Tag Archives: love

New Video for ‘The Cucumber Plot’

Cucumber photo

I made a mini video in my kitchen for ‘The Cucumber Plot‘ – a poem I wrote a while back .  Check it out if you have a mo.

Thanks everyone.

A x

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New video for ‘We Are The Mums’

jeans

Hello everyone and Happy Mother’s Day to all us mums  (despite the clocks going forwards and loosing the lie in today!! – Conspiracy!)

Here’s my video poem for mothers everywhere – so if (due to the clocks changing) you have forgotten to give yourself time to nip out and get a bunch of flowers – send this link to mum instead.

Have a great day!


Brit Mums Poetry & Prose Round Up

BritMumslogoBrit Mums are a collective of lifestyle bloggers in Britain.  I recently became connected with their poetry and writing representative Maddy Bennett who runs a fantastic blog and writing forum called Writing Bubble.

Maddy recently called for poems associated with love to appear in the Brit Mums February Round Up and I am honored to find that I am one of those poets who have been showcased in the Round Up.  It means a great deal to me to find a connection with so many other poets, some of whom are mothers,  as well as having a poem shared.  In my case it was one of my own favourites, Backseat Driver.

Please do checkout the link to the Round Up and have a gander at a wealth of talented lady writers who really do write from the heart.

Anna x

 


Secondhand Merchandise on Soundcloud

Finally had some recordings done – hope you enjoy.  Feel free to comment.  Thanks for listening.

Anna x


The Ring

boxing-ring

Round One is lost

There were no winners that time,

All that pre match fizz

But it fell flat out.

Complicated perhaps,

Left me unprepared,

I thought I could handle it

I thought I would dare

Buffed and polished

Adrenalin rushed

So pleased to know

It was you all along

Dancing the same dance,

Tuning into my song.

Yeah, its been quite a time

Since that first encounter

Since the first crime

And it was good

Until I didn’t know what I’d done,

My heart ripped open and fried in the sun

Inside and out

Scalded in shame

Blistered by pride

Bravely greased

secretly dressed

taken down by my Jekyll and Hyde.

But now Round Two looks good to go

You got back up

You said it was so

And its not like I’ve been waiting

No, I’ve been trying to forget

But the sting is still sweet upon my mouth

dangerous and pitiful

swollen, on fire,

another hook and the scar

will open itself.

© Anna Ghislena 2015


From the Lavvy with Love

engaged_toilet

Lollipop.  Perfume.
Hand in hand
face to face
door rattles, shut
Contours merge
in nightclub glow
greasy dim as candlelight
Kisses wide
such wolfish need
ravenous for new territory
Stinging taste
aching touch
fiery sweet and syrupy
Frigid tiles scorch fevered skin
heat radiates
salty wet
bleach fuses musky scent
hand-dryer drowns
urgent breath
Fingers braced
across gloss paint
blindly trace cacography
Backed up hard
on wisdom’s words
penned in fibres
scratched in verse
Exit Light Enter Shite
and
Every Hole’s A Goal
Will everything will be ok in the end..?
and
You just lost control

 

© Anna Ghislena 2015


Coda

coda sign

We defined our pitch; our consonance;

dancing pastoral duets of effortless dynamics

finely tuned by ear, in love,

by eye, in lust.

Time shifts the key.

Major.

Minor.

Major.

Minor,

right in the middle of our composition.

Major.

Minor.

Your dominant, my diminished;

harmonious phrases denied completion.

Dull monotony seeps under our melody,

bleeding a bruise of harsh discordance and

confused tones that have no beginning and no end.

All our strings vibrate, when only one is struck.

You refuse to greet our requiem;

I refuse to hear our elegy,

and we are nothing, but smashed chords.

© Anna Ghislena 2014


Field of Youth

©Anna Ghislena 2013

Finding you wasn’t hard

although you all looked the same beneath ever changing skies.

Stark bright and upright against the cornflower blue of summer suns

pure under winter’s thundery slate skirts

or, quietly bathed in autumn’s sleepy amber hues.

Did you think, at twenty two, that generations would stand here by your side

imagining the glory, the fear

withholding anger or sorrow for you?

Racing clouds allow the sun a turn.

Your gentle name, in thirty rows of harvested youth

is brushed by rays like life-giving fingers.

No.  I am humbled by your fall; your sacrifice and your love.

©Anna Ghislena 2013


Backseat Driver

A photograph by David Kozlowski

A photograph by David Kozlowski

When I am old I shall drive a Fiat Punto

and keep a rug and basket on the back seat

with a flask and biscuits, for emergencies.

Time will be mine without you my dear;

my second pair of eyes in left hand command.

I shall be regal and heads will turn

at my rinse, set and finish so trim, and

I shall cruise, at twenty two, down the main road through town,

with an entourage processing behind.

I shall signal well before left or right is in sight and

turn with due diligence and care.

I shall reverse or nose dive at an angle when parking;

a precise ninety degree demonstration.

Yes, time will be mine without you my dear,

to gauge our distance and schedule.

No kids to taxi and no nine to five rush hour.

No trains or planes to dash for.

The engine won’t squeal with a foot to the floor, it will purr and function serenely.

The flask will stay in its place, all the way,

to the library, bowls or the doctor.

Yes, time will be mine, without you my dear and

I’ll tune into classical radio.

My hair still regal; not a grey out of place,

I shan’t break too hard or too late.

Yes, time will be mine without you my dear

but I would miss you, my dear, with you not here.

So before I am old, with my hair all regal, driving my Fiat Punto,

let’s jump the lights and turn up the volume,

greet the wind in our faces and hair.

Love me again on the old squeaky backseat;

sleep out, when we should be at home.

Guitars all blazing with a foot to the floor and

thundering drums keeping time with the revs.

“I am, truly sorry, Officer, Sir,

I had no idea of the speed limit in place.”

Yes, time should be ours, my love, my dear,

To witness sunrise through the mirror’s rear view;

the seats all sticky with the times of yesterday,

my hair not regal, and all out of place.

© Anna Ghislena 2014.