A patantly decent Christaian soul, from what i read of Anne on the whole, if she
Got a thing wrong..To make amends she
Took not long.' A decent and a caring soul
From what i know? On the whole, such a bad.? No terrible event, i will caution not to vent.' Was it done to tip the scales into
Mayhem? Anger; rage.' I think that such she would not want.? Yet actions and answers are needed and how.' Thirty years of mis-handling, must be ended and
Starting now.' Make no milage Nigel of her
Demise' yet let this be the moment of Britains reprise.' Support your indigenous
Who are such as she, redraw your prioritys, end the sleaze, fly the flags at
Half mast and see, respect is offered to
Anne; right living, and her home country.'
Anne Boleyn -
what a state she was in!
"If I'd have married another, instead,
I'd be standing before you with my head."
I have known Mary Anne for twenty years, she is cool
We met when we both taught in an elementary grade school
We got along great, because we both went the extra mile
To give the children some fun, to make each of them smile
Remember when we went to Las Vegas and we had too much stuff?
I started throwing clothes out, and Mary Anne went into a huff
I thought it was my junk, but it was stuff she had purchased at a shop
We laughed about it afterwards it became a story we liked to drop
We do not get together so much since I moved four hours away
But when she comes to our town, we have plenty to say
We share the old stories and laugh the entire day away
Sometimes we convince her to come home and stay
As a Smith and Wesson:
Weaponry;
Corralled and shooting out,
Every word to be;
She’s endowed,
With a round butt, and balcony;
So, harkens to hotness:
Her Summer eave;
Her beauty, to me, existentially,
Is like nature,
Or a green gable,
Canopy –
Let's Begin War Measure In Global Scales Of Hague
Rules of Loss
Had I not to intervene
Global power folds opposition in overatures
Canceling breaches speech
Geneva offers Diplomacy
The white house has been justifiably melted before
The Irish intervene
What your exceeded rank does not
[email protected]
Effort for the child writes her notes
In hidden holocaust peacefully first
Then bread thoughts and smiles
I wore my mind like a corset—tight, laced, unseen—
while the world asked me to smile with lipstick teeth
and stir the soup without stirring the storm inside.
There were mornings I woke as if embalmed,
already dressed in the hush of death's silk slip,
no reason, no riot—just a fog that would not lift.
The walls of my room pulsed like veins
and the mirror whispered lies in a female voice:
You are failing. You are too much. You are not enough.
I was the soft thing breaking beneath
a century of silence stitched into my sex,
taught to hush the howl and cradle the ache.
My hands shook when folding towels.
My heart stuttered at the scent of soap.
There was no name then for the madness.
Just "hysteria," like a curse tucked under my skirt,
and doctors who told me to marry or pray.
No pills yet. No lifeboats. Just poems or the end.
So I chose the door
that closed softer than the others.
Not for drama—
but for rest, for mercy,
for the silence to finally match
the silence within me.
If I'd been born later, maybe
there'd be lithium instead of letters.
But time gave me verse,
and verse gave me wings too torn to fly.
Not Anne, But Gabrielle
by Gabrielle Munslow
If you want me to take you to another time,
take my hand.
Don’t furrow your brow.
Slick with storylines,
my tongue twists
like an adder.
Poetry spills—
some good, some bad,
but always real.
I write of suffering.
I write of death.
I write of want.
No pretty, prophetic prose.
But I can still
slip a ditty off my toes.
I am Anne with an E.
No bird.
No net ensnares me.
Still, I rest,
and language thrills my bones.
Time stills—
or quickens.
Language isn’t luxury;
it’s necessity.
Down rabbit holes I go,
deep and twisted.
I braid my breath into roots.
I speak to the dirt,
and it answers.
Once a girl.
Now a woman,
retelling her youth.
I
am not Anne with an E.
I am Gabrielle—
with poems for sale.
?
© 2025 Gabrielle Munslow. All rights reserved.
This poem may not be reproduced, distributed, or performed without the author’s permission.
Anne Frank
sweet
s e
m l
i
diamond HEART
O P E N mind
marrow = Courage
had no ______…. basin
acted with PEN ______
|
|
*
taught about W. A. R. w r i t i n g
generations spiral up
|_____^^ journal again …
There was a young man bought a pangolin
but thought it was a mandolin
to be played like a violin
he tipped its scales 'til they creaked
tweaked its tail so it squeaked
and named the bow Anne Bowleyn
Anne Frank's earthly life, coldly cut short,
yet, in our hearts and minds, she always lives,
as, it seems, her spirit no one could thwart,
nor the humanity her message gives.
Sorry if I misrepresent the words
that emerged from her brave and precious pen.
I note it was not her who spoke of herds,
and said, with conviction, "never again".
Yet, I know it was this young girl who said,
the grownup world, her lesson, to impart,
speaking to our shared conscience as we read,
when she opined, "people are good at heart."
I wonder what this special girl would say
to young Palestinian girls today.
Agents against 'Woke'
ban, monitor
revise, exclude
like
'Natives' intruded
like
ships didn't deliver slaves
like
Anne Frank didn’t journal
like
separate was equal
like
history was meant to be revised
like
they want to see it.
It was the beautiful Anne
who bore the secret to his smile,
Maybe the wrinkle of her eye when she smiled,
The beautiful Anne was a blessing in disguise,
She was the heartbeat of his life,
To him she was the painter of life in disguise,
The floor she walked was kissed by him,
He was the happiest man when Anne touched his skin,
Anne was as pretty as thousand roses,
To him Anne was the answer to what future poses ,
The day he married Anne
was the amalgamation of all the wishes and good deeds made by him ,
Just when he thought he coudnt be happier
Annie proved otherwise
She gave him the most beautiful surprise
as she whispered she bore their child
He picked her up and carried her never wanting her to leave his sight ,
Annes beauty was never unknown
In the deaths ear echoed her name,
It was the excruciating birth the amazing Anne coudnt sustain,
Leaving him with a daughter he didn't even want to name
The daughter who was her mothers reflection
Never got the love
her father possessed for the same eyes
No matter how much the daughter ever try
she coudnt make him love Annes face ever again
Willie Anne finds faeries at least once a day
Sometimes in the field, forest, meadow or hay
How she finds them, no one can say
but when we come out, they all fly away
Forced into hiding from the Nazi's, Young Anne's account moves me to tears
My valentine Anne.
No matter where I walk, when were apart.
You’re always near and in my heart.
My dreams are filled, with visions of you.
My love will stand and always be true.
I have traveled this land from coast to coast.
I know it is you I love the most.
Now I know that this is the time.
Will you be my valentine?
Love Joey
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
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