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Margaret Ann Waddicor 7th November 2010.

I love silence,
its potent pregnancy,
its contrast probably because my mind's
so busy creating the sound of words
of music,
of interest in so much,
that it needs this to survive,
without burning itself up in the too much!

we all have our place of living
those tinniest of anmals live fast heart-beat lives
while huge beasts content themselves
with more peaceful pass times.

Silence for me is medicine,
intense in its own way,
a space like the new page waiting,
that waiting has so many possibilities,
as does life;

we cannot predict our futures,
our passions,
our joys beyond compare,
they materialise as if from pure air;
but if we have no silence in us
we become deaf
to the wonders
of this life's patterned fate
and miss the gate to heaven
in our rush.

excess of activity,
that hides the key
to open secret stores
of happiness and love.

Margaret Ann Waddcior 7th November 2010.
Written to an Aeneus without commiting suicide.

Sweet silence,
as the earth stood still,
the stars forgot to shine,
the space of friendship,
gaunt in light of day,
what can a spirit say
in vacuum,

what words what utterance of love
will sound across the void,
what fathoms still untapped,
what dreams are left intact,
what beats are felt to pound,
what hope of things to be,

when silence dominates the whole,
and is the music of your soul,
no strings to tie a knot,
no sentiments to stir,
when abstinence from fear
could come your way,
the sound will come
another dawning day.

the music of our lives,
is sustenance enough
when freindships realise
their hidden power
the bond of joy and happiness
is there for all to touch,
when feeling down
and frowning at the fall of strength,

the pertinence of senses
given lovely wings,
can sooth the pain and suffering,
however firm and small,
so grab the hand its offerings,
so freely cast at you,
they're made of heaven's gifts,

for all to pick and choose,
nor one but many
chase the way of faith,
in human sacrifice,
our unions to compare,
with great religion's flare
that blossoms when the trees
are still so bare,

no need to dedicate,
to promise things we cannot give,
just live your best for everyone,
consider yourself blessed.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Last few words: 
I think I would become "Too much tea," as the Japanese monks call it, without silence.


I was trying to pick a best line! No chance they were all outstanding. Wonderful imagery, loved the message - the last stanzas in each poem punched the point home.

Really really enjoyed the read Ann. Lovely

Love Mand xxxxxxxx

What do I say to THAT?
What would you say to THAT?
How does one answer THAT?

Two darling friends with such positive things to say about what I write, and here's me thinking this STUFF I write is old hat and out of fashioned; and I must admit sometimes a little repetitive of wording, but then here you come to confirm that I have expressed myself well, and what a comment from you both, I fear I may find my head so big afterwards that it won't stay on the top of my head, and where would I be then?

But seriously I do not feel swayed by criticism, admittedly it has so often been positive that I begin to wonder how I would react should someone say it were complete rubbish; but I think in the end we are our own best critics and whatever anyone says about it is only, either a bonus, or a blow, and neither go so deep that they eclipse my own judgement, and I have places where I could criticise; my subject matter is perhaps a little on the romantic, nature side of things and beauty etc and all that jazz, so I try to season with some that is humorous and some downright crazy to show that I am not made of all lovey dovey things and can appreciate other types of sensation and surprise in life.

But if it comes to horror films and shows, poems with vampires and ghouls, I am afraid I back out, they do neither scare me nor do they interest me very much, unless they are of use in some particular manner then they get a look in. My partner can see all sorts of crime and bloody encounters, ( doesn't like horror films) and then gets vivid dreams afterwards, I am not wishing for such, I would rather read of natures drama, and see them in my mind than paint their reality on my mind so indelibly that I carry the memory of them forever more!!! I was asked to join a group of poets who specialise in those type of things and no, there are better pass times for me than turning my mind into "blood and thunder" as my mother used to say.

Look what you dug up here you two lovely people!!! Ah well I was always too wordy perhaps, but I hope with content?

Love to you and a big thank you for your admittance of finding sympathy with my poems. Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

And that is a lovely thing to say too dear sweet Rosina, the Xena of the page,
I think you too do that in your poetry.

Love and thank you from Ann in the mists of Winter.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment

No time to do anything but to say I dropped in for a read pant......pant.... lol...on to the next...........stan

As is your poem!
Lovely Ann!


Thank you and love from Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

author comment
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