Anna Panunto

flowers                                                        Final Offering

                                                           Two golden cups

resting on white marble-

cold yet unadorned for all.

I offer you wine, old lover…

 Ever so tentatively

For,  you  have forgotten the brass bells

ringing in your ear.

Crystal, pale, yellow liquid

Swelling your emptiness

Making you dizzy

I become a mirage of

your   broken dreams.

 The magical power of wine

reminiscent of ancient times,

so they claim.

Perhaps, celebrating

a Roman truth.

Wild echoes of the past

 Now paint my walls red and green.

Faint cries and stale emotions…

Running in fear

away from you.

Courage wailing

As new wine is fermenting

From another continent;

I begin a new offering.

                                                    Florid Soul

                                                             Imminent marks

      of  dark, sandy wind

on burning flesh

Soon, a cold stone shall replace it.

I hear nothing

And become deaf

by life’s noisy moments;

blinded by the glowing lights.

Strangers’ callous feet

Cracks unnoticed

Until the aging years identify it…

City sidewalks


Pollution and deception always fill the air

Souls wandering aimlessly

Like a forgotten tale

I recognize some of them.


Fills me as I am

caught in a  treacherous rainstorm

of wet orchids.

Wailing to the sky wishing to be reborn;

I become florid soul.


Flowers in the Sky

  (dedicated to our families)

Voices clashing in mid-air

Gasping, gnashing at an entity


Now spearing through knowledge

Thoughts – fragmented, disjointed, blurred from the lines of reality.


For they do not understand

The silver key that must remain.


Insanity is claimed

Brilliant minds continue to suffer

In the silence of unknown.


Flaws are sins

The border of right from wrong is God

And their iron fist is killing him.


Madman is truly a child

Madwoman is truly a mourning mother.


And out in the cold, lies a weeping child

With dirt on his face, scraped knees and broken fingers.


Flowers in the sky

Is what we all see in the end.

And the weeping children

Remain abandoned.


Angel of Mercy

   ( to Rick)

Music to the angel of mercy

In the form of purple hallucinations

We sing forever – Halleluiah!


Meanwhile, the lyrics of life go forgotten

Man ceases to exist as

Fingers play toward futility.


People applaud in vain.

Momentary glory is taken

Like a beggar on the streets.


An avid audience

So, it seems.

His genius inspires the mentally ill.

They all suddenly  get up from their broken wooden chairs

lazily smile, for a long, heavy moment…

And  then, vanish … like a busted bubble.


“Create!” says his muse from the other side

The angel of mercy

Captures the child inside every creative madman.


Yet, the cold metal of power

cuts right through his brain


With white candles and frankincense incense

We pray…





Saved From Madness

The reaper is here…

With the midnight moon of madness.

Found in a deep forest

she licks her golden locks.

Hate nor grief

Shall save her world

Tears turn into invisible fountains.


A flickering light


The dreamless moon.

And the darkened sky awakens…

The careless ocean waves

Remember every thought.

Suddenly, a speck of dust

 Is Saved from madness.


Tragic Absence

 You identify

With the real me

Or so, you claim

Yet, they chose the other

Who is much prettier.

Life is cyclical

And ours is an incorrigible chain.

I am right and you are wrong

Is our contention from morning to night.

 Yet, moments are manically slipping away…

And time is our enemy

So, I read you a poem

As my peace offering

You glance at it

Mumble something common

And then, toss it away

With all your other junk.

I accept it

As one of life’s causalities.

For who truly remembers the poet,

but the poet herself?

Now in a coma

Everyone’s voices become raspy tunes

Of a dirty record

The filthy vinyl

Doesn’t keep me company

As I thought it would.

                         EVERYDAY FOR SOMEONE

Instincts interwoven

Like thick, dark lava.

Intellectual capacity – coded and monitored

From the metal armors.

Yet, I woman

Have chosen to wrap myself

around  deadly snakes.

Claiming a price

I will return

And learn the ethereal lesson

That life controls nothing.

Until  captured;

someone with no name

is no one.

Now, part of an orchestrated scene

 We live in a fish tank

 And among the exotic fish

We see beauty dissipate

Like a denied tragedy.

Let us  swim like zombies


Or let us be alone

In the desert  believing we are SOMEONE with NO ONE.

Karmic Lessons

   As I linger on lost moments

And mourn over unspoken words;

My heart grows heavy

And my soul wanders.

Soon, I will encounter the silver dawn

          And wisdom will become part of me.


Yet in the midst

of  dark color

when life is sub-passionate and unclear

 Abstract shapes appear.

For the end of every karmic lesson

Brings forth

Unforeseen gifts.

Colors then become vivid

Like an exquisite painting on canvas

And  ghosts

fleetingly disappear

Until the next…


 Faith was once found

In fertile land.

Lucky hunters

Had found their prey.

Land marked

by its growing roots;

water blessed

for all to see.

.And then we became:




And the faithless hands

From the green mountains

Wrapped around us in silence…

Until the lucky hunters yonder

To another land and make their claim.

Yet, where lies our faith?

Fingertip Music

 His misunderstood fingers

Create disjointed music

through the cracks of his broken soul.

Faintly heard

And always

Interrupted by life’s banalities.

Every now and then, when no one is watching…

Melodies stolen

From ancient times

With Latin seashells

And strong liquor.

In his memory

He envisions…. a golden palace

And euphoria

Is felt


Music is brought into the universe


The angels have always heard him

And the devil fears him.

For Death remembers him

As the continual soul of sound

Born to distract and impact the less inspired.


    Trendy Café             

 She abhors the trendy café

Where all can be seen, but not heard.

Their chatter seems to pollute the air with fake smiles

And nauseating words.

She cannot think and her head is spinning.

Meanwhile, they are lighting another cigarette

And their chatter now sounds diabolical.

Piercing at her ears

Is the latest CD playing in the background.

Stolen lyrics and pretentious faces

Is the trend of the trend.

She experiences death for another time.

Reading her old book, hoping to get inspired

She witnesses the immaculate portrait –

a supermodel  choking on her spit.

All laugh and for a moment,  everyone is grateful

That they were  not made a  spectacle of…

Supermodel is forgotten and soon replaced by another.

       United at the Desert


 It was at the holy desert

That we met, long ago.

You poured fresh spring water

Down my throat

And I held you in my protective arms.

Now, I am sitting on a steep mountain

Overlooking the desert by myself.

It has become my wasteland.

The sand is vast and hollow.

My throat is dry, once again

And the infection –fatal.

Time is floating away

But the memories

remain vivid in my heart

like a fresh painting.

Feeling your presence,

You whisper something in my ear.

I sway back and forth

And my mind goes numb.

You now become

the celestial window of heaven.

We disappear.



 The stars near the lovely moon

Is her vision of beauty.

Oh, how we forget the splendor of life!

They who wear flowers attract the happy.

Sounds of grief she does not welcome.

Bequeath the Sun’s brilliance unto others

and make that a glorious virtue.

At sunrise, friends and family shall awake with fresh fruits

And at sunset, all will enjoy authentic red wine.

Open your heart to the universe,

And “light is your God”.

                                                        The Fire Within

A sister of stone

Is what you are

Rich rain and fertile soil.

 Azure sky and aquamarine sea

Has witnessed our tribulations

The dynasty is gone

But our integrity is gold.

Ah, the sweetness of life brings me

 To our tulip garden of long ago!

Red, yellow, and orange tulips

Now  dancing around us in celebration.

Yet, as there is sweetness in life

There is also bitterness

Now I am reminded of an island prison

And  cold, rainy months of despair.

Yet, through the bitterness

We survived life.

And, only the passionate can transcend…

The orange fire that rests  inside your heart

dwells inside your children’s

 This  flaming  torch

  shall always protect us from life’s tragedies.

For the spirit of  woman is a divine one

May the stone live on and scent the air for an eternity.

Happy Birthday, mama.

                                     About the Author

  Anna Panunto lives in Montreal, Quebec. She is of Italian origin and speaks three languages. Anna is an adult education teacher both at McGill University and at a local school board. She has been writing poetry for over two decades. Since 1997, she has published poetry books, a play, and s

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