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Best Poems Written by Anne Winter

Below are the all-time best Anne Winter poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Anne Winter Poem

Poems and Poets

For once in my life,
I want to be a poem,
Written with many metaphors,
By a poet with a heart that flows
Flowers of romanticism like the rivers
That roar with devotion deeper than the oceans. 
I may never last forever,
Immortalise me in your poem,
I want to smile forever,
I have had oceans of tears
Splashing my heart 
And tearing me apart. 
Little less anaphora,
Much more allusion,
Refer not a rhyme or a rhythm,
Let me be free, wild and witty,
Just like the sunflowers smiling
In sunbeams in those dreamy paintings,
Let my hair be reckless like waves,
My eyes serene like grey graves,
My lips rosy like bleeding caves,
My fragrance drowsy and dreamy like the dead poets.  

Can you write me like those burned up passionate pages in the night where the moon is just hanging low longing to be brought down in the grave glow of the cherry red candlelight. 

Please, please,
Let me be a poem,
Say yes, say that you will write me,
Your glorious glass pen,
Ingenious emerald ink
Crunching on an aged, mushy parchment paper. 

My typewriter won't work,
The ink on my fingers consumed me,
I choked on my coffee,
I am nothing but just shards of the coffee cup
That kissed my mouth every morning 
With gardens and gloom,
Brought a sparkle on my face 
That tends to bloom. 

I want to be a poem.

Details | Anne Winter Poem

My Morning Routine

Breakfast bells ring 
In my stomach and 
I go downstairs in the
Room where deliciousness
Resides with care and love—
Kitchen,
I stumble slowly 
Sinking the moment all in
I take every step 
Tap 
      Tap
             Tap
                  I'm downstairs
My fingers wrapping
Affectionately around 
My coffee mug
Which is also my mate,
Coffee, I pour from the french press,
And it goes like a spiral
Down in the mug as a whirlwind. 
And then it goes gently down my throat 
When I kiss my mellow mug mindfully. 

Then my toast jumps out of the toaster
Like an acrobat,
Acutely lays on the placid plate
Waiting for me to reward it
With strawberries, cherries,
Or balmy butter or merry mulberries,
Or sometimes just like Winnie
I eat it with humble honey. 

Afterwards, the backyard awaits me,
I amble amply,
Scatter some bread for my buddies—
Birds and squirrels,
While the wind greets me,
And they all gather round
When I read my poems,
Keeping them spellbound.

Details | Anne Winter Poem

Ashes

The cafe burnt alive as soon as you
Set your patent leather boot inside
And walked right into this unknown,
Mysterious yet familiar world 
Of witty writers and pious poets
With their poetic pens.
My tantalizing timid eyes 
Met your musically amused eyes,
And I heard a symphony unsung,
Strange, how can you be just a stranger,
When your eyes can speak so much danger,
Then how much your heart would want to say, stranger. 
Strangers don't sing symphonies, 
Nor do they linger nostalgically 
Like a locket on an ashen neck. 
They don't even say hello,
And there I sat with my cold heart,
Wondering like a bashful bard,
What were the chances,
Those burning glances,
And you left aloofly 
With your latte
Leaving the ashes behind. 
Soot everywhere,
Here and there,
On my lips where
Your eyes lingered,
On my fingertips,
Wanting to write 
The desires of the
Waltzing, woozy heart.

Details | Anne Winter Poem

I Was Drunk

Whispers
Long and lost
Loud and low
“S e i z e  t h e  d a y”
Touched my ears,
Poured into my soul,
Vanished my inner ghoul,
The night nostalgic, new,
Nectarous and nefarious,
Feathered my hands,
Floated me from my desk,
I sniffed soul soothing poetry
Intoxicating from the dusty old
Buttery books shelved on, inviting. 

I drank one poem, 
And another,
Then another, 
Until I was dizzy drunk,
My eyelashes winged to the window
And it was dawn.

Details | Anne Winter Poem

What Did You Do to Me?

What did you do to me?
I am not who I used to be. 
I'm painting my nails, doing my hair,
In my walk there is a flair. 
Is this fair or unfair?
What did you do to me?
Your one gaze is glory. 

My heart wants freedom, it's jumping from the cage,
It's maroon now, before it was just a boring beige,
Oh, what did you do to me? 
I am not who I used to be. 

I am happy and I am crying,
Sometimes, I'm flying and dying,
Mostly crying myself I found
When you're not around. 
Am I in love?
Is love something you wove?
O sweetness, what did you do to me?
O goodness, set me free!

The day that you saw me for the first time,
Your face sparked up, only you heard a chime. 
I'll never forget your mouth agape,
Your eyes wrapped around me like a drape. 
I wanted to see myself through your eyes
And see what secrets your eyes disguised. 

I have been thinking and thinking and thinking again
About the soothing pain, then I realised it wasn't the rain
As the tears I felt on my fingertips when I touched my face,
Maybe because I wanted you to embrace. 

The night is petrifying and daylight exposes me,
Coffee won't wake me up let alone the tea,
I'm too deep thinking about you,
Devotion, my lungs feel blue. 

I haven't tasted a word since
I caught your glimpse,
I haven't even touched a pen, let alone a notebook,
Love is heavy, I'll turn into Ophelia dying in a brook. 

Now I want to taste the nectar of your lips,
God knows how many beats my heart skips,
I want to hold your hand and never let go,
Your arms around me, a heaven, please know. 

O sweetness, O sweetness,
What did you do to me!

Details | Anne Winter Poem

A Rainy Day

Rain, I adore, I impatiently wait for,
Like a wife awaits her husband from war.

Sloshing, splashing scintillating drops,
Soothing my skin with hopes
along with my smudged heart,
Rain, my first love, my sweetheart.

Laying on the gullible grass,
Staring at the sublime sky,
Thinking of life's dreams made of glass,
As the drops fall, lifting me to fly. 

After the sky is clear,
Leaving the earthy smell
That to my heart is so dear. 
Freesias, nasturtiums and bluebells.

The sun, masquerading behind creamy clouds,
Willows are not weeping, rain swept away their doubts. 
Wisterias are waltzing with the wind,
Gardenias and Geraniums grinned.

What a joy it is to be a mortal!
Life, a mix of smiles, beauty and chortles.

Details | Anne Winter Poem

Oblivion

Billions of galaxies,
Plenty of planets,
Moons and suns,
Unfathomable stars,
Bountiful black holes,
Drastic darkness,
Yet on this esoteric earth
My minute head is
Filled with frivolous 
And quizzical questions,
“What should I have for dinner?”
“Am I going to be a winner?”

Funny how we take everything 
For granted guilelessly,
The thing we call life,
Feels like a distraction sometimes,
Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, funerals,
Imbecilic circle,
Just like a circus,
Fathers on hamster wheels,
Mothers on tea cup rides,
Children on roller coasters,
Is life a distraction from life?

Free will is another topic 
Of a mystery map to 
Deeply dive in and discover
That all that matters is 
The clouds in your coffee,
The sun in your pancakes,
And the moon in your pain au chocolat.

Details | Anne Winter Poem

Tea Tales

Come and climb these
Broad bony branches and 
Have tea on this tree 
with me,
Let's talk our hearts out
Into the poems unsung. 

Sleep silently singing in my sizzly eyes,
Sleep might snap with some pumpkin chai,
The sun is seeping in my sulky bones,
Soon the milky moon will mysteriously be alone,
Here, have some squishy scone 
While the sun is setting sleekly,
I reckon we should have tea weekly. 

Sandalwoody sultry summer,
Hyacinth, hibiscus and hummers,
Poppies, primroses and periwinkles,
The night in esoteric eyes twinkle,
Starling singing on a starless night,
No gloom, a moon , no light,
In this sordid slumber silence,
I can hear your eyes speak. 

Let's tell each other 
All our hearts hanker
To say,
Drink tea and recite 
The poems and make
No delay,
I'll have chamomile tea,
I'm not Mrs. Bennet 
But it'll calm my nerves,
You like your tea with herbs,
Spearmint, rosemary and thyme,
And make sure the poem rhymes.

Details | Anne Winter Poem

A Tale of Buffoonery

Have you seen a better fool like me?
A dimwitted dreary buffoon like me?
Buffoonery has its limits, ridiculous,
But for me it's monotonous.
I never change,
I'm always the same, It's such a shallow shame!
Yes, I am the one to blame.

I see politeness wearing
A fancy pair of friendship earrings.
Who does that? An acrobat, a bubbly brat!
Who thinks that a polite chat
Is a friendship, this and that.
Then when people change
And they cut me out of their range,
I feel sadly strange.

When am I going to learn
And stop feeling the burn,
Stop making politeness turn
Into a glib friendship that's not even worth an earn.

Buffoon's bubbly balloon
Should be popped,
Buffoon should be stopped.

I am an open book,
Oops, a buffoon brook,
It's time for a new look,
And get myself off the hook.

Details | Anne Winter Poem

Frolicking Foolishness

It is good to be a fool once in a while,
What an extraordinary feeling to be a fool!
To know nothing,
To know everything,
Yet not convincing your heart—The most brilliant buffoon,
Letting your heart float like a boat
Without an anchor 
In the middle of a lake illuminated by the half moon that looks like a piece fallen from something ethereal,
Vision yourself in that boat, dear reader,
Doing nothing but just letting that moon’s love 
Lurk on your lips
While you yearn earnestly 
With your eyes closed like the petals of a timid lotus,
I encourage you to be a fool with me. 
The river of reverie might reduce the roughness of abrasive reality of existence,
The vastness,
The long blank whiteness of life—
The 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s
Of age are indeed agitating,
Colorless at times,
There are rainbows too,
But mostly it's white, serene and quite like a pearl or a marble. 
Some people ensnare their hearts,
They think heart is some petty prisoner,
But when the boon of life comes to an end
The truth hits them in the chest
And the chains ensnaring the heart 
Come gushing down with a roar like a waterfall,
Sudden and loud. 
Chained hearts often become hoarse hazards,
Chained and always chasing,
But chasing what
You never know. 
Heart is a bird,
A brave one 
Like all birds,
But let me remind you something, dear reader,
Do you ever notice the birds looking at the sky and singing soft melodies,
The melodies they don't sing when they are soaring high in the sky?
Birds need a bower too to rest and rejuvenate,
They don't have to adorn an armour on their chiselled chest all the time,
It's just not natural,
It doesn't seem right,
So take my hand and come be a fool with me
Or just be a bird and fly freely.  
Your soul is nesting your heart,
Let down the gloomy guard,
Nurture the nest
And give it a rest.