p o e t r y. s o l d i e r s.

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Dreading the fictions
and their inner imaginings
willingly embracing
the poetry 
in those eager
fingers

                  / Unforgiving Eyes /
 
               Will you remember those words
               W h e n  y o u  a r e  o l d -
               W h e n  s h e ’ s  g o n e ?

Poetry soldiers
missing in action—
silent whispers
that do not speak 
wonders, yet reveal
half truths

              / Unforgiving Lies /

             Will you remember their words
             W h e n  s h e’ s   o l d -
             W h e n  y o u ’ r e  g o n e ?

Dreading the fictions
and their inner imaginings
willingly embracing
the poetry 
in those eager
fingers

              / Unforgiving Minds /

Like the 
poetry soldiers
missing in action—
yearning for fictions
to evolve from
abstractions

Minds, eyes,
white lies,
soft words—
barely whispered—
under 
b  l  a  z  i  n  g
     e    n    e    m    y  
         s     k     i     e    s

spy

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She yearned to 
become a spy
yet she failed 
so miserably

She walked 
the long walk
and dressed
in hued tones

She hushed the
sharp tongues
and asked for
bad karma

For those
that would 
play her—
the good ones
obeyed her

Lila yearned to 
become a spy
yet she failed 
so miserably

She wore her 
dark shades,
unravelled
dark plots

/ with feline intention
and birdlike precision /

Yet her wings
she did not
want to
get
w
e
t

So she’d run
under cover
on rainy 
days

It was always
warmer
by that
fireplace

She yearned
to become a spy—
Yet she failed
so miserably

failed reader

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I wish I’d never 
let you read
any of the stories
in my draft
book
 
Since I always knew 
you’d just skim 
through 
those 
pages

( Lousy reader
that you were—
now, your time, pronto!
to get back 
to school )

This is
a book 
that will
never get
published

Too bad you 
trashed 
the draft 
upon first
reading
 
Too good
you’ll never
ever get
to read 
the end,

One so tenderly 
written in my
doctor’s 
handwriting -
undecipherable,

for
my 
Failed 
R e a d er
E x t r a o r d i n a i r e

veiled days

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We used to dream
of brighter futures,
features concealed
by demure 
v e i l s

Souls almost blurred
by shy, dry tears
fears hinted in those
faces—dark and 
p a l e 

Oppressive times,
so stark and fearful,
Venetian masks
silencing those worry
t a l e s

We used to dream
of brighter futures,
features concealed
by demure 
v e i l s

What face we’d find
under such attires—
question harassing our
snotty brains, those
d a y s 

We used to dream
of brighter futures,
features concealed
by demure 
v e i l s

Oppressive times,
so stark and fearful,
there was only so much
hope to fight those
w a i l s

Momentum for change
Lost opportunity? —
We’d never wish  
for those sad days to
s t a y

We used to dream
of brighter futures,
features concealed
by demure 
v e i l s

What face we’d find
under such attires—
colourful masks
silencing our worried
faces—dark and 
p a l e

frenzied flow

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She trespasses
the confines
of this purple
forest, 
the one
I 
just
i
m
a
g
i
n
e
d

My legs 
dangling
in the air—
u n n e r v e d 
by the lack 
of motion
of recent 
days

She twists 
and turns
and sings 
and rhymes—
Mother of verse
Sister of bored
d e s p a i r—
with frenzied 
flow

Her feet
tapping
to the sound
of a tune
only I 
can 
h
e
a
r

gravity

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rarity
gravity           
       willowy 
s i g t h s

sensing
the
fears
that pierce
through your
body
mind
soul
and
thy
h 
e 
a 
r 
t 

* 
rarity
gravity           
       magical
n i g t h s

drying 
these tears
all sensing
the fears
that pierce 
through the
body
mind
soul
and
my
h 
e 
a 
r 
t 

* 
rarity
gravity           
       subdued
star
l i g h t

tearful,
silent,
day-dreaming
we stumble on
           willowy 
s i g h t s

*
drunk with
wild wonders
day-dreaming
we tumble,
we write, 
dream, still,
humble,

f  l  o  a  t  ,
     w  e  i  g  h  t  l  e  s  s  ,
t    o      n     i    g    h     t

free falling

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night of the monsters
land of the ghosts
fighting the dragons—
all the night hosts

flight or 
free-falling
at dusk—
such dark ride

wild and
sky diving—
a spiralling 
mind

night of the monsters
land of the ghosts
fight of the dragons—
by rugged coasts

flight or 
free-falling—
the sound of 
false tunes

those wicked 
noises,
all the sky
croons

play to deaf ears
through all glossy trails—
flight or free-falling,
smokey travails

night of the monsters
land of the ghosts
fighting the dragons
in nightmares they boast

flight or 
free-falling
at night—
such dark ride

all but 
divining—
a spiralling
mind

inside she’s smiling

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cold-blooded smile
and somber cues
you think 
you laugh —
but 
inside she’s
s   m   i   l   i   n   g

her fingers now
holding her
serpent brush —
as she dyes 
new days
with ocher
embracing
l   a   y   e   r   s

black stilettos found 
in her long-forgotten 
chest of time
nearly crying out —
barefoot days
a   r   e     o   v   e   r

while her canvas, 
fair
sets those

h

e

e

l

s 

alight,
cold-blooded
s m i l e —
stomping feet 
through
p    l    i    g    h    t 

her fingers, now,
firmly hold
the brush—
as she paints
new days
with ocher
embracing
l   a   y   e   r   s

high-heeled,
great 
shine,
warm-blooded,
s   l   i   g   h   t  ,

you think 
she cries —
but, 
inside,
s h e ’ s
s    m    i    l    i    n    g

ghosts & mirrors

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i tried too hard
to catch a glimpse
of your soul
on your 
fragile
m i r r o r

the one 
I forgot to clean
when I got
home
really late at
n i g h t

falling asleep
while fighting 
ghosts I’d only
heard about, 
not even quite,
i m a g i ne d

for they
never
really existed,
all but a fake reflection
of your silent,
deadly,
maddened,
b i t e

“literary glimpses” on Spillwords

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Dear readers,

I am happy to share some good news with you, as my poem “literary glimpses” has just been published by Spillwords.

You can read it here:

With this poem I wanted to pay homage to poetic and fictional works—as they become safe spaces where writers and readers alike can fulfil their desires, and ultimately enact their true identities.

Through the act of reading literary works, we can get a glimpse of these dreams and desires, and of all those perhaps idealised versions of ourselves (writers) in relation to others (readers).

Feel free to like the poem on the Spillwords page if you feel so inclined 🤍.

You can also reach me through IG: @lannazeescribbles – I’ll be delighted to see you on Instagram too.

Thank you SO MUCH for reading, liking, and commenting on my posts. I couldn’t be happier to have fellow bloggers enjoy my writing 🖤.

Anna (LannaZee)