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Two Poems...

The march of the martoui.


Each spring

you tear

your candy

floss nest

and pour

like burnt

sugar strands

from a 

boiling pan



 a brown trail

armed with

 orange hairs

poisoned harpoons

you hurl

on the breeze

deadly to 

curious dogs

you are 

- it’s said -

an ill omen



no carnival

more soldiers

invading or

funeral cortege

and while

 green sprouts 

to sunlight

you tunnel 


to darkness

burrow deep

until the day

when you





The sea is swollen

straining against its horizons

an over ripe fruit

ready to burst

 rumbling thunder

warns of the coming battle

then hours of pelting rain

hurling itself from the sky and

pummelling fists against the ground

pausing as if for breath

only to resume, harder, stronger

fuelled by a greedy wind, 

guzzling trees and fences

like a petulant child

wailing on and on

finally a huge thunderclap

vivid crackle of lightning

illuminating everything

and at last the tempest ends.

An expected storm 

but still unnamed

Bio:. Annie lives by the sea in Cyprus with her husband and two rescue dogs. She has poems forthcoming in a number of places including Re -side, Gastropoda, Boats against the Current… @AnnieCowell3.

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