Anastasya Shepherd

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Tag: poetry

  • Let’s Talk About Love…

    And once again – let’s talk about love.
    The spring had sent our hearts and lips aflutter.
    Wild pigeons coo, cats scream, girls preen, men mutter,
    while cupids in the clouds up above
    adjust their nappies and pick up their bows,
    with whoops of joy they go hell-for-leather.
    It’s their season as all heaven knows:
    they hunt in summer, they are dressed for weather.
    The cupids bet who’ll bag the biggest number,
    intent on their prey they push and shove.
    They rush to live before their winter slumber.
    But I digress… Let’s talk about love.

    Let’s talk about sharing what’s dear
    and feeling awkward when the other’s gone.
    The dread of loss replacing loss of fear
    and sense of joy replacing fleeting fun.
    About warmth amidst the deepest cold,
    being a distance runner, not a sprinter,
    your stamina replaces speed of old.
    You know joy in spring and love – in winter.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Tunnel

    Every tunnel can be like a birth –
    think of it – every tunnel!
    You emerge in a different place
    in alternative light.
    Just avoid going back to your berth,
    running down your runnel.
    Catch the wind and escape into space;
    take delight in your flight.

    Every entrance inside can entrance –
    inner spaces are vast –
    While a path to yourself is a mere aside,
    it can feel like an end.
    Every exit can give you a chance
    to escape from the past.
    Through a tunnel you pass outside,
    to expand and extend.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Lights In The Dark

    A sudden smile amidst the hurried crowd,
    in dull routine – imagination’s spark,
    in place of fear – laughing out loud…
    small lights are so precious in the dark!

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • There is always a choice

    …and the final choice of all:
    you can always stay behind
    in the place you can control,
    in the prison of your mind…

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • It’s a strange world

    It’s a strange world,
    made of echoing emptiness
    pulling itself together,
    like Baron Munchhausen
    pulling himself out of the swamp by his hair.
    You cavort through it,
    creating it as you go,
    a cartoon character
    picking up tracks from behind
    and laying them in front
    for your train to keep going;
    an oblivious demiurge
    sensing the world into being.
    Every time you make a handstand –
    you stand on the edge of the precipice.
    Every time you laugh –
    you laugh in the face of death.
    It fills me with awe,
    and joy,
    and terror,
    and utter amazement
    at the strangest thing of all –
    your ability to see this world as rock-solid.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Realism

    Courage is always beautiful
    and courage in the face of overwhelming odds – doubly so.
    That is why there is such an acute, poignant beauty in realism.
    Seeing things as they are
    and nevertheless
    making choices based on who you want to be –
    what can be more brave,
    more beautiful,
    more pointless?

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • The fence

    I am forever sitting on the fence:
    precariously balanced, too intense;
    the pull to fall on either side – immense
    but if I fall, hence falls my common sense.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • 300

    Three hundred broken promises ago,
    when life was fresh and full of joy and woe,
    I thought the world was mine to love and grow.
    It wasn’t. And it’s almost time to go.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in

  • Louvre

    Art is always revealing.
    The more dignified are the robes, the more naked is the fear of exposure.

    —

    by

    ashepherd
    in
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