Shimmer

I toss my hair at
spread my arms to
the day.

I want to butterfly
from one moment
to the next
unfurl my proboscis
drink deep

have you
see through
the Ezekiel lenses
of my wings

make
you gasp
at my arrogance
in flinging
all those colours
(shimmer, shammer, hold me)
back in Sun's face.

Paralysis of Overanalysis

In the hands of your mind
an issue
never sits idle for long.
It turns things over and examines them
scrutinizing for right and for wrong.

You can see both sides
of the issue
you understand
multicognizantly.
Your posture is ambivalence
your vision objectivity.

You see all the fine shadings
the permutations, gradations
of grey.
Black and white are not
absolute
no more than are dark night or day.

The hands of your mind
are always busy
grasping at this and at that.
But mere conjectures
slip through its fingers
that can't pinch skinny from fat.

"A storybook face"

you said,
making me feel like a princess
because I didn't know
what she got in the end
of your version of the story.

Your many coloured tapestry
of lies
doesn't warm the stone walls
of my castle fortress.
Nor does it adorn them.

But I've hung it there anyway
along with my heart
as a moral
to would be princesses.

And that ball that I'm throwing
is just an excuse to,
pick you out by your mask
painted with smiles
and feathered with jests,

dance with you only
so I can step
lively to the music
as I rock on your toes,

give you my token
to wear 'round your neck
tie it myself
extra tight
cry "Off with his head!"
and get results.

There's a spike on my rampart walls
with your head's name upon it.

And my favour shall pennant the breeze.

Annette Marie Hyder is a freelance writer whose credits include regular contribution to an international bridal magazine, short stories and articles. She's had poetry published online and in print, with more forthcoming this winter and spring. Recent additions to her portfolio include Eclectica Magazine, The Green Tricycle, The Horsethief's Journal, Purple Mist, literary magazine and Niederngasse, the print journal (Jan/2000 issue).

Annette sees life as a poem that is constantly altering its form to accommodate one's world view/experiences: sometimes a sonnet, sometimes haiku, sometimes graffiti on wall. She believes that in love you should not say it with flowers, you should say it with words. Diamonds, however, are always acceptable.