Anne's Poetry Journal

28^th July to 3^rd August 2003

Monday

No poem for Monday 28^th July, 2003.

Tuesday

I WISH

Lamplight kisses the oranges,

Pregnant with summer's sunlight.

I wish I were scaling the pyramid,

Playful wind plucking my hair.

Or with sand searing the soles of my feet

As I dance with stones that sing.

You are like a precious secret

Slowly suffusing my soul

Joy speaks softly to my senses

Warms my heart and

Whispers like the summer's breeze

On which I will fly away.

I wish I were free to pursue

Sunbeams, silverdreams, shadows and you.

But this is not a poem about

Fanciful unfullfilled fantasies,

It is merely the cry of a sun-starved student

Pregnant with discontent.

Wednesday

WHEN YOU WERE GROWN

Anne Penrose

When you were grown and I was not

You called me little fish.

You let me loose on sacred sand

To worship surf in bliss.

Your little fish, you called me

And in the sun I played.

I surfed upon beloved waves

Until the light did fade.

I played in glowing sunlight

Free from lessons I now know

That lights, they will all fade someday

And little fishies grow.

REPLY -WHEN I WAS GROWN

Stephen Penrose

When I was grown and you were not

You were my futures hope

Pain I sought to shield you from

Your laughter was your gift to me

When I was grown and you half not

Protective thoughts were misperceived

And stubborness itself revealed

Turned laughter to attack us both

When I was grown and you were too

We realised we both were fools

For growth of one affects us all

And growth in truth reveals the love

When I was grown and you were not

Thanks Dad. I love you very much.

Thursday

CHILLI SAUCE

A million faces infinite in potential

Peer out from a sea of thickened blood.

They are scooped up,

Then dragged towards the precipice

And thrown into the abyss.

Sacrificed to appease

Hunger, pride and masochism.

Friday

FRIDAY WASHING

Two glass conical flasks

Rub against eachother

Like a noisy lovers' quarrel

Bulbous flasks all gurgle

In hopeless protest

Like a victims' final struggle

I drown them one by one

In an acid vat

That's less corrosive than her tongue

Lab coat, gloves and glasses

Can't protect me from her spite

As I do the Friday Washing

Saturday

The light it shone upon my head

So early in the morning

I wish that I were still in bed

'Cause I can not stop yawning

And it is with a sense of dread

I spy two bottles adorning

The table which has just turned red

In the sunlight dawning

Sunday

No poem for Sunday 3^rd August, 2003.

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