Too Cold for Comfort…
Image by Susanne Jutzeler, Schweiz, from Pixabay
Image by congerdesign from Pixabay
This is a continuation of my recent post about how pleased I am that I am writing again.
And I really am, but there is something else going on. Or not, depending on how you look at it. Something I am having trouble coping with.
I didn’t mention it at the time in case it was a temporary thing.
I have been up with the lark, writing my socks off and enjoying every moment. Followed by busy mornings, catching up with all the routine online stuff.
All good, right?
But my afternoons couldn’t be more different. I have always regarded the afternoons as my time, where I get creative making new posters, book covers, trailers and new posts.
Since having covid, which was a nightmare, I am far from back to normal and try as I might, I cannot conjure up any magic.
The weather here in the UK has been brutal. I have been so cold; it has just added to my woes. All I really want to do is curl up under a blanket and read. The temperature is set to rise a little tomorrow, and I hope this will warm up my brain too…
We haven’t had any snow, which hasn’t helped my mood either…
Christmas Cheer… #Poetry
Image by PayPal.me/FelixMittermeier from Pixabay
Christmas Cheer I recognise the darkness, the chill in the air The Christmas wish that didn’t come to pass The lonely streets of London So many feet rushing by The occasional clink of a coin drops in my old hat A kind stranger placing a wrapped sandwich in my lap I sit here on borrowed time with one wish in mind To find a table with space for me to sit Join in a Christmas feast by a warm burning fire Christmas crackers waiting to be pulled To touch the hand beside me in grateful prayer Thanks spoken for the warm food The chance to part of a family Christmas cheer… ©AnitaDawes2020
Colleen’s Challenge ~ #Poetry
Born conjoined lived as one haunted, they cry for a better life hiding in dark spaces they dream of how they might be if only they had been born as one in a world of possibilities their crying can still be heard to this day… ©AnitaDawes2022
Her Name is Rose… MindlovemiseryMenagerie ~ #Poetry #Wordle 283
Beware the howl beneath the full moon Old letters come to light, damaging claims that could make the family uncomfortable The child is not yours Letters found by an obsessive neighbour Who rubbed her hand at the news she hoped would shake the family Little knowing her husband admired his wife’s resolve To bring up the child left on her doorstep as her own The letters dated from the war Wrapped inside the baby’s blanket The note read, I am sixteen, I cannot take care of her Her name is Rose. So why now, so many years later does someone want to remind them they are not the child’s parents? Questions that may never be answered… ©AnitaDawes2022
Another Day… #Poetry
Abandoned by the Gods at birth Bitter twist of fate left a scar Avoiding relationships, she drifts alone Never knowing love, her heart stops feeling Drifting on a sea of unknowing, she courts death Over high peaks, she skis on soft snow Never once looking at warning signs Eager to reach the bottom Down the soft slopes to safety, another day… ©AnitaDawes2022
Can You Hear Her… #Poetry
Can you hear her crying late at night? Over the loud music, I hear her tears You and I watch as she carries her pain Nothing we do can change the beat of time Tomorrow, the clouds remain dark, full of tears Down the rabbit hole, the music has a merry beat Over the river, sits the King on his throne Waiting to greet new visitors to carry their tears Evening starlight removes her pain Never again, would her tears last through the night… ©AnitaDawes2022
Falling out of love I find Opportunities I thought lost Understanding what to do, however Nothing I could think of helps Drowning is how I felt Always the same feelings repeated Too late, you lost me In moonlight I sleep On wings of white I fly late at night Nearer to you, before we fall out of love… ©AnitaDawes2022
Another wonderfully sad, heartbreaking poem from Anita!
She Sings… #Poetry
Under purple skies, she sits, she sings Low winds carry her voice, her echo Tomorrow tells yesterday’s old stories Impossible dreams crushed like broken glass Memories claw like branches on the bedroom window pane Alerting the sleeping mind to horrors outside Tomorrows nightmares arrive early Entering the subconscious, they grow, Slowly waiting for the day they bloom… ©AnitaDawes2022