En.Citatepedia^®.ro

It’s An Error Based Quest

A sun ore with no golden mean
Deictic fingertips pointing at wh-s
Forlorn as answers are dying of clarity

All we were left with were
Those windows whose sight was solely made of glass
And a lady with a bunch of beheaded tulips
Torn taken from this garden of Celan’s
Who no longer leans on a window sill

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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0008 A Woman's World

She was artistic as a student,
sweet-natured, imaginative, not
overly ambitious; a good catch
for him, the fellow student with
the drive, the ambition, the great
family connections.

They married young; she did
what so many girl art students
have done: gave him all her
intelligent support, bore and raised
his children; and in the few brief moments
that she was granted for herself, took out
her student paintbox, and while the kettle boiled,
sat at the kitchen table, and beyond the view of washing-up
part painted that familiar view –
a jug of garden flowers on the kitchen window-sill..

and when he left her for
another strong woman who, however,
sculpted the cutting-edge new abstract thing
she brought up his children by herself

and when they left the nest, and she, now older,
had more time to give to paint,
she returned - as so many artists do –
to that motif, for them an eternal reminder
of that moment when the exalted mind
sees, beyond the kitchen sink,
a glimpse of that great heavenly view
beyond the garden flowers, where
she could walk into that paradise
that eternally awaits
the sweet-tempered heart..

and year by year, the modest
jug of flowers on the window-sill
became herself
and she
became that heavenly view

until the jug of flowers burst into glory
and she did what only ikon painters, praying, do
and gold and silver joined the rainbow paint
to point the way to an eternity
where kitchen sink’s now holy path;
that is more now than now

and she became,
the painting is,
a jug of Eden's flowers on a kitchen window-sill
and with all heaven in its sight

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Spring Song

ALL winter through I sat alone,
Doors barred and windows shuttered fast,
And listened to the wind's faint moan,
And ghostly mutterings of the past;
And in the pauses of the rain,
'Mid whispers of dead sorrow and sin,
Love tapped upon the window pane:
I had no heart to let him in.

But now, with spring, my doors stand wide;
My windows let delight creep through;
I hear the skylark sing outside;
I see the crocus, golden new.
The pigeons on my window-sill,
Winging and wooing, flirt and flout,--
Now Love must enter if he will,
I have no heart to keep him out.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Windows To Bill Gates Or Paul Allen And History Of Windows

window's leaves
windows of open sea
windows as far as possible
windows easier
windows update
window shopper
window tablet
windows on the world
window seat

(Music by The Implicit Order) .

poem by Nicolas Grenier
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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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Golden Lady

Looking in your eyes
Kind of heaven eyes
Closing both my eyes
Waiting for surprise
To see the heaven in your eyes is not so far
Cause Im not afraid to try and go it
To know the love and the beauty never known before
Ill leave it up to you to show it
And golden lady, golden lady
Id like to go there
Golden lady, golden lady
Id like to go there
Take me right away
Looking at your hands
Hands can understand
Waiting for the chance
Just to hold your hand
A touch of rain and sunshine made the flower grow
Into a lovely smile thats blooming
And its so clear to me that youre a dream come true
Theres no way that Ill be losing
And golden lady, golden lady
Id like to go there
Golden lady, golden lady
Id like to go there
Take me right away
A touch of rain and sunshine made the flower grow
Into a lovely smile thats blooming
And its so clear to me that your my dream come true
There is no way that Ill be losing
Golden lady, golden lady
Id like to go there
Golden lady, golden lady
Id like to go there
Repeat and fade

song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mocking Fairy

'Won't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy, nidding, nodding in the garden;
'Can't you look out of your window, Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy, laughing softly in the garden;
But the air was still, the cherry boughs were still,
And the ivy-tod neath the empty sill,
And never from her window looked out Mrs. Gill
On the Fairy shrilly mocking in the garden.

'What have they done with you, you poor Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy brightly glancing in the garden;
'Where have they hidden you, you poor old Mrs. Gill?'
Quoth the Fairy dancing lightly in the garden;
But night's faint veil now wrapped the hill,
Stark 'neath the stars stood the dead-still Mill,
And out of her cold cottage never answered Mrs. Gill
The Fairy mimbling, mambling in the garden.

poem by Walter de la Mare
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A snowflake passed this way

Fragile is the mind
That cannot see a friend
Fragile too is the snowflake
Seeking sanctuary on my window sill
Both are anonymous to the world

The dreamers will see many snow flakes
Whose beauty we can only imitate
Within this gift, there is a place
That reminds us of the summer days to come
A garden for the soul
Where Friends are bees
That pollinates the spirit with love

For you too are part of a fragile world
Seeking life’s journey
A visitor within a snowflake
Beautiful and Unique
Born to melt away
In the heat of time

For it is an honour to know a life that others did not
To be chosen by this snowflake on my window sill
A memory for my garden to keep
And perhaps that is enough for anyone’s existence

poem by Steven Cooke
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Spring Flowers ~ Tulips

Tulips shyly smiling, greet the spring
Tightly closed when at
First we meet
Tulips slowly opening, begin to sing
Gaining volume
Ever sweet

No longer shy, as days grow longer,
Raising their heads
They begin to flirt
Tulips dressed in many a color
Breezes swirling
Each floral skirt

Tulips, brazen painted hussies,
Part their bright lips trying to seduce
The busy buzzing bees
Far too bold for dainty tussies
Vibrant Tulip flowers produce
Visions certain to please

poem by Mary Havran
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The Girl

By a cliff a golden cloud once lingered;
On his breast it slept…

From the swing, from the garden, helter-skelter,
A twig runs up to the glass.
Enormous, close, with a drop of emerald
At the tip of the cluster cast.

The garden is clouded, lost in confusion,
In staggering, teeming fuss.
The dear one, as big as the garden, a sister
By nature-a second glass!

But then this twig is brought in a tumbler
And put by the looking-glass;
Which wonders:-Who is it that blurs my vision,
From the dull, from the prison-class?

poem by Boris Pasternak
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The Brady Bunch

You can watch mr. rogers
You can watch threes company
And you can turn on fame or the nelywed game
Or the addams family
I say, you can watch barney miller
And you can watch your mtv
And you can watch till your eyes fall out of your head
Thatll be ok with me
And you can watch (tv)
You can watch johnny carson
You can watch phil donahue
And you can use tv guide to help you decide
With capsulized review
Say, you can watch 60 minutes
Even captain kangaroo
But theres only one set, so what ever you watch
Well, you know I gotta watch it too
Say, give it up, give it up, televisions taking its toll
Thats enought, thats enough, gimme the remote controll
I been nice, I been good, please dont do this to me
Turn it off, turn it off, I dont want to have to see
The brady bunch
Not the brady bunch
Well, the brady bunch
Yeah, the brady bunch
Its the story of a lovely lady
Who was bringing up three very lovely girls
All of them had hair of gold, like their mother
The youngest one in curls
Its a story of a man named brady
Who was busy with three boys of his own
They were four men living all together
Yeah, but they were all alone
Until the one day, one day when the lady met the fellow
And they knew, and they knew it was much more than a hunch
Then they knew this group must somehow form a family
Thats the way, thats the way, thats the way they all became
The brady bunch
Well, the brady bunch
Yeah, the brady bunch
Well, the brady bunch
Oh, its the brady bunch
Its the brady bunch
Oh, the brady bunch, yeah
Oh, the brady bunch
Its the brady bunch
Well, its the brady bunch
Well, its the brady bunch
Well, its the brady bunch
Its the brady bunch

song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
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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Brick Windows

Been bangin my head against the window
Just trying to see the world outside
Some people say it doesnt matter
Some people take you for a ride
I am covered in blood and broken glass
It seems the window likes to fight
Some people say the worlds on fire
Some people say the worlds on ice
Some people say the worlds on ice
? all alone in a relation
Brick windows
I am sticking my face right through the glass
Just trying to see if the worlds alive
Some people will say the windows broken
Some people will say its all right
Some people will say its all right
Keep bangin my head against the wall oh
Just trying to keep the past alive
Some people who make the windows shatter
Some people who make it airtight
Some people who make it airtight
? all alone in a relation
? all alone in a relation
Brick windows
Brick windows

song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Picture Of Our Little Garden

The sand mound on the left,
And the colourful Zinnias edging it;
With profuse Asters adjacent,
And the triangular red bricks bordering it;

The wide windows artistic grille,
Below are the bright Cannas to the right;
The pale blue curtain over the window sill,
Over looking the blooming Hollyhocks bright;

The dense green leaves of the Radish,
With intermittent Balsams red and white;
The long stalked nodding Cosmos' swish,
All enchant and cheer the mind and sight.

The smooth and slender butterflies,
Both diurnal and crepuscular;
Of various hues fly, sit and rise,
Flit from flower to another flower.

Their wings are held vertically at rest,
Then when they bask in the sun they out-stretch:
Butterflies are Nature's beauteous best,
They to our hearts joy and delight fetch.

The yellow Sunflowers standing tall,
With the tender Jasmine climber to the fore;
Their white fragrant flowers allure all,
The picture perfect garden all of us adore.

poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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The Merry Window

The alabaster legs of the lonely woman
hang from the window like white ensigns
out of the laughing window like false teeth
sheets, flagstaffs, telescopes, rolls of music,
or you would say beheaded necks of swans
or the electric horns of factories
where foreign dreams are nightly fabricated.

Yearning for her coal once heaved in the seam
for her the sewers shrieked their way through London
and pigeons ate each other in the air.

But the deserted lady is frozen to the marrow
her heart has floated into her left leg
and her forked tongue asks in three languages
for a bassoon, a pyramid, and an egg.

All the white birds have flown out of her lips
the Polar Bear has eaten her left breast
her eyes are covered with yellow webs of dust,
in fact she is what a Saint would call abandoned
since even her own self has forgotten her.

poem by Francis Scarfe
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A Radio With Guts

it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I'd tell my woman,
"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"
the next morning I'd take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I'd take the window
back to the glass man.
I don't remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.

poem by Charles Bukowski
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The Garden

My heart is a garden tired with autumn,
Heaped with bending asters and dahlias heavy and dark,
In the hazy sunshine, the garden remembers April,
The drench of rains and a snow-drop quick and clear as a spark;

Daffodils blowing in the cold wind of morning,
And golden tulips, goblets holding the rain --
The garden will be hushed with snow, forgotten soon, forgotten --
After the stillness, will spring come again?

poem by Sara Teasdale
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Babykills

Shes a revolution, anarchy in hell
On high heels
I get called the villain
Washin down my love with her pills
Lips are speakin chaos, but her eyes are
As blue as the sea
She carries mothers bible
Mixes valium with her beliefs
And you know she gets me high
Ive see flowers and razors in her hair
Shes walkin trouble with an innocence
Ill just sit here thinkin on my window sill
She keeps me high, miss babykills
Shes sugar but shes spicy, licks the
Venom off her lips
Dressed like a school girl
Loves her poisoned fingertips
I just know I love her, she sent
From above for me
And you know she gets me high
Ive see flowers and razors in her hair
Shes talkin trouble with an inner sense
Ill just sit here thinkin on my window sill
She keeps me high, miss babykills

song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Because You Were Beautiful

Because you were beautiful
The frost formed fingerprints, on window glass
As if to touch your shoulder, when you pass;
Or write in code, your name upon the leaves
So that it shows, whenever something breathes,
Because you were beautiful

Because you were beautiful
The storm left grayish teardrops on the sill,
A keepsake of the stillness it must feel
After angry clouds have left the sky,
And the birds and wildlife breathe a sigh:
Because you were beautiful

Because you were beautiful
This heart has felt the shadow of your grace,
Wherever loveliness has left its trace;
And songs I heard beside you, on the earth
Became the stars above us, giving birth-
Because you were beautiful

poem by Patti Masterman
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Storm Windows

People are putting up storm windows now,
Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain
Drove them indoors. So, coming home at noon,
I saw storm windows lying on the ground,
Frame-full of rain; through the water and glass
I saw the crushed grass, how it seemed to stream
Away in lines like seaweed on the tide
Or blades of wheat leaning under the wind.
The ripple and splash of rain on the blurred glass
Seemed that it briefly said, as I walked by,
Something that I should have liked to say to you,
Something . . .the dry grass bent under the pane
Brimful of bouncing water . . . something of
A swaying clarity which blindly echoes
This lonely afternoon of memories
And missed desires, while the wintry rain
Unspeakable the distance in the mind!)
Runs on the standing windows and away.

poem by Howard Nemerov
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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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