1/4/2023 0 Comments alabaster blue alabaster blue hannah anderson
memories of you are alabaster blue fingers that never held lips that never touched ghosts of desire haunting my sleep dreams we pursued memories of you are alabaster blue nights of deepest fear smiles we used to share phantoms of communion plaguing each step ideals we held true memories of you are alabaster blue was it ever real it was all surreal ex-soul connection rebreaking my heart lies we told memories of you are alabaster blue so close to mine so far from mine shadows in the past hoping to forget ourselves memories of you are alabaster blue words you never said tears you never shed all around memories of you are all alabaster blue
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3/6/2022 0 Comments Crucified LatrineThis poem was in response to the photograph, Crucifixion, taken by photographer Keron Psillas. It is one of the images from her project, "Loss and Beauty: creating solace in a land of infinite sorrow". You can view the photo on her site, keronpsillas.com, along with more of her work. The link is provided below. Please check her work out.
Keron Psillas - Photographer | Writer | Instructor Crucified Latrine Hannah Anderson Cold and empty land, Horrors buried in orchard snow In the visage of stone, merge the nameless Jewish Man Black corners inking dark, White door gaping wide Where your mouth abides, See the waste filled marks Gashing, reeking holes, within your chest of stone Filled with waste and bone, devour missing souls In the morning; Cock crows, Bells toll, Rope hangs Holes fill Ghostly they cry, Stone clogs his ears Blood fills their tears, Stone blinds his eyes Through white wide mouth, no escape from empty fate Cannot forsake, chest filled cesspools in the ground Leave the darkened hall, death’s promise to meet Loved ones underneath, stand before the Death wall 3/6/2022 0 Comments Daily SubscriptionDaily Subscription
Hannah Anderson All around me, on every screen I see, The terrors of humanity, nature reigns supreme. Instagram, Facebook, Youtube, everywhere I look, Another screaming newscaster casts their spelling hook. I lose sense of the living room, light begins to dim, Surrounding every nook and cranny, a cursing Jinn. Wishes to be free from pain, fettered to this life, I watch in helpless horror as I’m fed another lie. In the midst of June’s dry desert heat, I am drowning in the waters that consumed New Orleans. Katrina came in 20-5, 1,560 miles away, 1,833 doomed to die Tears that cannot pay. Upon this desert’s solid dirt and rock, I stand, Earth begins to shake and quake, and fell the running man. ‘Dios Mio’, 130 given for ‘85, 1,528 miles away, Watch the quaking live. No words I can say. Safe and cool, within my desert home, My petty cries are deafened in the smoking dome. Ammonium Nitrate, 2,750 tons, 7,339 miles away, Sitting in the Port of Lebanon. All I can do is pray. Where is hope and peace, courage hands to hold, When naught but greed and power, are the voices bold? The world is burning in our hands, witches at the post, Gurgling, spewing, vomiting, humanity's blood and bone. The negative, overpowering. I lie shaking in my bed. I cannot keep this continuing, living in my head. Instagram, Facebook, Youtube, newscasters in our hands, Easily, reminding us that power was never man’s. Watching reels, spewing wheels, no restriction, To have hope renewed, I must cancel my subscription. World of Babochki
-Butterflies- Hannah Anderson For you Babochka, -butterfly- I will destroy entire worlds For you Butterflies on dresses, Snapping camera lenses Naive girls on benches -devata- For you Babochka, You will know It was all for you Young, foolish devata -girls- Chasing flashing fantasy I will destroy their universes For you Babochka, I will crush their heads Snap their scaly wings So you will know, It was all for you Ya tebya lublu -I love you- I will show you, That you still love me That you love me too You do not love him, I know, Babochka, -butterfly- I know you know For you Babochka, I told you I would Destroy entire worlds With babochki underfoot, -butterflies- Universes imploded, Worlds destroyed For me, Babochka, I destroyed your entire world, For me 3/6/2022 0 Comments Don't Be HappyDon’t Be Happy
Hannah Anderson Turn lamentations into celebrations. Lamentations are not to be celebrations. In them souls find relief from sorrow and heartache. The dark is meant to flee from smiles and joyous turns of phrase. Don't be sad. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Don't be sad. Why are sorrows and downcast spirits evil? Why cannot there be tears, pains, heartaches to feel? Why is it such things are covered in cheer? Hide them all, weep no more. Evil are all tears. Don't cry. Smile. Smile. Smile. Don't cry. I tell you, I am a sad being. Sadness in my soul, my heart beating. They see Eeyore in his gray, gloomy cloud. Elves with joy-tempered sorrows, I have found. Don't be sad. Be happy. Be happy. Be happy. Don't be sad. Happiness has its place, but sorrow must be had. We cannot always be happy. We cannot always be sad. Many hide sorrow with smiles. But pain is freed, healing seen, when we cry a while. In the Field of Sleeping Blades
Hannah Anderson Long ago, in the Gladiolus field Soldiers fell, by brother killed Grave plain, their blood tilled Yellow acacia, living and young Open roots, as seeking tongues Lapping blood that battle brung In the shadow, sitting two Lone survivors, in morning dew Bittersweet Ambrosia grew Her head, upon his shoulder. Her hand in his, growing colder. What could he do? Hold her. Breeze brushing by, bore Butterflies fed on war Her side, blood poured Scaly wings, come feeding On ruby juices bleeding She was his heartbeat Secrets on Death’s door Everything to live for Stolen by nameless war Pale yellow acacia tree Bright and young and free Ambrosia growing, bitter sweet Chill breeze, her breath, it takes For her body, ground awaits Their secret shared too late Long ago, the lone survivor made For home, weeping, her last day In the field of sleeping blades |
AuthorWelcome to my humble collection of poems. Though I have written many poems growing up, most of a free-verse form, it wasn't until a Poetry Workshop in Fall 2021 that I finally began to delve into the art of poetry. |