#Silent Sunday…

Today, I am revisiting one of my favourite places, Southsea Rock Garden on the south coast of the UK.

Right on the seafront and built on many levels, its a delightful place to spend an hour or two…

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Image by Jaye Marie

 

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Image by Jaye Marie

Thank you for dropping by, without you, it wouldn’t be as much fun!

Four Seasons… #Poetry

 

Four Seasons

The mournful sound of Summer dying

Bare trees, one green leaf clinging

With the last of Summers sigh

Autumn slips past too fast

To the cold grip of Winter

Hard ground beneath your feet

Creatures sleeping, waiting

Cupboards fully stocked for snowfall

Bright buttoned snowmen built

Wooden sleighs sliding

Children laughing

Let me turn the clock forward

Bring on the Spring rains

The smile of daffodils

Let the sun shine

so I can feel warm again…

©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

#99 Word Challenge for Carrot Ranch Literary Community

November 21: Flash Fiction Challenge

November 21, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a romance. Focus on the relationship between two people. Build tension and end on a happy(ish) note. Go where the prompt leads!

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My parents are the stories of poets, romantics

Married fifty-six years, they still hold hands

I hope some of that love has rubbed off

That I hold my husband’s hand as long

I remember years ago, asking mum

How she knew dad was the one

He was persistent, for three weeks he sent flowers

With a handwritten poem

Until I agreed to our first date

The rest is history,

dad was the romantic one

I asked my dad the same question

His answer, She’s my star

Without her there’s no light in the world

What more can I say…

©anitadawes

Mirrors… #Poetry

 

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Magic mirrors at the fairground

Turned my life inside out

Like rubber gloves removed from someone’s hand

What was in, is now out, not a good thing

I can no longer hide my thoughts from others

They stick right out, causing all kinds of chaos

I need to find that fairground

Break the mirror that spun my life around…

***

Life’s fairground

Slide up on that beautiful painted horse

Take a spin, roam the fairground

See what you can win

Three balls hit the coconut, soft toy in hand

Music thumping beneath your feet

Gold finned fish in plastic a bowl to find

Sweet taste of candyfloss, the walk home

holding your sweethearts hand

The joy of childhood remembered…

©anitadawes

Remembering…

 

This is the time of year when I remember my father, thinking of what could have been if the Second World War hadn’t taken him from me.

I pay tribute to the man who gave me my height, my patience, my creative streak and my weird sense of humour all the time, but especially on Remembrance Sunday.

I know all of these things about him because people have told me what he was like. How he looked and sounded when he sat at the piano, belting out popular ragtime melodies.

They laugh when they tell me how funny he looked, stomping out the beat in his huge army boots.

I have lived all my life with these images, but have no way of knowing if they are true because I never met him. He didn’t return from the war and never met me.

I like to think that my life would have been so much better if he had come home, for my mother never got over losing him.

People say I shouldn’t feel sad for someone I didn’t know, but in a way, I do know him. He is a part of me and it certainly feels as though I knew him well. As well as I know myself.

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I wrote a post last year about these ice soldiers, and you can read it here.

When we moved to Hampshire, one of the first things I wanted to do was visit the coast. Something I have done many times since, but on that very first time, we walked past the D-day Museum on the seafront. There was a huge tank outside and this bronze statue of the Unknown Soldier. As I studied the soldier, something about his posture and bearing had me imagining that this is what my father would have looked like.

To me, my father is the Unknown Soldier, and I like to think I will get to meet him, one of these days…

©jayemarie

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

A Strange and Unexpected Visitor…

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It hasn’t rained for nearly two days and I was looking forward to escaping the confines of my office and getting some fresh air.  Anita called me to come outside and see something, and she was being very mysterious. I found her standing near my bonsai, pointing to the one on the end of the shelf.

I wondered what had caught her attention, for as far as I could tell, they were all there on the shelf, looking a bit scruffy to be fair for I haven’t been keeping them tidy due to the weather. None of them were missing or damaged, although I thought some of them were looking a bit like naughty children, revelling in my lack of attention.

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Image by Jaye Marie

That’s when I noticed what Anita was pointing to, a very small mushroom was happily growing in the pot alongside my bonsai tree. This tree was a gift from the birds some six years ago. I found it trying to grow between the cracks of the path, liked the shape and colour of the leaves and decided to keep it. I transferred it into a pot, but never did find out what it was called. So, after all this time, how did a mushroom manage to grow in the same pot?

 

Further along the shelf I noticed that my English cherry had changed into its autumn colour, a glorious red. I grew this tree from a cherry stone about seven years ago. It has never flowered, but I hope it will one day.

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Image by Jaye Marie

My eyes returned to the tiny mushroom, and I was reminded of our last unexpected visitor.

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Image by Jaye Marie

I had no idea this could happen, but have seen others since, so quite ordinary really…

©jayemarie