Author Archives: Anne Douglas

About Anne Douglas

I was born in Chester in the nineteen fifties and travelled to the Orient with my parents, where I lived for nearly seven years. It was here that I have very happy memories of my childhood. The climate was always favourable except during the monsoon season and life out there was very different to the life in England. Since Returning to the country, I have lived in North Wales near my family and I have travelled to Africa, Arabia and to Israel, (since my childhood days,) with my employment as a qualified staff nurse and then as a nursing sister. I have never written any poetry before 2012/13 and it is an enjoyment for me and a good past time. I had a small anthology of prose printed in winter, 2014; it was my first attempt. I am quite proud of this, too. I wish all the Cross Border Poets members success in their poetry and their prose. Anne Douglas

The Dopia

Grove upon grove
Of olive trees
Just growing
Into an eternity
Returning from antiquity
A thousand years
Or more
Ancient gnarled entwined
Their delightful purple harvest
Fruits of the gods
The olives
Ready for the press
The olive grove

The Wild Dogs

A pack of wild dogs
Feral scavengers
Yet not aggressive
Loveable in fact
Under coats of dust and dirt
Lie two
Trusting large brown eyes
Yet crafty canine eyes
Under a cover of partial mistrust
Likeable to look at
Barking howling
“Where is my food?”
They bark to the
Ferals on the other side
Who in turn bark
In reply
“None here!”


The honey guide bird

With the cries of the birds
Perhaps the honey-guide
I come across a flounce of red flowers
In a pearlescent dusk
The bees must have a name for it
Lazy-blowing fragrance
Of the carnation border
They must have a name for it too
In bee language Honey flowers
Here and there More and more
As the branch Peeps over the garden wall
Until at length~ Tiny fragranced flowers close
And night has come

The Harvest Moon

The harvest moon


When summer loses its pace with life

A time of quiet contemplation


And fragrant hills


Have you seen the harvest moon?

The moon that is full

Before an autumnal equinox

Before summer ends

When flowers die

Trees are gold

Russet, yellow

And when the smell

Of burning wood

Lingers in the air

Have you seen the harvest moon?


Rose Wall or The Close of the Day

Near a shady wall
A rose once blossomed
Fair and tall she grew
And through a gap
Her tendril crept
To dream
Of what might lie
On the other side
She breathed out
Her fragrance more and more
It was no different
On the other side
Still she grew there
Near the shady wall
Just as she would
Scattering her fragrance
Forever and a day
Until her life ebbed away
The evening sun
At the close of  day



Spirit of the apple tree

Spirit of the apple tree
Smile down on me
Ethereal apple tree
Old and gnarled
Stands with ancient boughs
Burdened down with fruit
High up
Tremulous arms
Out splayed beseechingly
Spirit of the apple tree
Old and gnarled
With your drapes of gossamer
Webs of the spider
Sails swaying in the breeze
And your old bark
Marked and stained
Do you have a memory
Old tree?
What would you say?
That you have seen in your day
Old tree?
Spirit of the apple tree
Old and gnarled!





A Temperate Clime

Palm fronds gently fingering the wind
Branches swaying in the breeze of night
Feral cats climb tree trunks
Of tufted fibrous bark
Only to be told
The sea is behind you
Small boats bobbing on an ocean
A galleon – dolphin watching,
An inaccessible horizon
Do the boats fall from the edge?