Trapped… #Poem

 

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Trapped

I am trapped inside a strangers dream,

No escape until she wakes. She knows my mind

 My thoughts echo to the double heartbeat

She dreams of wizards, witches, elves,

Nothing I am interested in

Her dream changes as she leaves the woods.

A dark cavern envelopes us,

Strange faces whisper close

Instructions given I cannot quite hear

She stirs, moans, whispers

I cannot do it; she is too hard to hold

Is she talking about me? I hope not

When she wakes, will I be back in my own head?

I scream, thinking of ways to wake her

Nothing works, she sleeps on no dreaming

I am stuck here waiting until morning

A thought enters my mind as I too fall asleep

Is she dreaming me?

AAAAA

City Walls… #Poetry

 

 

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City Walls

Threads of gold with silver ink

Pen in motion, tides that sink

Her voice I hear with words made clear

Her face now lost to memory

Where cities burn beyond the gate

Soldiers march to Troy’s great walls

Prince Hector has fallen

Achilles lost to arrows swift blow

Paris carries his love away

His heart now wrapped in barbwire

For death, he left behind the city walls…

AAAAA

The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 399

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Look not upon deaths cruel face

Nor decay where worms dwell

Move on to new dimensions

Let your own words write your destiny

Sit a while beneath the shade of a maple tree

Watch the sun bleed through blood- red leaves

The shadows drawn by your feet

See the patterns, strange worlds forming

Stories to be written by silent shadows voice

Let life wash over you, remove the boot that holds you

where you no longer need to be

Let bird’s song in, hear the music of our feathered friends

Let the feral world you dislike, fade from memory

Find a broken mansion, walls crumbled, forgotten

Build it new; bring love back to where it once lived

Let in the cat that lives outside

Companionship, a friend to whisper your secrets to

Watch as his black fur gently rises in sleep

On that old stool, you rescued now in front of the fire

Sit back; stir that cube of sugar in your coffee cup

Let not thoughts bait old memories return

Your written words paint life in rainbow colours

One thing left to do, live it…

AAAAA

Dark Side…

 

 

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Dark Side

From the pages of my mind,

Blood torn edges, clues everywhere

To the crimes held by thought waiting

Small misdemeanours, to loves passion

Sharpened knives, attacks of violence

Played out in thought

Penned by voodoo late at night

Neighbours anger, photos in bowls of vinegar

Hidden in cupboards until thoughts attack

Blood- soaked lawns where anger

 Climbs through every wall

The dark side of morning smiles hello

Twisted shadows follow as they walk away

Men in cages, thoughts to shame the devil…

AAAAA

#Wordle 398 #Poetry

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Daylight bleeds into night,

the sound of guns firing in battle

men falling, fireflies dancing above their heads

Ghostly glow for the dead, now fear is alive

The class ring on blackened burned out hands

shines the way, starlight bouncing on gold

They no longer want, they hear no chatter

No sweet smells of honey where they lie

There is a special room put aside

Where their names chime through eternity…

AAAAA

Our Review for Emilia by Na’ama Yehuda #Psychological Fiction @NaamaYehuda

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It is the late 1800s. A young child is kidnapped by her tutor and secreted into seclusion, muted by terror. Will she find sanctuary, and her voice, before it is too late and she is silenced forever? Can anyone she risks to trust, truly protect her? What if safety is only an illusion and nightmares come alive?

As the child’s trail goes cold, Mark Monsey, police officer, remains haunted by it. In spite of little departmental support, he doggedly follows what clues he has. Crisscrossing the county from isolated lighthouses, estates, and groundskeeper’s cottages, to limestone caves, spooky cellars and dreary train stations, he becomes increasingly aware things are not what they seem and he is being deceived.

Can he find the truth, and will it matter when storm clouds and death spread faster than any of them can foresee?

 

Our Review

We first meet KayAnne Brisbane travelling on a train with Emilia, a delicate five-year-old child, a most mysterious beginning. How they came to be on this train is brought to us slowly by revealing flashbacks that explain KayAnne’s motives. She had been employed as a tutor for the child, but after six weeks, she was informed that her services were no longer required, as the child would be going to boarding school.

Unable to bear the thought of her fragile charge being subjected to this, she runs away with the child. But where were they going and what did she hope to find when they got there?

This book is written in an atmospheric style, reminding me very much of a hauntingly illustrated copy of Jane Eyre that I read years ago. Reading this story will break your heart, a compelling story of fear and pain, abuse and nightmare.

The horrifying suspense is there from the first page, turning like a corkscrew with your emotions. The harsh subject matter is somehow made worse by the powerful description and settings, but there is healing there too. You feel it slowly working its magic as you read on, all the way to the nail-biting conclusion…

 

Excerpt

She took a deep breath. She looked down at Emilia, who seemed fit to fall over with exhaustion. “We’ll be on the train soon,” KayAnne said, “and then you can rest some more, okay?” Emilia hung big eyes on her and said nothing, not even in a nod. She knew the child could use some reassurance.

She should tell Emilia where they were going, or at least tell her that all would be well … but she didn’t know if it will all be well, and felt unable to promise what might unravel. She could only put one foot in front of the other and hope beyond reason even as she dragged this poor child all this distance. What if what Emilia needed—what they both were desperate for—wasn’t there? Bereft of reassuring things to say, KayAnne just squeezed Emilia’s hand and prayed her own fear didn’t get communicated anyway…

 

About the Author

Na’ama Yehuda was born and raised in Israel, lived in Africa as a young child, and currently resides in New York City. A Speech Language Pathologist and Audiologist with over 25 years’ experience, she works with children of all ages, teaches internationally, consults, writes, trains professionals, and loves it all. Writing is in Na’ama’s soul and children are her passion, as she aims to spotlight connection, communication, and attachment in development. She also thoroughly enjoys a good story, a good laugh, and a goodly bit of playfulness. One of seven sisters, and aunt (and grand-aunt) to many nieces and nephews, Na’ama is blessed with an amazing family. Goats and beaches never fail to make her happy, and she adores life, words, and the grace of connection. Author of both fiction and professional titles, she is always writing at least two things simultaneously (Yes, a sequel to “Outlawed Hope” is in the works, as is a book for young adults, and more). Visit her at: naamayehuda.com

 

 

 

 

 

Hunger… #Poetry

 

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Watching the orange moon sail between tall trees

my hunger increased.

My back against the mighty oak, soothing my bones

I wait for orange to turn white, the full moon

For my true self to emerge.

Feed the hunger to remain hidden

deep in my forest home, the last of my kind.

On four legs, men would kill me, take my fur

Once I have fed, I will regain my other self

walk on two legs awhile.

Now I catch the scent of food, mixed with a new scent

human, one I have not come across in many months

They seldom venture here.

She carries another scent with her, a dog, a worse enemy

he sees me, I stand ready for battle

His speed surprised me.

The girl calls, ‘Meeka, stay!’ Obedient, he sat beside her

Our eyes locked.

She was not the kind I had come across before

her eyes the same as mine, the glow of orange lingers

Had she fed recently?

I should run, my heart wants to stay

my head took my feet before I could stop them

Safe beneath my oak, I will see her again

I felt her gaze touch the human in me

I remember, we will mate under moonlight

seek each other in daylight, live our lives in two halves

our souls inseparable, they were made as one…

AAAAA

Not Yet Born… #Supernatural Fiction

 

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Jessica’s day felt all wrong.  She seemed invisible. No one spoke to her at school. She knew she hadn’t upset anyone, so they couldn’t have sent her to Coventry. She stopped off at the corner shop on her way home to buy the pint of milk her mother wanted. Paying for the milk, she had the feeling Mr Thompson didn’t recognise her. Lindon Avenue was ten minutes away. Turning the corner, she could see the front door was open. Her mother would never leave it open, something must have happened.

Stepping inside, she wondered how long could she sit in an empty house wondering what had gone wrong. Her mother wouldn’t leave without her. They had lived here for the past nine years. Jessica’s birthday was coming up at the weekend. He mother had promised a posh lunch and a trip to the cinema.

Standing in the middle of the living room, silence scraped at the windows like cats claws, but not even a ghost would stay inside this space.

Leaving the milk on the window sill, Jess knocked next door. Mrs Amos would know what had happened, she was always at her window.

Having pushed the bell, she remembered Mrs Amos always took her time coming to the door. The door opened with the usual squeal of hinges.

‘Yes dear, can I help you?’

That strange feeling from school came over her again and she knew the answer would be wrong.

‘No one has lived in that house for the past five years, I’m sorry dear, I don’t know you or your mother.’

Going back to the empty house, Jess sat on the floor. She drank the milk, hoping to hold off the hunger rumbling around in her stomach. She couldn’t stay in an empty house with no food, no furniture, and no mother. She had to find out where her mother was and why she left without a note. But where to start?

It was dark now, and cold inside this empty room. Jess couldn’t hold back the tears. What chance did she have if Mrs Amos didn’t know her?

She fell asleep, thoughts running through her mind like an old strip of telegraph paper, holes punched in her memory. Waking to the sound of birdsong, frozen stiff, the floor was no place for sleeping.

The world outside frightened her. What if no one knew who she was? Mass amnesia was possible, but telling herself this didn’t help. She searched her coat pocket for money as she needed food. Change from the milk plus her pocket money from last week. The memory reminded her of a house full of furniture, her soft bed with warm blankets, her mother giving her the money she held.

Norman’s cafe, where she spent most Saturday afternoons helping with the dishes would be open now and she had an hour before school started. Not many people sat waiting. Rushing to the counter, she asked Norman for her usual sausage sandwich and cup of tea.

‘Take a seat, young lady and I’ll bring it over.’

What was he talking about, he always called me Jess? She took a seat by the window, and everything was as she remembered. Clark’s shoe shop across the road, the post office on the corner waiting to open.

Jess forced herself to eat the sandwich and drink the tea, knowing she needed it. Once outside again, she passed faces she knew on their way to work. No one smiled or said hello. The paperboy rushed past as if he hadn’t seen her.

She took her seat at the back of the class. The register was taken but her name was not called. Why not, she was here? Jess couldn’t let this go. Mrs Johnson was ignoring her now, despite Jessica’s hand up, waiting to be noticed. Making her way to the desk, she said, ‘Excuse me, Miss, you didn’t mark me in.’

Mrs Johnson  looked at Jess, and said, ‘I think you must be in the wrong class.’

Jess insisted that this was her class.

‘Maybe Janet should take you to the Heads office. You are clearly upset about something.’

Jess let herself be led away. She had never had much to say to Janet over the years, still, she should know this is my class.

Janet left her sitting outside the Heads office. Five minutes later the door opened and the same grim face she knew, asked ‘Why are you sitting outside my office? Shouldn’t you be in class?’

At last, someone who knows me. ‘Mrs Johnson says I am in the wrong class.’

‘Surely you and Mrs Johnson must know where you belong?’

‘I do know.’

‘Then off with you, young lady. Time is wasting.’

Jess turned to leave. The wrong still surrounded her.

‘Wait a minute, what’s your name?’

‘Jessica Wilde. Two days ago you called out my name in assembly.’

‘There is no need to be flippant, young lady. You can’t expect me to remember every name in the entire school. Off with you to class.’

By now, Jess was getting sick of being called ‘young lady’ by those who deemed to speak to her. She couldn’t go back to class, she would only be sent out again. With the key still in her pocket, she went home to find the key didn’t fit. There were curtains on the window now and sounds coming from inside. Mrs Amos said that no one had lived here for five years. Had the whole world gone mad?

Jess decided to knock and a small boy about four years old opened the door, his mother right behind him.

‘Can I help you?’

At least she didn’t say ‘young lady’. Things must be looking up.

Jess stood for a moment, not knowing what to say. From the doorway she could see carpets she didn’t recognise, furniture that didn’t belong in there. Again the woman asked if she could help her.

‘I don’t think you can. You see, I am supposed to be living here with my mother. For the past nine years, this has been my home.’

‘You must be confused. I was told it had been empty for five years. I moved in this morning with my husband. I fell in love with the house. It was the magnolia in the front garden that sold it for me.

Jess remembered when she planted it with her mother, the memory causing her body to shake with sobs.

‘Are you sure you have the right place?’

All Jess could do was nod her head. A small whisper escaped her lips. ‘God help me…’

‘Would you like to come in for a moment, I could make a cup of tea. See if we can get to the bottom of this. My name is Jill and this is Thomas. We are trying to find a nursery for him. Jess didn’t feel like telling her that her school had a nursery. Maybe anyone living in this house would be invisible once they stepped outside the door.

Jess drank the tea, grateful for the warmth. She couldn’t bring herself to say much. Standing too quickly, she almost knocked the cup from the saucer. ‘I have to go now. I need to find my mother.’

She made her way to the park and sat on a bench, trying to remember her life. She began when she was three, her birthday, her friends, and her father who died when she was eight. Mrs Amos always came for a slice of cake, such happy memories. Starting big school, making new friends, it was all there inside her head. She knew she couldn’t sit there forever, she would have to go to the police station, they would know how to find her mother.

She was wrong. Her name didn’t show up on any listing. She heard the sergeant say that she didn’t exist. Yet she was standing there.

They told Jess they would keep looking, and they called Child Welfare to find her somewhere to stay.

Jess could feel herself shaking as this new information swept over her. They couldn’t find a record of her or her mother.  Jess pinched herself and it hurt, the pain telling her she was real enough.

Temporary foster care was found, a Mr and Mrs Foster. Jess couldn’t say she liked it there. She was just taking up space she would rather not be in. Her days were pleasant enough. She was sent to a new school where this time they knew who she was. A new uniform and books were supplied, making her feel even more out of place. She had almost forgotten how to talk. She couldn’t be bothered, for this wasn’t her life.

One afternoon, sitting in the library, she came across a book titled ‘Wrong time’ about people who believed they were born into the wrong time. So many people believing they are living the wrong life. Jess wondered if this was happening to her. Was she wrong? What if she shouldn’t be here yet? What if her mother was somewhere waiting in the life she remembered?

Jess wasn’t doing well at school. She drew into herself. The Martins didn’t know what to do to help her. Every day after tea, Jess would lock herself in what had become her room, a room full of things she didn’t want.

The curtains, the bedding, all wrong. The new shoes hurt her feet. Her mother would have known how to soften them.

Reading more of the book made her feel so much worse. She almost convinced herself that she had been born too soon. She felt out of place. She believed her memories were real, no matter how many times they told her that her mother must have run away. They must think she was really stupid, or her mother some kind of genius, able to vanish their names from existence.

This new life was too dark for Jess, and she couldn’t stay there. The water of the canal closed over her body, the last three minutes of her brain knew she would return to Lindon Avenue and the mother she loved…

AAAAA

The Wager…

 

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The wager

I cannot wake from this nightmare

voices screaming below my floating body.

I dwell in darkness.

The devil takes what belongs

he gives no tomorrows.

I bet my life for one more day

place my coin on red for life.

Black would see me taken back

my seat still warm from the time before.

White lights, masked faces,

my spirit slammed back into place.

I hear one voice above the other

“We have a pulse, we’ve got him back!”

The devil lost.

I have one more tomorrow…

AAAAA