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Ann Christine Tabaka Poems

Crash Landing

The entire city was asleep, as if everyone had
fallen off the edge of the universe. The sound
of the fountains was heightened by the night.

Each footstep echoed your name loudly
through the emptiness, as it bounced
back to me off of brick walls.

A soft glow filled the sky, as the moon rose
above the haze. It was the ultimate romance
novel, that had gone completely wrong.

The city of dreams lay before me, but I was all
alone, experiencing my own thoughts while
seeing life through someone else’s eyes.

Then all of a sudden there you were,
standing right before me. A white rose in
your hand, saying your good-byes.

As petals fell softly onto the sidewalk,
landing with a crash so deafening
that it woke the morning.

Great Game Changer

Once …
Once upon a time …
Once upon a time there was a vibrant young girl,
full of passion and ambition,
full of pride and self-worth.

Time …
Time is the great thief.
It beats you down when you are ill-prepared.
It takes more than your youthful appearances,
it robs your ebullience and inner stalwartness.

Forward …
Forever forward …
never back,
never standing still,
always accelerating with each blink of the eye.

Graying hair and clouded eyes aside,
some manage to soldier
past the desolation,
past the indignation,
past the animosity.

Many …
Many will tell you …
Many will tell you that
Old age brings new confidence,
But many lie.

Wild Honeysuckle

Wild honeysuckle,
overwhelmingly sweet scented
childhood memories. Sucking
down sticky drops of nectar.
Dodging yellow jackets and
bees competing for same.

A bramble of multiflora roses,
our fortress against the invisible
enemy. Battling monsters in a
stick-sword fight of epic proportions.
Rolling down grassy hills.

Splashing through woodland streams,
searching under rocks for crayfish.
Days that would go on forever, a
single scent brings them all back.
The pungent aroma of wild honeysuckle.

Saturday Morning Surprise

The cat jumps on the bed with
an unwelcomed gift. Noticing it
I scream. Perplexed, he jumped off
leaving his treasure behind.

Looking at me as if to say, mother how can
you reject my perfect offering? Turning, he
saunters away. Holding my breath I lean
over to look at the sad creature laying there.

Slowly the mouse opens its eyes and carefully
surveys the scene. Seeing no cat, he scurries off
to who knows where before I could scream again.
Heart pounding I carefully step down.

Searching the room, no mouse to be seen,
hoping that the poor critter finds its way
out of the house the same way it got in.
I go off to give the mighty hunter his breakfast.

Tabby is stretched out full length, sound asleep
in the sunny spot underneath the large window.

Then I notice it –
The mouse, curled up on Tabby’s paw looking
very relaxed. All of a sudden they both look up
at me, and I could swear that they winked!

Putting heads back down, they both continued
their nap, as I stood there scratching my head.

Empty Lives

A hunger so deep it devours its host.
eating away at self-worth,
sucking out the spirit,
starving the mind.
A pain so intense that it defies explanation.
The want of food,
goes deeper than just the physical pangs.
It grows into an emotional hunger,
that wraps itself around its prey
strangling the life out of it,
leaving an empty shell.
A hollow aching is all that is left.

Poetry BY Ann Christine TabakaAnn Christine Tabaka lives in Delaware, USA. She is a published poet and artist. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Metaworker, Raven Cage Ezine, RavensPerch, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, Longshot Island, Indiana Voice Journal, Halcyon Days Magazine, The Society of Classical Poets, and BSU’s Celestial Musings Anthology.

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