Window

Millers and shads whirl about
in the agora on the other side
of the window
— out in the night, trying
to come through to the light
above me and recline here
on the windowseat, writing.

Some bounce on and off the glass;
others stagger, wander in curves
more frantic close to the light.
I look out into the dark,
seeing them, but past them,
in phantom seeing myself
regarding me. And that
self exists only in light;
in shadow there is nothing.

As a pastel on black
I exist only as light
dabs and smears of pink
and grey viewed through
a medium of staggering
frantic millers and shads
more real than I.

Later, the light will extinguish;
they will calm and probably
depart. With dawn, I shall
Push anxiously against
my side of the window . . . .

(Visited 21 times, 1 visits today)
FavoriteLoadingAdd to favorites

About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Window

  1. charlie says:

    I like the way this one builds out of its prosy descriptive beginnings to the power of the last couple of stanzas — in particular the view of the poet, the self — body, soul, whatever — as a few dabs of pastel and light against the darkness, REFLECTED dabs, the lot of it viewed through a “medium of staggering frantic millers.” It just so beautifully captures the elusiveness of consciousness and identity and self-awareness. I like then the way you take it beyond that into the new reality of the morning. You do that so well, zip the reader to a new perspective, which puts everything that has come before into yet another context. You’ve really developed a vocabulary and a map for your exploration of these mysteries, Doug. With every poem, now, I get the sense of gradually accumulating forces, images, process, observation, which I know is going to leap at some point onto another plane of insight. It’s exciting to read.

    Best, Charlie

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *