It’s finally here, folks! My first full length books, Strewn Words in the Stew Volume 1 & 2 are now available on Amazon/KDP. My 2-volume memoir is filled with recipes, poems, short stories, sayings, and photos. Purchases can be made through Amazon. Formats include Kindle, paperback, and hardcover.
Anna Marie Gall
Journaling, blogging, poetry, and short stories.
Words shared from the heart!
A bio was written about Anna and her therapeutic poetry which is found on Flapper Press’ website. In January 2023 Anna was joined by fellow eMerge authors and residents from the Writers’ Colony at Dairy Hollow for a reading night at a local establishment in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Here’s the write up in the Arkansas Gazette as well as a video of Anna’s reading of her “Seashells” poem. Along with fellow eMerge authors, Anna’s recipes, poems, and short stories are featured with the Library of Congress.
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Springtime in the Garden
The daffodils sway with the March breeze,
lay down with a heavy blanket of snowflakes
only to perk up with the warmth of the sun.
Between the cracks of cobblestone
fresh sprouts of green, fuzzy moss
surround the stone garden bench.
Spring rains, bright sunshine,
between the liquid droplets,
warmness brings forth brilliant blooms.
April’s red buds pop purple passion,
dogwood trees are wildly white and pink,
plum trees dressed in a white veil.
Showy cherry trees bloom in fashion,
the petals flutter like a swallowtail,
splashdown onto Queen Anne’s lace.
The May sky is so azure, blue,
puffs of cottony white clouds dance
above patches of emerald and lime green.
An old oak tree is clothed with ivy and lichen,
wears a plush velveteen green robe flowing north,
beyond the garden gate adorned like royalty.
Anna Marie Gall ~ May 1, 2025
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Our Tomorrows, Maybe Few
I thought I saw the sky cry this morning.
I look out the window to see if it is rain drops.
It is an illusion, I suppose.
It is my eyes filling with tears.
Reality, it is I who cries this morning.
Another one gone from earth, this life.
Another to say “goodbye” to, too soon.
“Goodbye” is for this brief moment.
We will hug each other on the other side.
Our todays are precious; our tomorrows, maybe few.
This moment I count my blessings while I cry.
Anna Marie Gall – March 11, 2025 in memory of Ken Talley
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Sweet Berry Kisses
Off to the blueberry bushes and blackberry brambles I am sent,
into the strawberry patch squishing overripe berries between my toes.
A painter’s palette smeared like rouge onto my cheeks
and all phalanges match my berry-stained face, lips, and tongue.
These delicious delectables satisfy my tummy’s rumbles
while the morning’s sun seals the sweet berry kisses to my lips.
Picking berries, berries, and more berries is my morning chore,
so, most make their way into Auntie’s heavy handled shiny bucket.
Pies, crisps, cobblers, buckles, and biscuits smothered with berry jams,
these Auntie anticipations as she twiddles her thumbs awaiting.
Down the garden path Auntie comes with a rabbit behind and bees a buzzing,
to lend a hand at picking plump berries into her long-handled metal pan.
Before noon into her kitchen baking oozing, finger-licking berry hand pies;
Oh, these juicy jewels create the sweetest berry kisses to my lips.
Anna Marie Gall – May 4, 2024
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Here is a play on the word “inkle” which I used this morning in the online game Words With Friends. I knew I heard of the word before but had to look up the meaning. Turns out it is from my younger college years while taking a fabrics class. An inkle is the fabric used in an inkle loom that makes straps and fabric edges. The other word is “winkle” which means extract, draw out, or remove. Here is a silly micro story before the Grand Mariner laced my hot chocolate this icy day. I love inclement weather days!
While I Winkle A Tinkle
My periwinkle inkle twinkles and wrinkles while I winkle a tinkle.
I have an inkling while winkling another tinkling
my periwinkle inkle will keep twinkling and wrinkling.
Anna Marie Gall – January 22, 2024
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A Patchwork Quilt
Patches come alive on the country drive with
nature’s many vignettes together making a lovely spread.
Colorful swatches pieced on the quilted landscape
with each border of trees and patch of farm telling its own story.
Each story preserved with reverence, holy and sacred
as You live out Your story, I admire Your beauty.
That gold thread worked throughout Your swatch
You cannot see while You work, fight, sit, and play.
The blends of brown and green match perfectly
to the red and golden patch found next door.
The rivers of blue flow to the rose-colored borders,
opens the gates to more stories on the horizon.
The purple haze dims your otherwise ocher perspective,
but from My view casts a mystic yet faithful cover.
My view is not pretentious from the heavens,
My batting is Your foundation, necessary for warmth and togetherness.
I am there with You stitch by stitch, the ins and outs of the needle.
Your doubts and whereabouts I know, I know You full well,
every flaw, tear, stain, and blemish combed in and out of Your fabric.
You are altogether lovely at a time such as this.
A patchwork quilt worth living the whole,
it’s pieced purposes for yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
Anna Marie Gall ~ November 19, 2023
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Sycamores
Scattered hills breathe sadness.
Sadness as they overlook the valleys.
Valleys of withering grasses and emptiness.
Emptiness except for the stand-alone, century old sycamores.
Sycamores with peeling, white-painted bark.
Bark that seems to come apart at the seams.
Seams covered with crimson red sumac vine.
Vines that kept those years together.
Together during the bitter and sweet seasons.
Seasons are many that fill our lives.
Lives interwoven with faith, hope, love, disappointment, grief.
Grief over ill health, blank dreams, and abandoned promises.
Promises made with good intentions.
Intentions distracted with stressors and others’ disregard.
Disregards are many by hurting or hurtful people.
People everywhere breathe sadness.
Sadness dissipates as they look up to the Heavens.
Heaven’s Divine nature made a canopy of colorful leaves.
Leaves are many of those stand-alone, century old sycamores.
Sycamores that still stand alone near the scattered hills.
Anna Marie Gall ~ October 21, 2023
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Summer’s Finale
Amidst the harmonizing crickets,
the hoot of a barred owl echoed in my neighborhood.
He was perched in the big tulip popular tree
or the huge white pine in my backyard.
By the calendar autumn is five weeks away,
but by the cool night air maybe the autumn season
will be with us sooner rather than later this year.
This year the summer season came early,
so why not autumn’s quieting blessings, too?
The air changed today; did you feel it also?
Anna Marie Gall ~ August 28, 2023
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The Summer 2023 Issue of eMerge features my poem Tin Roof Chatter. A poem that takes you back in time …
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My Aubade This Midsummer
The summer solstice is June twenty-one,
direct opposite of the Midnight sun.
At nine fifty-seven am central time this year,
an ephemeral moment in this celestial sphere.
A spectacular morning this Midsummer,
The feathered friends’ frenzy at the birdfeeders,
as swollen rain clouds promise like a redeemer.
nature’s behavior encourages this pleader.
Blooms and greens need raindrops ten thousand,
allowing all five senses to be arousing.
Especially in gardening, patience is a virtue.
The garden hose is out to water those plants, quite a few.
The flowers’ colors and fragrances are a seduction,
and those clouds escaped again without a production.
Too dry before July and August’s usual drought,
more prayers will surely open the heavens, rain showers to come about.
Anna Marie Gall ~ June 21, 2023
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Another one of my short stories featured in the Spring 2023 issue of eMerge Oh, Those Amphibious Legs. It is a story about my family, the family farm, and frogging.
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I have written another short story entitled “Friday Night Twisters” by condensing two previous blog posts . A real-life story about the encounter and aftermath of tornadoes in my county of St. Charles, Missouri near Defiance. Our greenhouse still stands, although needs a new home to the right owner. This “short take” as the editor for online magazine Persimmon Tree calls it can be found in their Spring 2023 issue in article entitled “WTF Is It With This Weather?”. My short take lands about halfway between other short takes on our crazy weather.
| Feb ’23 photo prompt featured writer is… Preserved Love by Anna Gall Subtle, sweet, the simplicity of a stemmed, thornless rose. A single long-stem red rose given for Valentine’s Day. Another for our anniversary. And then another for my birthday. He remembers those special days with a single rose. The color will change from one special day to another. Maybe based on his mood, or mine. Whether red, pink, purple, white, or yellow, the gift is always given with tender love in the simplest form and received with gratitude and mutual love. Sometimes included are the sweet nothings whispered in my ear or scribbled on a note. After three or four days admiring the rose’s loveliness, the rose is taken to the basement and pinned upside down from the clothesline to dry. On occasion a bouquet with multiple roses is given to celebrate a special event. Or it might be a sign of truce after a squabble, or forgiveness for something more offensive. Soaking in the kind gesture for three or four days, the whole bouquet is turned upside down, twine wrapped around the stems tight, and hung to dry like the single rose. The preservation of a bouquet takes longer. Its sacredness all the same. Over the years dried rose bouquets gather in vases and dried rose petal potpourri fill mason jars. These floral displays are situated in prominent places in our historic cottage home. One antique ceramic vase given by a beloved brother now gone from this life holds a dozen pinkish buds above a shelf of family photos. Another bouquet of dried purple roses and baby red rosehips grace the guest bedroom near a quart mason jar wrapped in a white netting ribbon filled with withered pinkish rose petals and baby’s breathe. Preserved deep red roses are seated in a short clear glass vase at the base of Mother Mary’s statue. The rose, a symbol of love, romance, beauty, purity, courage, and virtue. Its vibrant color tells the story, its fragile condition continues that story with each petal. Thousands over the years, match the love that will last a thousand years or more. Well beyond this earthly life. |
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Beauty For Ashes
“He will give”
Do you mean God will?
“Beauty for ashes”
Out of this heap of a mess called my life?
“Joy instead of mourning”
My family is pure joy to me, most of the time.
“Praise instead of heaviness”
I’d like to be singing “One Moment In Time”.
“For God has planted them”
Not sure about this place He has me at this time.
“Like strong and graceful oaks”
I am not feeling so strong, but I take one day at a time.
“For His own glory”
Ok, then my life is about God and His love.
That is the Beauty found in these ashes.
Anna Marie Gall ~ January 16, 2023
written after my daughter’s house fire Christmas night 2022
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Lumpy, The Gourd
A fungus among us. Warty lumps surround the body, kind of scary like those things that go bump in the night. Yet it provides the creepy affect that the Halloween season demands. Texture and autumn colors swirl the gourd placed in my front porch bucket with other gourds and pumpkins. It stands out as different than the others. While relaxing on the porch I cannot stop thinking how some people placed in my life have the same affect. Turn-around Bob, the neighborhood man who literally walks in circles down the sidewalk. Mrs. McClure, the elderly lady two doors down, who feeds and befriends the squirrels rather than songbirds. That precarious child in my classroom who stands out amongst the other children. George is awkwardly dressed, buttons off by one, frizzy hair, and oversized glasses for his face and slim build. Yet, he is at school every day with a smile, friendly with everyone. George’s warm smile is a reminder to that joy comes with each new day no matter how rough it may start out. Today two girls in the library were making fun of George, like people will do, whispering in each other’s ears, but loud enough for me to hear. Those two girls need to be kind, appreciate George. I think I’ll make up another autumn setting with gourds and pumpkins to put in the classroom. It will pretty things up through Thanksgiving anyway and maybe have a lesson on appreciation for my students with a gnarly gourd in the centerpiece. My third-graders came into the classroom, many excited about another week of school. The cornucopia centerpiece caught the attention of a few. Many began to share their pumpkin picking adventures from the previous weekend. Others came up to touch the pumpkins and gourds, running their fingers over their surfaces, even the lumpy gourd had a few admirers. We started with our spelling words for the week, and then into the reading lesson. The theme is the first Thanksgiving. We talked about the pilgrims and natives, what their differences and similarities were. I likened the pilgrims and natives like the pumpkins and gourds in our cornucopia, how co-existence is important in our world. The lumpy gourd was dubbed “Lumpy” by one of the boys. Everyone laughed, but all the children seem to share an appreciation of its colors and texture. Our art lesson followed, therapy for most children. Collages to depict that first Thanksgiving were to be created but in small groups of three or four children. Poster board, colored construction paper, old magazines, markers, and paints were the base of their art project. Bowls of feathers, leaves, acorns, corn kernels, and scrap fabrics were provided for texture. I grouped George with one of the girls who likes to talk about him, and another boy. The three worked well together. George brings his joy to the group. The girl began to join in with George’s and the other boy’s laughter. The lesson is learned today.
Acknowledged by Center For Creative Writing October ’22 Photo Writing Prompt Contest
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Heavy heads of seeds drooping down
facing warm earth sun sought
while clouds cover appears the wrong direction
feels warm earth’s beckon,
drop seeds next season’s children
Anna Marie Gall ~ September 22, 2022
while driving between Kansas sunflower fields
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Birthday blessings sent
pretties, fragrant gifts, songs too
thankful for fam, friends
your love expressed uniquely
Anna Marie Gall ~ August 30, 2022
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Ebb And Flow
Just one word. The right word. The ebb and flow of one right word with its syllables, pronunciation, and perfect timing. It drops into a pool of water, and ripples through wave after wave until it returns to you, refreshing and uplifting. Like that of karma, the spiritual principle of cause and effect. Holy scriptures tell us, “Just as rain and snow descend from the skies and don’t go back until they’ve watered the earth, doing their work of making things grow and blossom, producing seed for farmers and food for the hungry, so will the words that come out of my mouth not come back empty-handed. They’ll do the work I sent them to do, they’ll complete the assignment I gave them.”
I had an interview today for a half-time position desired with the local library. I am semi-retired. The income from this job I seek will assist with my daughter’s medical needs, treatments not covered by insurance. So, plenty of pressure. After answering their questions, the best I could, the managers asked if I had any questions for them. I hope my three questions were appropriate. An old proverb says, “Whoever speaks a word at an opportune time is like apples of gold on beds of silver.” I am feeling insecure about one question I asked the managers of the local library, whether it was appropriate during this interview. I asked about security at the library. Maybe the timing was not appropriate? I suppose because of my past experiences, this is a concern of mine. A person never quite gets over assault, extra vigilant anywhere she goes, even at the local library. Apparently, somebody else has been concerned about security at the library because I learned they have a security officer stationed there in the afternoons and evenings to deter possible crime.
The ebb and flow of one wrong word is like a boomerang cutting everything it touches. It abruptly comes back to you, can cut you like a knife. Hopefully this is not the case for my question asked at the interview, maybe not the best time and it may have costed my job offer. But wrong words spoken in gossip are a boomerang, cuts the heart and life of the people who hear the gossip, shredding the relationships of the victim as well as the gossipers. It destroys families, friends, and communities. Do not let your words haunt you, hang you, behead you. Choose words wisely. If an apology is necessary, make it right while you have today as there are no guarantees for tomorrow. Let the droplet of a kind word permeate into the souls of those hear it, and the refreshment of that word will return to you wave after wave after wave. The ebb and flow of one right word.
Anna Marie Gall acknowledged by Center For Creative Writing May ’22 Photo Writing Prompt Contest
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Spring Days Want To Stay
Colors vibrant of purple grape to delft blue
wild hyacinths have popped all anew
under the dogwood tree and red twinged brush
amongst the fresh green grass so plush.
Too warm to be wet snowflakes gathering
fluttering cherry blossoms are what cold winds bring
with every moment and each subsequent spring day
comes bearing hope between the clouds, those sunrays.
Anna Marie Gall ~ April 18, 2022
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https://www.flapperpress.com/post/the-flapper-press-cafe-valentine-blackout-poetry
My delicious lover,
thyme for sugar
and creamy butter.
Stir in love,
sifted, powdered,
share the balm.
Pour fresh glaze
from the beginning
to the ending.
Living, loving,
you are as good as you look.
Anna Marie Gall ~ January 22, 2022
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Green.
Fresh sprouts of pea green.
Greens dot the trees on the slopes.
Clover green.
Emerald green.
Green green.
Olive green.
Mustard green.
Lime green.
Wake up earth to spring green!
Anna Marie Gall ~ March 30, 2021
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September’s Nectar
Withered leaves rustle
Acorns scatter all the while
Swallowtails, bees nurse on
Succulents’ cerise pink blooms
September’s nectar
Before leaving summer’s home
Anna Marie Gall ~ September 24, 2020
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Fallen acorns gather
in crevices still brushed with green.
Morn arrives later
while the sunset glows golden.
Amber bursts sky blue
before autumn paints the trees.
Anna Marie Gall ~ September 13, 2019
Summer stroll silence held
alleys of corals pinks greens
textured plush alcoves
Anna Marie Gall ~ June 28, 2019
Charleston, SC
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Bonds
An uncommon bond,
intimate, sacred, passion, fluid, fruitful.
A common bond,
so so, lifeless, cold-hearted, dry, dutiful.
Hoping the first returns. Hope is my anchor.
Anna Marie Gall ~ April 14, 2018
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Green Spaces
I long for green spaces … growth.
Water overflowing into vessels
Streams wash the earth … renew.
Springtime green comes to stay,
Spring rains shower, drip, drip.
Puddles of water to run through
Soaking each toe … anointing.
I long for green spaces … growth.
Anna Marie Gall ~ March 14, 2018
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Soft subtle snow
whispers winter overnight
Santa angel peers
Anna Marie Gall ~ December 23, 2017
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Water
Water, sun, my life
Body, mind, spirit, my God
River nourish my soul roots.
Anna Gall ~ August 1, 2016
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A Mist
Lake vapors into clouds
Blues bluer, greens greener, rain
Grays grayer, a mist.
Anna Gall ~ August 1, 2016
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Blinking stars fill dusk
light the field of purple haze
a million fireflies
Anna Marie Gall ~ June 16, 2016
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Feathery Snowflakes
Feathery snowflakes
Black and white flickers of gold
Seeds feed hungry souls
Anna Marie Gall ~ February 28, 2015
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Down To Earth
Fill our hearts our homes
Overflow food love laughter
Down to earth garden.
Anna Marie Gall ~ August 11, 2014
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Echoed church bell chimes
Urban violence stirs dust
Bang bang bullets hit
Bang bang bullets warn
Womp womp whirly birds circle
When you know the whole
Justice will come forth
It becomes clear why such force
Echoed church bell chimes
Anna Marie Gall ~ August 10, 2014
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Wispy feathers grace
golden eye with black shadows
hides behind hat brim
Anna Marie Gall ~ June 17, 2014
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All Things Spring
All things spring …
puppy dogs
robin eggs
Easter bonnets
green sprouts
mud puddles
thunder roars
creaky frogs
kite tails
Anna Marie Gall ~ March 20, 2014
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Tinge of Pink
Tinge pink sky aglow
The quiet hush of snowfall
Soft crunch tonight’s steps
Anna Gall ~ March 2, 2014
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Sundog prism peers
Forecasted this windy cold night
Howling at the moon
Anna Marie Gall ~ January 17, 2014
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Perfectly round moon
White spotlight brilliantly bright
Life’s dance before thee
Anna Marie Gall ~ January 17, 2014
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Mirror
That square old mirror
It is me, self, I inside
Mere reflection veered askew
Anna Marie Gall ~ November 27, 2013
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Vines withered, harvest gourds
gather together autumn porch
vintage bench, red leaves.
Anna Marie Gall
November 6, 2013
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Aglow crimson red
gold orange green-laced cooper
willow weeps winter.
Anna Marie Gall ~ November 6, 2013
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Sprouts Forthcoming
Fresh sprouts forthcoming ~
gardener learns life lessons
patience, faith, hope, love.
Anna Marie Gall ~ June 13, 2013
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Sunset Honeysuckle Sweet
Summer evening still
Sunset honeysuckle sweet
Peachy sky resides.
Anna Marie Gall ~ June 8, 2013
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May Morn
Flower petals soft
White tinged pink carpet allay
May morn love affair
Anna Marie Gall ~ May 10, 2013
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Park Bench
Nestled trees, sunlight
While a stroll park bench invites
Wispy shadows, warmth stays
Anna Marie Gall ~ May 7, 2013
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Earth maken new life ~
Worm underneath sprouts of green
Orange breast robin feast.
Anna Marie Gall ~ March 19, 2013
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All Four Seasons
I met you in the autumn years of our lives.
We walked together in sunshine, wind, and rain.
We embraced the autumn colors, felt the crisp air, heard the music in the leaves.
A canvas to be completed sooner rather than later, a life to cycle through all four seasons.
You entered the winter years, though I not yet ready.
I with another stroll along a golden yellow, pumpkin orange, and burnt red lane.
You with another to touch snowflakes, lick icicles before the quiet hush of snowfall.
A blanket gray sky with woody cedars and small stone silhouettes.
In a slow-motion moment I witnessed your spring and summer years.
A beautiful blossom, the home nest welcomes sweet springtime.
Summertime love brought forth fruit twice, then eight times.
Your early autumn years, leaves on a tree trunk, your graduation cap atop long thick hair.
New roads on the horizon, friendships and love many a time, then sickness.
A life to cycle through all four seasons too quickly.
But now you are at peace and free to live forever.
Anna Marie Gall
in memory of Donald E Flood ~ January 23, 2013
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Seashells
Our lives are like seashells in the sand.
Arranged on a palette, seemingly haphazardly.
A beautiful seascape with the ocean, sun, wind,
and sparkling sands highlighting.
Small, significant, striped, or speckled shells.
Ridged, in the rough, raw, reckless, and ruffled.
Omnipresent, opaque, oval, and an oyster’s home.
Is your life smooth sailing right now?
Or does it feel hollow echoing sounds,
reminders of voices from the past?
Storms interrupting life?
There is a Pearl awaiting discovery.
Anna Marie Gall ~ April 2, 2012
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Christmas brunch awaits;
Lavender cream scones, ham quiche,
with cranberry juice red.
Anna Marie Gall – December 22, 2011
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Vigil
There is restlessness in my spirit as the days go on …
A bud sprouted, green shoots reach for sunlight.
And my leaves continue to be watered reaching to the depths of my deep roots…
My father and mother taught me simple living as a child.
Life is in the earth, sky, and God.
Watch the soil, weather, and plant life as a vigil.
Forecast the weather by the song birds, the family dog, and the sun dog in the sky.
Baby plants smile in their prepared beds.
The winds bring much reprieve from the summer heat or the destruction of an heirloom apple tree.
Seedlings sigh in relief as the choking weeds are uprooted.
Morning baths promise green life through the scorching afternoons.
Stars gaze at dusk to tell the time.
And night time clouds tell whether a frost settles to the earth before dawn.
Winter snows create beds of life to be seen with spring.
A farmer’s tales are gold nuggets of truth and wisdom to this spirit.
My roots swell and reach deeper with each day on this farm.
I am a farmer, my spirit now hears the call …
Anna Marie Gall
aka Anna Banana
EarthDance Farms Apprentice
July 23, 2011
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Spring’s Sweet Symphony
Spring’s sweet symphony plays a sensual tune …
The awaiting songbird calls out to his lover.
A butterfly’s courtship with the gentle breeze.
The bumblebee races toward sweet seductive nectar.
A pair of squirrels playfully roll on spring’s soft mattress.
The ripened maple seedpods scatter abroad the green blanket.
The warm sun moistens flesh as the fresh crisp air cools.
One by one dogwood blossom petals flutter to the erotic wind’s rhythm,
Whispering the childish sweetheart love song,
“He loves me, he love me not, he loves me …”
Spring’s sensual song, “The Season For Love”.
Anna Marie Phelps ~ April 28, 2004
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Stone
The sudden splash
startles its world
around.
The ripples begin
as a tossed stone
touches the water.
The effect too great
reaches the farthest
boundary.
The waves, one after
another perpetuate
for seemingly eternity.
The calmness does
return with that stone
underneath.
Anna Marie Phelps ~ 1997
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Teddy Bear
Teddy, you were there from the beginning.
While life moved inside me,
You appeared underneath nursery theme wrapping.
You were the promise of a child for me to love.
You tagged along to each childbirth class.
I stared in concentration at your eyes dark brown.
I remember your robust roundness;
Soft was the skin sewn on you.
You were a portrayal of the baby I longed to hold.
You witnessed the pain of long labor,
But also shared the joy of the birth of my firstborn.
You sat beside my baby in her crib,
Keeping watch those long nights and tiresome days.
My baby soiled your skin several times
As she cooed at your cute, chubby face.
Through washings you hold up well.
While more life moved inside me,
My little darling spoke your two-syllable name.
When my second child arrived,
My first toddled you around.
My new baby had her own teddy, too.
Soon you were invited to little girls’ tea parties and storytime.
I remember you learning your alphabets
As your “teacher” sang with precision.
You sit on the windowseat of my “baby’s” room now.
He too has loved on you as the others.
When the dimples have left his hands,
And he’s onto playing baseball and soccer,
who will love you? I will.
You will forever be dear in my heart.
You’ve been there from the beginning of my motherhood,
A promise of a child to love … children … grandchildren …
And there will be others.
Anna Marie Phelps ~ November 22, 1997
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No Means No
So what part of the word “no” do you not understand?
No means no. No means I can’t. No means I won’t.
No nullifies a naïve notion.
No forfeits a fury of feelings.
No dissipates any devilish desire.
No passes a prestigious position.
No infiltrates an idol image.
No straightens any sorrowful sin.
No means no. No means I can’t. No means I won’t.
No mean yes to something much, much better.
Now do you understand my “no”?
Anna Marie Phelps ~ 1996
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A Mockery
Two spheres spinning in sync,
The spokes line up in a perfect pattern,
Mock a match made from the Maker.
The pair pardon their past partners.
The rejection realized regenerates,
Aloof it’s luring lust, a lying love.
Two thieves tear away at twilight.
The picturesque plans are in proposal,
Denying a death in their destination.
An awakening awaits to great grief,
Stabbing a sword in each sadden soul.
Fairytales finish forever happily ever after,
This tale is told with tainted truth,
Confusing its characters who can’t conceive.
Diverse are the dimensions of the original duo.
At times, the two travel in opposing time,
Needing unity in their asymmetry universe.
Spouses be still in subtle strength.
Whole hearts held high and holy,
Make mighty love from the Maker.
Anna Marie Phelps ~ 1996
Deanna Greens and Garden Art 
