The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 580 ~ #Poetry

Image by Jan Mallander from Pixabay 

The dead don’t talk, they don’t play games
They walk through doors
Somewhere a chain to bind them to time
Over time the stories have grown 
To keep the local boys from playing in the old mill House
Many have entered and never returned
The towns folk say it should be pulled down
The sea has tried to reclaim the old mill house
It stands perilously at the edge of the land
If you visit the grave of Tommy Wilson
You lose the power of free will
To plead with your mind would be useless
You enter the old mill house, never to be seen again…


©AnitaDawes2022


The Mountain… #MLMM Wordle298 #Poetry

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay 

The Mountain


Imagination writes the tale I tell on this dusty road
I stood captivated as I observed the glimmering light
I walk forth, knowing there could be endless possibilities
With the sun setting, the mountain lay under a pink cloud
I was finding it hard to believe my own eyes
My personal belief now suspended
I stood in front of an unidentified flying object
wondering at the mind of the engineer
I have never seen silver so polished, no nuts or bolts
A small door slid open, I blinked
There she stood, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen
She beckoned, without hesitation I walked to her
Knowing I would leave this earth, 
And go wherever she would take me…


©AnitaDawes2022

Your Inner Eye… #Poetry

The image is from Sarolta Bán Photography.
Your Inner Eye


This forest of trees my son
Is a tribute to all the great artists
who walked the earth many years ago
There are those that paint 
The star filled skies
Jewels that dance above our head
Like Van Gogh's Starry Night
Monet painted the ground
Gardens to dream in
So many of us do not have the inner eye
To see the beauty
To have the desire to capture on canvas
Without the hands that held paintbrushes
The world would be a duller place
Not forgetting, the many that decorate 
The churches, cathedrals, places of worship
With a little added inspiration of coloured glass
If you can feel it in your heart
You might find your inner eye…

© Anita Dawes 2021

Jaye’s Journal… From a Reader to a Writer…

From a Reader to a Writer

I have always enjoyed reading books. Mainly for the sense of escapism involved. Somewhere you can forget about your own life and live someone else’s, albeit vicariously.

It has been a blessing, sometimes more than at other times, depending on how my own life was going at that moment.

I honestly believe that reading books has kept me sane. They have taught me practically everything I know, for if I need or want to know how to do something, I turn to books to find out. Nowadays, we have the internet, but in my youth, all we had were books.

These days, something else has been added to my enduring love affair with the printed word. Putting it quite simply, they have inspired me to write. You could say that the art of reading could do this anyway, to anyone. But up until a few years ago, I was unaware of this. They were my retreat, my sanctuary. Nothing else.

But then everything changed.

I had always been a compulsive reader, consuming anything I could get my hands on. I didn’t discriminate and read everything. If asked to list my favourite authors, I would have been hard pushed, for I loved them all.

Somewhere along the way, I have developed a ‘criterion’. I no longer just read a book. My brain seems intent on sifting the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. Who knew it could have that kind of opinion?

Two pages into a book, and if it is not talking to me by then, I discard it and try another. These days I love the kind of books that inspire me and make my fingers want to pick up a pen. Not to copy or emulate but to write down how the author has made me feel. Sometimes I find myself with a book in one hand and a notebook in the other.

It’s as if a doorway has been opened in my mind. Artists say colours work for them; for me, it’s the power of the words and how they are used.

Something else has changed in me. I have always considered myself reasonably adept with the English language. It was my favourite lesson at school, and over the years, as I have said before, it has saved my sanity on many occasions.

For the first time in my life, I have doubts, and they are growing all the time. I have helped other people edit and proofread their books and have been totally convinced I was good at it. Many people (including an agent) once said that I was. I have also reviewed dozens of books along the way.

But that was before I picked up a pen and wrote a story of my own. I never expected it to be as hard as it was, for words usually came easily to me. But I discovered a very important fact about writing a book. Not only must it have a beginning, middle and end, but it must also flow, make perfect sense and be interesting to read.

It also has to have structure and subplots; the list was endless. I discovered to my horror that I was not as clever as I thought when the pen was in my hand! Words tend to come at me in a rush, short spasms of prose that seem quite eloquent at the time but appear quite truncated when you attempt to join them all together. So much so that I nearly gave up several times.

I began to seriously doubt I could ever be a writer, that this wasn’t something I could simply learn how to do. But I persevered, did my absolute best, and after my edits and even more soul searching, I uploaded it onto Amazon, thinking my work was done.

But I was wrong.

In my haste to achieve something that will hopefully outlast me, I forgot the most important step of all. Someone else should have read it first. Someone objective, who would come to it afresh, with no desire or agenda to bin it at the first error.

I learned that I can’t see my manuscript with a subjective eye. You cannot possibly hope to, really, because you have lived with it for so long. I wrongly assumed the reverse would be true, that the fact you created every word would make you more than qualified.

This was all so long ago, and I have learned so much more since then…

The Lord of Light… #TheSundayWhirl #Wordle 579 #Poetry

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

The Lord of light had me in a whirl
My thoughts spun, like a giant Catherine wheel
I am losing my grip on life
I see disaster loom large in the distance
Every now and then, I glimpse a tiny light
In the crack of my mind, I curl into a small ball 
I wonder about my future, my body goes slack
As new thoughts crawl through the black space
My future is being written by a voice in my head
My hope now, is that love is woven into all I do and say…


©AnitaDawes2022

Searching… part two The Sunday ~ Whirl #Wordle 578 #Poetry

Image from Pixabay.com

Continued from last week… Part One HERE


I wondered how I could be rid of her nagging
I exhale, pretend to listen
There was a change in the air
As though something had opened up
The break in the path we were walking looked dangerous
Somehow, she made it across
Had I missed my chance to nudge her over the edge?
No, I still needed her mind to find the legendary pot of gold
I shake myself, hoping to rid myself of the bad thoughts
I had no choice but follow her lead
Going home having failed, was not an option
Listening to her going over the clues
I remembered the walks we went on 
when we first met each other
She had great style in those days
I watch as she lights the fire for the night
Wondering if we were chasing rainbows
I fell asleep watching the old fort 
throw shadows across the land
Hoping the search for the end would come soon…


©AnitaDawes2022

The Search ~ Mindlovemisery Menagerie ~ Wordle #296

Continued from last week. HERE

The Search



Trying to remember what I knew about St Germaine
Like clockwork, my thoughts kicked in
He was a wealthy man, into the occult
Many thought of him as a second Jesus
I hoped to find the secret documents written by him, 
and the book I searched for
They say he is a man who knows everything, who never dies
But where are these documents now?
Turning back to the altar, I wondered who had placed the camellias
I had trampled on. Were they a clue to the keyhole I needed to find?
It felt like I held an ancient charm in my hand
Mice ran around my feet, mingling with the chaos of this place
I wondered where the strong smell of peppermint had come from
There stood a young lady in her twenties, slim, some would say fairylike
She spoke first, “I thought I was the only one who had dibs on this place,
are you looking for something?”
For a moment, wondering if she was real, I couldn’t speak
The key felt hot in my hand
I answered, “I was walking when I found this place.”
Having exhausted my search for the keyhole, I thought it lay elsewhere
I didn’t want to tell her why I was here
With the amount of rubble on the floor I should have heard her walk away
It seemed she had vanished, leaving me mulling over her last words
“You never know what you could find in a place like this.”
With no keyhole, my search goes on, wondering if she was real 
and what she might know about this place…


©AnitaDawes2022

Searching… The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle #577 ~ #Poetry

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

 

Searching for the pot of gold
Said to buried near the old fort
beneath a willow tree
We had no idea where to start
My partner grumbling
I thought I heard her say under her breath
“If you want something done, do it yourself.”
Had I misplaced my trust in her?
My ego inflated, I could not forgive her
for killing the guard, I could have taken him
Maybe she knows me better than I know myself
In the end all I could do was follow her lead
Focus, be kind, let her lead us to the treasure
Deal with her later
My intention was to be the lone survivor of the search…


To be continued

©AnitaDawes2022

Jaye’s Days…

Jaye’s Days

One way or another, a lot of things have been neglected by me this past year.

At the beginning of the year, I spent a lot of time outside in the garden, so of course, housework was the last thing on my mind. I was busy writing, too, and that was the best excuse in the world!

When the weather turned, changing from drought conditions to never-ending rain, I was back indoors, but somehow the housework wasn’t high on my list of priorities.

I tried to maintain reasonable hygiene levels in the kitchen and bathroom, but cleaning windows, dust bunnies, cobwebs and hoovering weren’t filtering through my brain. That’s when it was time to release my book, and unfortunately, the virus came calling too.

I am not firing on all cylinders yet but determined to catch up on a few things. Namely the oven and the freezer. They are two of the worst and least favourite of all jobs. Inside the oven, a meat pie had leaked most of its gravy, leaving a rapidly burning pile of goo on everything.

Then I was attacked by a huge iceberg when trying to find the ice cream in the freezer, and if it had grown any more, I wouldn’t have been able to shut the freezer door!

Day One

I staggered the work, as I still felt fragile and started on the oven. I warmed the oven in the faint hope that it would help with the cleaning process, then removed all the shelves and sprayed cleaner all over the interior. I shut the oven door and put the kettle on for a much-needed cuppa. Yes, I know I haven’t done much yet, but still.

The rest of the morning, the kitchen became a battleground as the dirt was removed from the oven and transferred to every available surface in my kitchen.

This is what I hate about housework. You do one simple job and then have to spend ages cleaning up. Mind you, the oven did look lovely.

Day Two

Time to tackle the iceberg!

I had already frozen the ice packs, ready for the defrost. We are not one of those families who can run the freezer down to nothing; it will never happen! So I have devised a method that works for me and keeps the food frozen. It usually takes an hour to transfer all the frozen food to the fridge, accompanied by multiple ice packs, and to defrost the freezer. At this point, you are banned from opening the fridge door.

I turned off the power and inspected the accumulated ice. There did seem to be a lot more of it than I thought. Would one hour be enough?

I started spraying the de-icer, only to run out halfway through. Then I added several trays of hot water and waited for the big melt to begin.

After an hour, the lump of ice looked as big as ever.  I had no choice but to continue the process and pray it wouldn’t take much longer.

When two hours had passed, I assessed the progress. The ice had retreated but not by much. If I waited any longer, I risked losing the food, which was probably having serious thoughts about defrosting by now.

Out came the hairdryer, and on my knees, I gave the ice one last assault. I even bashed it with a wooden spatula in my desperation. But I had to concede defeat.

Maybe after Christmas, I could have another go?

I know housework can be boring, and normally I wouldn’t go on about it, but honestly, this is the most fun I have had in months…

©JayeMarie2022

Mindlovemisery Menagerie ~ Wordle #295 ~ #Poetry


A single key hung from the ceiling
The room filled with the colours of a rainbow
The church had been derelict for years
I was transported by a single thought
Suspicion rose like a frozen hand at my back
The mediums could be right 
about the curse on this old sacred place
No time to elaborate now
I shuffle forward the small distance towards the altar
Remembering the key above my head
After making the sign of the cross
I climbed on to the altar, snatching the key
Now all I needed was the keyhole
To find the treasure hidden in Rosslyn Chapel
My search continues, no keyhole as yet
I am not the kind to give up
I will find the book of St, Germaine…


To be continued


©AnitaDawes2022