Category: Poetry

Wings of Fire, of Illness

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Touched by fire I fall like Icarus,
My wings melting as the fire spreads.
My brain a foggy heaven,
Misting in a gelatin broth,
Fatigued but burning inside,
The shout from my integrity,
As I do not want your pity,
Falling past you, falling through your arms
As you try to understand.

Touched by fire, I heat the wind
And spread my wings upside down.
My hopes an icon of burning, a pillar
Of crimson light. Opening before
You showing the beauty of my soul
Still within my grasp,
Still building from the basic blocks
Of my childhood.
Blocks that built towers of power.

Touched by fire, I dance
Like the phoenix, rising above
Climbing, soaring, breathing.
Orange feathers, yellow feathers,
New ideas, new prices, new cures,
Grasping hands that circle in a form
A bloom, a purity, an honest clasp,
A heritage of standing tall,
A woman warrior, rending illness.

Ann WJ White, whiteawj@mac.com
@June27,2016 Ann’s Eyes

Midnight

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Dark lies and webs to hold us.
Lightless with 1,000 legs
Tap-dancing upon
Delicate nerves, paired for tango.

Shh, the monster comes
Bringing phobias your way.
Under the bed lurk
Newspaper headlines. Beware!

Poison pens fill ink wells
Draining the pens
Of life and liberty,
Only to find no way to speak.

Blotches, spots, three toed frogs,
A witches’ brew.
Drink deep and worry.
Everything will kill if you drink enough.

Go to sleep, my beauty,
I’ll bottle your nightmares
and sell them to a poet,
So that your sleep is sweet.

Weeds

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You toss your snowy head at me.
Miss.
Sending dandelion joy
Across the swordlike blades
of grass.

You root
seeds of deception
in my husband’s wrath.
But I kneel,
Giggling like a school girl
With a bouquet
for teachers
long gone
but still in
the center of my
heart.

A treasure of memories
as fairy
returns in seeds
of milky white
bringing memories’ gold.

 

Skin Deep

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Fuck pretty,
You smile in the morning
As coffee is shared and the daily news perused.
Fuck pretty,
As in the lab you find
A cure to heal a child, to stop a disease.
Fuck pretty,
When the mind you have sets
The stage for dancers who envy food or chocolate
Fuck pretty,
When you are on the front lines,
When you save the life of your comrades
Fuck pretty,
When you win a Nobel prize,
When your economic strategy saves a world.
Fuck pretty,
When you leave your lipstick undone,
As you fly out the door, a doctor to a crisis.
Fuck pretty,
You are not your face in clayed on makeup
You are your soul, your compassion toward others
Fuck pretty,
You’re smart as hell,
You’re strong, beautiful, compassionate
And the world should know the word pretty
Is just window dressing of hormonic lust.
You’re a woman,
Proud, intelligent, problem solving,
Mind expanding, story telling, life living,
Fuck pretty,
You’re a human being
Of exceptional worth who refuses the bonds
Of a society that tends toward inward silence
And outward violence.
Fuck pretty.
You’re so much more.

 

Copywrite 2016 by Ann WJ White If you would like to share this post please give author the credit. Do not share without this. whiteawjwords@wordpress.com

When Trouble Came

Published on by Ann’s Aliens3 Comments 
When the grass was short,
Knees were barked and
Giggles lasted through the day.


When the weeds grew wild,
Skirts were short and
Glasses magnified the world.

When the leaves fell,
Streams were colored,
Work was life endowed.


When the ice blew,
Snow drifts suffered,
Adult eyes grew jaded.

When trouble struck,
Murder most cruel,
Debts buried mountains.



When color drained,
Blood was forgotten, but
Genocide prevailed.


When liberty hid her head,
Shamed and lonely,
Safety became an illusion of the past.

When false men screamed in anger,
Children met death,
Streets rained red with blood.

When jealous greed drank a draught,
Slowly sip by sip, glad
Blindness filled our eyes.

When police dressed in shrouds,
Denying other’s truth,
Armed repressions stole freedom.

When children looked for justice,
Winter came early,
Paris was set aflame.


			
		

	
	



			
				



	
	

		
		
Why?

				

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I was young and foolish once.

I was wise beyond my years.

Strong and powerful

A new mother

A fight to save my love

I was a prizefighter too.


Now I look back and smile,

I was powerful once,

I am alive now

Because of those memories.

Looking back, gives

Me pride, a surge of resilience,


And I can make it through


Today.


			
		

	
	



			
				



			

			
				
			
		

	
	

		
		
Buzz

				

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Catastrophic bees in tees
Seek the edges of green lawn,
While night workers, oblivious,
Try sleeping behind drapes
Of white noise.

Teams of green clad
Buzzing monsters attack,
Tool driven, belt drives engaged,
Soon replacing one buzz
For an informal hum.

They are a constant.
A suburban flock
Outnumbering locusts 
And Grasshoppers, snails,
Slipping competition for wages.

Grooming nature, using comb,
Scissors that are automatically
and Mysteriously changing in form
It rained, grew, and in growing
Fertilized the minds of the Suburbian.

Nonsense you might cry,
But you'll never be heard.
Seen and unseen as they mow,
Edge, and disappear
Rush hour will never see their like.

The grass wars have begun. 
Who is the cheapest?
The fastest? The meanest?
The honest? The overpriced?
All on paper, awaiting signatures
 
Of concession. Sign here, please.


			
		

	
	



			
				



			

			
				On the Bridge, On Ship
			
		

	
	

		
		
Pageantry

				

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Such an awkward word,
Displaying glorious sound and color,
A walk along hallowed paths.
The flag waving, Standing,
Feeling the drums,
Step lively, you, to get curb seats.
Patriotic,
I sound off and stand tall
Even when performing
Above the Arctic Circle.
Pageantry: the oldest veteran served,
A beauty queen turns on heels,
Awards given and received.
Flowing flags drape
Dark coffins
Holding sacred the souls
Of the common man, mighty warriors.
Flags spread like blankets,
Held by sailors, soldiers, marines,
All looking chin first, staring
Straight ahead. Serving.
Keys to the city handed out
Like Cotton Candy Floss.
Lords of the State bow.
I wonder at it all.

I saw Minnesota's grand birthday
150 years of statehood with marching forces
of the Guard, escorted by
Shriner's in clown cars.
Clydesdales step strongly.
Antique cars, convertibles.
Children shiny clean,
Bravely wondering at
Bareback riders, cowboys.
Wagons full of farmers.
Tractors, Combines, Gimme Caps,
The band, with brassy calling,
Marches tapping 
One hundred and twenty beats
To the minute, left foot first.
County Queens, and Grange cars.
The governor standing tall.
A distinguished servant of time.
A spectacle of dreams,
Both realized and wished,
Ceremonies of serious joyful pomp
Remembered for all time as
That Show, where we were 
And are at our best.




			
		

	
	



			
				



			

			
				
			
		

	
	

		
		
Finding

				

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I found a tree,


which flowered


even though the frost


was barely gone.


I sat, pondering how


I had leafed


When I thought all hope was gone.


I found a flower,


which leaved and


sent blue bells up


Skyward.


I stood,


rake in hand


admiring the traitor


Red bud, Judas tree,


that blooms before Easter.


I hoped,


foolish as I was,


That the day of fools


would enlighten me.


It lightened the burden


But not my weight.


I saw myself


mirrored in the water,


sky, ice, leaves


and was gladly able


to love myself.


			
		

	
	



			
				



			

			
				
			
		

	
	

		
		
What to do?

				

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To do, today? I wondered.

How to shine?

Where to polish?

Just a book, unread.

Teasing me from the bookshelf.

Just an album.

I saw a tea cup,

Unloved and filled it,

Tea and a book

A sofa and a book.

I’ll settle here.