Frances-Ann Norton: Poetry

In the Garden;  After Louise Gluck's Matins And in that garden How so the first foot print Angels high and near to pardon The first frost, the first snow to dint. We were there you and I My life was in your eyes Our hearts in God’s hands held high Together, present under sky. Ahead we knew not what We were present to each other In our embrace none forgot Shoal of perch, flock of plover Mountains, rivers, seas and shore Savannah, grass land, marsh Forests hedgerows, earth core. Hurricane, tornado, volcano ash. A garden moist, lush, green Fig, grape, pomegranate, apple Through deep leaves, snakes green sheen Oh happy sin, oh necessary fault, leaves dapple.

Throw off the Wet Gloves After Anne Sextons  - Consorting With Angels I was tired of the early mornings I was tired of the computer screen I was sick of the drive around the gyratory Day after day, after day Meaningless – days sliding by And I said to myself Where is the meaning in my stale existence? And the answer came – “look up”. And as I looked up, snow fell like angel feathers And a voice seemed to say ‘Be playful’ When the snow falls it’s a game, a full stop. A clean slate as the Symbolists say It’s fun, let go of troubles Cares gone to the drifts of snow Climb inside joy Igloo up misery and disdain Throw off the wet gloves of being a wet blanket, Live.