ANN CHRISTINE TABAKA

ANN

CHRISTINE TABAKA

It Is Still Morning

It seems as if ages have passed

since the sun peaked above the horizon.

Since its first warm streaks of amber

graced the early dawn sky.

I sit and wonder as I watch the shadows

grow shorter with each advancing hour.

... But, ah yes, it is still morning.

How slowly the hours pass

now that I am alone with my thoughts.

I watch as each small flower bends its head

and turns its face to the sun.

Surely it must be time to move on

to new places unknown.

... But, ah yes, it is still morning.

The day presses on in endless hours

and time passes in single heart beats.

Soon it will be time to make new plans

but, I am stuck in some timeless loop.

It must be hours since I awoke

and forever since the sun first rose.

... But, ah yes, it is still morning ... forever morning.

Empty Lives

Hunger

A hunger so deep it devours its host.

eating away at self-worth,

sucking out the spirit,

starving the mind.

A pain so intense that it defies explanation.

The want of food,

goes deeper than just the physical pangs.

It grows into an emotional hunger,

that wraps itself around its prey

strangling the life out of it,

leaving an empty shell.

A hollow aching is all that is left.

The Rest Is Silence

I screamed and no one heard

I cried and was ignored

Just like an injured bird

Whose wings no longer soared

I plead to deafen ears

That did not hear a word

In the pain of countless years

No compassion had been stirred

I asked and no one answered

The questions of the heart

The silence was like a cancer

From which I could not depart

Holding On

A single leaf

Survived the winter

Tenaciously hanging

Onto the bare branch

The heavy snows

And howling winds

Could not budge it

It remained resilient

It stood the test of time

Through many months

Trials and tribulations

Of the fierce season

Now spring is here

And the old must yield

To the green buds

Pushing from within

It could withstand

The harshest weather

But not the gentle

Nudging of new growth

Life goes in cycles

It cannot be stopped

The old must eventually

Make way for the new

Cleaning House

There are times

When being empty

Is to be full

Uncluttered

To be open for what is to come next

Inviting new adventures

To fill the spaces

Left free by the emptiness

Being able to pick and choose

The things that

We truly want in our lives

Dew Drops

(Saturday morning, day break, on the porch)

Drops

of water

on the screen.

Crystal

mirrors

of life unseen.

Prisms

of pure color

bright.

Sunlight

dances

with delight.

Whispers

let your soul

take flight.

Be

Be quiet

Be still

Be peaceful

Listen

Do you hear it

Is it speaking to you

Is it calling

What is it saying

Be silent

Be patient

Be open

Contemplate

Be brave

Go inside yourself

Wait for a vision

From within

Be true

Be calm

Be loving

Reach out

It will find you

When you are ready

When it's time

When it is His time

Silence

The rain falls heavy

It will not cease

My heart is weary

It longs for peace

The message given

“Be still and know”

Inside I’m torn

Which way to go

Acutely aware

Of the sounds outside

From myself

I cannot hide

I turn inward

I search inside

Silence is

A healing guide

Ruin

My world is a dream world,

As I sit and watch it crumble around me.

It is I who brought it to ruin,

I and no one else, who causes the decay,

Of a once great kingdom.

We all must at times retreat,

But not I, I continue to wage war.

A war which brought an end to,

All that I once held close to me.

So have many nations fell.

Lost And Found

In the early morning light

I turn around

And look to find myself

Only to discover

That I am lost once more.

In the darkness of the night

I assure myself

That I will find

The answer to the question

I fear too much to ask.

As I sit here in my world

I feel the truth

Is coming near

If only I can touch it

Before it destroys me.

ANN CHRISTINE TABAKA

ANN CHRISTINE TABAKA has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from publications. She lives in Delaware, USA.  She loves gardening and cooking.  Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are: Ariel Chart, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, Oddball Magazine, The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine, Ann Arbor Review, The McKinley Review.