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Ann Dow Poems
i chase myself… restless amber thoughts dancing through the corridors of my mind… the tattered memories, threadbare, worn …are able still to exert a vise-like grip on my heart…
Threshold (Symphonic Movement - A Suite ...
leaves scattered across the soft waking earth... moon shine..sun beams weaving blankets..weightless formless glittering with their own illumination...
foxes' lament (in the key of d)
..better a solitary stroll, with a gentle breeze beside the forest stream than lingering doubt
Midsummer Night's Dream
today the trees are in full leafy glory their varigated greens a blanket nature-knit, stretching before my devouring gaze… flowers bursting, a slow and sensuous rainbow… bushes erupting, gleefully adding their hues to the unfolding symphonic balance…
as the day releases her grip on the weighty verdant nature of things.. and as night slowly comes to take her hand there, at dusk- calm cool and waiting - he so fully expansive dressed in moon light and perfumed with the decadent odor of the crushed flowers of summer's days...
…walking down the paths of my heart… i find no pause, in the stony garden there…. nor roses scenting the air… but…
lux et umbra
WHO ARE YOU? (i am me, i am who i am, i am she) (i am a name which shall not be named)
..(a strange and solitary whirring begins) and the staccato beat of my own heart becomes a blanket
it does not strut upon the road tarries not in gestures cold-
i stand before the ancient way arms outstretched to greet the day upon the road i set my feet
..as the warmth and water swirl and climb i ponder my shadow in the flickering candle light ..embracing myself and all within..
There is a candle lit within my heart it is not proud, nor wide, nor tall
When I Lay Me
Late in the dark embrace of night... ...i lay solitary and dream, eyes shut tight while the memories of you
i would lie down in the fragrant green of an early summer field finding your hand
Comments about Ann Dow
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
i chase myself…
restless amber thoughts dancing through the corridors of my mind…
the tattered memories, threadbare, worn …are able still
to exert a vise-like grip on my heart…
doors open wherever my gaze lands -
i find the remembering like a tapestry…
woven tightly with the hues of jewel-toned joys
enriched by the texture of rugged sorrows…
…it engulfs me…this fabric..both beautiful
… and suffocating….
and still, i seek the door
that will lead me out of myself…