Mary Annie A. V. writes

The conch shell:

The creature 

that has been wounded 

now lies dead

somewhere trapped

in the labyrinths

of an unnamed world.

The shell

that housed it

litters the sand

where our footsteps fall.

Within my palms

I savour its smoothness

my fingers

caress its emptiness.

From its cave

I hear it bellow

a funeral dirge 

as I raise it to my lips

to bid farewell.
 
Nymph with Conch Shell --William Stephen Coleman

Mary Annie A. V.,

The Olive Twig

Sometime, when the waters  recede, 

you will be back  

from the ark,  

an olive twig in your beak.   

I will let you fly away with promises  

into the vast blue skies. 

Your wings paint colors as you leave. 

You never return, 

but the colors return again and again, 

wring out of me words.

Sometimes it is a poem. 

Most times, it is a sigh.

 

 Peace is a Choice -- Hannah Schenck

 

Mary Annie A. V.

The clock on the wall: 

The clock on the wall  

harboured beneath it, ants.

I discovered it, 

when after 

three years of faithful ticking 

it decided to stop.

I stood tip toe on a stool 

and picked it off the wall. 

From the black colony 

some disentangled 

and blinded me. 

As I touched the floor 

I thought 

I heard the clock tick again.

Before I knew 

It's  big steel arms  

enveloped me 

in a strong embrace,

I  choked.

The ants resumed their kissing 

and kept marching on. 

 
 La persistència de la memòria (The Persistence of Memory) -- Salvador Dali

 
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