Ann Christine Tabaka (USA)

Ann Christine Tabaka (USA)
Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year (Poetic), has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She is the author of 10 poetry books. She has recently been published in several micro-fiction anthologies and short story publications. Christine lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and three cats. Her most recent credits are: The American Writers Review; The Phoenix; Burningword Literary Journal; Muddy River Poetry Review; The Write Connection; Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Foliate Oak Review, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore.
Her poetry books are:
“Overcast Mind” (2017)
“It Is Still Morning” (2017)
“When Dragons and Angels Collide – Haiku & Senryu” (2017)
“Everlasting” (2017)
“The Sound of Dragonfly Wings – Haiku & Senryu” (2018)
“Reaching for Dawn” (2018)
“Just Breathe” (2018)
“No More Hallelujahs” (reissued 2020)
“Words Spill Out” (reissued 2020)
“Keep Breathing” (2020)
Patchwork Dreams
I piece together this and that,
sewn with heartfelt songs.
My mind escapes me
on a journey of bewilderment.
Never knowing which direction,
my blindness leads the way.
Touching the braille that reads
my life and gathers all to me.
The further that I travel,
the closer I become.
Tattered, worn, and broken,
all becoming whole.
I close my eyes to destiny
and let it come find me.
As I sit, needle and thread in hand,
hemming my own dreams.
Hiding in Plain Sight
Long lost treasures
and mismatched pieces
filling lonely days.
Each item holds a memory
to occupy my mind,
sifting through a maze
of forgotten artifacts.
A map to nowhere,
a key that does not fit,
tangled ribbons dance
with rubber bands.
Odd screws and old receipts,
all join in a mix of dreams
and once clever ideas.
A long searched for pen
hides just out of reach.
Upon further observation,
notions blend with objects
in a chaotic composition.
Beautiful clutter fills
my junk drawer of reality.
The Truth Hides
Behind closed eyes
the truth hides.
Denial takes root
and grows deep.
Behind closed eyes
a sheltered past
remains dormant,
barely alive.
Sobriety is just a word
spoken by redemption.
No reality can perceive
the deceit that lives within.
Condemning tongues
lash at every corner,
refusing to open untrusting eyes
to see beyond the damned.
My days are dominos,
falling one by one,
in neat little rows of lies.
Picking one up, they scatter.
I believe that
behind closed eyes,
I take one more drink,
swearing it is my last.

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