Crazy… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Crazy

Do you suffer as I do?

With a melody in the back of your mind

With words you cannot find

Taking the 45 bus to Brixton

A middle-aged woman in the seat behind you

Humming the tune in your head

Do you ask her, only for her to say

She has no idea why it’s in her head

Days later you’re passing a building site

Where the tune is being whistled

by a burly bricklayer.

He too cannot answer your question

A child in the playground, skipping to your tune.

You end up standing in a record shop

Humming it for the assistant

He places an EP on the record player

It’s the tune from an advert,

no longer stuck in your head

The title of which was ‘Many Rivers to Cross.’

It almost drove me crazy

I wondered if we had all crossed the same river…

©anitadawes

 

Is it a Plane?

 

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Image from Pixabay.com

I had awoken before dawn again and stood at my window, searching the velvety night sky for the first signs of dawn. That barely perceptible lightening of the blackness that seems to happen almost without warning.

I found myself staring at a star, defiant in its lingering and as I watched, it seemed to be moving. My eyes must still be clinging to sleep for it couldn’t possibly be moving.

But it was.

So very slowly, it crept across the sky. I strained to see if it could be a plane but could see no flashing lights. As I watched, mesmerised, it seemed to grow bigger, which meant it was getting closer to me. I stared at the star, desperate to see what it could possibly be.

When the flashing lights appeared, I knew it must be a plane, or maybe a helicopter. But wait a minute. I counted several flashing lights all in a row and as far as I knew, planes didn’t.

Fascinated, I kept watching. The sky was beginning to lighten, revealing the outline of the craft. It did look like a plane now, but not one I recognised and far too small for a commercial airline. It glided slowly past my window, all the lights twinkling like a Christmas tree until I couldn’t see it anymore…

©jayemarie

From her Mind… #Poetry

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From her Mind

I have in my many years seen shit float

Heard it speak many languages

So the other day I was surprised

When my granddaughter asked

“Nana, if the moon takes light from the sun

Does she cry tears of gold?”

I was taken back by this for a moment

Unsure how to answer

“I believe the moon has shed tears of many colours

Over the millions of years, she has sailed across our sky.”

She seemed content with my answer.

Aged six, I wondered where her thoughts came from

She carried on with her painting

Later, I placed her small picture on my fridge

The full moon in a dark sky, below, the land

a strange quilt of many colours

A twisted kaleidoscope

As I looked at it, I wondered

What kind of adult she will become…?

©anitadawes

Love remembered… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

Love remembered

Something familiar disturbs my sleep, my thoughts

Knowing is not enough to reveal all

It feels old, far away out of reach

Yet demanding, needing to be found

Understood, remembered

Music I don’t recognise steals part of my day

Strange scent assails the air, faint, almost recognisable

The way of passing someone wearing perfume

as if walking through a half-remembered fog

Leaving sticky fingers on my memory

Nails clawing the dark corners of my mind

Where the knowing hides

My dreams like the dark spaces

I remember him, but sunlight washes it away

All but his voice, my name whispered from his lips

Wait for me, I will return

This voice I know from the many lifetimes past

Why must love be lost like ships passing

Can destiny be tricked to let us love again…?

©anitadawes

Empty Space… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Empty Space

I need you here in my world

How do I claim a soul taken too soon?

If I slam on the brakes, fly through the windscreen

Would I find you in the dead zone?

In my half state, would I be able to hold on to you

Bring you back

Does the memory of me live with you still?

Do you hear me calling late at night?

For one last moment

One kiss, one touch of your hand

Our daughter is calling

Daddy, I’m hungry

I am called back to my own world

By the sound of her voice

There is an empty space walking beside me

An outline of you I cannot touch…

©anitadawes