Anne's Poetry Journal

19th to 25th April 2004

Anne's Poetry Journal went into hibernation for a while - I went through a stage where nothing I put down would have been anything but depressive, and I think I'm over writing depressive poetry - it's always so cringeworthy after the fact. And so, now that I feel more like myself, I have started it up again.

Monday

THE TAKING OF THE FORT BY INNILGARD

There was a land unto the south
A land called Innilgard,
And in this land they grow them strong
They grow them strong and hard.

They have no knight to light their way
But in the dark they see,
For tales aplenty can be told
Of fearsome bravery.

Upon the field of war they stood
As tall as they were wide.
Wherever they engaged the foe
They surely turned the tide.

At the first sight of our brave lads
The enemy did quail.
Our swords raised high and arrows true
We made their shield wall fail.

The stronghold of the foe stood tall,
And through no enterprise
Could any fighter enter her,
Though they be fierce or wise.

Up to the gate of yonder fort
Our huscarls led the charge.
Upon the mighty door they knocked
And through it they did barge.

And as our young men took the fort
Those watching them did cry,
"Go Innilgard! You brave strong lads -
The battle's end draws nigh.".

They took the fort, victorious.
They surely won that day
Great reknown and valour true,
Not just a well fought fray.

And as the sun crept down to bed
We dragged them from the field.
In years to come, when fighting us
The sensible will yield.

Tuesday

FRED

Fred lies silent
Pinned to the ground
An insect pinned
As if for an entomologist.

We prise him from
His display board
Gently move his leaden body
As if he would care.

Later we crumple his limbs
Into the rescue vehicle
Like an old sample
Thrown in a lab cupboard.

Before people get upset - Fred is the mannequin we use to practice Rescue operations at the local SES group.

Wednesday

DENTIST

Fists clenched in a crushing grip
Like two lovers parting for the last time
As if the embrace could stop the inevitable pain

With the precision of a drill sergent
She barks out her thorough, capable orders
And carries out reconaissance of my mouth

I choke and splutter on the salty polish
Like a swimmer struggling against the sea
Willing myself to not drown - land is in sight

Thursday

HOW BEAUTIFUL

How beautiful
To watch dawn's paintbrush
Wash the world clean
Each day freshly painted
In glorious colours
A new start - a fresh canvas

How beautiful
To rise and daub at the world
Like fingerpainting children
Splashing over the masterpiece
And each other
Each day different - a fresh canvas

Friday

No poem for Friday.

Saturday

No poem for Saturday.

Sunday

No poem for Sunday.

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