As well as producing fascinating psychadelic artwork Ann also communicated her thoughts and creativity through poetry. Ann's Poetry provides a fascinating insight into her views, outlook and the condition of her mental health through the many stages in her life.


Mountain Mist          The Storm

The Storm

Born in the air, invisible to the eyes
Soft movement stirs and the universe sighs
gathering momentum, power and force
A storm is conceived and moves from
its source.

The tree hears it coming and bows its head
For, in passing, the fruit will be shed
The flower turns its head from the
Herculean blast
It knows that this moment could be its last.

Far out at sea, movement heralds the storm,
Peaceful waters swell and take on form,
Gulls soar upward and start to fly
The air is filled with their warning cry.

Tiny craft turn back, all hands work with speed,
Worried eyes turn skyward and pray their need
Ships that have gone too far to change their course
Prepare deep inside to weather the force.

Layer by layer the clouds build their shapes
Little old ladies hide under their capes
Winds whoop, lash and drive on the rain,
A robin seeks desperately for shelter,in vain.

The sea joins the wind now in a magnificent dance,
Cresting white horses stand proudly and prance,
The thunder of breakers as they crash with a roar
Write a symphony of sound between the
sea and the shore.

The orchestra ,complete now, plays
the firmament's song
The change of each movement struck on a gong,
Playing supremely and bowing man's head
For he knows, matched with this,
his defences are shed.

Recalled to the source now it passes away
Atune of a melody for another day:
But the theme of a storm never will go;
Listen carefylly when you hear the wind blow.