#Keepitalive ~#Whatdoyousee #Poetry

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What do you see # 7

Week 7 in the tribute to the memory of our dear Hélène,  from Willow Poetry and the image this week is one she would have loved.

Image credit; Pinterest

No Return

Out fishing with my dad,

Mum would be waiting to cook our catch

I remember falling overboard

Then nothing until I woke

On this small boat

With a black hooded figure

That refused to answer my questions

I had read stories about the ferryman

I felt I shiver as the boat moved slow

Gracefully through the water

Not a sound. The silence beat at my eardrums

A maddening sound

If I must stay here too long

I’m sure I would lose my mind

I stood behind him

Facing the way we might have come in

To this blue cavern

That’s when I remembered the legend

I believed it to be one of dad’s tall tales

The blue hall of Odin he called it

The ferryman looks for Odin’s lost son

If this it, why am I here in the hall

Of the one-eyed God?

With his eight-legged horse

His spear that never misses its mark

What need would he have of me?

Not yet fourteen?

Maybe, they, whoever they might be

Will throw me back, like the small fish

That dad and I do.

Mum wouldn’t want to cook those, he’d say

I knew better. He wouldn’t take the small ones

He liked to give things a fighting chance

I could do with him beside me now

I hadn’t noticed the silence had been replaced

By voices whispering slowly,

I heard the words, ‘Go tell Odin he is here.’

I’m sure he knows; he is a God after all

He gave his eye for wisdom

And must know what’s going on

The ferryman stopped the boat

Beside white marble stairs

The mist disappeared

I felt my eyes pop out on stalks

If mum were here, she’d tell me not to stare

Men and women stood smiling

They seemed to know I was coming

Unexpected

It felt strange, as though I had left part of me behind

one I would never see again

The small gathering parted and there he stood,

spear in hand, gold cover over his left eye

‘At last my son, we have found you,

It’s time. I need you to stand beside me.’

That’s when I realised, I was never going home

I had become a demigod

Not bad for a fourteen-year-old kid from the sticks…

©anitadawes

 

#TuesdayBookBlog Review for Examining Kitchen Cupboards by Stevie Turner @StevieTurner6

 

 

Jill Hayes discovers that not all is as it seems in her new post as a college examinations administrator. When she turns whistle-blower and tries to report her findings to the authorities, she is horrified to discover that some people will stop at nothing to ensure her silence.

 

Our Review

Starting a new job is always fraught with tension, you worry whether you will be liked, and more importantly, are you able to convince them of your competence?

Jill Hayes is met with total disdain from her new superior, so when she questions something that doesn’t seem right, she is met with hostility on many levels.

If you discover something is wrong, could you be a whistle-blower, or would you hope that someone else would do it instead?

This story has it all, corruption and greed, and an interesting cast of fascinating and true to life characters. Although Examining Kitchen Cupboards is a work of fiction at its finest, you could be forgiven for thinking it seems far too real to be comfortable, and I’m sure some of it must be based on fact, which of course, makes it all the more chilling…

 

About the Author

Stevie Turner is a British author of suspense, paranormal, women’s fiction family dramas, and darkly humorous novels. She has also branched out into the world of audio books, screenplays, and translations. Most of her novels are now available as audio books, and ‘A House Without Windows’ gained the attention of a New York media production company in December 2017. Some of Stevie’s books have been translated into German, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese.

Stevie can be contacted at the following email address: stevie@stevie-turner-author.co.uk
On her website http://www.stevie-turner-author.co.uk you can find a free suspense novella to read so that you can check out her writing style. You can also find her blog at the following link: http://www.steviet3.wordpress.com and you can sign up to her mailing list at http://eepurl.com/dvNklL

 

 

 

Ready-made… #Poetry

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Image by Pete Linforth from Pixabay

 

Ready-made

I have seen the devil playing with angels

Until a new soul is born

They split as fast as lightning

Rushing through the universe

To stake their claim

To control the life yet to begin

Who can offer greater temptation?

Whose whispered words can be heard

By this growing soul

Don’t they know we are all born to be angels

and demons in one soul?

©anitadawes

The Long Walk… #Poetry

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Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

 

The Long Walk

I want to dance

To swim the warm waters

Run barefoot through fields of yesterday

When you were there

I have lost more than my soul mate

There are no sunsets, no moon rise

The breeze no longer moves through the trees

The leaves are still

You have taken the air from this world

I can no longer breathe without you here

I wait, drifting like a slow-moving river

Until I can walk the path you have taken…

©anitadawes

#BlogBattle ~ Innocent

Read. Inspire. #BlogBattle

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Excerpt from CrossFire, by Jaye Marie

Ann Taylor had made a remarkable effort with her appearance. Her hair was clean and brushed, her clothes also clean and in good condition. Nothing she could do about her nerves though, her hands clutched at the sleeves of her cardigan and her face was as pale as death. She came across as a weak, ineffective woman. Not someone you would ever suspect of harming a child. But Ruth knew only too well that appearances could be misleading and this woman was not as innocent as she made out.

Ruth thought back to her time in prison and all the different women she had shared her existence with. You would think all criminals would look the same, whether they were male or female. She had learned the hard way not to make any assumptions when dealing with them. Some of the hardest and roughest women were the ones who ever showed her any kindness at all. Women like Ann Taylor were usually the worst and best avoided.

‘Do you know why we have brought you here today, Ann?’

Ruth thought she would ease her way in, rather than accuse her straight off, for triggering any hostility wouldn’t get them anywhere.

The woman stared at Ruth, her pale, colourless eyes searching for clues. ‘Nah… but I ‘spect you’ll get to it pretty quick…’

Ruth indicated a brown paper bag on the table beside her. ‘We found a pair of work boots at your house, Ann. According to your husband, they’re not his. Are they yours?’

Ann Taylor glared at Ruth. She seemed to be enjoying the interview, her arrogance showing through the previous nervousness. ‘Dunno, can’t see them can I?’

Ruth undid the bag and placed the dirty boots on the table. Most of the mud had dried and fallen off, but still didn’t seem like the kind of boot a woman would wear. ‘Are these your boots, Ann?’

Without looking at the boots, she shook her head. ‘Nah, I don’t think so.’

Ruth looked at Snow, but not for confirmation. She wondered why he was choosing to stay silent. What was the point of sitting in if he wasn’t going to contribute? Not that she cared, one way or the other. She had only looked at him to signify inclusion.

She looked back at the woman. ‘Are you quite sure, Ann?’

The woman shrugged her shoulders and refused to speak.

‘For the benefit of the tape, Ann Taylor has refused to answer.’

Ruth decided to read out the coroner’s report, detailing every bruise and damage to the child’s body. When she read the part about the boot imprint on the child’s back, she slid the photograph across the table in front of the mother.

‘Did you do this, Ann?’

When the woman didn’t answer, Ruth decided it was time to play the ace card, and she looked forward to it. This cold-hearted bitch of a woman was about to be arrested, but not before Ruth had enjoyed herself. ‘Are you aware that the person who wore these boots would have left significant DNA inside them?’

Ruth paused, watching as the realisation sunk in.  ‘And are you also aware that we have tested your DNA and it has been proved that you are the owner of these boots?’

The fear and shame were beginning to show on the woman’s face, and Ruth watched, wondering what she would do now. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Ann Taylor’s face seemed to implode, as the terror of being found out took effect.  ‘I swear I don’t remember that part… I know I were angry, but when she fell over and banged her head, I thought she was dead…’

‘So what did you do then, Ann?’ Ruth knew what had happened next, but not which one of them had done it.  ‘Were you aware that Amy was still alive when you dropped her into the canal?’

The horror was all-encompassing, as the woman realised the enormity of what she had done. She looked around the room, just once, before she started screaming…

©jayemarie

 

Shattered Figurines… (Det. Jo Naylor Series Book 1) Our 5* review for Allan Hudson’s brilliant new #Adventure Story @hudson_allan

 

 

Detective Josephine Naylor receives an email telling her where to find the last body. The messenger tells her “only you can stop this madness”. Discovering a shattered figurine on the corpse, she’s overwhelmed by the possibility it might be the one she sold in a yard sale. If so, she knows who the killer could be. She prays that she’s wrong…

Our Review

The opening chapter presents the detective, Jo Naylor, with a very important question. One she didn’t really want to answer but knows she must.

The next chapter, one year later, hits you square in the face with full on complicated and violent action as we discover what this story is all about.

Shattered Figurines is a surprisingly unusual detective story in that it doesn’t follow the usual plotline for this genre and the characters aren’t run of the mill either. The author has captured a very real element in both the story and the characters and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.

I love a good detective mystery story and Shattered Figurines is one of the best I have read this year. I shall be first in the queue when the author writes another one in this series.

Fool’s Gold… #Poetry

 

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Image by Jaye Marie

 

While hitch hiking in the New Forest I took a wrong turn

The trees stood closer together, darker, menacing

My heart pounding as the light changed

I could see a small clearing

There stood a glass temple built in the fashion

of a step pyramid about four feet high

On the lower step sat a very small monk

His head in his hands, I could hear him sobbing

Stepping closer to sit beside him I asked after his sadness

Turning to me with the most beautiful face

Small, round bright blue eyes with bow shaped lips

The kind I knew to be soft to the touch

His voice, a rustle of leaves, full of mystery

Someone has stolen the gold stone

Without it the forest will soon die.

Before finding myself in this strange place

I had bought a few trinkets to take home

I offered the monk my palm sized piece of pyrite

Asking if it would do, in place of the lost stone

He took it in his small hands, saying

It’s a good replacement given with kindness

The forest spirits will be very grateful

He placed it on top, bowed his head

I heard whispered words that meant nothing to me

Thinking he was deep in prayer, I made my way out

of the forest with no wrong turns

Not realising the scene behind me was slowly fading

Disappearing into a realm that had sent it in the first place.

Stopping for a coffee before returning to my car

I asked about the glass temple.

No one knew what I was talking about

On my way out, the elderly man who sat behind me

Stopped to say I had been blessed by the sands of time

That from now on, my life would take the right turns

I watched him walk away, wondering how he knew

About my wrong turn. He made no mention of the glass temple

The words whispered by the monk stayed in my mind

I would try to look them up later…

©anitadawes

 

Midnight Child… #Poetry

 

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Midnight Child

I pour out the magic elixir

The sip I take turns my hands white

My hair is straightened

No fuzzy top to tease me by

No hurtful names for ears to hear

No tears to shed on night-time pillow

Will life be sweeter now I am white?

©anitadawes

Circle… #Poetry

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Image by Erik Stein from Pixabay

Circle

I released the ring from its restraint

Now the power can relate

To needs that must be met

The genie’s mine by fate decreed

I wear the ring like wand in hand

Ply my power on shifting sands

Time renewed by written word

To wake the ancient magi

From their sleep

To bring old legends back to life

Fairy tales old and new

Written secrets on angels’ wings

That tell you what to do

And do it well

To cast a spell for good or ill

Remember this, ill returns to sender

A threefold bite that hurts…

©anitadawes