bowl of random words 18

Use these words in a poem,






Post your poem in the comments.


21 thoughts on “bowl of random words 18

  1. My eyes fall upon a small, warped circle
    forever frozen within a wavey windowpane.
    What a sad and final destination for one last molten breath.
    I am reflected in these windows. Distorted.
    Pitted with imperfections of the past.
    I’m old and inefficient.
    Even with the light I let in
    you can see through me,
    easily reading along the aging lines of fear and desire;
    open to anyone who cups their hands against my pain.
    Open to the seeker of light within.

  2. At the Mouth of the Bear River

    Where the light shines through the clouds
    Is a sacred burial site, now fully restored;
    The final destination for a few of Chief Petosega’s native tribe.
    Legacy now honored, historic interest attained.

    Symbolic crosses gleaming white, proudly stand, listening
    Prayer-like as the gentle waves beat an age old rhythm
    of worship to the designer of all mankind. Heritage and
    Language at first denied, now a battle underway to preserve.

    Oh Ottawa spirit, ringing out majestically,
    Overlooking the shores of Little Traverse Bay,
    Is it possible to see memories reflected through the windowpane?
    Can a seeker gaze through and see your spirit uplifted?

    Were many a head bent in prayer, before the snowshoe priest?
    Was your soul uplifted reading holy words from the white man’s book?
    Or, when the bell tower majestically rang did your spirit rejoice,
    Revived and refreshed, due to the rays of the morning dawn?

    At the mouth of the Bear River, perhaps “The Little Church by the Lake
    Embraced both the heritage of the red man and the white man’s faith.
    Like the Petoskey stone, your spirit washed clean and smooth by grace and
    The circle of the rising sun which still warms this land of renewal.

    by Margaret Bednar

  3. that circular face
    pressed to the windowpane
    is … your destination
    (o, seeker of shattered glass
    reading shards like cassandra )

  4. reading seasons

    seekers retreat,

    stumble against

    winter, yet still

    pause, notice

    delicate circles

    icy-white light

    etched on each

    dark windowpane.

    frozen pathways

    passed in flight —

    destination, spring.

  5. Tired of my reading,
    I gaze out the windowpane
    seeing the busy circle of life
    going about its daily business.
    I am a seeker – but of what?
    And what is my destination?

  6. Night’s Wet Embrace

    it is a night for no mortal

    rain whips the windowpane

    plants reach as if to


    a tumult of clouds

    worlds upon worlds unfolding

    things flitting


    all is lost

    the moon a mere vanished circle

    where is your destination,


    many ways to go

    no way to go

    you would scarcely see

    the feet with which you


    better reading a book

    than reading the stars

    they’re all tucked away

    for the night

    gentle sleep one and all

    your consciousness abdicates

    the rain beats

    a lulling requiem for the day

    – surrender to her arms

    and hug tight….

    (Greg Cameron, Poem, March, 2011, Surrey, B.C., Canada

  7. I stayed up til dawn reading letters you had left,
    Remembering the feelings that now cease to exist.
    I was the seeker of your heart,
    And long ago had reached my destination.
    But, being an irrational girl, I retreated
    And left you alone once more.
    Now I lay awake from twilight to dawn
    Drawing circles in the dew that accumulates on my windowpane
    And I think about you, and what fatuous girl I was.

  8. …As my tears stained the window pane I could see a wet circle made of all my sorrows…
    one by one my tears come,softly staining the old windowpane,writing the words my heart dare not say; Please don’t leave me!
    Don’t leave me reading the clouds looking for clues,looking for reasons…
    Please don’t leave!
    Don’t leave me alone inside this circle of sorrow…
    waiting to see your face once more…
    waiting to hear your heart, beating so close to mine.
    waiting to hear you say that love was felt both ways.
    Why have you go so far without taking my hand on yours,leaving me stranded and lost like a blind seeking for light?
    Why have you made me feel like a seeker of sorrows and pain? have i not loved you enough? Have I not loved you at all?

  9. Who knows the intended destination
    of the housefly born
    or reborn
    in the warming northwoods cabin,
    pinballing against the windowpane, above
    a circle of dry predecessors, a fly
    on the floorboards.
    Is it reading the frost
    still melting on the glass? Poor
    of neverwhen, June day,

  10. Sorry I don’t have the poem yet. I just wanted to say that this is an awesome idea. I’m a little busy right now, but in the near future you can definitely expect a poem from this Poet. Peace and Love.

  11. A moment of sparkle.

    Raindrops slide down the windowpane, catch my eye with light
    Delicate shapes that move down slow yet seem alive and bright.
    Moist traces left on their path to an ever downward destination
    Diminishing themselves, on a relentless self -erosive mission.
    Mere moments of existence and then a sudden disappearance
    Almost too less of an occurrence indeed, for later reminiscence
    A seeker looking for their evidence will hardly even find a trace
    Lost in the circle of nature, fate accepted with simple grace.
    Thoughts that form as we read, vanish when we turn the page,
    Likewise beauty misses our sight if our minds do not engage.
    Though drying quickly under the radiance of the sun,
    Each drop had her moment of sparkle, even if just one.

  12. windowpane

    A lone seeker in the shadows,
    inconspicuous and heart torn by sorrow,
    looks for a destination through a windowpane,
    and reading provides just the lane,
    to the circle with so many threads,
    linking to all those without friends,
    so in the end, the cycle never ends.

  13. correction:

    A lone seeker in the shadows,
    inconspicuous and heart torn by sorrow,
    looking for a destination through a windowpane,
    and reading provides just the lane,
    to the circle with so many threads,
    linking to all those without friends,
    so in the end, the cycle never ends.

  14. Reading, unlike other times, did not manage to calm my heart
    Palpitations, palpitations.
    Could they ever match the rhythm of my lips?
    Thoughts encircling me draw me within
    the seeker is looking for me, to take its place.
    It is my time,
    and it is ours.
    Looking out the window pane, sights of rain drowning stars forlorn
    Almost as if our destinations are already known
    doom, negativity to be ever sublime.

  15. You really make it appear so easy along with your
    presentation but I find this matter to be actually something that I think
    I’d never understand. It kind of feels too complex and extremely wide for me. I’m
    looking forward on your subsequent put up, I’ll try to get the grasp of it!

  16. Leaning against the chilling windowpane
    my final destination
    awaiting the greeting of the seeker of all things life
    readings names in an infinite circle

    I wait against the windowpane
    reliving those memories
    a pause and a playback
    an infinite tape on rewind

    i hear a soft knock
    on the same chilling windowpane
    as im greeted by my final familiar face
    i am not scared

    A hand wraps around my arm
    begging me to go
    pleading for my company
    wanting me to leave

    I cannot leave my body yet
    for i have unfinished business
    faces to see
    voices to hear

    I must have fought hard
    for i am standing in my body
    hallow but still me
    against the same chilling windowpane

  17. I am the seeker,
    following the doomed circle
    of my destination
    in a falling orbital path
    into the gravitation of your heart,
    You are reading star charts
    contemplating mathematical certainty,
    but you can witness the proof
    if you peek through your windowpane.

  18. using the words dawn, entwine, heath, phase, dead –

    dawn arises with a shrug
    the sun yawns
    upon the living and dead
    plants entwine with each other
    in ecstatic embrace
    the heath glistens with glory
    the dead will spring from the graves,
    live again
    as flowers
    the Living overwhelming dead concrete
    Time will cease to mark itself
    cycles will reassert
    and the past will fade
    a distasteful phase
    we were going through….

  19. Clasped hands over unaided reading
    Monarchical circle of thoughts, a breathless
    Minute of magic, a destination for the seeker
    Southwestern windowpane,
    Washed out windowfreeze

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