london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: Replaced
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/replaced.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. You’d think she’d recognise the signs. It’s not like it’s the first time, or the second, or the third. She’s travelled this road before. You’d think by now it wouldn’t hurt. But no, each time it hurts that bit more. Displaced in their eyes, replaced in their heart. Traded in for another model whose cause is more appealing. A life with more meaning and a countenance more revealing. View my complete profile.
rubysheartshapedblog.blogspot.com
**********************************: April 2006
http://rubysheartshapedblog.blogspot.com/2006_04_01_archive.html
Tori Amos Sweet The Sting. Euryhtmics Who's that Girl. Fleetwood Mac Go Insane. Suzanne Vega Solitude Standing. George Winston January Stars. Saturday, April 29, 2006. Your heart is not open so I must go. The spell has been broken, I loved you so. Freedom comes when you learn to let go. Creation comes when you learn to say no. You were my lesson I had to learn. I was your fortress you had to burn. Pain is a warning that something's wrong. I pray to God that it won't be long. Do ya wanna go higher? The ne...
london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: Super Fiendish
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/super-fiendish.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. I’m not competing. No point in cheating. Still - I sneak a peek. And take a glance. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. All words here are mine : ). AT HOME WITH ANN - PICS. AT HOME WITH ANN - THOUGHTS. What Tongues Are Really For. The Devil Rides Your Back. It Should Have Been Me. What Do I Want? Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: What Do I Want?
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/what-do-i-want.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. What Do I Want? I don’t know what I want. I want something I know I do. I don’t know what it is. I need something I wish I knew. I don’t know what I want. I’ve tried most things the fridge can proffer. The empty bottles line the wall. I know I’m gonna suffer. I don’t know what I want. It’s not as simple as that. Instant gratification was not the cure. It weren’t the answer I was looking for. I wish I knew.
london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: The Devil Rides Your Back
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/devil-rides-your-back.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. The Devil Rides Your Back. Can’t push it off, can’t make it stop. I’m petrified as stone. Cannot move a single muscle. Lips zipped - dry as bone. Its foul face is thrust in mine. An insufferable weight bears down. Crushes the breath from my chest. Pressure lifts like a jack-in-the-box. The threat it may be gone. I gulp for air, I look around. WOW Ann,This is profound! Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: Holy Water
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/holy-water.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. No need to lift the slats. No sunlight filtered through the cracks. He knows, he feels it in his bones. He’d prayed, ancient words chanted. A liturgy the same beat as the silver strings. Now bouncing rhythmically on arid ground. The sky a dappled grey, mottled white. The mist of his breath against the pane. Clouds his view of precious beads of life. Falling on orchards, vines and olive trees -. What Do I Want?
london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: New Woman
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/new-woman.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. Like a dried up snake she’ll shed her skin. Don’t much like the one she’s in. To be born again. She’ll trade-in her battered heart. Pump fresh blood and jumpstart. Into the graveyard of broken hearts. She’ll bury her shattered parts. Toss on the garbage. Purged of her past sharp and smart. A fresh new start. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. All words here are mine : ).
london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: Coming Home
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/coming-home.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. The distance, it was not so far. He came, he stood, he looked. He stared up at her window. He walked the rocky path. She looked out across the street. His face beneath the lamp begged the question. Wordlessly she brought him in. Not wanting him to see the ache upon her face. The wasted years, the misery. He touched tokens collecting dust. Photographs, those he loved and missed. Pieces of memories of peace.
london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: No Mr DJ!
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/no-mr-dj.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. Another day down the pan. For some the night just began. You hit the sack - it’s over again. Told - go away. He’s got a headache, tired, not tonight. Yeah - sure - not any time. You pad downstairs, on the radio. DJ plays love songs on his late night show. He croons, “Relax, chill out, let go! What’s he doing, doesn’t he know. It’s tough listening to his stuff. When you feel rough; you’ve had enough. All bad p...
london-love-verse.blogspot.com
At Home With Ann - Poetry: Conscience
http://london-love-verse.blogspot.com/2009/11/conscience.html
At Home With Ann - Poetry. Old and new stuff combined - reworked revisited - when i am inspired. Bitter chill sliced the air, starless night descended. A voice murmurs her name, she opens the door, a little afraid. Slips on the chain, temptation beckoned. He reads her mind and she’s unsure. His morals and values they are not hers. Excited by his silver words she must lock that door. A tongue that melts her, eyes that glisten with intent. Goosebumps prick her skin every pore quivering. What Do I Want?
