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Five Poems By Ann Christine Tabaka

Ann Christine Tabaka has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry, she has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications.

The Blink of an Eye

The understanding of time
fleeting moments
never recaptured
sitting on windowsills
of the mind

In little jars and vases
fragments of the past
collide and are reborn
the cost is too dear
to step outside
the window’s light

Daily prayers
collected and sent
for the purpose of
extending days
like the long fingered
shadows of trees
reaching out at evening time

Faded memories
are reborn as
pirate ships in the mist
sailing into a fiery sunset
never to be seen again

Meanwhile time
the eternal predator
takes a bite out of
your morning toast
now dry and cold
from all that has transpired
in the blink of the eye


Greeting Tomorrow

Along the path to tomorrow,
we shall meet at the bridge
that spans the unknown universe.
I stand looking towards the sun.

Going the long way home.
No time for detours.
The crow does not fly
a straight course.

Lost along the road to nowhere,
beliefs evaporate into droplets
of disenchanted time.

Winged chariots fly off
into the sunset, taking with them
our hopes and dreams.

Liberate the thunderbolt.
Unleash the singing hands of time.
For above the clouds,
there are no more castles in the air.

Apple pie scented mornings.
Metaphors meant to be dissected.
As the road reaches another bend,
At last, at home on the horizon.


Restless Wind

The wind is a restless lover,
ever on the move.
The wind is a jealous lover,
claiming all within its path.

The wind is an angry lover,
bellowing like a runaway freight train
as it races through the trees,
bending them with its mighty breath,
they shake in fear.

A loud crack like a rifle shot
echoes through the night.
The earth quakes
as another mighty giant meets its doom.

The hill is littered with corpses
from former wars with the gale,
like so many fallen soldiers that
met the unforgiving force.

Alone and frightened
I huddle and pray
that the gods spare me,
as the thunderous chorus
continues through the night.

Morning once more,
the wind is now a gentle lover,
as it caresses me
with its soft warm breeze.


Remembering Mom

The smell of bread baking,
and strong laundry soap
clung to her like perfume.

Faced scrubbed clean,
hands red and labor rough,
the smile of an angel.

Patchwork apron tied tight
in a neat bow, always humming
that sweet tune as she did.

No one left to call out her name,
she preferred it that way, after
years of neglect and abuse.

She gave all she had to give,
and we took it in turn.
How I miss that dear woman today.


Reaching for Dawn

The shades of dawn
falling like colorful feathers
plucked from the sky.

Sorrow, a distant friend with
sodden shoulder and sturdy
pose, no longer needed.

In hand, a timetable of
misbegotten deeds, to be
dispersed to the four winds.

The song was sung long ago.
The echo still remains, of
voices faint and far off.

I do not know the words.

Climbing the mountain,
altitude unknown, oxygen
thin as a noon shadow.

The pinnacle appears.
Breathing in the clouds,
focus begins to dim.

Past fading into the future, as
the dawn now turns pure gold.
The summit is within reach.




Poetry BY Ann Christine Tabaka

Ann Christine Tabaka lives in Delaware, USA.  She loves gardening and cooking.  Chris lives with her husband and three cats. Her most recent credits are: Pomona Valley Review; Beneath the rRainbow, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, Oddball Magazine, The Paragon Journal, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine, Ann Arbor Review, The McKinley Revie.

Published inPoetry

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