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Anne Winter Poem
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.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
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.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
"When pain, rage and screams buried in the asylum of your heart start to poison your heart slowly and surreptitiously, you become a living ghost." - Anne Winter
Last night I had a dream,
I was a ghost in an asylum,
So many unheard screams,
Intelligence turned into something dumb and numb.
I looked at me,
Her hair frizzy and frazzled,
The ghost looked back at me,
My hair, soft like silk and dazzled.
My eyes, brimming full of life,
Her hollowness of face,
Her eyes dry like a dull knife,
Just like my hollow heart days.
“What did you do”she screamed,
Glass shattered and clattered at my feet,
Her crumpled ghastly face, tears gleamed,
My lips sealed, my heart scared to beat.
Should I tell her it's not her fault,
But my throat is closed and tight,
“It is”said the tears soaked in salt,
My eyes shrilled “Look for the light”.
She was about to throw glass shards at me,
I woke up before she could do it,
I apologise I couldn't set her free,
My room and bones, dimly lit.
Taste of my tears opened my eyes,
Self neglected, broken one always dies,
Fair or unfair,
It was just a nightmare.
I couldn't understand her, I'm not that deep,
Maybe Sylvia could understand the girl in my sleep,
All I could do was weep,
I couldn't fill the gaps so steep.
The ghost left me howling
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry”,
My heart sinking and drowning,
Her eyes, dull and starry.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
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.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
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.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
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!
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
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.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
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.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
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.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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Anne Winter Poem
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.
Copyright © Anne Winter | Year Posted 2025
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