Bravery
 
Midfield, alone
bustled by the November breeze
clings a single reddened leaf -
tiny, brilliant,
alone (but I already said that, didn't I...)
without comfort of crowd for warmth;
that begins in the decay below

this morning I once again argued
"it is November 6th...
there are no more hot days!
you will wear your warm jacket,
and that is my final answer."
I won the argument,
he wore the jacket.
his final hurrah....
it was draped over his shoulders.
 
brave and cocksure
face, nipped and windbit
the leaf clings to it's perch
a lifeline?
the last straw?
good to the last drop...
I see the fascination,
I'm in love with that view too.


All Rights Reserved © 2009 Diane Anjoue.

Searching for Solace

I love the sense of peace that comes with the drifting of snowflakes.  The gentle covering, by white blanket, of ravished land that the autumn trails in its wake.  I suppose that I relate to the barren fields with their dying grass and leaf litter.  The naked trees shivering as the winds whip ‘round their trunks, further stripping them of their dignity.  By nightfall, nature is robed in delicate lace and silken nightdress; nestled down for a peaceful rest.

Often my mind is in a similar state; thoughts blowing helter skelter in the icey gusts of  emotion scraping over the tender psyche my muse sometimes calls home.  How I am able to lend snippets of sentences to the incomplete barrage of renderings, I cannot be sure.  An outpouring of loneliness spills into this emptiness to create a poetic drift of delicate flakes of musings.  Each lonely line built upon the next to create lost stanzas and at long last a blizzard’s feast of my senses.  In the end, I am again left devoid of inspiration.

Time spent staring out my window, subconsciously counting the lacey snowdrops that weave in and out of sight just as my thoughts sieve through and disappear before I can catch them on the tip of my tongue.  If I could only surmise a way to collect them in a downy covering as the ground cradles the snowfall; making a pallet of creative canvas for the joyous pitter pat of children’s feet and haphazard snow angels. 

Some would say that the youthful creations mar the staid beauty of uninterrupted fields of white, yet their freedom is tangible.  If I only had the gift of penning a poem woven of gaiety and grande abandon….  Instead I am destined to call out to the vast echoing heavens in a nightly plea to the man in the moon not to abandon me as my muse tends to.  The only solace I know is that although both do leave me for a spell, they will always return to console me at day’s weary end.

 All Rights Reserved  ©2006  Diane Anjoue

Guiding Star

I'm just sitting back,
eyes closed,
imagining myself

drifting

on the cool warm breezes
and hearing
the night symphony.
If I don't drift off to sleep,
my plan is to open my eyes
and welcome
the man in the moon
with open arms.
I will name the stars
after my best friends
but I will name the

'guiding star'

after you
so that I can find you
easily
when I embark
on my journey home...

All Rights Reserved © 2004  Diane Anjoue

Sketched in Poetry

Laughter caught in twinkling eyes
Sadness dampened our lashes
Beauty cast by tilted smile
Tears drawn out in splashes

Verse defined strokes of pencil
Stanzas captured it’s bloom
A title applied as stencil
Compliments penned with plume

Love softened the harsh angles
Fear danced on our every nerve
Heartache bowed straight to tangles
Desire enhanced the softest curve

Image flowed freely in prose
Etched in symmetry with rhyme
Paintings brushed in repose
Our artistry sealed in time.

 
 All Rights Reserved © 2004 Diane Anjoue

Crimson Kiss

the twittering of leaves

clutching at brittle branches

roughly tossed  

by fallen whispered winds

a dying sound, groaning

signs of life yet unabandoned

hope struggling to re-emerge

captured in muted colours

decaying apple’d greens,

yellows - lifeshorn, heaped in

burial browns, faded sunsets

rusted risers of creaking

wooden bench, traced by

lone skittering crimson leaf

slivered by jagged splinter

pierced deep my skin with

seasoned memory of your kiss

slipping between my lips;

I changed that day

as fate’s winds swelled

colliding with reason,

quietly, I fell for you.

All Rights Reserved © 2006 Diane Anjoue

freefall

this freefall from grace

a turnabout alliance guides

my slow motion descent

into vast depths of you

i am caught within your pull

slipping intimately, subtly

beyond your fears

a moment in abandon

drifting in the dream

of who we’d become

surely without guile

no truer emotion alight

slow flame torch to

a thousand butterflied wings

cast aside doubt to

cherish the (after)taste

of tangled lips, tingled hips

upon tumbled hearts

where nestled heads lay

(in tandem) our hearts whisper

come rest within mine

foster our (in)securities

as your hands rescue

my drowning sensibility

your emblazoned cautions

arrest my runaway tears

laying claim to the truth:

battered hearts do not lie….

….even in silence undefined.

All Rights Reserved  ©2007  Diane Anjoue

Return to Silence

Walking uphill to that moment of nowhere

And in no time I reach out for you

Empty aire greets me with hollow weeping

I can find you only in my mind yet even that image is fading

Why aren't you here waiting

Is it my brash hope that pushes you away?

I try, as I close my eyes, to bring you back to me

Tossing memories as prayers – pleading with just once more

Love lost all patience with me

Roiling silence louder than my words

I am just who I am, I have no more to offer

This empty hole, a sign of what we once were

A gaping yawn swallowing the blame, it was I who pushed you away

There is no further for this path, I am left askance

Even the well of my thoughts has long gone dry

The cold of the rocks dops the disappointment of my coined offering

My knees no longer bear the weight, give way to your leave

Cracked crown tumbles back, the hill burns in it's wake

Jill along without her Jack, bareminded, no escape from the flames

The crucible burns away my pride, left fevered eyes pure

Broken down to chance of your push back to me.

Fool's Gold

The snow is
falling again today
dampening my mood.
Signing off
for a reality check
not finding the account ~
my mind wanders,
twisting drifting
chasing down shadows
of the elusive one.
Eluding taunting,
when all I want
is to surrender
to the silence.

Resonating to
the drumming of his heart,
my cheek nestled
to a molded chest.
The subtle
thump bump thump
calling to me ~
“cradle yourself
within this warmth,
save your heavy thinking
for another day”.
Fingertips sketch
along painted sinews
behind his back ~
losing myself
within the art of him
who is the one

A cozy dream
to cherish ~
cocooned comforted
lost within his strength.
Even if for only…
a silent snowy morning.

All Rights Reserved © 2006 Diane Anjoue

Weaving Gypsy Spells

Autumn sunset blooms over Grecian turquoise sea,
crackled glass bowl showcasing
radiant glimmers of faintly perfumed skin,
silky talc shimmering across his beauty's breast
as it dips below a crushed jewel'd silken twist -
desire displayed en gallerie.
 
Winter'd afternoon delight peppered with Turkish harem spices, 
Sandalwood and bergamot oils caress pulse points pounding to tempter's riff -
temptress sways and curls to gypsy mandolin,
trailing sexy musk, drawing dark and brooding eyes
of seaside storms,
as lovers lounge.
 
Spring's scent, the downy crown of their newborn's head
redolent of a fresh laundered towel spun 'round
newly bathed shoulders bare -
possessing fingertips trace through obsidian waves. 
A father's worship'd love glistens on their dewdrop cheeks,
awed with familial yearnings vestiged.
 
Summer mornings wake to baby's dewy kisses,
amidst finest Egyptian cotton awash in lavender and forget-me-nots,
damp mahogany tresses swirled cherry vanilla
over crème-puff pillows down'd. 
Tickling of milky giggles tracing mama's hot cross'd cheeks
as papa shares his bakery fresh baklava....

 All Rights Reserved © 2005 Diane Anjoue

What Do You Say When It’s All Gone Away?

If only she could wake to the sound of the rain dressing the trees in glistening finery, the drip drop quickness of rainbeats.  To rest in his arms, searching safe from a storm of season’s change; she would stay.   Soothed back to the dreamscape of a moment left aside, forgotten snapshots of life plans.  She now wonders who she is and does she miss him at all?

In the night, when he is yet to return, she sets to wander through the fog of their time, only to see him again… to watch him as he was when he was open to her.    She watches the mirage of joy on faces once lost for each other; smiles painted with inspired hues of warm blues and gold, tracing a hint of ruby do and Yes, please do some more.  Reaching far, a fingertip prods the shimmer change to surreal then steel for real…  a cold stark-lined sketch of discontent.

Drowning thoughts surface in drifting dreams, bundled across the softscape of a first snow lit by brilliant ideas captured dimly in sleepstorm eyes.   She weaves her sift-soft fingers through his rough-able ones, creating a cradle for a sign, some kind of fleece-laid sign; a direction, a cause…. a safe place amidst the daily curves.   The bough breaks as the song goes; they fall to separate lies.  Hers, that she can live without him;  His, that he can find her again… within, before, when the time of being too late surrounds them.

It is all too much, the heaviness of heart and the nearness of him being gone while still walking within sight.  If she is to travel light, on the way to life without regret, she must turn back to the sunken hook and pull free.   She carries no more than what he has left her with; a memory, a dross of a dream, a face unnamed.  What does one say when it’s all gone away...  Is all that is left, to say goodbye?



All Rights Reserved  ©2008  Diane Anjoue

As I read
from behind my veil,
awed I am,
overwhelmed,  
honoured, my words
touch intimately;
my veiled solitude...
a simple phrase.

I ponder you….
A poet, your
written expression;
so deep, and
complex, yet
scintillatingly so,
scentually,
and sensually.

Phrases keyed;
defining anew,
swirl my senses.
Sensation heady;
a complex knot
forms deep within,
tightens with
each line's twist.

Faster I turn
chasing…
Each dip
and swoop,
forced to slow
my sips and sighs.
Emotional aire
fills me to burst.

Swaying to
your sonata, intricate;
composed of
sorrow and passion.
Pleasure
in ways you
might understand;
yet, I know not why...

You unwittingly
knocked me for six.
I must rest, to
recuperate while
I ruminate this,
your flamingly
phenomenal feast
on my senses....

Oasis

When is the moment to be reserved for
shaping a moment to reflect and heal...
When we give our hearts to causes lost
in lives of our own desolation.
Do we not recognize the desperate plea
of our own amidst the cloying needs
of those who use us?

If I could mold that moment out of ones
stolen and wasted, I'd gather them close...
and with songs of love and life,
I'd fashion a niche in time for you
to be lost within me...

I'd learn the bends and curves of
your ins and outs as if they were the
tops and turvs of my own ups and downs...
Each one I'd caress with painted words
of truth and love, treasuring them
as kisses sipped from your soul.

What I take, I would then give and beg to
share within your thoughts; tangled,
dribbled and dusted as honey'd temptation
from my lips to quench your desert thirst...
I'd give you the tears to cry once again.

Diane Anjoue c2005 All Rights Reserved.

a poet’s reckoning

a tandem thought,

one of a poets making

shared with someone

who reads the beats

of your aching heart.

be a mirror to me

reflect back what I see…

… in you.

your missing words

caught in their youth;

weaving an age old tale

of misspent sorrows;

begging for a muse

be a mirror to me

reflect back what I see…

… in you.

write with me, create

translations of musings.

lost memories never lived;

drowning thoughts, you

only need to lift your voice

look deep and you will see

yourself well within me.

Dublin

 

Wandering the docklands of the river Liffey,
She searches for familiar faces in strangers.
Sunrise burns through fog, a hovering blanket
turned back to rustle the early morning calm.
Dubliners and gadabouts do mingle lazily.

She darts and twirls in her feeble quest.
Then a hushed whisper, a phantom voice calling;
she spins, eyes straining for a familiar face. But alas,
in haste she dizzily trips against the steely guardrail.
The pain of her bruises drips tears from her lashes.
A gusting wind tosses her curls, marring her view.
Where, oh where can they be? A bump and a stumble,
a murmured utterance ‘Oh tá bron orm, tá bron orm!’.
She is sad.

Now she stoops to retrieve her gift package.
Pretty and wrapped in glorious green ribbon.
But passersby indifference gleams upon their shoes
a myriad of shapes and colours reflecting sunlight.
She lies there sobbing, her forlorn face in tears.

More bumps and knocks amid the bustle.
This time she is on her knees.
Worse still her gift is jostled and knocked for six
by a stranger's fleeting steel toe boot.
All scuffed and torn, her precious benefaction
finds restful sanctuary at the well worn bare feet
of bronze cast scrawny famine statues.
Stark statuesque stares of her ancestors keening,
Agape and staring in mournful monologue,
pleading the age old history of Irish emigrants
Today, the muted cry of mercy still rings true.

Weariness takes hold as she winds her way through,
scattered downcast images of the past abide.
Each plodding step draws her closer
to the reason for her homecoming.
It’s in her blood.

And then, at last, the vision of angelic blue eyes
a child’s face framed by golden curls of fire,
the cuteness of pudgy porcelain white hands,
and the mirrored smile of her mother.
There they stand, her long awaited couplet,
Poet lover and their child.
She has come full circle.

©  2005, Diane Anjoue