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
Tag Archives: love
New video for ‘We Are The Mums’
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
Brit 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
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
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
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
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
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.
Anna Ghislena 