I
Love my
Person but
I think she loves
This thing she bangs on
Far more than her best friend
She forgets I need walking
My food bowl stays empty too long
I wait hours for my person to stop
finally she remembers to feed me…
This was our first contribution for Diana Wallace Peach monthly word prompt Challenge! Such an awe-inspiring image…
The frozen face of a still white moon
Hung against the starless sky
Remembering Zolon crouched below
His hand clenched on ancient evil
Where men were swallowed
Bones crushed by ice white teeth…
©anitadawes 2020
My final chapter here at last
Alas, I am no longer, I have passed.
Let me tell you, the stories from above
Are quite true. If you stick a pin in
It will go right through
My body left below you see
No longer any use to me.
I am new, improved,
And light as candyfloss
Yet I am still me.
A ghost or spirits we are called
So let me tell you this
If you call my name
I will blow my love back on a kiss
You will feel it when soft winds blow
To remind you all still is…
©anitadawes 2020
DI DAVID SNOW HAS ANOTHER KILLER TO CATCH, a killer a mysterious as the crimes he commits.
Betrayal and lies come to the surface as Snow struggles to find the truth, but is he looking in all the wrong places?
Can Snow outwit the killer, or will the truth cost him his life?
CrossFire
Snow has a target on his back
A female finger on the bow.
He may not have long to go
This life a clock ticking fast.
Blood and sand made of paint.
Does Kate still factor in his fate?
Alas, she is taken by the wind
A new female wants her pound of flesh
With arrow poised, she lets it fly
Snow is hit, his trap undone
Ruth has fled, now on the run…
©Anita Dawes
‘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…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(but I would really love your feedback…)
Image by Pixabay.com
Gipsy winds painted caravans
Horses that shine like shoe polish
A way of life that many frowns upon
others secretly wish they had
I am talking about true Romany pride
The open countryside they leave clean
like the homes they live in
to be caged by four walls
a death sentence
much the same as it was
for the American Indians.
I would love to go back to a time
when we take only what we need,
to run wild with the buffalo
and live free with nature.
Not just in small increments.
To chase that open road.
Alas, I can only dream…
AFRAID OF TOMORROW
I am afraid of tomorrow, of what it might bring
Of a hunger for things unseen, yet unknown
A feeling that something interferes with your thoughts, your plans
That something watches, waiting for you to mess up
Take the wrong road.
Spend too much time on things that go nowhere.
There are days when the world around you
Feels as though it is made of treacle
Each step you take, your feet gather more of the sticky stuff
Until you feel as if you are wearing lead boots.
Tomorrow comes; the sun shines through your window
Birdsong filters through your sleeping mind.
Today you believe in angels
You put the lead boots in the cupboard
Open the window and let the new day in
Let the soft summer breeze carry yesterday’s dark thoughts away…
Anita Dawes
The wishing tree stood alone by the still, white water,
Festooned with ribbons of every colour
A fallen rainbow reflected there.
I could see one scarlet ribbon hanging low
Its ragged edge touching the water
As if wanting to be washed clean.
I run my fingers down this lonely ribbon
Feeling the weight of sadness
Within the strand of red.
My tears fall, tiny ripples spread across the water
My tears mingled with those of the child
Who had placed the scarlet ribbon here?
My fingers are numb from having touched it
I left, feeling as if someone had touched me
Calling for help…
©Anita Dawes
Inspired by Anita’s book, The Scarlet Ribbon: https://myBook.to/SRIBS
Prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about someone unremembered. Is it a momentary lapse or a loss in time? Play with the tone — make it funny, moving, or eerie. Go where the prompt leads you!
I cannot think of anyone forgotten to me
I am sure if I walk around my local graveyard
There would be so many forgotten souls
With no living relatives to lay flowers
I will lay a flower on a few bare graves
as I pass through to show they’re remembered
I asked a Jewish neighbour years ago
Why no flowers on their graves?
They don’t like to kill anything
They leave a stone to say someone has visited
I thought I might like to do that
Find a bare headstone, take a small pebble
Place it there with love…
©anitadawes
SOME SECRETS WILL KILL YOU…
and some are about someone who is already dead.
A mother must find the truth before the secrets destroy her family…
Maggie heaped three spoonsful of brown sugar into the frothy coffee, and Scott gave a gentle tut-tut as she watched it slowly slip through the bubbles.
Watching her stir the coffee for longer than was necessary, he asked, ‘Shall I fire questions at you or will you volunteer your troubles to old Scottie?’
The softening of his name was only for those he considered his true friends and he listened without interruption while she told him all about the nightmares, the mess in the kitchen, Danny’s destructiveness, burying Jack’s stuff in the garden and all the things that Danny attributed to his imaginary friend, Toby.
Scott pondered awhile, and then said, ‘You of all people shouldn’t think it so strange, where would you be without imagination, Maggie? Pulling groceries on a check-out? Not that it’s a disgrace; someone has to do it… Danny is developing his mind, maybe he’ll be a great artist like his beautiful mother, or write the books Jack couldn’t… then he’ll need all the power of his inner mind, much the way you do.’
She looked deep into her empty coffee cup as if it were a crystal ball. ‘Maybe I could believe all that if he were happy, Scott, but he’s not. He’s so moody and goes days without saying a word to anyone.’
She related Cathy’s story about hearing a dog in the car, and Scott looked puzzled.
‘From what you’ve told me about her, I’d say she’s prone to flights of fancy and you shouldn’t take any of it too seriously. It could have been anything, like that wretched noise when you speed past those wooden poles along the road. Maybe there was something stuck to the wheel of her car. Noises you would normally recognise have a way of sounding strange when you’re cooped up inside a tin-can on wheels.’
She didn’t believe Scott’s explanation, but it was enough to put a little doubt in her mind, she realised that she hadn’t thought the situation through as thoroughly as she might.
She didn’t tell him about the bite-marks and scratches that appeared on Danny during the nightmares until last. It wasn’t really all that bad, not enough to draw blood but marks none the less.
‘Could he have done it himself?’ asked Scott.
‘Yes, but he denied it.’
‘Someone at school, a fight? Boys get into them all the time.’
‘I don’t think so. Danny told the doctor that this Toby did it. When we asked him why he hadn’t said anything to us, he just shrugged his shoulders and clammed up. We’ve been advised not to push him too hard.’
Scott could see how worried she was, but he couldn’t really think of anything to allay her fears, real or imagined. It was high time to lighten the mood. Catching Kelly’s eye, he ordered two more coffees with hand gestures.
‘God knows what you’ve been letting your mind get up to, Maggie darling, but as far as I can tell, there are only two explanations. He either did it himself or he got into a fight and didn’t know how to tell you. There are times, darling when a young man can’t run to his mama. Losing a fight would be worse than telling you he had been in one in the first place…
‘Maybe that’s all he’s hiding from you, and as for the rest of it, it’s plain old-fashioned mischief born out of the sheer frustration of keeping things locked inside…’
~~~~~
Danny’s secret goes back in time
How is this known to a child of nine?
No one believes him when he speaks
Of buried treasure the earth still keeps.
Yet stranger words are said in sleep.
His mother hears his sleeping moans
Afraid now, how can he know
Of secrets buried so long ago?
Have you ever had one of those days
when you feel as though you are made of glass?
I am having one today.
I can feel small pieces slipping away as I walk
I am broken, disappearing slowly
I can almost see the pieces glistening behind me
like a trail of breadcrumbs.
Will someone follow and put me together again?
Image by Stephan Keller
Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie 