Outside…

 

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Image by Jordan Stimpson from Pixabay 

Outside

When morning shadows fade

I shrink back into darkness

Forgotten until daylight

When I can once again search

For the one who stole my lifeforce

While I was dreaming me.

Yet, he has no face, not fully formed

I must be quick before he takes

More from the shadows

To become the one I am meant to be

Leaving me in darkness

Never to step into the light

To find my own form

To live outside my own form

My own shadow…

©anitadawes 2020

#The Sunday Whirl ~Wordle 439

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One slim chance to catch the wolf

The chill wind at my back

Nicely scratching the itch

A warm sun tendril illuminating

The ground beneath my feet

My home-made arrow flew

Missing the dark brown fur by inches

He lives to swagger through another day

I allow myself one shot, and that was it

Time up, I will set my cloak

same time tomorrow.

Walking home to the hoot of an owl

I knew tomorrows arrow

would miss its target

There’s no fun in taking

down such a beauty

After all, I am not one of

Robin Hoods merry men

My age is ten, the wolf

and I have grown together

I never stand downwind,

so he knows where I am

We are connected…

©anitadawes 2020

Cold… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

Cold

Frost white morning

I slip my head beneath my duvet

No way are my feet moving

From this warm cover

Today I stay hidden from the world

To dream of things to come

A future made of stardust

 With bright green jewels

A land where you leave a wish

Knowing it will come true…

©anitadawes 2020

The 2.40… #Poetry

 

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Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

 

My father, a staunch academic that never flaps.

At breakfast, I met a stranger at the table

He spoke at a speed I had never heard before

I could see a hint of panic in his eyes.

He didn’t ask, so much as forbid me

to take the 2.40 train from Paddington.

Asking why his voice became calmer

I don’t know if you have heard this story

Or remember it from the newspapers

One year ago, a young man just turned eighteen

died on that train in the third carriage

It’s said he may return on the anniversary of his death

To sit in the same seat for three weeks

In the hope of finding the part of self

we all leave behind on being born.

He waits for the other half, the missing piece

To sit on the seat opposite the door.

When the right person takes that seat

He becomes whole, having entered the sitter.

There are many tales of what takes place next

You have just turned eighteen, I am asking you please,

Take the earlier train to your next job?

Seeing how much this meant to my father

I agreed, and kissing his cheek, I left for work

I felt a little odd approaching the station

Standing close to the edge of the platform

I waited that afternoon for the 2.40.

I remember asking my father why I couldn’t just

Take my journey in the second car

Father said it was best to avoid the 2.40 all together

As curiosity gets the best of some people.

I could hear the train approaching

I stood where the third car would stop

I could see a grey outline of someone sitting

in the seat Father mentioned

There were no discernible features to this mass

Shaking my head, thinking my father’s story

Must have gotten into my mind

I felt a connection, a longing, something remembered

I remembered my father saying that a soul mate

Was not someone you search for in life

It’s the missing part of self.

I knew what this meant, for I had often felt

Lost lonely unsure even when falling

in love with a boy from College

A few minutes of happiness that doesn’t last

Leaving me with the feeling of being unwhole.

Now that I have felt that missing part

I would break my word

I will sit in that seat tomorrow at 2.40

Let the missing part enter

See what life will bring…

©anitadawes 2020

Circle… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

Circle

Old stories whispered on wet afternoons

Do they contain a kernel of truth?

Are the stones more than man has made?

Late at night when the moon is full

Energy pulled from the stones

Blue flickering light

Can the fate of Merlin be seen?

Dancing in the circle?

I see mischief by magic made…

©anitadawes 2020

#Writephoto ~ Keep #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Keep #writephoto

 

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Image by scvincent.com

For visually challenged writers, the image shows the ruined tower of a castle, seen through the cross-shaped window of another tower.

 

I am cast in stone

Chained beneath the castle walls

My soul yearning to be set free

The dark cross sentinels

Guard the three remaining towers

So many come,

they gaze upon my fallen walls

Never hearing my voice

No mind open to hear my plea

From the fall of Camelot

I have tried to let them know

There is a way to set me free…

©anitadawes 2020

 

#writephoto

#Colleen’s #Poetry Challenge…

Colleen’s 2020 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 160 #SynonymsOnly

Anita has composed an etheree poem this week for Colleen’s words CALM and PRESENT.

Slow

Running

Cool water

Smooth round boulders

Ancient hands have touched

They speak of memory

Old-time tingling my fingers

Something new begins, today’s thought

Standing on history, time waiting

To awaken again by someone’s touch…

©anitadawes 2020

 

 

Once Written… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Once Written

As long as I can hold a pen

I will write the stories I am sent

They are children running free

In fields inside my head.

Easy you say. Pin one down

Write what’s said

They do not come fully formed my friend

They need a few words from me

To help them run

A violent ending or happy

Is theirs to tell

I wait impatiently for every word

Surprised at times at what is said

They were no more than bones

Inside my head

Now flesh has formed

If they could walk from the pages

They would fit in our world

As easily as you or me

Those some I say, should not

Share the air we breathe…

©anitadawes 2020
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