My window to the world

Sitting here in quiet
by my window to the world
I’m high enough too watch
things down below unfurled

It’s peaceful here, cathartic
so with pen my words they flow
and occasionally I’ll take a look
outside my world window

Of windows and gold

We have a window
to look to the world
and watch every day
as life is unfurled
For me it’s a garden
as nature’s fair hand
paints changing pictures
of my bit of land

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Dusk

Faster, the light docks in its crawl. The hall
between her breasts burns like a lemon. The seeds
in her eyes she veils with her arm, dips
her cherry chin,

Westward Window

Sierra, my home. Bedroom the sky. Holyholy zoom, the eagles,
directing my eyes I am a habitué, dawdling gazer with
a wide brimmed hat, flounder(er) with my words I trip over
the too large robe of my praises.

Whistler

Grasses bob, the trees press, expand; press, expand as lungs.
Loyal speaker, who spake the first murmurings – whistler at the window.
What’s that? Faces stack, knotholes of wisps in the darkness,
agape and wakeful just as I, truculent foreheads, lined lips, I’ve a wife
who died, is she there? Another unholy moaner outside, watchful.

The Eye Series:

There’s something…
there in her eyes.
For a moment
it flashes then fades.

Close The Blinds

He saw children all around him full of laughter
Homemade toys or whatever they could find
Simpler times, not feeling they’d missed a thing
Back when children showed respect and were kind.

By The Window Sill

Life, to be lived by a window sill
To savor when you have time still
Let in some light as world passes by