The dead don’t talk, they don’t play games They walk through doors Somewhere a chain to bind them to time Over time the stories have grown To keep the local boys from playing in the old mill House Many have entered and never returned The towns folk say it should be pulled down The sea has tried to reclaim the old mill house It stands perilously at the edge of the land If you visit the grave of Tommy Wilson You lose the power of free will To plead with your mind would be useless You enter the old mill house, never to be seen again… ©AnitaDawes2022
Again, in Dreams 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… ©AnitaDawes2022
A wonderful poem for a very special place.
One of these days we will go back to Glastonbury and climb the hill to the Tor…
The Mountain Imagination writes the tale I tell on this dusty road I stood captivated as I observed the glimmering light I walk forth, knowing there could be endless possibilities With the sun setting, the mountain lay under a pink cloud I was finding it hard to believe my own eyes My personal belief now suspended I stood in front of an unidentified flying object wondering at the mind of the engineer I have never seen silver so polished, no nuts or bolts A small door slid open, I blinked There she stood, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen She beckoned, without hesitation I walked to her Knowing I would leave this earth, And go wherever she would take me… ©AnitaDawes2022
Your Inner Eye This forest of trees my son Is a tribute to all the great artists who walked the earth many years ago There are those that paint The star filled skies Jewels that dance above our head Like Van Gogh's Starry Night Monet painted the ground Gardens to dream in So many of us do not have the inner eye To see the beauty To have the desire to capture on canvas Without the hands that held paintbrushes The world would be a duller place Not forgetting, the many that decorate The churches, cathedrals, places of worship With a little added inspiration of coloured glass If you can feel it in your heart You might find your inner eye…
© Anita Dawes 2021
New Life Slow running rivers through summer breeze Winter leaves fallen, carrying new life Eaten by time, flowing backwards Every moment ticking into eternity Time folding in on itself, taking back Winter snow covering all the sharp edges Arriving at your destination, time slows Turning your feet to snow, your breath laboured Every step turning your body in on itself Reverse your steps, find that slow running river, step in… ©AnitaDawes2022
We love snow, but will we get any this year?
Don’t do it, don’t count the droplets on your window Wait for the family to arrive They are an unexpected gift in life A reason for thanksgiving, for celebration I brush away the dark reality where the black butterfly lives In my head, tormenting my waking hours Vigorous dusting of my thoughts took longer than I expected I decided to make the day memorable Finally, I can predict a happy new year… ©AnitaDawes2022
The Lord of light had me in a whirl My thoughts spun, like a giant Catherine wheel I am losing my grip on life I see disaster loom large in the distance Every now and then, I glimpse a tiny light In the crack of my mind, I curl into a small ball I wonder about my future, my body goes slack As new thoughts crawl through the black space My future is being written by a voice in my head My hope now, is that love is woven into all I do and say… ©AnitaDawes2022
A Butterfly Remembered We fly, we dance, we live. We are fleeting, our beauty remembered. There is double power in reflection. If you see us hovering over water Make a wish, it will come true. Foolish thought, you’re thinking. How do you suppose I became this way? My wish was to fly. Here I am in blue splendour. Before my time is up, I will wish again To be as I was, with a life of a butterfly remembered… ©AnitaDawes2022