rushing ripple

the leaves told the wildflowers a story
about a ripple from the hills
springing from autumn’s core
drawn to the sea

the wind’s whispers in its wake
as the ripple danced in the creek
twirling before the stones
crashing, tumbling, twisting
around dying logs drowning
running, dancing, rushing as it
got closer to the estuary
where the ocean’s open arms
awaited with an embrace


For #WhisperingNeds 106, ‘estuary’.

Listen here.

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved


twilight at the door

the wind arrives with twilight, letting themselves in through the door left ajar
long shadows trailing in their wake, tiptoeing to see if the dark corners have space left for them to hide
a figure in bed, sleeping, or pretending to sleep, while wiping away tears and fears and gathering willpower to fight demons inside
just before then the sun whispers to the moon it’s her time to keep watch
and disappears into the horizon


For #WhisperingNeds 105, ‘bedroom door’.

Listen here

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

the sun smiles at glass windows

the sun tiptoes and twirls in front of glass windows
of the city’s skyscrapers
songbirds waking but no longer singing
sounds of traffic rush in their place

long faces in the train
long faces, longer than last night’s
hand of the clock ticking tick tock tick tock
sleepless, dreamless
tired eyes glued to little screens
weary bodies hosting souls without smiles,
missing out on yellow hues peeking at the horizon

time crawls, one, two, three
eight, ten hours pass them by
passionless souls locked away in boxes
finally on their way to places they call home
gazing down at the floor of the train the bus the car
awake but not aware
there but not there
once again missing out on tangerine shades in the sky

tomorrow the sun
will dance and grin at the glass windows
and souls will continue to miss out
on the day’s beauty


written for #WhisperingNeds 104, ‘people cities revolution’.

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved


night’s last thought

As dusk descends,
the world around him prepares
to retreat into the night,
putting peace in his hands
for a few hours.

Nooks and crannies
of this place, corners
with darker shades, he knows
all of them by heart.

Making his round,
he smiles to himself
thinking back to the little hands
hanging around his neck before he left.

Turning the corner he looks
straight into a barrel of a gun
beyond it a pair of eyes, mask black as night~

oddly his last thought is how much
he will miss being at peace
with midnight.


written for #WhisperingNeds 103, ‘nightwatchman’.

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

witching hour

strings of letters in a golden bowl
a handful of whimsies, mixed with a little bit
of red from the day’s sunset
a spoonful of thoughts, preferably drawn
from a well behind the dark room
and a secret ingredient tossed in the sauce:
the potion that will keep them
coming back for more


written for #WhisperingNeds 102, ‘recipe’.

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

a dream could be lying

hunkered down
in our own realm
you and me
and maybe the dream
hearts sighing, seemingly safe
questions remain,
though suppressed:
are we keeping them out
or locking ourselves in?


for #WhisperingNeds 101, ‘force field’

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved


off you go, they say
as they watch me pack
our memories into a black
velvet pouch

how I get there,
nobody really cares
as long as I get to the other side

maybe what I’m looking for
I will find on my way there,
wherever that may be
surely the journey will be worthwhile
(or at least that’s what
they’re trying to make me believe)

I’ve been buried among those
who only love results
I ache to drown
in the process


for #WhisperingNeds 100

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved


What’s in the box? She asked.
Why don’t you take a peek, he replied.

How do I know it’s not something
that belongs to Pandora?

Curiosity pulled her closer
for a better view.
A glimpse into a promise
of tomorrow that looked much better
than a dream.

What was in the box did not kill her
but now,
she wanted more.


For #WhisperingNeds 99, ‘glimpse’.

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved