Empty Streets… #Poetry

I told my story to the empty streets of London
While the stars stood witness to my pain
The day I witnessed Heaven burning
Leaving me with no way home
I fell to earth before the flames could reach me
My story told, before I reached this realm
With so little truth to tell
Yes, my wings are less than white
Because my tongue I could not hold
For speaking out against the Mighty One
Now they are singed beyond repair
I cannot go home without His help
Sorry is the hardest word, it burns my throat
I must find a different way
to find my rightful place among the stars
Leave the empty streets of London
To their own way of sinning…

© Anita Dawes 2021

#MLMM ~ Wordle #228 ~ #Poetry

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Let the records show I am indissoluble.
I would survive a sudden dipping in lime.
Some people come up smelling of roses.
I am one of them.
I am anodyne, I would not like to offend anyone.
Better I were pulled through a gathering backwards.
Where I pull my hair, trying to wake.
Ahead, I see a three-sided symbol
with a yellow dot in the centre
I feel my body sway with the low sound of drums.
A strange triple style beat
The echo rings back to my sleeping mind
Where I stare at my profile in the mirror
Wondering where the other of me has gone…

© Anita Dawes 2021

#Whatdoyousee #Keepitalive #Poetry

What do you see # 66 – January 25 2021

Image credit; Teslariu Mehai @ Unsplash

( For the visually challenged reader, this image shows a person wearing a paper-bag over their head. Words ” Photo shop” are written by hand on the bag)

I don’t need Photoshop to stick my head in sand.
With todays problems, face masks,
Oh excuse me… coverings!
Wash your hands,
run if you see a human walking towards you!
There are days when its best to become an ostrich.
Head in the sand, arse in the air
I’m sorry folks, I’m having a s – – t day.
Where I cannot feel or think the way I should
My son says, pull yourself together, mother.
You’re made of better stuff.
Take the bag from your head,
look at the world with different eyes.
You cannot hide forever.
In my head, I am saying, shut up, I can hide
until the world is put to right
Or take myself off to Photoshop for a revamp…

© Anita Dawes 2021

#The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 492 #Poetry

Blind justice has left its vicious whip marks on his back.
Cheers from the crowd, loud in my ear
I feel myself sway,
knowing I cannot settle the payment asked for his release.
The chain replaced; he is lead away.
I call upon my father, the door is closed in my face.
Who can I tell
about this wicked web of lies against Jack.
I send for help,
my brother might be able to talk sense to my father.
I know it will take a month or more
Before I hear from Frederick
If he cannot come,
Jack will be hung for theft that has become murder.
He did not commit either crime.
Strange justice, blinded by the roar of the crowd…

© Anita Dawes 2021

Jaye’s Week… Growing old Disgracefully…

I am not fond of the house we live in.

It is a vast improvement to where we lived before, and why we moved.

But…  life here is getting harder. The stairs are a struggle for my arthritic knees. It gets too hot in the summer because the insulation in the loft is ancient. We freeze in the winter because we only have a few ancient storage heaters.  Parking is another nightmare because we live on a busy and noisy main road!


Just lately, I am feeling an infinity with the place as it starts to show its age. Which leads me to wonder how much longer we can live here. I long to live near woods or water, preferably both…

Serious cracks are appearing on walls and ceilings, and ominous creaks follow me up and down the stairs, and not just from my knees!
The chimney stack on the roof is supported by steel bands, but chunks of brickwork rain down into our yard on a regular basis.
Doors swing closed all by themselves and the bathroom floor slopes like the Swiss alps.

This house was built in 1887, which makes it 134 years old. So, how old is too old for a domestic domicile?

I suppose there will come a time when the cost of repairs or renovation will become a bridge too far. A bit like me?

I take vitamins, fish oil, turmeric and as healthy a diet as I can manage, and attempt yoga every day, but am I doing any good? And when did I switch from being a silver surfer into a mouldy golden oldie?

How long before I get condemned, along with the house?




The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 491 ~ #Poetry

A world divide, one half untethered
by rules, made by fools
The other sticking to a plan
They have a text they must follow
Regardless of how much it may hurt
They never have fresh clothes
As water is severely restricted
Play for children is strictly monitored
To half an hour a day
To speak of the future is forbidden
Punishable by fines and imprisonment
Travellers are told to move on
Needless to say,
this half of the world is shrinking
While the other half is flourishing
Life is good where there are no rules
The water here flows freely
Thanks to their forefather’s careful planning
There is sufficient for all
The untethered half works
like clockwork under glass…

© Anita Dawes 2021

“Fiction in A Flash Challenge 2021” Week #30. #WritingCommunity #IARTG #WritingPrompts #FlashFiction #Poetry

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I’m a little late posting this, Soooz, sorry about this but I’m all discobobulated at the moment…

Dark grey storm clouds
Gather around the metal bird
Souls inside shaking
Prayers echo, bouncing from wing to wing
They are carried to safety
The power of faith in all its splendour
Shining through the storm
Hands that held together in prayer
Now applaud the pilot
For their safe landing
Giving little thought to the whispers
A few moments ago, to a higher power…

© anita dawes 2021

Jaye’s New Year…

Reporting in for the New Year…

I am sitting at my writing desk, pen in hand but I am looking out of the window. Or trying to.

It is still dark outside, the faint outline of the houses opposite beginning to show in silhouette against the slowly changing tones of the dawn sky.

The window in front of me is a dark mirror. The ghostly image I see reflected in the glass is of an old woman, care worn and tired, looking back at me.

What is she doing?

She is not writing, not yet but I can tell that she will.

Emotions twist and turn as I consider myself and what the past, slowly receding nightmare of a year has reduced me to.

A year that has thrown everything it could lay its hands on at all of us, leaving bitter flotsam in its wake.

I intended to start the new year with a good deal of positivity, to try and rebuild the dreams that took such a battering in 2020.

Finding most of them wasn’t easy, as they didn’t want to be found. That was when I realised that rebuilding them wouldn’t be easy either.

I can sympathise, for I am bruised and battered too.

The trouble for most of us, is that all the bad stuff didn’t magically vanish on the stroke of midnight. Some may never go away completely.

So what will happen in 2021?

All I know is this – we may be battered and a bit ragged around the edges, but we are not beaten, not by a long shot.

We will simply do our absolute best, like always…

© Jaye Marie 2021

Another kind of lockdown…

Two days before Christmas, my computer hub started flashing orange instead of the reassuring steady blue light I am used to. My heart sank, knowing all hope of working had just gone up in smoke.

After a healthy rant and several phone calls later there was nothing to do but switch off and leave the office until normality could be restored.

The office felt alien this morning, but I switched on the computer, just to see what I could do, if anything. I must wait until 8am to telephone anyway. Turns out I can still play solitaire… Yay!

Checked into the fault line and ended up talking to a very pleasant young man called Derek. When he said it would take days to fix the problem, he must have heard the despair in my voice, for he offered to send me a mini hub so I can get back online while we wait.

Sounds good to me, but will it arrive tomorrow, as promised?

I was expecting a dismal day, twiddling my thumbs and all that but I try to think positively, and ended up sorting out several jobs that have been waiting for an eternity for a quiet moment. We don’t get many of those these days, do we?

After lunch, I put on my writing hat and forced my brain to come up with something, anything really for I was secretly getting desperate. Possibly some sort of email withdrawal pains!

True to his word, the mini hub arrived the following afternoon. All I had to do was plug it in and wait for it to charge. I don’t have a lot of faith when it comes to promises or computers for that matter, so when a small blue light started blinking at me, I turned on the pc and looked for the link. One click and I was back in business!

I was now a happy bunny, which is more than I can say for Anita. With no land line and a limited television performance, she was spitting tin tacks! Hopefully, they will fix the fault before she explodes with frustration…

© Jaye Marie 2020

Review for While Paris Slept by Ruth Druart ~ #HistoricalFiction

While Paris Slept: A powerful novel of love, survival and the endurance of hope

by Ruth Druart

Publishing Date 4 Mar 2021  

Description

On a platform in occupied Paris, a mother whispers goodbye.
It is the end.
But also the beginning.

‘What a book… Emotional and heartrending…absolutely phenomenal. I was on tenterhooks throughout. A wonderful achievement’ Jill Mansell

Beautiful. Powerful. Unforgettable. A stunning portrait of the brutality of war and the tenacity of love. In the tradition of Virginia Baily’s Early One Morning and M. L. Stedman’s The Light Between Oceans.

Paris 1944
A young woman’s future is torn away in a heartbeat. Herded on to a train bound for Auschwitz, in an act of desperation she entrusts her most precious possession to a stranger. All she has left now is hope.

Santa Cruz 1953
Jean-Luc thought he had left it all behind. The scar on his face a small price to pay for surviving the horrors of Nazi Occupation. Now, he has a new life in California, a family. He never expected the past to come knocking on his door.

On a darkened platform, two destinies become entangled. Their choice will change the future in ways neither could have imagined…

Our Review

Spanning the years from 1944 to 1953, we follow Jean-Luc, a Frenchman, working on the railways during the German occupation of Paris.

Together with Charlotte, his wife, they manage to flee to America, believing that the horrors of the past, although never forgotten, could never be repeated.

There is another couple involved in this tale and their combined history makes a story so heart-breaking and vividly real.

Written with such intensity, While Paris Slept feels real and is an emotional and unforgettable story of the enduring strength of love in all its forms.

Atmospheric and at times terrifying, your emotions will be torn by the situation these innocent people find themselves in, and although it was sometimes painful to read, I will remember this heart-breaking story for some time…

Thanks go to Netgalley for allowing me to read this atmospheric story…