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Annie Oct 18
What I am looking for
In these cupboards of tins and jars
In this cluttered kitchen
Of blackened pots and pans
Is something else.

Something that fills me up
When words leave me empty.

How quickly we are shuttered
Into silence
By clever words
That make us look through
The eyes of our small selves.
When the only thing
That soothes my soul
Is the kindness
Of something else…

Maybe I just need to be held.
Annie Oct 2019
There is a place
In my mind
Where time
Melting - into an endless moment
Stretches out
A gently inclining road
That rolls over
The flat bands of grass
To a point
Where it meets
The overhanging sky.

There is no end.
Only this journey.

And it does not need
To bromate through the cold spells
Or wait for the perfect moment.

It does not cling
To things
The way we do
Bending our lives
Into the shapes
Of our hurts.

It only flows.
Annie May 2019
What is between us now
Is the terrible silence
Of an empty room
And the things you can’t fill
It up with.

It’s all about what’s lost.

I don’t want to visit
That place
With you.

Full of cobwebs.

Full of memories
You have dusted
Into prisms.

They light your way
Forward.

Forward - into the emptiness
Of all that you have lost.
Annie Aug 2018
While the purple martin
Sings his dawn song
The bush crickets
With their scraping chirps
Form a washboard percussion
Beneath an orchestra
Of crinkling goosefoot.

It is not the sobriety of
This great Weald
And the stately occlusal
Of her tall trees
That crowds your soul.

But the ordinariness
Of the things beneath it
That make you want
To find your own voice.
Annie Apr 2018
In the early morning
The larimar sky
Stretches out
Over the ashes of the night
While the clouds
    Retted stalks of calcite
Do their toucan crosswalk
Over her duckcloth.
And the sun
A golden mattenklopper
Sprays a burst
Of painted flames
On the trees and grass beneath
And life is
Clean and fresh
And ready
For this new day.
For so long
I have been looking away
Looking forward
While my eyes
Might have been
Filled up
With the beauty
Of all
That is
In the here and now.
Annie Jul 2017
Each heart
Is a spinneret
Her threads
Woven
Into an aortal retinue
    A glistening floss
    Iced white by the sun.

And each soul
A strand
And each strand
A connection
And each connection
Luridly stretching for miles.

No trowel can break
This web
And though the stands are different
Between your web and mine
They were spun by love
And because I love you
What is dear to your heart
Is dear to mine.
Annie Jul 2017
There is a kind
Of deliverance
In each day
The way the sun
Rises
A fattened berry
Full of dripping light.

And the trees below her
Glisten
To wakefulness
Under her watchful eye

While the shadows
Slip like small snakes
Down the branches
Until they disappear.

Such beauty.
Such promise.

I do not know if this life
Has purpose
Or if my prayers
Are a sigh
Carried by the wind
Into nothing.

It does not matter.

Nothing in the world
Would matter
If you were not here
To give it meaning.
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