A THOUGHT PROCESSOR
My best poems are never written
They stay locked in my brain.
I want someone to invent a thought processor
To pick up my thoughts, as in my bed I lay.
At night in the dark, poems flash and flow
Rhythmically inside my mind.
But as soon as I try to capture them on paper,
Or when I try to speak them out loud
They have escaped, back into fogginess.
When I wake in the morning
It’s like they never where!
They have vanished as quickly as they came.
Please someone, I implore
A thought processor to record my poems
As they live.
TeAnne © Dec 26th .1998

Changes In My Life. AKA Menopause.

I love you NO! I hate you You thrill me NO! You disgust me These feelings I have no control ~ Come here Hold me! NO! Go away How dare you touch me........ ~ Speak to me Darlin' We don’t communicate enough. NO! SHUT UP! I don't want to hear........ What you have say is trivial. No………… Tell me what you did today? NO! Don't talk You are boring me....... ~ Be still Don't move Let me touch you......... NO! Get out of my face Can't you see....... I want to be alone! Please don't leave me. ~ Drink in the venom From my gaze Spit out the anger from my mouth! ~ Just see me through this. The changes in my life Try to love me! ~ TeAnne © March 13. 1999

HIDDEN

Buried in the furrowed wrinkles of time
Blackened moonbeam shadows,
life’s tightrope. Blind.
An urgency grows, down deep inside.
Slithering shadows, life’s energies, stream,
metamorphorizing deception, something sown.
Unclothed bloodsuckers, blood lines embellishment.
Hovering, mocking, chafed by chattering mouths.
Sycophants playground. I know I can’t hide.

19.April. 1998 © TeAnne

I VENTED MY HATE AND ANGER.

I wrote a hating poem today
about a very nasty person
They will never see it though
How I vented my hate and anger.

My man won't let me post it
says the dog will whine and bite
but I don't care, revenge is sweet
Because I vented my hate and anger.

I do feel much better though
Only wish this dog could know
how hateful and nasty I too can be
When I vented my hate and anger.

TeAnne © June 5.1999

LIFE OF A POET

I like many things in life, I like life.
Life with love, rhythm and rhyme.
Rhyme and reason, a life on the wild.
Wild wind in my hair, the air of freedom!

Freedom to be whoever I please.
Pleases me to jot my clichés.
Clichés written in my diary, daily.
Daily Journal on life’s exposés,

Exposés rich in all that I see, is poetry
Poetry, my rationale for life in rhymes.
Rhymes of love and life in rhythms
Rhythms of oceans, the world of life
Life, that I see in love, a vision from a Poet.

LIFE IN BOXES Life in boxes Sounds of good-bye Seeing sadness In an old friends eye Friendships bonded For many a year. Glistening in eyes A solemn tear. TeAnne © Dec 27th. 1998

MELTING POT

Mix into a melting pot, life’s blood, sweat and toil.
Take several tears, add a dash of love,
hate, heaven and hell.
Sprinkle in self doubt, courage and failure to taste.
Then boil rapidly, three babies, two husbands, some mates.
Add a few laughs, frowns, smiles and fear,
Let simmer for less then a century of years.
Splash in booze, arguments, death and rue.
It’s important, not to cover or stew.
Spoon out onto a bed of roses
garnish with thorns and success.
Serve accompanied with life’s graces
with hot flushes and stress.
This recipe has filled a family of three.

April 19. 1998 © TeAnne

MOODY COLOURS

I turn blue, on days when forsaken I turn green, with hateful jealously I turn yellow, when melancholy mellow I turn purple, when I pray to ‘Royalty’ above I turn orange, at ‘that time of the month’ I turn red, with rage and occasional power! I turn pink, when all my hopes collapse I turn black, when the past wont come back I turn white, when I feel righteous I turn grey, when inside I die I am a rainbow, I have no right to be racist! *NOTICE THE CAULDRON ABOVE ?*

I wish a wish upon the stars
as I gaze towards the sky.

I wish the wish, with wishers
as I pick the brightest one.

I pray my wish comes true
as they sparkle up above.

The twinkling brilliant colours
stark, against the blackened sky.

It’s my favourite time of night
and I wish for many things.

Can they brighten up my being
as they encompass the moon!

TeAnne © Oct 6. 1998

MY DRUGS

Coffee and Ciggies the crux of my woe
wherever these drugs take me, no one knows.

Morn and night the fix I must have
a lesson I learned, from me Mum but not me Dad.

The ciggy, it fills me lungs with tar and stuff
For thirty-three years, enough is enough!

The coffee, I love it, it gives me pep
Better get me a cup, to stop me stress.

One bloke don't love me, cos I do these things
tells me it's suicide and it's a sin.

But if you're addicted and the habit can't kick
You'll do anything really, for another *‘ines’ fix.

* ‘ines’. Caff- ine, Nicot- ine.

SUPERSTITION I must not cry, be sad, or angry I must be cheery, smile and be happy. On this, two double one triple nine-day. Today I must write a poem My superstition requires it For whatever I do today I know I will do all year round. Past from generation to generation Mother to child these words of wisdom. “What you do on your birthday, you will do all year round” How dare I be the one? To break this family tradition could become a major crux for if I don’t write today I may never write again all year. TeAnne © Jan 2. 1999

THROW AWAY THE KEY

Walk the corridors of my mind
seek the dungeons of my soul
Tell me how bad I am
Then throw away the key.

Travel the terrors of my past
cut the ribbons from my eyes
Tell me I am punishable
Then throw away the key.

Open the windows of my life
sprinkle salt upon my wounds
Tell me it's all for my own good
Then throw away the key.

Travelling a road to nowhere Travelling a road to nowhere Nowhere my hat to hang Hang on to old dreams Dreams of days younger Younger then, You and I I live leisurely in a forgotten heart Heart of cold and dark Dark days without you by my side Sideways stares as I amble This road to nowhere. TeAnne © 13 Jan. 1999

MY LIFE AS A VACUUM CLEANER At the end of the day I have sucked up All of life’s knowledge Good and bad mingling To make up a somewhat me. I know my motor is burning out And is hard to replace My head is worn and bent The cord of power is failing. Worn out and over worked. Too many years of abuse. At the end of the day Who will empty the trash? TeAnne © 20 March 1999

What is Wrong with This Picture?

This picture of me
This 'Dorian Gray'
only the picture
don't change
I do!

All the grief
anger and tears
the shadows
the evil,
all pretence shows
But not in the picture
before me!

It sits mockingly
in gold leaf frame
all young and pure,
while I...
am surrounded
by material substances
Ageing un-gracefully.

SLOW MOTION PANIC

Running on and on
heart pounding
getting nowhere
all in slow motion
as the nightmare
raced on and on.

WHY AM I?


What is my purpose?
my name means nothing,
It belonged to another.
I will never be uttered on lips, 
by significant others
unless I err!
Of what do I signify?
eyes rove over me,
but I am un-remembered in an instant.
unless I appear strange!
Mountains I will never move,
my peers I will never lead. 
I speak and no-one listens unless I blunder.
A sketch in someone’s memory from my past maybe,
where my purpose once meant something, 
before my usefulness declined.
For what purpose do I exist?
What more is needed of me?
Why am I...........?

TeAnne © Jan 9.1998