Behind the Window-sill (I)
The impending silence
Stood upon the walls,
As the sounds of the winds moaning
Left the hazes right to where
The fog mushed up
The ardour behind the window-sill.

The hushing sounds were
Gravest to their unknown fears,
Yet the breakthrough of touches –
The warmth, bliss, and energy
All lighted up in that room,
Spilled down all the woes
As the feelings simmered
To the mists of the window-sill.

Beautifully they went,
In their own rhythmic ways –
To times endured
With the crash
Of the starlit waves

When Doubts Gleam…
Doubts glisten in on me
As I watch the life furl over
The words of the door-room
As the life that I reap forth
Know the beats to familiar rhythms,
So to bend it back in
Is to show them that the wise ways
Can send the end-shackles to the wisdom war,
Yet the wisdom war may not amount to
All that the must-haves may have found to
Kettle me to the breeze.
To say that I am a breeze in a scone
Is to filter it all down to the dust,
For life was set to the musk
Of the moments,
And to endear it all to a deep circumstance,
Is to lend out a hand,
To the ways met with glory, grace, finesse,
When the touchlines get met,
With the points of nobility.

There I kept
My sudden stillness
In the light of the glory spoken
With notes of rhyme and gold,
And now all that’s been told
May amount to a spectre of all that
Lusted forth in the town-ends of truth,
All loose,
To the end in rhymes.

Shower Cream
To wash off all the grimes

And to wash off all the sins

Is to be at the soap and the suds,

Yet to wash out all the fears

Is to be the very years

Of a dasher past the night-brooks

Worn down.

The bubbles smelled of great lavenders

And peonies to match,

As I start from scratch

To shower my life to the greatest times

Past the sins and the deeds and the sweat and the grime,

Past the comforts of the jumpers too,

All washed -

To heal my life to the bone.


No comments:

Blogger Widgets
Powered by Blogger.