The idea for this poem rests with something I wrote several years ago, and never knew what to do with.
At the time, I coined the phrase that is the title for this poem, based on the idea of people watching life as led by others, as if watching life through a window.
This voyeurism seemed somehow intriguing, and I liked the idea, only for my computer to completely crash, with the key piece of writing unretrievable as a consequence.
I’ve wondered what to do with the idea since then, and here is a poem that uses it.
Languid tea – tedium driven,
busyness’ absence provides mind-numbed afternoons
regarding a lifeless, empty street,
where none show, none venture out
‘til a brief flurry, when workers return home;
the curtain twitches whilst folk enter,
care taken to remain unnoticed, unnoticeable;
folk thereafter ensconced once more – TV captives –
so tedium resumes, nothing to watch and ponder
upon and pm dims to night,
street lights flicker on,
providing cats illumination for their fights,
their slinks and their creeps unseen,
none notice through deepening slumber
wrapped in age-comforted duvets,
on pillows of grand, ego-fed dreams
they will never forget, never remember
and tedium ticks the hour’s clock-tocks.
A stray dog pads the street
in honour of a she-wolf’s calling,
the dog’s freedom and a black, ghastly night.
A deer ticks past on higher than normal heels,
heading for Mr Perishon’s roses,
heading into the darkness on the other side
and more tea sups a respectable, spectacled face;
in the dark, the curtains’re wide open,
for there are none to see my gourmet delight of this indulgence in windowsphere