“She Wanted Storms”


So excited to announce that “She Wanted Storms” is now available in print!

“She Wanted Storms” is a collection of poems and stories inspired and informed by storm: from the eye of the hurricane to the heart of the blizzard. Whether you are a storm chaser, a rain dancer, or a cat-like windowsill-percher-deluge-watcher, this collection will bring the flower-like nectar of petrichor to the pluviophile in you. Link

My Dreams Are Sheer Curtains

Image: Morning Over Oporto by Anka Zhuravleva

for me to peer through
out from the boudoir of my mind
(where trees always grow)
and into ever changing vistas.
I ride those dreams
like silken magic carpets,
lay my hands on them
and braid them to me
like I am an aerial dancer
and they are my scarves. — Annette Marie Smith

Phantasmagorical Beauty

I know a fake moon when I see one —
so large
so golden
so looking like a painting
come straight to life,
a moon with stars fluttering around it
like moths drawn
to its artificial light.
I know a fake moon when I see one
like that glorious too beautiful to be real
full moon I saw last night. — Annette Marie Smith

She moves beside him in his bed

like a restless phantom limb.
She is really gone but he can still feel her
not just beside him but also
in his heart
in his head.
He wears a prophylactic wall
’round his prosthetic capacity to love.
He left his desire
to caress
inside her traveling gloves.
But he doesn’t miss her
naw, she was no thing
to him
she was everything.
His days are filled with
successive activities
and his nighttimes too
cuz when he stops for even a moment
lethargy ensues.
He’s become a fraudy artificial.
He has the robot blues. — Something He Told Me, by Annette Marie Smith

My Mother Is a Poem

My mother is a poem.
She is beautiful and she is inspired.
Her depths, not just stormy seas but chthonic, deeper than the resting places of ancestors and the keepers of the seeds and her heights
are beyond mere clouds
pierce the heavens with princess spindle
that is a lance that is also a lamplighter
so she can light the stars.
She is a myth based on a story
told against the cold
and the truth of that fiction astounds me
to my very bones. — Annette Marie Smith