highs and lows
Home sweet home Latest site info Poetic stuff Serious stuff Funny stuff Topical stuff Alternative stuff Shakespearian stuff Musical stuff
  click here for a "printer friendly" version

by Ann Christine Tabaka



A New Day Dawns


A sleepy morning yawns,

stretching its arms across

the land. Moving into the

light, reaching for dawn,

at last burdens fall away.


Gingerly stepping over

the crumbled dreams of

yesterday tossed on the

floor. Burnt offerings cast

upon the sea, I make my

way through another door.


The day advances slowly,

with hope on its wing. A

single thought buoys me

and strengthens my reserve.

That with every sunrise,

another chance dawns anew.



a line, (a short blue one)


A Storm is at Hand


Her words were like a dark cloud,

blocking out the sun,

low hanging and ominous,

overpowering the day.


The grayness followed her

waiting for the storm to arrive.

The stillness was so thick

it was oppressive,

The silence was deafening.


Birds blackened the sky

with their escape route,

plucked feathers falling like rain.

Flowers withering under the weight.


Anguished faces turning upward,

as stale breadcrumbs

spill from their mouths.

Self-doubt creeping in,

as more clouds gather.


The sky is now black.

There is no place to run,

the storm is at hand.



a line, (a short blue one)


Dying Embers


We don’t make love any more,

nor greet each other at the door.

Years laid rusty, corroded dreams.

Age deals romance a mortal blow.


Time can be so cruel,

draining life from lives.

A thief that robs passion,

erasing it from the slate.


Whispered words of love,

now left at the doorway

of an empty room.

While a cold bed cries out

to lonely blankets on the floor.


No more looks of ardor,

nor soft engaging smiles.

Gifts of flowers long decayed,

only memories prevail.

Anguish-bit lips fight back tears.


Flames of the heart extinguished,

leaving only lukewarm ashes

choking for oxygen,

as glowing embers die.



a line, (a short blue one)


Night Refuge


Flying by the window of time,

seeking truth. Lurking in hidden

passages, susurrations follow.

Apparitions haunt the shadows

of the imagination.


There are no more wishes,

the stars have all gone dark.

Pain swallowed the night.


So, escape the day.

Flee for the night, never look

back. Run towards the darkness

that harbors the silence.


The deep ache of quiet that

floods the senses, battling turmoil

with calm. Future becomes past as

infinity dangles just out of reach.


Quote my words today,

For tomorrow does not exist!



a line, (a short blue one)


The Final Mile


Brittle bones and broken smiles,

the pathway stretched and worn.

Trodden dreams dissipate and

fade into the past. Seeking solace,


repentance lost, seasons turn again.

Staring out through fading eyes,

the years march swiftly by. The

juxtaposition of fate and fact.


Timetables made. Days spent

planning, the mantle clock loudly

chimes the hour. The mundane

routine of daily life yawns again.


Twisted bodies and aching limbs.

Porcupine quills and serrated

knives, mind numbing sensations

linger on. Burnt toast and sour


milk, the daily fare of late. Clouds

across the moon, another night

goes by, all the while we lumber

forth until we reach that final mile.



a line, (a blue one)


Rate this poetry.

Copyright is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce any part of this article without consent.


© Winamop 2018