Ann Beard

Ann Beard Poems

“I would like to help”, little more than a whisper,
misty brown eyes turned to stare where I stood.

If I could write a letter to my Dad.
I’d ask him, are you watching over me?
Seeing through my eyes the life, I’ve had.
Translating all the worldly sights, I see.

I have been here before so I know the way
It is down the corridor third on the right.
The door is wide open, I pause to observe
the harshness of time her face out of sight.

A sombre day made only for reflection,
every second lasts the longest hour.
My mind a trap for kindest moments
is a garden full of every kind of flower.

A kiss, becomes a pact between two souls,
penetrating barriers that shy doubt patrols.
for surely not one earthly joy exists,
to bring such utter comfort like a kiss.

Between walls of pale lilac she lay,
her body contracting as if to give birth.
But instead of a child at the end of the day
Her soul fought the ties that bind it to earth.

One candle offers ample light
two candles flicker twice as bright
But if a draft plucks one in spite,
one candle lives to mourn the night.

She did not shed a single tear,
the weeks that she lay dying.
No pain was felt to feed her fear
the morphine soaked up every tear

Come close. I will show you my heart.
do not fret if you feel me shiver.
of all that is human the most fragile part.
it will ripple and gush like a river.

As darkness falls I drift towards a warm drowsy state,
and slumber vows to suffocate all darkest fears of fate.
My mind releases from all bonds of social sanity,
gaily dancing among memories, of what used to be.

A Jacaranda tree stands tall, and sways as if to say,
Look! At this magnificence, I’m wearing blue today.
forgive the way I shout aloud, my lack of modesty,
but nowhere in this troubled world is finery like me.

The room has a carpet in two shades of green,
Its a place to be more,
much more, than is seen
Crystal splinters like glass light up hazel eyes.

If I close my eyes and caress my skin,
I can separate host from the soul within.
Curling gentle fingers around my arm,
I untangle myself from discomfort or harm.

You had travelled so far, but I couldn’t wait,
to share doubts, in my last conscious hour.
Such grief is my gift to the man that I love
I am certain to weep within every shower.

To some degree found everywhere,
affecting the most tender heart.
fear of the unknown sent to scare,
This instinct of which we are part.

Even In sleep the old man weeps,
his heartbeat a throb, love gone - love gone.
Each moment too long since he held her tight,
swaying heart to cheek to his favourite song.

When all the world is fast asleep
and only sounds of breathing
ride moonbeams in the air.

The city of Auckland its roads spreading wide,
twisting and winding like webs from a spider.
Maori descendents spread culture and pride,
while attempting to tolerate, me the outsider.

Eyes drawn to Gaze upon the rose,
Green stem armed spitefully with thorn.
Sweet Apricot that pales too soon,
light petal drop that time will mourn.


Quite out of place within the bustle,

trying hard to cross the road.

Ann Beard Biography

A New Zealand Poet. keen gardener with a passion for arts and crafts, light novels, music (easy listening and light opera) and simple poetry. Finds inspiration from life and nature Ann has recently self published a poetry book. with the American company Xlibris presently advertising on Poemhunter. and has this to say. I would like to advise all would be authors to carefully research all offers of self publishing especially - where the company distributes from, selling price, print quality and marketing assistance included in price. a preview can be found by Googling Roan B Poetry Unpretentious Beginnings. December 2015 - Introducing Ann's second published book Poetry Borrowed Time. A continuation of personal thoughts and impressions. Previews and option to purchase details found in Facebook. Roan B Poetry Web site address

The Best Poem Of Ann Beard

First Love

“I would like to help”, little more than a whisper,
misty brown eyes turned to stare where I stood.
“I would like to try” the words came out crisper,
resolve filling all of the places it could.

I had watched him struggle to rise from a chair,
had felt the frustration that threatened his calm.
Firmly bracing myself to take on his glare
“I needed to come and I wish you no harm”.

Falling back in the chair his face turning ashen
his body was shrunken to quite half its size.
The illness had robbed him of life’s very passion,
apart from the last spark of fire in his eyes.

“You left years ago” spittle ran as he spoke
“Have you come here to gloat or get even”
A tear forming perfectly threatened to choke,
the words of this man that once I believed in.

“I m here and its only forgiveness I bring
to wipe the slate clean of all sorts of regret.
To remember the past, a passionate fling,
your magic on stage, the night that we met.”

My mind wandered back to the days of romance,
the handsome young man that sang in a band.
Blessed with a voice full of power to entrance
The way I would swoon at the touch of his hand.

His eyes grew bright, “I remember that night”
such a lovely young girl, such a hot invitation.
You captured my heart as I held you tight
we danced cheek to cheek lost in temptation”.

I smiled and was pleased to see him smile too
good memories outlive those that cause pain.
We were lovers a year a love strong and true
until his deceit meant I could not remain.

I held out my hand felt his tremble in mine
for a while we sat silent, in perfect peace.
Memories, ran riot his eyes showed resign,
and his labored breathing did gently cease.

I stood, said goodbye, numb of all thoughts of love,
but on leaving the hospice a youth took my hand.
And with eyes full of tears I turned to the son of
the man who had magic and sang in a band.

Ann Beard Comments

David Whalen 25 May 2018

Your poem lady With Cake' plucked a few heartstrings. Skillfully and artfully done!

1 0 Reply
Terry Dawson 12 April 2015

In the mould of Dora Wilcox. Well done!

1 1 Reply
Colin J... 07 July 2008

your kind comment on 'The fox' I have made a small change... Do you like it? Colin...

1 1 Reply
Philip Housiaux 14 April 2008

Going home is a very fine piece of writing - both formal technique and idea communication. good work thanks

1 1 Reply
Roger Cornish 23 November 2007

All your Poetry is thought provoking and very well written! Can't wait for More!

1 1 Reply

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