Sell Sell Sell
Too much too much
too much TV, too many memes
and jokes
and lists
and likes
and don't do dosey doe
Too much- drift
on a steam stream of streaming
game show bells ding ding ding
commercials wail and yelp
yup too too too much
everywhere
neon signs flash
turning me off.
poem copyright ©2023 Anne Selden Annab
Prayer is all
that can be
when worried...
Hope- hope
for the best
when the worst has been.
Hope- hope
for a heaven and a God
or Goddess
who can hear
and answer a frantic prayer.
Amen
poem copyright ©2023 Anne Selden Annab
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| Juliet's Balcony |
Perches
Juliet's balcony
in Verona-
my thoughts flit
to elaborate
bird palaces
in Istanbul
& then quickly home again
perched here on our creek
a wooden deck here for now
as the sun light ignites me
so alive for now
knowing no myth
no fame or name
will save this house
and view
from time.
poem copyright ©2023 Anne Selden Annab
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| The one lane bridge & Glen Allen Mill on the Yellow Breeches Creek |
Sculpting Snow Nudes
Did anyone call my mother
to let her know
that my teenage self
(way back when) was
sculpting reclining snow nudes-
voluptuous beings shaped
in newly fallen fresh snow
every winter
on the white bridge.
A narrow one lane white bridge
across the creek of our childhood
down a country road
across from the old mill
still there.
Red bricks, blue sky, white bridge, brown earth-
winter skating on a frozen pond
my virgin self imaging art
before it melts.
poem copyright ©2023 Anne Selden Annab
My Thoughts Slip
Last night dressed for bed
looking down at the blanket
wondering what we'll do this winter
when it is cold again- then startled
when I remember it is winter now,
and I am embarrassed
ashamed...
Time and time again my thoughts slip
as more and more shadows become 3-D
reality.
Days of the week blur- months- years
all blur, faster than the speed of light
thoughts bend, names get lost
words falter, fall away, I lose my mind
I think, as I lose my memory, maybe...
But I feel,
I feel kindness,
I feel love,
I feel beauty,
I feel safe sometimes
so very safe
by my self.
poem & copyright ©2023 Anne Selden Annab
The Sand Now
The sand now
is such a challenge.
Balance, strength
endurance.
I think I can't,
just can't.
Every ten small
staggering
steps
I stop,
just can't...
catch my breath.
But I do
and onward
towards the ocean
I trudge
exhausted
overwhelmed
and yet
such delight
as the Atlantic
grows louder,
closer, I can
just barely
can,
and am.
Cicada .... a Time Traveling Poem
by Anne Selden Annab
Cicadas - East Coast, Mid-Atlantic
come tunneling out
Brood X - every 17 years.
The name is as it sounds.
Once when I was a little girl
camping in a pup tent, no tarp,
warm earth where the lawn edge
meets the fence and field beyond.
That summer night, early,
the earth erupted...
It was not fun.
17 years later,
divorced, one child, I was
a single mother working,
living downtown far far away
from the cicadas emerging
and the learned fears of childhood.
Then into my forties, 17 years later,
remarried, safe, respected,
3 almost grown children
and my delight
in hearing the woods hum
as we hike, collecting some
but certainly not all cicada shells-
nymph exoskeletons.
Now into my sixties,
slowing down
out for a country drive
in the passenger seat.
Revisiting childhood haunts.
Here and there, some green trees
with leaves on twig tips brown, flagging,
as the tree fed cicadas prepare
to drop back to earth,
tunnel back down
to feed on roots.
poem copyright ©2021 Anne Selden Annab
