Poetry Blog by Ann Foxglove (2013)

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owl - with a film by Paul Healy

entry picture


owl sinks soft

like a silk handkerchief

bringing blackness to vole and leveret

soft as fog

sharp as razors owl sinks down

like a blanket over a birdcage


swish, away, a lens shape,

slips into the barn

quiet as snow….



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Song - Lavender man

entry picture




Lavender Man


Oh the Lavender Man

He didn’t come today

We stayed in all morning

He didn’t come our way

The sun was so bright

We wanted to go out

But the Lavender Man

He just wasn’t about.


Now ladies need their lavender


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lavenderneeding and wanting....and waiting......


entry picture

you breathe out

I breathe in

I breathe out

you breathe in

I decide….

not to breathe


so we stand

lip to lip

heart to heart

hip to hip

open my

eyes to see

your eyes



why should I

give my breath

I can stop

when I want

as you wait

for oxygen

I see thoughts

behind your eyes.


I hold my br...

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entry picture


the water is cold

as I dip my hand


silver-eyed -

a minnow



my fingers open

my hand

is a cup


the minnow



the minnow



to me


magic and fleeting

a mercury being

the whole world



his scales




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city in the sand

entry picture


There is a city, hidden in the sand

where few have visited. I understand

it glitters in the scorching noonday sun.

To find it is the dream of anyone

who feels that they deserve great wealth,

who follow, creeping like a sphinx, in stealth

to enter through the golden portals great -

answer a riddle and confirm their fate.

The city’s treasures are truly renown...

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citiessandwoman power

january fairy

entry picture

Back in her box on a bed of cotton wool

the January fairy closes her eyes with a tiny click.

Laid on wings of wire and net,

dusty tissue covering her faded dress.

Gauzy girl, she knows nothing of spring breezes,

has never seen a daffodil,

felt the warmth of a summer night.

The fall of leaves in autumn is a mystery -

she’s never seen the budding of the trees.


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dead sheep

entry picture


There’s a dead sheep – swelling by the hedge

a woman standing by the cottage door,

a ghost


waiting for her man.

What should she do?

The sheep is dead with lamb wedged deep inside her.


Night creeps in

she lights the lamp

and paces.


The sheep is heavy

on her conscience now.

A female presence,

a legacy

of treachery from lo...

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