Poetry Run

Bedroom Window

So one has to take a break from the prosaic now and then…my “vacation” has been a  return to my roots in poetry. Normally this would be a dangerous thing, possibly leading to over-written prose  when I return to story-telling, but I’ve flipped the danger on its head, and applied the economical language of my stories to my current verses. Here’s a sample I tied up just this morning…if you want more, visit my Medium pages, where I’ve recently posted loads of the little things.


beyond the window
is the world
which begins
right there, right
on the windowsill:
a shaped slab of wood
dressed in cracked white paint
paint patterned with last year’s rain
in swirls of dust, a dead spider
rampant in one corner
under a tangle of web

dust made of trucksmoke, of
the rubbing of countless tires
against asphalt streets
made of the primordial soil
lifted by winds born of time and sun
dressing the cracked paint
waiting for rain to shape it

and beyond the dust, the world
human and inhuman
the crowded world spins away
to a glaring horizon
roofs trees roads hills ocean
vibrating and still under the sun
under a tired white sky
sky full of hacking birds
full of blowing dust

this side of the windowsill
in little cubes we’ve cut out from the universe
the world is clean and cool
dust sucked up by merciless machines
painted walls kept patched and smooth
all tidy and rectangular
we brag how neat it stays
point to photographs in jointed frames
show visitors the view

all the while the breeze leans in
with the world in its hands
and dust settles on the windowsill
to await the rain


Rick Risemberg