Rose Colored Windows

By John-Philip Penny

At once epic and intimate, this volume of poetry manages to evoke a world of gentle lyricism, as well as more shocking visions.
There are tender, romantic poems, and darker, more haunting works, as well as introspective meditations.
It has the feel of a secret diary, and the scope of a prophetic hymn.
Having taken twenty years to complete, it is a testament of the author's feelings on life, and uses the striking metaphor and the powerful image to summon up a world of heightened sensation.
At once dark, and light, romantic and sceptical, humorous and grave, innocent and world-weary.
It is a dream.
A nightmare.
It is waking next to the one you love.
It is a journey into the widest and loneliest deserts of a post-disaster landscape, and into the smallest corners of our hearts.
But most of all, it is a book that once you have read, you will never, ever be able to forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John-Philip Penny
• Release date: Jul 31, 2017

John-Philip Penny

Hello, and thank you for checking out my books! And thank you also to all of you who have already read and enjoyed my previous titles.So far, I have published two stories, the first being 'Panzerfaust: The Fall of Nazi Germany,' and then 'Blood of a Barbarian.' Both have sold more copies than I ever dreamed of, and I am very happy about that, and grateful. My plan is to write a whole series of books set in ancient Rome, ancient Egypt, WW2 and WW1. I am even thinking of a couple of stories set during the times of the Knights. Some of my titles will be stand alone books, while most will be part of an ongoing series. 'Blood of a Barbarian,' for example, is just the first in a series of five novellas. It usually takes me two to three months to complete a new work, so please bare with me while I work on the next installment. Next up, I have a tale set in the ancient lands of Egypt, and it will be out well before Christmas, 2016. After that, I have some more ideas for WW2 stories, and then back to my gladiator series.To tell you something about myself, I got interested in writing by reading a great deal of history when I was a child. I like the idea of stepping back into time, and living in the skin of a historical person, even if only one I have made up. After serving in the militia, I then took a degree in art at OCAD in Toronto, then spent the next decade travelling and mountaineering. These foreign excursions encouraged me all the more towards wanting to write, and I love to include things I've actually seen in real life, and experienced. I hope that you will enjoy my books as much as I enjoy writing them!

Book preview

When the First Petals of the Season Fell

When the first petals of the season fell

Like the notes of a dying symphony

There I stood alone and without you

Lonely music stirring the river's edge

But you were always there, weren't you

In every book, leaf, or opening flower

Everything was imbued with your fragrance

And spoke to my longing beyond all repair

Now everything speaks to me of you

Every photograph of every stranger

Looks out at me with your eyes

But remain unsent letters in a drawer

You are a mystery to me, like shadows

Or a candle's dimly flickering silence

And dark chandeliers are my memories

Here beneath this Baroque cascade

The gusts of spring lifted all the flowers

Like Cinderella gathering up her satin gown

Just as you used to lift your hair to the side

While wondering if you were beautiful

Everything was yours to inherit

Every bird in flight, every cloud

And every single raindrop

I would have given to you

But now the season is over

Long buried beneath the snow's calligraphy

As here I gaze, out frosted windowpanes

To where the trees weep frozen tears

Rose Colored Windows

Rose colored windows illuminate the garden

Wherein far off dreams carry scents of Istambul

Now see how the flowers of her body cry out

For a drink of sun, for a drink of water

As the contrary fountain-fire refuses to blossom

And see how beneath Christ's suffering face

The ashes of every great work of art

Are lifted up in fragmented ascension

And see how the first snow within the cloister

Has collected in every bell-rung corner

And now all of the pearls are gathered up

and put into a basket to be carried beyond

As the bride and bridegroom go with them

On a great dias made of silk and elm

And that smells of myrhh and honey

Clim, climb all the way to Mecca

To be with the wisemen of old

As they gather beneath date trees by an oasis

Listen to the call of the morning prayers

From a tower raised into the dawn light

And