anne seite Poems

I smooth out the familiar parchment of your life - gently - with the flat of my hand,
and run my finger along bridle-paths, looking like dried riverbeds etched in sand.

All the valleys, glens and the hills that I follow, are now so well-known to my touch,
...

I'll kick the cat then stir the fish,
drink stale, cold coffee from a dish.
I'll rise at noon, that's my new dawn.
I find my mornings so forlorn.
...

I'd like to write a sonnet to despair
but I'm no poet like Byron or Blake.
Words settle in my head and throat, stay there,
And choke me with each new breath that I take.
...

Kind gentleman, step forth, I need a word.
Mock not till my diatribe you have heard,
for I would speak to you of sweet romance,
but see you raise eyebrows, and smile askance.
...

And will poppies
now bloom again
in Flanders fields
as red as blood?
...

You have wrinkles on your brow, mother dear,
I've bought cream to help plump them out.
Spontaneity's just fine in its place,
but do you always have to shout.
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The Last Few Days Have Been 'Sort of' Funny
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