Here’s an exciting new project from Adam’s Art and Bonsai Blog
A lagerstroemia indica variety. The bark looks like the “Natchez” cultivar, which would mean big leaves and a white flower. I’m not sure though so we will have to see when it wakes up and flowers.
This is a fascinating post all about creating a dragon bonsai… continue reading HERE
Double Down
The distant echo of your voice calling me home
Across fields of new mown hay
I turn my head away, I do not want to go
Your soft whisper follows, I feel your longing
I am not ready to take up an angelic post
Snow white feathers would not suit me
Or God forbid, the other place where coal is needed
Did I slip into a place where the forked one gave me a large spade?
I love you still, alas I have much to do
All the things that frightened you, I understand
There are mountains to climb where you would not go
Your fear of the unknown kept you locked inside
There are snow slopes calling, louder than your echo
Do you now have eternity to roam?
© Anita Dawes 2021
Is this one poem, or three? What do you think?
February 18: Flash Fiction Challenge
In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story where a character is in the right place at the right time. It may be cause for celebration!
Turning 75, something to celebrate, you think?
Not me.
The morning went slow,
dragging my mind further into darkness
Deciding on a fresh cup of coffee
to pull myself together,
walk around the Friday market.
I notice a face, my best friend,
a sister I should have had.
We lost touch twenty years ago.
Thoughts rush my mind.
Why had we lost touch?
Would she want to speak to me?
Would we have anything to say after so long?
I need not have worried.
My 75th party went like a sixties disco,
With my best friend by my side…
© Anita Dawes 2021
#TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO. 211, #Abhanga, or #PoetsChoice
WELCOME TO TANKA TUESDAY!
Anita Dawes Crazy Etheree
Stone monsters’ gargoyles smiles.
Night that never ends.
Slow morning light
Wrinkled sheets
Cold hands
Touch
Pale
Thinking
Brain cracking
Storm clouds calling
Rainfall flood warning
Small dark gargoyle smiling
War in heaven raging
Stone monsters waiting
Armour plated
army waits.
Biting
Souls
Black
Magic
makes its stand.
There to take all.
Heavens light has more
War raging until dawn…
© Anita Dawes 2021
Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #102
Having climbed so high above the world
I sit among the clouds.
wondering how the hell I’m going to get down.
After lunch, I will give it more thought.
The air is thin, slowing my mind.
Peace, silent moments fill my being.
He knows nothing of the stone dragon
Slowly approaching from behind
With dragon thoughts of an early lunch
Can our intrepid climber swing beneath the ledge?
Get away to climb another day…
© Anita Dawes 2021
Did you spot the dragon, creeping up on the rocks above the sitter?
Hedging in your shirt sleeves
Anita surprised me this morning, by asking to read your post, Jim as she is determined to learn the finer arts of blogging/ Here is the original post and Anita’s comments…
Good morning Jim,
The hedge… a good way to remember your grandfather.
Tackling the hedge… sounds to me as if your grandfather is still having fun.
The new younger stuff… seems to me a blend of two souls, old and new.
Todays hedges… here I can see nothing goes to waste.
(Personally, I like order)
laying hedges… I hope you have better luck this time.
Complaining … people do like to moan. It’s what keeps them going on to the next good moan, as to the schemes and contracts, it’s a wonder you know which end is up. I believe nothing is ever truly wasted, it’s a learning curve to another person’s way of life.
Tuesday… I would like to spend a day on your farm with my sleeves rolled up.
Jaye would love to know how you placed those four hearts at the bottom of your post…
© Anita Dawes 2021
A black hood slipped over my head
I was pushed gently forward
Each step slow over cobbles, my feet slipping
The sound changed
Walls shot up either side of me
My thinking as muffled as my breath
The smell of damp mould an assault to my senses
I can hear the dark wet walls breathing,
whispering insanities
Names waiting to be snatched from the air
I was pushed on, falling
My feet found no purchase
Hands held my arms until I felt them drop away
I was suspended for a while
The hood removed
I stood on the hallowed ground of the Tor
The waters stopped their whispering
I would walk this land again in dreams…
© Anita Dawes 2021
