**Sweet Nothings Poetry** by Ann Evelyn Morris


I dream.
In silvered shadows,
My hero arrives,
Not on a white horse,
But only walking.

He comes
Without a sword to slay
The dark dragon.
His weapon mere words:
I hear him talking.

"It's nothing special.
It's no big deal."
Odd things for
A warrior to say.
Where is the poetry,
The flourish?
Is this truly one
Who will win the day?

He falls silent.
He offers his hand.
The dragon draws closer
And I'm afraid.
Then, a shifting, 
And the beast is gone.
We're dancing on mist
In a forest glade.

I know.
Morpheus has sent
A message by way
Of this strange champion,
"Dragons are real."

They come.
You face them.
They dissolve into mist.
They're nothing special.
They are no big deal.


I'm always thinking
   about you, love
And I frequently
   wonder why
   you make me laugh,
Other times
   make me cry.
You don't know what
   you're doing to me.
Then again,
   maybe you do.
If there is any way
   to resist you,
I haven't
   got a clue.
You are constantly
Clouding my mind
   and piercing my heart.
Yet, I think that
   I have courted you
Almost from
   my very start.
The questions I have
   about you
Could surely cause
   my brain to burst.
I only hope you'll
   take pity on me
And provide
   the answers first.


May you have laughter.
May you have song.
May you have contentment
All your days long.

May you have wishes
And dreams to come true.
May you have a sweetheart
Who cherishes you.






I have been to the mountain.
I have been to the shore.
I have wandered in far places.
I need travel no more.
I have found what I was seeking
In a place where love starts.
Where we have come to gather,
There's communion of hearts.

You can count on the starshine
To guide you in the night.
And the sun is there to lead you
As you move through daylight.
You must follow your own pathway
To the place where love starts.
In a place where friends await you,
There's communion of heats.

We have been on a journey
To find where we belong.
We have turned what was weakness
Into something that is strong.
We have built our own bridges
To the place where love starts.
Where we have come together,
There's communion of hearts.

Where we have come together,
There's communion of hearts.

NOTE: This can be sung to the tune
of a song that comes from the Tannehill 
Weaver's album "Caperman." The song is
"The Braes o' Balquhidder." 


No archer's arrow can pierce my heart,
Nor poet's lines cause it to flutter and start.
No courtier with his fancy way
Can hold my affection in his sway.
Minstrel may as well withhold his song.
His melody I will abandon ere long.
You ask on whom I will bestow my kiss,
When all these suitors I do dismiss.
The one to whom my homage is paid--
The smiling chieftain with the quiet blade.

He has no need of grand pretention
To catch my eye and gain my attention.
He knows that love is more sweet 
    when discreetly displayed,
Does my smling chieftain with the quiet blade.

No blushing maid of fifteen am I.
It is not my gambit to swoon and sigh.
Yet he knows well where my troth doth lie.

In his dark eyes there burns a fire
Only matched by the flame of my desire.
I pray to The Dear to be so blessed
To receive his kiss upon my breast,
To lie with him in fond embrace,
To lead him to my secret place
Where long I have both dreamed and prayed
For love of my chieftain with the quiet blade.

No other could his game so well have played
As my smiling chieftain with the quiet blade.


Love I have lost and love I have found.
Sometimes, it puts me all upside down,
Twisted and turned in time and space,
Head over heels in a precarious place.
The muses must be delighted to see me so
Victimized by impish Cupid's bow.
Is there protection in some cold, dark land
From the spell cast by a love mage's hand?
Think I, that even if a haven there were,
Aphrodite would not let me away from her.
Her plan is to give me love's tears and laughter
To keep me happily confused forever after.


Darling, what a merciless thing is love.
It seeks out its prey, which is you and I.
We surrender, giving up all we have
To suffer in the trap, to ache and cry.
We offer our souls for a moment's bliss,
Calling a whisper and a touch divine
And pray for the kindness of just one kiss
A gift to be cherished in the heart's shrine.
For a taste of delights we long have craved
And the secret key to our loved one's mind,
Gladly we consent to be so enslaved
By a master neither gentle nor kind:
  For glorious dreams we desire to share
  Staunchly brave the hazards of loving care.

Annie's Attic Tripod Homepage: The Tripod version of the attic
PHOTO ALBUM: pics of me
Annie's Attic--fancy version: The Our World version of the attic