About Annie

Annie grew up in a tiny fishing village in Northern England, which dates back to before the Norman Conquest; a village full of folk tales, myths and rumours. She grew up running wild with her imaginary friends, on the beach and in the woods.

A degree in English Literature at Newcastle University  was followed by a career in magazine publishing and recruitment in London. When her children were born she took a PGCE and moved into teaching English Literature, before her family decided to change their frenetic lifestyle for the olive groves of the Mediterranean.

Annie now lives by the sea in Cyprus with her husband and rescue dogs. She spends her time writing, walking, painting and travelling.

She has been published internationally in over 20 publications, including, ‘Popshot Quarterly’, ‘Paddler Press’, ‘The Milk House’, ‘Fiery Scribe’

She is a Best of the Net 2023 nominee.

‘Birth Mote(s)’ from the Alien Buddha Press is her debut chapbook. It is the winner of the Write Blend Poetry award 2023.

Her collaborative chapbook ‘Splashing Pink’ will be published by Hedgehog Press in 2023.

Signed copies are available. Please DM, PM or email me on anniecowell21@gmail.com for details.

Birth Mote(s) opens with fragrant Mediterranean notes but rapidly shifts us to the gritty reality of pandemic hospital wards and waiting rooms, both as keen-eyed observer and participant. Hope though, is everywhere, through the pulsing streets of London and the arias of soothing nature. At the centre of it all is a new born, ‘a helmeted warrior/ready for battle’ whose journey for survival is breathtakingly relayed through Annie Cowell’s life-affirming, crystalline poetry.

Erini Loucaides, Bridport Shortlistee and Women on Writing Finalist 

Birth Mote(s) is a gorgeous collection that runs the gamut of dreamy joy, nail-biting anxiety and unwavering hope for the future with some serious soul-searching in between. The fear and trauma of premature birth and its risks are deftly portrayed by Cowell as she juxtaposes the natural world of bougainvillea and acorns, with the mundane machinery of London life, finding equal wonder and beauty in both through questions raised. Tentative happiness and unconditional love underpin the poems leading to a finale that delivers the ultimate emotional gut-punch. I dare you not to cry!

Costantia Manoli – author of Tomatoes in My Lunchbox

This book is so powerful. It dove headfirst into my soul, straight to the part I'd buried away under becoming layers of busy-ness. It's a gentle but urgent reminder of the beauty and gift of simply being alive. Annie's crafted the indescribable yet universal human experiences - of despair, love, fear, joy, family, and hope. It will make you feel the steady comfort of a grandmother's love, which we all need more than ever. 

Leanne Maskell - author of ‘The Reality Manifesto’, “The Model Manifesto’ and ‘ADHD: an A to Z’

Some of my poems.

  • A Thin place

    If you walk in a straight line across the beach

    from the footpath which runs between

    blue mountain and the graveyard,

    past the marram mounds, dunes crawling with devils’ toenails,

    you will come to the spot where the seagulls settle

    just before the water’s edge.

    If you stand in that spot,

    feet in foam, toes tunnelling crustaceans,

    put the steelwork’s skeleton behind you

    and let your gaze wander to Huntcliffe.

    Even in greyest fret a pink gossamer glimmers

    shrouding land sea and sky.

    If you linger, time will rest with you.

    The glow mutes the din of ebb and flow -

    silence gifts serendipity -pin pricks of sound -

    a dog barking, children laughing.

    The veil hides nothing here;

    worlds are visible in breaths and heart beats.

    If you turn, like the gulls, to the sunshine-

    shadows lengthen in your wake.

    A cold bluster will blast the morass

    as you empty the dust from your pockets -

    Hope can happen in a moment

    here.

    In this thin place.

    (First published in The Milk House 2022)

  • The robin prefers a suet ball

    For years dad sat in his chair

    with a pile of toenails on the window ledge

    beside him, with which he

    picked his teeth. Often,

    there was a banana under his armpit,

    tucked inside his shirt

    my sister warned me about the banana

    ‘Don’t mention it,’she said.

    Dad watched the garden from his chair.

    It was better than watching TV, which made him cry.

    The bird table gave him an endless loop of

    sparrows, blue - tits and the robin.

    He studied the robin through tunnel vision -

    remembered that it preferred a suet ball to a raisin

    when he couldn’t even remember the day

    Knew its song

    and would turn his face to the glass at its sound

    ‘My mate,’ he would say

    And smile.

    (First published in Fiery Scribe 2022)