Ann Christine Tabaka

Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year, her bio is featured in the “Who’s Who of Emerging Writers 2020 and 2021,” published by Sweetycat Press. She is the author of 15 poetry books. lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking.  Chris lives with her husband and four cats. Her most recent credits are: Sparks of Calliope; The Closed Eye Open, Poetic Sun, Tangled Locks Journal, Wild Roof Journal, The American Writers Review, The Scribe Magazine, The Phoenix, Burningword Literary Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Silver Blade, Pomona Valley Review, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Fourth & Sycamore.*(a complete list of publications is available upon request)

I Captured the Sun

Sunset on the mountain
was a part of the soup.
A whirlwind of texture,
a cacophony of hue.
I found you standing there,
a lone bluebonnet among
a field of columbine, 
staring off across
a meadow of desire.
I reached past longing,
to hold sweet release.
You were my salvation.
Climbing higher,
I captured the sun,
and was consumed 
in your flames. 

Waiting

the cold calls out / senses awaken
sunlight dances on frosty air 
winter / magical season / creeps in
all is white / bright / pure essence
a time to rest and restore
putting aside all busyness 
burrowing in / cozy placement
warm fire & comforter soothe 
body as well as soul
sparkling dreams drift from dull gray sky
teardrops fall from dying blossoms
trees fold their arms in submission
we walk away from summer’s warmth
and embrace a monochromic world
time to sleep / pray /contemplate
as we wait earth’s eternal transition

Time to Let Go

waiting for the sun to shine
waiting for leaves to fall
seasons play tag with the earth
bees chase butterflies off fading blossoms
I chase time from my front door
ages pass in a blur of truth
I cannot hold on to summer
it slips through the garden on a breeze
life withers with the seasons
windows close to the chill
a spark of autumn in the air
tells me …
it is time to let go

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