Tag Archives: Windowsill

Rain – part I (day 2261)

The dog barked loudly that night
As rain came pouring down our windowsills
As if there were a man
Standing just outside
Heaving heavy buckets full
Of water as a stream.
Eventually I cursed enough
That I threw on my thick raincoat
And ploughed through the yard
Looking for anything suspicious –
Dog at my side leading the way.
We rounded the barn
To see the chicken house door
Standing open, no chickens yet escaped
Flapping in the wind.
Crouched over was a man inside
A few egg shells around his muddy boots
Still dripping fairly heavily.

part II

Valiant Horses (day 1609)

Without a lying centaur
There is hardly room for flight,
Hardly time to come around
Into the battle ground

Without a thousand windowsills
Fighting to see the light,
I’d never be able to win a lady
Like eyes of my dear Queen Night.

Without a legend to run away
Into the darkest fight,
What good would valiant horses have
If days were love and gait.

Without a trail of mystery
What good would bows and arrows be?
If animals had thicker skin;
My time is coming in.

Ashram Day 16 (day 1419)

Dance with me now
Through effortless flow:
Thick overgrown trail,
Dandelion row.

Dance with me now
On windowsills: old,
Like old and refreshed;
Long love letters confessed.

Dance with me now
Where colors match rainbows,
In tropical poison
I am your randsom.

Dance with me now
Sunrise to sunset,
Typeset and subset,
Tea set with chocolate.

Roses are Beautiful (day 1159)

My grandmother tells me that roses are beautiful,
That common sense is all around us.
She tells me that stars float on at night and
Clouds make perfect animals
Which change upon a whim.
She has upon her windowsill
An old foot I’ve always admired.
It holds in it (like a steady hand)
Utensils ready for marking.
To its right: new words for every day.
Never a day goes by without
Her graceful way of flipping.
With all her heart the words so dear,
Hold powers of deep providence.
And from that table, when sitting to dine
Upon a chair plumped by two softening cushions,
One can see through a window of far off China mountain.
More importantly, however, a quite a bit closer
In fact – just below her window,
Is a bush grown wild from years
Unceasingly blooming so.
It’s a rose, and she knows
How beautiful it is.