Tuesday 31 October 2017


The moon a waxing gibbous she,
illuminates this hallowed ground   neath
silhouettes’ of swaying trees,
and in this graveyard here stand I
and drool as little kids pass by
and know this night I will not gorge upon the dead,
but indecent feasts of kids instead.

Anna :o]

Björn at dVerse hosts Poetics tonight and of course we are to write of monsters!  The twist is that we should give voice to said monsters, and above is my offering.  Cheers for the inspiration Björn!

(Also shared with the good folk at Real Toads – cheers Magaly.)

Oh dear, I seem to have a bone stuck between my teeth…kids! :o]


Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Source:   Le Père Peinard, in Le Péril anarchiste

Wednesday 25 October 2017


In the darkness of my soul hides my ugliness, waiting.  I despise the vacuous, the parasites who lust the vanity of my friendship and once trapped, I pull them screaming into the darkness. 
                                              (An incipit for the eventual anthology of my kills!)

I court her, oh the thrill of it the game of it the pleasure in beguiling.  (The stupid whores I pull them in and always leave them smiling!)  He-he!   Ha-ha!  I am a poet!

She is different this one…does she know, suspect, but how?  A question in her eyes beneath her furrowed brow…I CANNOT MAKE AN ERROR!  (I tease her with the softest kiss and mould my hands around her breasts and (then) my hands dance around her thighs.)

(She sighs – oh the magic in my hands the magic of my mind!)   (I pleasure her!)

And then I throttle her, but I can’t get no satisfaction…!

So welcome new babe – feel the action of my trouser trumpet!

My God I’m here you lucky lucky thing!

Anna :o[

Mish at dVerse has us writing of metaphorical masks and it got me thinking of folk I have encountered whilst working as a psychiatric nurse (now retired).

I have come across psychopaths in my time and will admit that in some instances, I was sucked in by them, believing all they said until they made an error, an obvious error in their story.  How plausible they can be!  How easy we are manipulated.

But do psychopaths’ (knowingly) wear a mask or are they just who they are?

We all wear masks, I do, several, to please other people.  Underneath I am just me and pretty harmless - I haven't killed anybody - yet!  :o]

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons 
Author:  Gert Germeraad

Monday 16 October 2017


I’ll never forget Jean or ‘Smiffie’ as she was affectionately known.  There was little knowledge of her past bar that she had been institutionalised at eleven, seemingly for promiscuous behaviour and spent the majority of her remaining life in a psychiatric hospital.  She came to us in her mid-fifties and was instantly adored by staff and fellow residents alike.  

She was damaged of course and had frantically hung on to a certain kind of sanity by inventing a husband whom she talked to often.  She also adored cats and loving her as I did; I gave her a cat ornament that was very special to me, but she was more special. 

I will never forget her funeral.  Having no relatives her burial was provided by the city.  Torrential rain had created a puddle into which her casket was lowered, even death held no dignity for her, and I was heartbroken.

Sky full of sadness,
rains a cascade of teardrops,
a sorrowful parting.

Anna :o]

Bjorn at dVerse has us writing a haibun, its theme being that of water and above is my offering.  Cheers Bjorn!

Image:  Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Author:    Pridatko Oleksandr

Sunday 15 October 2017


“You can’t explain what it’s like to mourn someone who’s still alive unless you’ve experienced it first hand.”
Jessica Seay-Soto

I can’t remember most of their names, those who were important to me, those I cared for across the years, those who lived when I left, left to enjoy the autumn of my life.

I have no doubt that my memory is failing, I know the signs.  I know them all too well.  I fear them.  I fear for my future.  I fear I will wake up one morning not realising that the essential me, the me I am happy with, the me that I am happy being, will have disappeared whilst I slept.

I will awake a lost soul.  And I can’t bear the thought of that.

Winter is nearing
leaving distant my selfhood,
memories fading.

Anna :o]

Please know this is not about me, but thoughts based on memories of my mum who I have been thinking of often of late.

Shared with the good folk at Poets United, the Pantry being hosted by Mary - cheers Mary!

Image courtesy of:  Wikimedia Commons

Author:  geralt