Submissions by annie-lang
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Annie has been an amateur poet for roughly seven years, writing mainly on the world around her in remarkably cheerful or strange terms.
SELF POEM
Published
14th May 2010 11:25pm
14th May 2010 11:25pm
Sunspot Deaths
A July sky could eat the world,
and swallow us in paper blue
where even the sun would not be warm.
If I emerge from the shadows
that dance through willow branches,
to find the place where the light bounces
off flashing water in the brook,
then I am lost.
The July sky will catch me:
tear me from the world and throw me
to the vertigo abyss.
I will burn like paper-petrol in blue flames
and the orange moon, hanging heavy in August,
will be all of my remains.
and swallow us in paper blue
where even the sun would not be warm.
If I emerge from the shadows
that dance through willow branches,
to find the place where the light bounces
off flashing water in the brook,
then I am lost.
The July sky will catch me:
tear me from the world and throw me
to the vertigo abyss.
I will burn like paper-petrol in blue flames
and the orange moon, hanging heavy in August,
will be all of my remains.
696 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
11th May 2010 10:58am
11th May 2010 10:58am
Time
Sometimes, this is all it is:
grains of sand scraping down the hourglass
until the walls are sand themselves,
and the sand dunes last
until the wind blows in, and lost,
we are scattered to the north and south.
They asked us once,
‘When is a pile a pile at all?’
and we could while away our lonely days
without finding much at all.
Time will whisper by
and our ashes will be scattered:
grey sand under grey skies, and out
over the steel city sea
of cars and gleaming metal
that dulls in the gloom.
Tell me, will it be the...
grains of sand scraping down the hourglass
until the walls are sand themselves,
and the sand dunes last
until the wind blows in, and lost,
we are scattered to the north and south.
They asked us once,
‘When is a pile a pile at all?’
and we could while away our lonely days
without finding much at all.
Time will whisper by
and our ashes will be scattered:
grey sand under grey skies, and out
over the steel city sea
of cars and gleaming metal
that dulls in the gloom.
Tell me, will it be the...
912 reads
0 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
11th May 2010 10:56am
11th May 2010 10:56am
Summer
I want summer to last forever,
when we aren’t the gangly weeds of spring
and our flowers have met the sun
and we can smile and wave
in summer breezes through the fields.
I want to stay here in summer,
twenty and stupid and shy,
in love and too-wide grin
and blurred photographs when
the night drops but the heat won’t fade.
And I could do that,
sit in summer and count the freckles
until my skin burns red and it aches.
I could walk the burning sands
and if there’s no summer breeze then
I could do that too.
But others...
when we aren’t the gangly weeds of spring
and our flowers have met the sun
and we can smile and wave
in summer breezes through the fields.
I want to stay here in summer,
twenty and stupid and shy,
in love and too-wide grin
and blurred photographs when
the night drops but the heat won’t fade.
And I could do that,
sit in summer and count the freckles
until my skin burns red and it aches.
I could walk the burning sands
and if there’s no summer breeze then
I could do that too.
But others...
833 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
10th May 2010 10:27pm
10th May 2010 10:27pm
Scattered
Flower petals in the wind.
August hurricanes swept through
and scattered us.
The world is tiny
from here and you
have been gone so long
over a blue horizon that
I know
we will not collide again.
But summer hills in England,
eons ago, we came from
the same flowerbeds
listening to footballs in the street
and there is where you remain
despite the August hurricane.
August hurricanes swept through
and scattered us.
The world is tiny
from here and you
have been gone so long
over a blue horizon that
I know
we will not collide again.
But summer hills in England,
eons ago, we came from
the same flowerbeds
listening to footballs in the street
and there is where you remain
despite the August hurricane.
814 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
10th May 2010 10:19pm
10th May 2010 10:19pm
Come and Go
The people come
The people go
And where we are, I cannot know,
But lazy circles in lazy rooms
With ceiling fans
And waxing moons.
And this is it,
A hundred years
In lazy motions, round and round.
The people come
The people go
And drift away without a sound.
For twenty years
I have been
And eighty more before I go
But where I was
And where I am
I cannot know, I cannot know.
It is this it,
The hazy world,
With fire-ice and stillness-flash
And sand-lit coasts
And your smile,
Sharp and warm...
The people go
And where we are, I cannot know,
But lazy circles in lazy rooms
With ceiling fans
And waxing moons.
And this is it,
A hundred years
In lazy motions, round and round.
The people come
The people go
And drift away without a sound.
For twenty years
I have been
And eighty more before I go
But where I was
And where I am
I cannot know, I cannot know.
It is this it,
The hazy world,
With fire-ice and stillness-flash
And sand-lit coasts
And your smile,
Sharp and warm...
865 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th Mar 2010 2:16pm
7th Mar 2010 2:16pm
Afraid
Don't be afraid.
That's the most important thing.
The world around you, she's dangerous.
She can smile and kill you,
Rip you limb from limb and
She'd enjoy that.
But don't be afraid:
You're part of her, a cancer
Of sentience and kindness.
Toy with her as she
Toys with you.
Manipulate, play, and tear.
Don't shy from blood and bruising,
Broken bones and teeth,
And whipcord scars.
Don't be afraid:
The pain will fade
And her respect, it's a price.
If she respects you, your end
May be messy, may hurt,
May take a...
That's the most important thing.
The world around you, she's dangerous.
She can smile and kill you,
Rip you limb from limb and
She'd enjoy that.
But don't be afraid:
You're part of her, a cancer
Of sentience and kindness.
Toy with her as she
Toys with you.
Manipulate, play, and tear.
Don't shy from blood and bruising,
Broken bones and teeth,
And whipcord scars.
Don't be afraid:
The pain will fade
And her respect, it's a price.
If she respects you, your end
May be messy, may hurt,
May take a...
974 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
6th Mar 2010 8:58pm
6th Mar 2010 8:58pm
King of the World
The king died by falling off the world.
He stood on the pole; we told him not to.
But ice is slippery: it’s just common sense.
There must be none of that
At the end of the world.
He fell a long way, I imagine.
It’s a long way from here to Mars.
And when he lands, the Martians’ll look at him funny.
They’ve never seen a spaceman with broken legs before.
Without the king’s shadow, we’ll be in sunshine.
It’s kind of bright: ever been to Norway in the summer?
And the sun’s not good for you.
Skin cancer, blindness, all that jazz.
Did you...
He stood on the pole; we told him not to.
But ice is slippery: it’s just common sense.
There must be none of that
At the end of the world.
He fell a long way, I imagine.
It’s a long way from here to Mars.
And when he lands, the Martians’ll look at him funny.
They’ve never seen a spaceman with broken legs before.
Without the king’s shadow, we’ll be in sunshine.
It’s kind of bright: ever been to Norway in the summer?
And the sun’s not good for you.
Skin cancer, blindness, all that jazz.
Did you...
870 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
6th Mar 2010 8:54pm
6th Mar 2010 8:54pm
In the Holy Land
Never be a landlady.
I got a few lodgers,
All in the same house.
Nick’s downstairs, front bedroom,
Costs a fortune in heating bills
And his friends aren’t nice boys at all.
But the old guy with the attic room,
He’s not much better.
Slight mad standards – can’t say I mind
If Adam insists on a hundred pairs
Of identical jeans, or if Sammy
(First floor, bit of an ego and
Needs to get a haircut, silly lad)
Is always off out with that girl
Dahlia, something like that,
From the hairdressing salon down the road.
Just don’t do my job,...
I got a few lodgers,
All in the same house.
Nick’s downstairs, front bedroom,
Costs a fortune in heating bills
And his friends aren’t nice boys at all.
But the old guy with the attic room,
He’s not much better.
Slight mad standards – can’t say I mind
If Adam insists on a hundred pairs
Of identical jeans, or if Sammy
(First floor, bit of an ego and
Needs to get a haircut, silly lad)
Is always off out with that girl
Dahlia, something like that,
From the hairdressing salon down the road.
Just don’t do my job,...
804 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
20th Feb 2010 4:01am
20th Feb 2010 4:01am
How It Felt to Understand
You hear the talk of
Butterflies and snakes and
Lightning realisations and
The stirrings of lust, deep down,
Tinged with something harder than that.
Or you hear of slow burners
On oil ships that cross the oceans
In slow waves of steadiness.
Butthat is not how it was for me:
The symptoms never came.
My stomach didn’t twist,
My heart stayed stable,
And my days carried on as they were
Without her.
But I knew, all the same.
The smile in the club, her
Hand in mine through the crowd and
The fact she held on longer...
Butterflies and snakes and
Lightning realisations and
The stirrings of lust, deep down,
Tinged with something harder than that.
Or you hear of slow burners
On oil ships that cross the oceans
In slow waves of steadiness.
Butthat is not how it was for me:
The symptoms never came.
My stomach didn’t twist,
My heart stayed stable,
And my days carried on as they were
Without her.
But I knew, all the same.
The smile in the club, her
Hand in mine through the crowd and
The fact she held on longer...
1001 reads
1 Comment
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Feb 2010 10:04pm
8th Feb 2010 10:04pm
The End Cliche
I haven’t seen you for a while,
And haven’t thought about you
In a little while less but
At the end of the day,
End of the road, end of the line,
And millions ofother clichés that
I’m pretty sure begin with end –
I’ve gone off again,
Tangents and other lines of thought.
It always irritated you, how
My mind could wander like
A lost hiker in the Peaks,
Examining the bluebells
While the avalanche inched closer.
And that was the end of the line for us
When the mountain came down.
I remember the fight, remember ...
And haven’t thought about you
In a little while less but
At the end of the day,
End of the road, end of the line,
And millions ofother clichés that
I’m pretty sure begin with end –
I’ve gone off again,
Tangents and other lines of thought.
It always irritated you, how
My mind could wander like
A lost hiker in the Peaks,
Examining the bluebells
While the avalanche inched closer.
And that was the end of the line for us
When the mountain came down.
I remember the fight, remember ...
913 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
4th Feb 2010 5:40pm
4th Feb 2010 5:40pm
Inside Out
I wonder sometimes whether
It’s you who see the lie
Or I who fail to see the truth.
There are words that always cropped up
When they talked about me:
Loud and brash, something sociable,
A little bit odd, a little off kilter,
With a charming smile and
A way with words and
An easy humour, kind of dry,
And very British in the end.
They told me I was one of those
Who could make you feel the world,
See the sun through new eyes,
Or with a roll of the eyes
And an easy turn,
Dismiss you like an office intern.
It didn’t match...
It’s you who see the lie
Or I who fail to see the truth.
There are words that always cropped up
When they talked about me:
Loud and brash, something sociable,
A little bit odd, a little off kilter,
With a charming smile and
A way with words and
An easy humour, kind of dry,
And very British in the end.
They told me I was one of those
Who could make you feel the world,
See the sun through new eyes,
Or with a roll of the eyes
And an easy turn,
Dismiss you like an office intern.
It didn’t match...
906 reads
1 Comment
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
28th Jan 2010 11:31pm
28th Jan 2010 11:31pm
Snap and Break
This is not your life.
At the very least, it shouldn’t be:
Your life should not revolve
Around the snap and break
Of prose into lines,
Or around the crisp and curl
Of words on your tongue
As you imagine how this sounds out loud.
A thousand people live their lives
Between the pages of a book
Reading line after line and imagining,
Somehow, that the poet knows
How they feel as well.
But nobody does: there’s the truth:
Nobody understands because
Nobody else lives inside your head.
We can have the same experiences
But my...
At the very least, it shouldn’t be:
Your life should not revolve
Around the snap and break
Of prose into lines,
Or around the crisp and curl
Of words on your tongue
As you imagine how this sounds out loud.
A thousand people live their lives
Between the pages of a book
Reading line after line and imagining,
Somehow, that the poet knows
How they feel as well.
But nobody does: there’s the truth:
Nobody understands because
Nobody else lives inside your head.
We can have the same experiences
But my...
932 reads
2 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by annie-lang
