To Mulch

    To Mulch

    

Late February

in our front hall

I reach for,

touch

the dried leaf

on the wood floor

fully expecting to pluck up

a lovely lacy leaf right before

it floats away.

But that light lacy leaf

about to waft away

rebels- crumbles ... mud

from a boot tread

now dust

on my finger tips.

                                                                                   poem copyright ©2023 Anne Selden Annab

Alone, an Iris Poem by Anne Selden Annab

     Alone

She fully bloomed

at night, long before

dawn. No sun,

no light,

or warmth.

No script.

No audience

to unfurl her beauty

to or for...

She is iris

in our garden,

ink on a page,

She is poem.

 

                  poem & photo copyright ©2021 Anne Selden Annab 

An October Rainstorm Poem by Anne Selden Annab

No dance,

just drop:

Leaves fall faster

in the rain.

Drenched and sopping

heavy with wet

immune to breeze

and waft

Pulled

straight

down

(or sideways

down)

to earth

no shuffle, no scurry, no dither, no dilly-dally- just tree then land.

 

poem copyright ©2015 Anne Selden Annab

Twenty Twenty a New Year Poem by Anne Selden Annab

Silver sunrise
for twenty twenty

Sky mist swirls
into distinct shapes.

Blue skies now silhouette tall trees-
trunks, branches, twigs...

with birds that sing as our sky decides
to (momentarily) be a thunderous dark grey

Only long enough to crystallize
a scattering of celebratory snow flurry

poem copyright ©2020 Anne Selden Annab

A Secret Sparkle

 
    A Secret Sparkle

There is a secret sparkle
to quicken soon
into life
into a living thing
nudging.

A knowledge of change
starts with a startled blink.

A knowledge of loss
limits who might be told
for now, briefly, as science brews
a human being.

All the while small details
become more and more real
as thoughts stir and curiosity
takes hold.

What color will her eyes be
and her hair- will it curl,
will it glint in the sun.

Who will her features echo
as time folds touching ancestors
and marriages and mingling
reaching back into forever.

Will she have my grandmother's
hazel eyes, or my daughter's
dark brown
or my dad's deep cerulean,
or her father's green grey blue.

A small speck
a sparkle, if luck holds,
a secret soon to swell
into wonderfully obvious
and alive- and adorable.

poem copyright ©2015 Anne Selden Annab

The Architect's Garden

   The Architect's Garden

Purpley blue geranium
by the round stone terrace
by the house
in the back garden
watched
by a blue eyed cat.

From far above the garden shape
would be an open door.

Tall stucco garden walls with barely
visible vertical apertures for air
and a long low horizontal gap
giving small creatures
bunny, chipmunk, bird
incentive to come and go
gleaning beauty.

Only the back garden gate
seals tight, and the house
with its many windows
and that bright blue eyed cat
purrs as Elsie Louise
in the lightest blue
entertains.

She is sky
with a lion's mane
still gold in the right light.
An old stone farmhouse
and thousands of good books
built who she is now
transplanted to town
perfecting summer
on a teacher's salary.


                  poem copyright ©2015 Anne Selden Annab

Trust ... a poem

          Trust ...a poem

Poems remind us
that meaning
is not locked in place.

It takes listening
to write, and listening
to read... remembering.

Each word has a history
creating a now with all
that has been
and all that might be.

Context changes
with mood, and the way
light hits the page...

[Do you see the same illustration I do
from King Arthur's court?]

A poem's interpretation is at all times
momentary.

A kaleidoscope capture
of personal experience...

Pebbles moving in a mountain stream
of cold fresh water, pebbles
tumbling into polished
glimmering treasure,
but only for one who
notices and reflects

with human warmth
and connection.

poem copyright ©2014 Anne Selden Annab