Skip to main content

. . . at My Old Window Pane

Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.

I gave my beauty away . . .

I gave my beauty away . . .

Life, I'm wondering now, is all that was all I had in me?

All that I gave to others--some had fathers and mothers

But now at deserted window, I stand, so look at me

See through me, know me, just like the few that bothered.

Glancing toward life itself through my window pane.

When little steps took me to this widow sash

Wondering at ants, bugs, that I had to reason

I stood in happy times--at the bugs, I never mashed.

In Christmas here, a birthday there, just another season.

Passin' through my window pane.

In youth, my laughing, at silky things and garden swings

Hiding from a shadow of dragon fly's wings

Hearing my mother's Irish Lullabyes sings.

I'd stand not moving a muscle--not one hair.

Desperately clinging to silent life in the crack of my window pane.

My lovers were few and I was soon broken

Nothing from dark alley is free.

Seeing then that my love was just a token

And lay down quiet so I could see.

Wondering who sees in my window pane.

Passing by in shadows in my window pane.

Soft is the bajou's lure--while skeleton's dig for sudden cute

Watching the sparkle of birth, life, death and unknown

Valley's low on universe shine for failing perfume, it mutes.

I've always been unknown and never known

Always from the groan, always shunning the throne.

Bowing in my window pane

Crying silently in my window pane

Through my parlors, my animals sing

Through my dungeons, I believe

In rainfall letting go of life's flash swing

I thinks I'm failing, falling much rather to leave.

I gave away my beauty, voodoo charm, twinkle of eye

Feeling the stalking death's callus sting.

I am a woman, not werewolf, standing in sty.

Older years taught me care, joy, when babies ring.

I only stood from the rain

Kissing my old window pane.


this exercise in Abstract/Prose delves into two equal dimensions. One with natural life as we know it, the other yet to live. I am not your judge and certainly not your guide. Peace. Be at home before twilight.

© 2018 Kenneth Avery

Related Articles