Sunday, 31 December 2017


Satan Sowing Tares

I stitch rumours in the seams of your doubts, lest you forget the slivers of truth in their meaning, the truth in their aching.

You ask their significance but I say there is nothing to tell, you yourself must seek out the difference of the dark from the light.

You ask:  The Almighty? And I say:  Maybe, maybe that’s so.  But strip the vines from your heart that tighten and strangle, and with this freedom untangled let your truths break out in their boldness and let your light shimmer through.

But is my truth your truth? you ask and I say I don’t know.  You and I, we are souls lost in the middle of unknowing and knowing, and I don’t have a definitive answer, I can only offer my feelings, things I feel that I know.

Just look all around you, I say (with a nod and a smile).

There is a doubling of doubt, a ditching of hope as you look all around you, see the fires of hell burning at the behest of mankind, and you boil in your anger finding darkness the answer and you scream in your knowing as you switch out the misery of all of the lights.

Anna :o[

Brenda’s Wordle 332 asks us to use the following words in our words (!):  Boil, ditch, light, lost, middle, mighty, nothing, rumours, seams, sliver, tell & vine.  Above is my offering and rather grim don’t you think?

So on a happier note, hope you have a most wonderful New Year (and don’t worry about breaking your resolutions, most of us, all of us (?) do…I do…)

Also shared with the good folk at Poets United, hosted by Mary - cheers Mary, and New Year wishes to all at PU too!

Image:  Courtesy of  Wikimedia Commons

Thursday, 21 December 2017


Kissing right, do I kiss right? 
I dunno, but I do know that I love you, right? 
I’m new to this, this kissing thing, this boyfriend thing,
this thing that makes me feel so good inside.
I love you, right? 
OMG, I love you so much I do I do I do. 

You make me feel so good inside,
didn’t know I'd an empty space inside,
just waiting for this love of you. 
I love you, right? 
Yes I do I do I do!  I DO!

But do I kiss right?

Anna :o]

Karin at Real Toads asks us to pick a letter at random, attach a word to it and let our minds take us where they will.  Cheers for the inspiration Karin!

I stole my letter from Karin’s name, which in turn became ‘kissing’ and my mind became flooded with that first romance and all the insecurities that came with it. Did I kiss right?  I dunno…

Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to all of you!  Have a good’n!

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author: Takuma Kimura

Friday, 15 December 2017


Scoliosed, hips misaligned,
I tend to bend towards the right. 
Each step an art, the art of balance
jumbled with the art of falling. 
Each kerb itself a precipice -
a long way down if I should tumble -
a worry then,
a constant need of (re)calculation.

Anna :o]

Thoughts of an ancient one of how advancing years exacerbate…no self-pity intended. :o] 

(I really do have to think (and plan) before stepping off a kerb, (definite balance issues) – stepping up/on is no problem.  I wrote the words above several months ago and filed away they were, until the frost and snow and ice came and like each year, I began to experience the fear the dread of walking upon these seasonal gifts…)

Shared with the good folk at dVerse, hosted by Björn- cheers Björn!  Also many thanks to all the good folk who have hosted dVerse across the year – I am so grateful for your company.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to one and all!

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author:  Nigel Mykura

Tuesday, 12 December 2017


The first flurry brought with it the purest of snow,
and the wind fell and there was comfort
in the stillness of silence.   And we breathed.
(Oh how we breathed and loved that first breath.)

Then fall after fall swirled round our loose feet
‘til our imprints lay hidden as we blackened the earth.
 (There is treachery underfoot, it deep and firm-rooted.)

The bantams stay in their coop, rarely venture their run.
Outside it is too cold for comfort and huddle they do,
claws clasped round their roost.  The feeder is full
and the nest box lays empty as eggs lie unlaid and future is lost.

You are cold; there is ice in your veins. 
I effort a warm glow but can’t undo what is done.

You whisper in echoes and shout in your warnings
as we gorge in our feeders ‘til the feeders lay empty
and then lost and defeated, you are gone you are gone 
you are gone.

And there is nothing left bar this strange comfort of cold
as it numbs up our veins and freezes our dull minds…
and we are gone we are gone we are gone

Anna :o]

Shared with the good folks at Real Toads – cheers for hosting Rommy!

Image:  Courtesy of  Wikimedia Commons

Author: Gpmg

Thursday, 7 December 2017


I grasp at the sand as it spills through my fingers, spilling itself on itself.

The grains are innumerable but desperate I count them, single grain after grain, this til my voice rasps with the burden, the burden of counting, the terrible aching, the aching of hoping, and the forlornness of hope...

Shifting and penetrable, the violence is sudden, the wind in its rushing, and taken I am and moulded to nature, thus I become.

There is grit in my teeth in the aching of waiting and tired of it all, I gently succumb.

Anna :o]

Victoria at dVerse has us writing a symbolic poem and above is my offering.  Cheers Victoria

I’m really not quite sure if my words are symbolism or metaphor….

Image:  Courtesy of Pixabay.

Saturday, 2 December 2017

I Like My Ladies Thin

Reginald Southey Lewis Carroll (1857) Fair Use

I like my ladies thin, very thin,
skeletal one might say. 
(One’s chuckling at one’s humour here,
what a *card one is and some might even dare a cad!)

I like my ladies thin, very thin. 
One’s want of flesh is not between the sheets
rather that of between the teeth, all rip and tear,
blood dribbling down my yearning chin   as one bites
through the tenderist of the most purest fairest skin,
ravishes the thrill of gore of blood and flesh and gristle,
spilling lovingly from my lovely wanting maiden.

(I daresay you might think one odd,
but mine is an all consuming passion!)

And now she naught but bones,
refashioned she is in skeletal form, born again she is,
she mine all mine for I like, no I love my ladies thin.

Anna :o]

*Card:  (old-fashioned informal) a funny or strange person.

Kerry at Real Toads has us writing an ekphrastic poem inspired by the photograph above.  Brilliant challenge Kerry – loved it!