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Ann Goodman Poem
Your face was pale, your voice was still.
Toys discarded, for you were ill.
On your pillow, your little head,
It's not like you to lie in bed.
A day, a night, never seemed so long,
What we would give to make you strong.
With love we tend you through the night.
At last the dawn, morning light
,What do we see?
Cheeks tinged with pink,
A stronger voice asks for a drink.
Where's my doll, my book, my Ted?
Mummy when can I get out of bed?
Our sighs of relief, we won the fight.
Oh, little one, you gave us such a fright!!!
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2006
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Ann Goodman Poem
In my mind I see you.
Your handsome bronze body.
Your eyes reflect your honesty.
I want to hold you near me.
No strings attached.
In my dreams I see you.
Your stong arms outstretched.
Your long fingers reaching out.
I want to lie with you.
In my eyes I see you,
your face so handsome.
Your looking at me.
I want to kiss your lips.
No strings attached.
The dreams are now gone,
and I'm left with the one.
whose eyes now need
jam jar glasses,
to gaze at the lasses.
Reality at last.
that body went fast,
as all travelled South,
through him stuffing his mouth.
with enough to feed an army.
The arms crack and grate,
as I patiently wait,
whilst he finds his specks.
to give me goodnight pecks.
Before he creaks into bed.
The snores he emits,
have frightened the kids
and keep our neighbours awake,
till I give him a shake.
Then he starts again within minutes.
What a difference takes place.
It's a bloomin disgrace.
when I have to compete with Viagra.
But inspite of all that
I wont change him, for my dream man.
Cause now those Strings are attached!
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2007
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Ann Goodman Poem
The bombing raid siren
Threw sounds loud and clear,
Accross rubble that once was our town
The children all fled,
And the town became dead.
As a bomber, 'their' bomber, came down.
The sky's grey appearance
Was filled with black smoke.
Then a Scarlet, an Orange, a Red.
The blood curdling crash,
and a terrible smash.
There she goes, another one dead.
The very next day, I went to the spot
Where the plane had fallen from sky.
The aircraft a zero, the pilot a hero,
Who sacrificed life, for his country to die.
The plane was but ash, from the fire.
The stupidity and wastage of life.
I thought of his friends,
and the love they all send.
His Family, His Children, His Wife.
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2006
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Ann Goodman Poem
What is this thing called Love?
Does it fall from heaven above?
To burrow in an unsuspecting heart.
Making the owner awake with a start.
New feelings of warmth filled my whole being.
Sanity gave way to a whole new seeing.
Suddenly the sun shone brighter,
even my steps somehow became lighter.
Roses bloom everywhere I look,
I felt that I could write a book,
to tell the world of this wonderful feeling
that had suddenly sent me reeling.
Arms once used to wash and dress,
Are better used to warm caress.
Heartbeat changed to a flutter,
And speech became a nervous stutter.
The longing for the next meeting,
The warm loving kiss received in greeting,
Is it just a Chemical reaction?
caused by lonely people seeking mutual attraction.
Or is this an eternal flame?
This warm loving feeling to always remain.
I wish it were true that forever I would be with you.
But you are gone, and I must carry on.
My heavy heart will never know,
why God chose you, when I loved you so.
As I hold our two babies to my breast.
I wonder why God always chose the best.
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2006
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Ann Goodman Poem
Within the dreaming wells of consciousness,
Lie hid the mighty Truths of unknown God.
Behind the veils,material and dense,
Dwell many Holy Wonders
of great Power, Beauty, Wisdom, Love:
Divinest Magic of a vibrant Life
in endless bliss;
So full of Witchery and deep delight.
And when the Heart of Man awakes,
The Heavens open wide,
And sails away on fervid wings,
or swoons in Ecstacy.
The Music of the Spheres behind the veil
brings visions too Divine to tell,
It's melodies ring out Within,
With sounds of Minstrelsy and Rhapsody
In descant of Remembrance.
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2007
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Ann Goodman Poem
Pain , Pain, all around I see.
Pain and hopelessness,
in hollow eyes, of the old and sick.
The dregs of society.
Wandering from one Doss to another.
Filled with despair.
Too old, or sick to work.
Though many are intelligent,
well educated, they are rejected.
Thrown on lifes ever growing heap.
For whatever reason,
they gave up their struggle,
and now they huddle,
in a jumble of confusion, disorder and mess.
In their cardboard homes,
Neath the cities domes.
Till the street cleaner moves them on.
With cold jets of water in the early hours.
I wonder how many of them fought for our freedom?
Brains damaged from the fight.
Reduced to this sad plight.
To be re-paid with this uncaring upheaval
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2006
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Ann Goodman Poem
Bubbles, dirty washing churns,
As I watch through the glass door,
the tears in my eyes begin to burn.
I see my life swirling,in a
psychedelic rainbow of pain,
The silk soft undies,
that cost too much.
The velvet skirt,
that he loved to touch.
All are dancing together,
like whirling Dervishes
mocking my feelings.
My tears roll down my
hot cheeks,to drip like rain.
Constantly echoing my pain.
The rinse cycle begins,
Can it rinse away my hurt?
as I try to wash away his scent.
I unload the drier,
Eyes still burning like fire.
Knowing that he's still in my heart.
Tonight, I will try to sleep
in the bed we once shared.
I will bury my tears and pain,
in the pillow where he laid his head.
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2007
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Ann Goodman Poem
Computers they refer to as progress
but on that I must disagree.
My nerves are in tatters,
as the darned thing clatters,
and silently crashes again.
It isn't the weather nor even the user,
that causes this constant pain.
With broom in hand, I take a stand,
to bash out it's stupid mechanical brain.
Some say it's a virus some say it's got worms.
I get some domestos,
they say it kills 99% of all germs.
We never had these problems with pen and ink,
Which makes me think. PC stands for
"Piggin Confusin"
Firecrest
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Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2006
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Ann Goodman Poem
A Witch I am, a witch I'll stay.
I'll work alone till my dying day.
But then return I will
for I am a forever soul.
I travel now both far and wide.
I need no car or broom to ride.
For these are man made material modes.
I travel by night on the wind alone.
The moon is my mother,
she rules the earth,
she is the one who gave us birth.
My work will continue for eons of time,
With the thousands of others
around the earth,we continue our work.
which will continue till peace is won.
We work for good, for positive ways,
Trying to dispens negative rays.
Till man sees the destruction he
is creating most of his days.
My mother the moon, looks down and weeps,
at the peaceful way the evil ones sleep.
Her tears fall down and in density seep.
As Chaos is growing on every side.
There will be nowhere for man to hide.
But we will continue our work to do,
To try to help our mother through.
And we all vow to continue our rede.
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Author Explanation: The witches Rede is:-AND HARM YE NONE, DO WHAT YE
WILL. The destruction of the earth should be in everyones thoughts. Witches try
to spread positive loving thoughts through the world to try to bring harmony. If all
the leaders of all the countries would keep positive loving thoughts for their
people there would be no wars.
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2007
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Ann Goodman Poem
She was an 'Old Soul' so they said.
One who had been 'here' before
With her collection of herbs
hung behind her door, was a cobweb,
and a spider she called Fred.
She was a loner, kept self to self.
Cared not at all for material wealth,
But if needed by sick,those failing in health.
With her stick she would rush to their side.
She would tend through the night,
till morning light, but never a penny would take.
Though solitary working, never shirking.
To try to ease everyones sickness and ills.
Now as time ebbs away, she's unable to stay,
For her own health she is not able to mend.
As she's reaching her end,
all she asks for my friend.
Is to remember her with love,
And if you remember, and look up above.
The form of a solitary dove.
Will be her,in her feathery down,
smiling down, and returning your love
Copyright © Ann Goodman | Year Posted 2006
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