Looking far into the nighttime sky
Where illusions fill spaces passing by
Yet sometimes there is a streak of light
And wishes have this brief grace of time
Until tomorrow becomes sanitized
Looking out from my sequestered room
Noticing some flowers on trees have bloomed
Yet from their branches strong winds have hewn
And petals fly like a happy tune
Until their beauty spirals out of view
Looking at frozen snapshots of time
Remembering when the warm Sun would shine
So often our frolic was sweet wine
And we filled our cups with the divine
Until the writing on the wall struck Midnight
Looking for signs in a maze of doubt
Our footprints on the beach the waves washed out
To the sea and past the grand lighthouse
Watching the light so silently shout
Until we drifted past the clanging warning bell
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Comments: 53
And petals fly like a happy tune
Until their beauty spirals out of view
I've noticed that one of the primary truths that give value to beauty if their temporariness. Only a week or two to see the new green of budding leaves on trees; half an hour to see the black clouds roll ing. A week to see the fresh bloom of flowers on some of our spring trees. Only 1 year to watch our one yr old before they forever leave that year behind.
If the leaves in your poem above were a permanent fixture they wouldn't hold the yearning and mystery you reveal as they their tune immidiately dissolves in the distance.
Until their beauty spirals out of view"
And there we have it. The petals love to fly, and we have to say good bye...
Fantastic Bill!
You struck some magic in your writing and you took us from the beauty of petals fresh to petals in the wind but now with another beauty. Bravo Bill.
When did I last see a popsicle? Do you still get them in the US?
Would the writing on the wall have read; "MENE, MENE, TEKEL, PARSIN." ?
that I felt while reading this poem way to many feelings.
of poetry. I hope I get to have a copy of your poetry when it is published, and I know it will have to be, you are so very good William, and not pretentious, that is so important, it is the reader that you please that will make you famous.
There word sequestered room has nothing to do with a real physical place, but is a metaphor for all of the experiences that your memory relives. It's a bit more complex than just that, but I just wanted to clear this matter.
I must admit I am very pleased that most of you easily understood this poem.
Fred, Yes Popsicles are still sold here and rumor has it that they are all made in Wisconsin on a llama farm.
Arlene,
West Bremerton flowers
I wish I could give you more than ten stars for this.
Looking at frozen snapshots of time
creates a spark in the soul.Memories are always to be treasured coz each time they come with a great vision.
Excellent
But then I did not read most of the comments.
Where illusions fill spaces passing by"
You captured my imagination immediately with these phrases. How much of what I see is reality and how much is illusion?
Glome's comment was very helpful, also.
me to understand your poem William. The last line was
a snag for me too and Marge got me the answer.
And Wlima is such a hoot! Send popsicles to Fred to feed wild animals.
I love it.
new: Flight of the phoenix part -2*: