Anastasia Poems - Poems about Anastasia

Smooth skin Long legs, no fats Clean, no tattoos....

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once a char maid Cinderella had hard time finding a fella she crashed a party thought herself smarty outplayed Anastasia and Drizella...

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Anastasia: a crazy name for an Irish woman, but actually, quite common in the long-buried book of Celtic Memories. When she in a reverie came to me - her 80 year old hair flying on countless dove-gray moonbeams, I sensed a pitter-pattering of soft rain redolent of the green hills of Connemara falling into my mind. “I am not dead, and you are not...

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She came to me under tired eyelids. I never actually met her. Aunt Anastasia; quite a common name for an Irish dame. She arrived with her long gray hair flowing like silver moonlight. She had nothing much to say but she said it anyway. Not a very eloquent or beautiful ghost, she probably have scared herself to death pondering on God's wrath. However she was my aunty so I...

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Standing outside the St. Petersburg palace gate, I am withstanding the cold as I patiently wait. May I be lucky enough to see the daughter of the Tsar. Men throughout Europe realize how beautiful you are. On this cold winter night, you can shine like a star. The youngest of four sisters, you are unreachable royalty. I know that a date...

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Frantic pedantic Premier protects her precious state Hides behind tree at New South border, sniper style Midst of thriving twin city metropolis many populate Her Highness surmises business will just 'rest a while'. Interstate disallow brings collapse of tourism, fragile Anxious Anastasia clutches her gun-like gate shut weapon Nerve spasm tazer cocked in canteen lady arms, equipped Rule of fair...

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Detrimental, this situation...so detrimental Why, why do I even persist; why do I even bother to contend to be a contender, the defender in this pointless game Am I the pretender, pretending nothing affects me like a contagious infectious disease No, my rouse is clear; I'm made of glass, so easily shattered Dealing with this...suffering through this... struggling, fighting for this... cuts me...

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She leans whispering, whilst black deadened eyes stare back ~~ Amidst translucent reflection, she now reflects ~~~* In compassionate sorrow. Her sibling taken having disappeared years back ~~ Background beauty blooms in ignorance of her loss ~~~* If only they knew the truth. *This is James Fraser's entry into Constance's 'Reflection' contest...

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