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Best Poems Written by Annabelle Jane

Below are the all-time best Annabelle Jane poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Birds Begin

Despite the black, the birds begin
To call the light unto the day,
Persistent songs remind the Sun
To send the stars upon their way.

There's hope in this which I admire:
The birds trust what they're yet to see,
I know I trust you just the same,
And always will, unfailingly.

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I Will Tell You

I will tell you when they met:
in the burnished flush of autumn,
when each rising of the sun
turned each golden leaf more golden.
With the trees and fields aflame,
so the scholar's heart was stolen
by that blushing, bold nymphet,
In the burnished flush of autumn. 

I will tell you when they parted:
in the middle of the winter,
when each slicing of the moonlight 
filled her heart with thawless splinters.
With the trees and fields laid bare,
and each footpath silent, silver,
so they lost each other's shadow
in the middle of the winter.

When shall they meet again? 
I cannot say for certain.
Their lives have grown divergently,
through seasons sparse and verdant.
To meet again beneath those trees;
more tempting than the serpent,
but such temptation never fades,
that much, I'd say, is certain.




Inspired by 'One Day' by Christina Rossetti.

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Half To Share

Books half opened
Lines half written
A bridge half built is halfway there.

Bones half broken
Lives half hidden
A heart in half has half to share.

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Of These Things I Am Sure

I do not love you by comparison.
It isn't borne of desperation, pride, or pain.
I do not need you for counsel, release.
I do not dream of you to alter you or your words.
I do not follow you because I am weak.

I follow you so that I might go too.
I dream of you, and know reality is better.
I need you because I choose to.
I love you because I do.
It's simpler.

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Graceful, Disgrace

The lilies were excessive.
Bless her, she does her best to
Lift the funerial hush
That's settled on this damned household.
Get them out,
You can't contain their boisterous bloom
To the kitchen alone.
The overspill of white
Does little to obscure the silence they're replacing.
Graceful, disgrace,
Wretch like me.

Details | Annabelle Jane Poem

Witness

I slept all day and woke to the rain,
With the low purr of thunder rolling around my temples.
Through my open window rose, darkly, the scent of the earth,
Cool, ripe, metallic,
Revived by the unforecast shower.

I waited, the airless gap stretching wider,
Time stepping, achingly, forwards,
Slicing away second upon second,
Until, finally, the clouds sparked with great forks of lavender light
Which, with all their majesty, faded as quickly as they had come.

It has rained for many hours now.
The sky demands we witness her.

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I, Migrant

The Lady of Liberty looks me in the eye.
I am tempest-tost, and welcome reliant.
I pass at her feet, yet gaze at torch high:
Soon to be standing on the shoulders of giants.

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What Is It Good For?

You are my warrior.
The fighter, my own.
Let me be your armour,
And never outgrown.

I cry for you, warrior,
Or one day I might.
If you, gentle lover,
Are called up to fight.

For you would be taken,
With no time to think.
And see in your armour
The slightest of chinks.

A chink which could open
The door for just one
Arrow, or spear...
Or kiss from a gun.

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Magpie

I have a friend who is, to the best of my knowledge, a magpie.
All shiny, all sparkles of metal and glass are placed in my palm as a little gift, a bit of treasure.
So maybe then, she's a pirate. One Long John Silver with a golden tooth and a keen eyed parrot. And she pillages and purges to bring me little metal castles, radio faces, moonstones and roses and bright button badges.
Just like a Brownie. On a long brown sash wrapped around my chest. She brings me glittering adornments that glow with my achievements.
One day, I'll give her treasure for her nest.

Details | Annabelle Jane Poem

Always, Almost, Here

Carve the face of the sleeping moon in a 
Pebble of bone and set it in silver,
Adorn another finger.
I see his soft, peaking profile when my
Hand lies where you should be.
An inward smile unfolds inside me and
Gently calls my eyes to close so I can
Imagine you, here, for a while.
Beneath my palm, the pillow is the
Velvet curve of the back of your head,
And the cold blue wall is the bricks of
Your back, where my kisses would fall
Between your blades.
I could lose a whole week to the sound
Of your laughter, that iridescent song which
Lingers in my hair like a perfume or spice.
I tell my ears I can hear the lyrical
Tide of your breathing, and I long to be
Drifting on those languid waves which
Soothe the shore.
I'm sure your love which lives in me
Recalls the very essence of you, mirrors
Each facet, so you're
Always,
Almost,
Here
When I put my mind to it.