BEHIND THE WINDOW SILL AND OTHER POEMS,
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.
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