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Here I am, busy

While the Creator quietly

Gives me miraculous fruit.

Copyright 2018: Heather Forster

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window seat
the mystery unfolds—
origami moon

© 2018 Michelle Heidenrich Barnes. All rights reserved.

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Lonely, naked Oak,

what are you waiting for?

Days of beaming sun,

a monsoon cloud to pour?

Warm enough for Ash –

its tender leaves came first.

Other Oaks have bloomed

and leafed despite their thirst.

If I write a poem

of all the leaves I’ve seen,

Lonely, naked Oak,

will you, at last, turn green?

Juanita Havill ©2018

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Light floods the yard.
Scanning, cats and I

seek the intruder.

Frozen in the grass,

it waits, watching.

A small, brown lump

convinced it’s hidden.

Darkness resumes.

A nose wiggles, a tail twitches.

Two careful steps.

The light blares again,

cats scrabble against glass,

and the rat runs back into the woods.

© Maria Marshall 2018

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Looked out this window

many days and

watched winter snow

pile up

and bury the earth and life within.

Naked trees braved the bitter wind

Me, too.

But now

outside this window,

robins nest, daffodils wink,

squirrels hurry-scurry

maples bud and

worms wiggle.

I take a breath,

long and slow and deep.

Thank you, Spring.

by Sandie Vaisnoras

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All 3 Window Poems are accessible at my post: http://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2018/05/window-poems.html
Window Poem #3 is below.

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backyard gone wild

the grass needs cutting
desperately

it is too late, now...
three young rabbits have found
their world

© Diane Mayr

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outside my window
cardinal feeds seeds to his mate
love birds

copyright 2018 Dianne Moritz

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Smiling, winking, big, round moon,

Shooting moonbeams in my room.

Shining in the sky so bright,

Lighting up the dark, dark night.

Good-night, moonbeams.  Good-night, room.

Good-night, good-night, big round moon.

Copyright, 2018, Dianne Moritz

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Crooked grin in the night sky,

are you the Cheshire Cat

or a waxing crescent moon

teasing the stars to twinkle?

Copyright, 2018, Rosi Hollinbeck

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A looking glass of pages open
Into worlds unknown
Hooves of green sprout branches
With cotton flowered tails
Petals and raindrops showers
Streak down glass papers of spring
Rumbling chug-a-choos ghostly in midnight
Flowery friendly lions pounce playfully
Greening dragons spilled across summer hillsides
Fiery tangerine kites fill October trees
A looking glass of pages open
Into worlds unknown
Scatters of powdery footprints appear
Whose are they?
Where do they go?
Across the frozen river
Lays a village of snowy words
A looking glass of pages open
Into worlds unknown
As we rest beneath starry skies

© Jessica Bigi

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Sky welcomes morning

Cornflower and cumulus

Mirrored down below

Afternoon sparkles

Dance upon charcoal water

Sunshiny diamonds

Sunset upon glass

A brilliant double image

Coral rose lilac

Deepening twilight

Horizon disappearing

Ochre indigo

Midnight ebony

Crescent moon a tilted smile

Twinkling Polaris

Mindy Gars Dolandis © 2018

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by Linda Baie

A peek outside at dawn, a glow, a blush,
a cloudless sky upon which sun rays pen
a summer day of welcome for the wren
with eggs to guard, a statue in the hush.

Then bunnies bound from whereabouts unknown.
They play while I imagine Mother near,
a second parent holding children dear.
I reminisce of days passed with my own.

A breeze plays with the leaves across the lawn
which early walkers scatter bunnies' play.
Eyes linger at the window, turn away.
My memories will serve to keep the dawn.

I celebrate my window-gazing morn,
the time to note another day is born.

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The wind is at work
with an artist’s eye -
smudging the clouds
high in the sky

swooshing the branches
of swaying trees
with an action palette
from gale to breeze

loosening leaves
in spiralling whirls
stippling the ocean
in shifting swirls.

Tossing spume
to catch the light
lifting spindrift
into flight

The wind out there

Begins to keen –

My window frames
these shifts of scene
and here inside,

my world’s serene.

© Kate O'Neil

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How do they know which way to turn

when their thousands fill the sky?

It seems a dance they all must learn

or the pattern goes awry.

A river of dots, veers and twists,

pirouettes through atmosphere.

Soaring they become black mist,

stream over a hill and disappear.

Copyright, 2018, Rosi Hollinbeck

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She’s one with
the forest,
gray as
streaming rain on
choppy pools of brown;
where shadows
(or are they reflections?)
stretch straight,
diagonal, perpendicular
and parallel;
A squirrel arcs
through the puddled
leaves
a wake of chatter;
It stops, then climbs,
clattering, pattering the green
watercolored wings.
Delicate shells turn,
swivel to gather
sounds
atop a dot-to-dot
triangle of eyes
and nose;
still and steady.
Then log becomes
a body,
saplings are legs.
A stomp, a snort
and all is disappeared,
quick as
a snowball
shooting through the trees -
the background returns;
She’s one with
the forest.

by Donna JT Smith ©2018

*I watched this deer, along with a gray squirrel as I sat at my writing spot window. It always has the best stuff going on out there.

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There’s a window where the fishes swim
And watch the world go by;
A place much like the sky I see
Where birds and bees can fly.
But this is deeper darker than
The emptiness of sky,
And though we can go there a while
We only seem to pry.
What do they think, those fishes there
When they see people try
To talk to them, then point at them?
Do fishes ever cry?
Are we disturbing privacy
As we’re comfortable and dry?
And when the lights go off at night
Do gills emit a sigh?
Do they imagine they're in the sea
Where darkness can belie?
Do they for hours rest and relax
Away from prying eye?
Too bad if you have stage fright,
Too bad if you are shy;
We have a fishy window seat - but
Do you likewise, our world descry?

By Donna JT Smith, ©2018

*I just saw this as a window...maybe doesn't exactly follow the "theme", but it just happened.

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I look out of windows,
in Japan where I stay,
I see rooftops,
Chimneys made of clay.

Rats scramble over shops,
And fly across flats,
I begin to imagine,
Urban hilltops.

Where ninjas battle,
And samurai’s hold sway,
Where fears are far,
And nerves don’t fray.

The train screams,
Pulling in the station,
I look down,
To see a Gaijin Invasion.

By Angelique Pacheco,  © 2018

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He eyed my peach tree,
I swear he knew.
I wanted them for jam,
I had more than a few.

He hopped up to one,
Bit right through.
Then hopped to another ,
Tilted his head skew.

I knew that look,
I’d seen it on kids.
I grabbed my broom,

To the skies he flit.

He chattered quite rudely,

I won’t repeat what he said.
I felt victorious,
And went to bed.

I woke the next morning,
My mouth was watering.
For the lovely peach jam,
I would be making.

And wouldn’t you know it?
That rat of a bird,
Had taken one bite,
And left a third.

I muttered and spluttered,
And shook my fist.
He cackled with laughter,
At his clever twist.

I plucked the peaches,
Cut away the eaten bits.
And made the jam,
Using culinary wits.

I sit by the window,
Eating my toast.
It is I who cackle now,
Isn’t that the most?

By Angelique Pacheco

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By David McMullin

The bush is too tall.
I believe life is going on beyond it.
I believe.
Are those the neighbors' voices?
Was that the flash of a passing car?
The bush is too tall to know.
I should have trimmed it before spring.
Now, the approaching heat of summer makes the chore seem like a chore.
Is that a dog on my lawn?
A rabbit?
A branch?
Nothing at all?
The bush is too tall.

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French colors flying

bistro table set for two

waiting for summer

by Kathleen Mazurowski

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I look out my window and all I see is a brick wall
Standing tall and firm as if standing to attention
There's no grass no flowers nothing to see apart
From those walls
Driving me mad to see the sun poking slightly through
A garden so boring a baron concrete land
I do wish someone would give me a hand

Walls can be painted I wander so I give my self a chance
For all I can think is walls surrounding this small yard
The birds are singing and seem to be having a dance
Whilst flying over the walls

But that's not all I see out of my window you will be
Shocked I'm sure that by the wall looking all safety and
Neglected is a worn out old sofa all ripped and torn
There's also a rusty barbecue that doesn't get used
oh the good times I do recall now that's all gone
please wait whilst my tears subside
I remember the laughter the fun in the sun even just two of us
Those walls keep us safe from any attack but don't keep that big ginger cat
Up he jumps onto the wall meowing and scratching
to get some attention so really you see it's not that bad methinks
but I'd rather look out to flowers and grass but that's not the case
So make do with this and don't you agree
that whilst I'm looking out the window you would make me a cup of tea
so I can look out for big ginger the pesky 🐈

Poem by Melanie Jayne Eaton

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Outside my window

morning light grows

the glassy-eyed chipmunk

yesterday’s gift from my cat

still lies on the granite step

Last night

snarls ripped through

the dark

My fervent calls

yielded no response

just furtive rustling

in the shadowed woods

I slipped back indoors

into uneasy sleep

Outside my window

morning light grows

the chipmunk remains

my cat does not appear.

©2018 M. Hogan

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Beneath a golden spring sun

In a paper blue sky,

Sparrow dusts feathers

And robin wets wings;

Bluejay call-screeches

While cardinal sings.

Bee blisses blossoms

And willow boughs sway,

Cat hides and seeks

While shadows ballet .  .  .

Nature's rhythm          at play

© 2018 Cory Corrado

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This squirrel knows where I live.
This squirrel knows who I am.
Every day
he seems to say,
"I'd like one peanut, ma'am."

He stares into my house.
He stares and scratches fleas.
Every day
he seems to say,
"Ahem? One peanut, please."

© Suzy Levinson 2018

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By Lana Wayne Koehler

Squirrels

With their

Chattering, climbing, jumping,

The way they leave hickory nut shells

On the previously white railing

Scampering up to my window

To peer into my life

Like I peer into theirs

Waiting for me

To watch them

Again.

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P e e r i n g through the window―

I see her scurry-hurry through the boughs,

t r amp oline  across the grass,

make a beeline―straight for bath,

sate her thirst, then― Squirrelly’s done!

Cory Corrado, © 2018

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I love to watch my bubble rock.
Water splashes,
makes a
spray.
Birds come visit
through the
day.
It's a place where
they can
play.

Cindy Breedlove, © 2018

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by Margaret Simon

Note: I combined Julie's challenge with a prompt from Poets & Writers The Time is Now to create a poem that is a cloud of impressionism, no punctuation or form.  https://www.pw.org/writing-prompts-exercises?genre=31

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Baby birds
tucked in tight
snug in their nest
all day and night

Baby birds
stretch their wings
reach for freedom
that flying brings

Kay Jernigan McGriff

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The nest

rests in the

tree, and we all

wonder who lived

there first, a brilliant

cardinal, a fussy blue jay,

or our stout red-breasted robin,

but it doesn't really matter at all since

we leave the nest in peace, and watch as birds

check on it, shopping for a new home, or snatching a bit

for their own, and we realize this woven wonder has inspired us

with its simplicity, its rare beauty, its flexibility, and its pure artistry--

our nest still rests in our tree, viewing pleasure out the window for you and me.

© Sherry Howard

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by Christie Wyman

waiting patiently
for your first springtime visit
you move swiftly and
silently undiscovered
perhaps you have come and gone

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Mr. Cardinal

Bright as a berry

Came hopscotching

Up my drive

Every so often

He would stop

To peck at seeds

To pick at rocks

Then cocked his

Glorious cap and mask

As if to ask

My consent!

But before I could answer

Of course, come along

Like a lick of flame

He was gone.

©Karen Eastlund

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Yesterday I watched and

listened to you through

my window.

Today I opened my door,

we were so close as

I watched and listened …

Robins–Trilling, trailing,

cherry, cherup, cheruping.

Cardinals fluttering through soft fluffs

of lightest pink and dots of emerald.

A background canvas-canopy

filled with constant song,

with individual voices

singing their own songs.

My eye searching for

whichever one of you–

Ah–You King Cardinal–

Hopping so surely, securely,

a pair of feet perfectly synced.

Red beak beaming through a framed

mask of jet-black feathers …

Looking, cocking, searching for–

Seeds–bedding–me to move–

Leaving me to look up, watch and listen …

© 2018 Michelle Kogan

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Sticky fingerprints
A sweet reminder of you
Window to my heart

Janie Lazo 2018

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by Jone Rush MacCulloch

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Swirling, twirling little girls

dancing and

splashing into the water
not knowing or caring

what life will bring.

A teenage boy rough housing,

and flirting with a bikini clad blonde.

She’s taking a selfie.

What does she see?

At the other end, a wizened old man

and a worried woman.

The lines on their faces, street maps

of the life they’ve lived.

They stare at the water,

into their books and magazines,
at the people.

But never at each other

Was she once a twirling little one?

Was he a rowdy young man?

And now stepping onto the patio,

a mother and baby.

I can’t hear them, but I see.

The baby is crying.

The mom is rocking.

And I witness the circle of life

out my window.

By Ellen Leventhal, © 2018

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Springtime brings a mating dance

For certain lush, seed-bearing plants:

“Knock, knock!” one says. “A suitor’s callin’!”

“Can’t offer wealth…but I’ve got pollen!”

And though this gift upon the breeze

Makes human lovebirds snort and sneeze,

It works quite well to woo a rose

Whose heart’s not burdened by a nose.

~ Jesse Anna Bornemann

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Oh, how lovely to perch window side
for hours; watching and listening

as little things unfurl, one

by one, before my eyes,

quietly;  green buds

magically

pop open―

puffs of

awe .

Cory Corrado © (May 2018)

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Bedecked in fresh leaves,
delicate and lithe,
an old apple tree,
its limbs loaded
with fat pink blossoms
ready to burst open,
stands outside my window.

Concealed within
this veil of green,
a robin sits on her nest,
still as a statue,
guarding her eggs
from the jays and crows
who screech and caw
in the branches above her,

right outside my window.

© Catherine Flynn, 2018

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Lilac bushes

Bud and bloom,

Wafting perfume

In my room.

Purple Iris

Dance and sway

On this perfect,

Sunny day!

Copyright, 2018, Dianne Moritz

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By Linda Staszak

Tulip petals closed up tight

A cozy blanket for the night.

Now sunbeams peek through morning mist,

The petals open, lightly kissed.

A dew drop trickles toward the ground,

As tulip wakes with joy unbound.

Sunlight warms and breezes sway

The regal tulip on this day.

But days grows old, and colors deep

The petals close, again to sleep.

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by Janice Scully

It’s coming, coming

slow as snails—

See the snowdrifts melt

in tiny trails?

Each day the ice grows

weak and thin.

Go ‘round the lake,

or else fall in.

Mud on shoes

and on our floor.

Friends ride scooters

to the store.

No more coats.

Children sing.

Jump ropes thump—

It’s early Spring.

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My out-the-window dream - sunlit leaves,

celebrating green newly seen.

I love spruce and pine trees, too

wild winter’s dark green hues,

yet see lighter shades

in spring’s parade,

that tender tint,

my spring

hint.

Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved

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Sunday’s glance shows cool, a breeze,
pine branches lift and dip;
Monday sits heavy in foggy dew,
trees wet from root to tip;
Tuesday the mists roll back to see
a hen and tom stroll by;
On Wednesday the view holds bits of green,
As doe browses wary and shy;
Thursday hosts a chattering red
Until big gray appears;
Friday’s air is full of birds,
and dogs' excited cheers;
And Saturday, as the sun comes up
To dart through leafless trees,
Azalea’s sweet hush has become blush,
Saying no to winter’s freeze.

By Donna JT Smith, ©2018
MainelyWrite.blogspot.com

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I see

not you

but spray of crusts

and flock of birds

I see

not you

but steaming dish

and window cracked

and box with blanket

on porch on snow

I see

not you

but pawprints

from door to fence
to door to yard
to door to gate to door

I see

not you

but TV flicker

and lights on and lights off

and garbage cans out and garbage cans in

and garage door open and garage door closed

I see not you

but in this twilight rest

see quiet proof

of life intact

in winter’s grip

© May 2018 Rebekah Hoeft

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Background image: "Sash Window with a View" by Alistair