say to a lady-bird,--
'She's the stilliest child I ever heard!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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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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The Sounds
i heard the sound of the clock ticking
some things come
i am remembering these some things
burnt, and melting in my forehead,
i like the sound of the ticking of grandfather's
clock at night, i hear footsteps
and drippings of water
from the gutter to the floor
the window is closed and the wind makes
the sound of someone caught between
door jambs, creaking sounds creeping
on the wall, something is terrible, really terrible
and i turn my body to the left side,
there is this storm, and the strong rain comes
with the grunting wind, and trees are falling
unto each other, i hear leaves and twigs,
and the roof wanting to leave the house,
something is terribly happening on this night
of the suicidal darkness, the shimmer of the river
looks like a stainless knife
who's there? i ask the door. The mirror on the other
side answers, how dare you?
it is nobody. it is just myself, my mouth answers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Absence
My cup is empty to-night,
Cold and dry are its sides,
Chilled by the wind from the open window.
Empty and void, it sparkles white in the moonlight.
The room is filled with the strange scent
Of wistaria blossoms.
They sway in the moon's radiance
And tap against the wall.
But the cup of my heart is still,
And cold, and empty.
When you come, it brims
Red and trembling with blood,
Heart's blood for your drinking;
To fill your mouth with love
And the bitter-sweet taste of a soul.
poem by Amy Lowell
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The Case Of The Window Pain
an astute answer
discerning shrewd
would surely mention
this wit must be
personification
of a window pane
as for the window pain
perhaps the window is shamed
perhaps the window is dirty
as for the window pain
perhaps the glass is cracked
small large cracks streaked
as for the window pain
perhaps cricket ball punctured
victim of circle game holed
as for the window pain
perhaps the window is broken
glass shards bear crime witness
as for the window pain
perhaps window frame rots
an old window in house derelict
as for the window pain
perhaps the window witnesses
child abuse domestic scenes violent
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Girl At The Window
In the town lived a girl so fair
Her mother would not dare
To let her anywhere
She was a lonely girl
John and paul and ringo and george
Were playing lovely tunes
From the window of her room
By the light of the moon
Hey girl there at the window I wish you would come and see me
Ive got so much to tell you so much I want you to see
In the fields lived a lonely boy
Whod wander every night
Just to see her window light
Then he was happier
Then hed sit upon the ground
Just to listen to the sound
Of the music going round
And he would call to her
Hey girl there at the window I wish you would come and see me
Ive got so much to tell you so much I want you to see
One night her mother said I think its time for bed
The little girl crept down the stairs free as a bird
Hey girl there at the window I wish you would come and see me
Ive got so much to tell you so much I want you to see
She met the boy sitting on the ground
And they listened to the sound
Growing distant as they found
They were happy now
Hey girl there at the window I wish you would come and see me
Ive got so much to tell you so much I want you to see
(repeat)
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Concerned
i imagine you alone in bed
with a wound
blood drips but you are tactful
on this matter
you put cotton and apply
the needed pressure
to stop the bleeding
of your heart
then you stand up
head high
look over the window
take a deep breath
and smile to the passing
wind
this is life
these are the accompanying pains of birth
the obedience to the cycle
and then it rains
you close the glass window
the strong wind cannot be heard
with its murmurs
you go back to bed
and sleep
with all the peace and quiet inside
the room
of your soul
this is the acceptance
less all the denials.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hours By The Window
Day and night
By the window
Of my mind
There you are
In the courtyard
One last time
The singing of a famous song Ive never heard before
A man without a shadow slowly walking past my door
My mind projects a face soon to be free of misery
The chiming of some distant bell that echoes in my heart
A dance upon the flagstones to the music of the stars
A mothers name that lingers on a soothing summers breeze
All alone I said no prayers today
I couldnt kneel to please the God that failed you
Now youre gone Ill sit and spend each day
Hours by the window
Morning comes
To my rescue
Once again
Whispers in the corridor and footsteps in the hall
My only point of reference now the sunlight on the wall
It draws me to the window where my dreams are memories
A step beyond the line where sunken eyes avert their gaze
An endless tract of time reveals a thousand silent ways
All searching for an answer to lifes deepest mysteries
On the ocean of pure time I sail away
I go and these four walls will not contain me
Maybe there Ill see your face again
Hours by the window
All alone I said no prayers today
I couldnt kneel to please the God that failed you
What Id give to see your face again
Hours by the window
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Outside My Window - Sarah Buxton
Outside my window,
I see a redbird singin',
Sittin' on a wire,
Wish I knew what he's thinkin'.
Outside my window,
I see a couple kissin'.
Huggin and a-lovin',
Man, that's just what I've been missin'.
These days, when everything is crazy,
Some things are never, ever changin'.
(chorus)
You still need stars when you're wishin' at night,
A best friend to set you right,
A good laugh, a warm bath,
And a beautiful song you can sing along to.
Good news that'll make you cry,
All the little things that money can't buy,
No wars, no more,
Just a big rainbow
Outside my window.
La la la la la la.
Outside my window,
I see the bluest ocean,
Sails in the sunlight,
Rockin' in the sweetest motion.
Outside my window,
I hear the church bells ringin',
Nobody fightin',
Over what hymn they're singin'.
I know, I'm dreamin' like a child,
But some things just don't go out of style, like:
(chorus)
La la la la la la.
(Outside my window.)
La la la la la la.
Outside my window,
I see a flag that's wavin',
Hands joined together,
Everybody's celebrating. (Yeah!)
La la la la la la.
Outside my window.
La la la la la la.
Everybody look outside my window.
(chorus)
La la la la la la.
(Outside my window.)
La la la la la la.
(Outside my window.)
La la la la la la.
(Outside my window.)
La la la la la la.
(Everybody look outside my window.)
La la la la la la.
(Live...live.)
La la la la la la.
Oh, oh.
(Outside, outside.)
La la la la la la.
(Live...live.)
La la la la la la.
(Outside my window.)
La la la la la la.
(Live...live.)
(Outside, outside.)
(Outside my window.)
La la la la la la.
poem by Rebecca Ryan
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Shadows in My Own Rhyme
here is the cloud shadows ran outside the window, sucking the dewy liquid air, not resist, what is called today? never falling into the sky, the green memories, grazed to the flat lands, once on the edge of the memory, the hunt for is almost over, only be a voice murmur, singing in uncertainty, the wind always blows deliver the weather news, his voice barely audible, crying is just a trickle of water that soaks the window, 'when would you arrive? ' sit in the center of indecision, the wind kept blowing, silent window, shadows recorded on this poem.
1991
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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What You Do Not Expect....
you are on your
way to the tenth floor
go inside
the room and closed
the door
open the window
and get some fresh
air from
the sea
you sit on the
window sill
and the people
down the street
go panicky
you are whistling
a song
and all the while
they are praying
that you do not
jump
from that
high....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Optical Illusion
Optical Illusion
It was an old rabbit, glass eyed and stuffed, that sat on
a window sill it also had a bald spot on top of its head,
petted by children who knew it was alive. The window it
sat by faced the woods and on a day when window was
open, and it was a day in May, it vanished. Hunters had
seen it jump through the air fast as a midnight shadow.
A rich man bought the woods chopped down trees and
filled in the tarn, where it often had been seen smiling to
its own image. This so he could get a trophy on his wall
and be famous as the man who shot the phantom rabbit.
He went insane all he could find was a yellow plastic duck.
A stuffed rabbit sits on the window sill it has glass eyes,
a bald spot on top of its head; snowing outside it deeply
sighs good to be indoors on a day like this.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Old House
The candle flame flickers from a draft
on a dark and stormy night,
the floorboards creak with every step
as I move about the old house.
There is a chill in the air,
that seems to be everywhere,
and the clock’s tick sounds louder
as time passes hour to hour.
I hear the thunder rumble in the night
and see lightning illuminate the sky
and I stop and listen intently
to the yawns and groans that echo in my ears.
The old house’s settling graces
that are always heard in the quiet of the night.
My heart beats against my chest
as my imagination begins to fly.
I breath in the musty air within the room
where I am about to sleep.
Everywhere the shadows move
under the light of my flickering candle.
I know the old house is not haunted,
but my mind tells me other wise.
My imagination creates noises
where the dancing shadows fall.
I gaze about suspiciously
knowing that there is nothing there
as a branch outside taps my window
wanting to come in out of the storm.
The curtains move from a draft
as if something is sheltering behind them.
All of which make my mind
thinks of ghost stories I have been told.
In bed, I slip under the cover,
and then blow the candle out
as something gets on the bed
resting across my legs for the night.
My ears detect the slightest sound
in the blackness that surrounds me
and I am blind to everything
on this stormy moonless night.
The streaks of dawn break through the window
and the terrors of the night have fled.
I smile at my imagination
as I lay there with the cat upon the bed.
The old house is reputed to be haunted,
but take it from one who lives there
that the only ghosts are our imagination
and on dark and stormy nights it grows.
5 June 2010
poem by David Harris
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Two Grey Rooms
Tomorrow is sunday
Now theres only one day left to go
Till you walk by
Below my window
The weekends drive me mad
Holidays are oh too sad
cause you dont go
Below my window
No one knows Im here
One day I just disappeared
And I took these two grey rooms up here
With a view
When you walk by
Below my window
You look so youthful
Time has been untruthful
Heaven knows I loved you
30 years ago
Hot days your shirts undone
Rainy days you run
Oh and then you fade so fast
Below my window
No one knows Im here
One day I just disappeared
And I took these two grey rooms up here
With a view
Only when you walk by
Below my window
When you walk by
Below my window
Below my window
Hey hey
Below my window
Below my window
Below my window
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Little Pill
Whats a single woman with no real man 2 do?
Tryin 2 raise your kid when he couldnt give a damn about u
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
Everytime I pop my little pill
A pixie does my laundry and the universe my will
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
All my cares and troubles dive right off my window sill
Everytime I pop my little pill
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Late August
There’s a chilly wind blowing this morning,
the black-collard barbet
flies into my study’s window
as if it can go right through it,
the big brown Labrador jumps
with locking jaws
trying to snatch it from the air,
there’s menace creeping into the morning,
menace coming from somewhere,
both dogs jump and try
to snap the postman’s hand in two,
while he is putting letters
in the mailbox,
last night the police
made a ruckus at two in the morning,
at the neighbours across the street,
hooted the neighbourhood awake
and as a mistake
was at the wrong address
and when I got back to bed,
I thought that I had heard something
and in t-shirt and shorts
went to investigate
with a shotgun in my hands
but it was only the wind
rustling through the trees,
blowing as it did
from the beginning of time.
This morning felt like Monday,
as if going to work
after a weekend
brought the responsibilities of living
back to me again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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