Something… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Something

You are my something, that indefinable thought

The itch I cannot scratch, the memory that never fades

Dreams born from frozen mist

Raindrops on glass sliding to oblivion.

Something that returns from fantasy, claiming existence.

An echo redefined by sound

Words reused that grow too thin

Time taken in nightmares where screaming never ends

That broken light where shadows grow,

Twisting life before it begins.

Hearts are broken where forests burn, trails of ash

Footsteps followed to the edge of time

Where church bells no longer ring.

People cower, sat within, waiting

For their special moment to begin

If you can dream it, you can have it,

you may only have one chance

Don’t let your something pass you by…

AAAAA

I See You… #Poetry

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I See You

I See You

I see a piece of you

like a puzzle that has slipped out of place

it’s the reason you are out of step with your life.

I see the chaos in the space between

strange moments that don’t fit

that don’t belong to you.

As if someone is trying to occupy

the space before it closes.

I hear your voice, the sound belongs to another

harsh, cruel. It scares me as if someone

has taken a piece of my mind.

Does it match your missing part?

Will we find a way to put them back in place

I see a piece of you

like a puzzle that has slipped out of place

it’s the reason you are out of step with your life.

I see the chaos in the space between

strange moments that don’t fit

that don’t belong to you.

As if someone is trying to occupy

the space before it closes.

I hear your voice, the sound belongs to another

harsh, cruel. It scares me as if someone

has taken a piece of my mind.

Does it match your missing part?

Will we find a way to put them back in place

will life tear more away,

as if we were no more than cardboard cut-outs

from a forgotten jigsaw puzzle…

AAAAA

 

#Writephoto ~ Beyond #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Beyond #writephoto

Use the image below as inspiration to create a post on your own blog… poetry, prose, humour… light or dark, whatever you choose, by noon (GMT)  Wednesday 24th April  and link back to this post with a pingback to be included in the round-up.  There is no word limit and no style requirements, except to keep it fairly family friendly.

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Sunlight beauty beyond the trees

Pyramid doorway beckons

Ode to Pythagoras

I stand safe in shadows

This sunlit vale hides what my eyes cannot see

My heart weeps for want

A distant cry, drums beating

Forest burning

Loves memory written in smoke

A call borne from pain

How can I reach where my feet will not go?

A singularity of knowing holds me fast

Two hearts beat beyond the branches entwined

In triangular splendour they wait for me

Take time to feel their welcome

Reach out, take hold of safe hands

To hold under sunlight’s warm embrace…

AAAAA

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A New Poem on the Block! #Haibun

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Thanks to Colleen Chesebro, and her weekly poetry challenge, most of us have heard of Haiku’s, Etheree’s and all manner of wonderful forms of Japanese poetry.

This one Anita has not tried before. It is called a Haibun.

~~~~~~~~~

A broken bridge across a lake of blue, I take my chance to see the other side.

Where flowers grow of strange shimmering hues.

My fortune lies along the path I see, but In whose footsteps do I follow?

What will I find! A chance is taken, just in time.

Scented morning

Life changed

New dawn

New life

 

Trapped… #Poem

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

Trapped

I am trapped inside a strangers dream,

No escape until she wakes. She knows my mind

 My thoughts echo to the double heartbeat

She dreams of wizards, witches, elves,

Nothing I am interested in

Her dream changes as she leaves the woods.

A dark cavern envelopes us,

Strange faces whisper close

Instructions given I cannot quite hear

She stirs, moans, whispers

I cannot do it; she is too hard to hold

Is she talking about me? I hope not

When she wakes, will I be back in my own head?

I scream, thinking of ways to wake her

Nothing works, she sleeps on no dreaming

I am stuck here waiting until morning

A thought enters my mind as I too fall asleep

Is she dreaming me?

AAAAA

An Easter #Etheree Poem…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

On

A hill

Three souls wait

Dark judgement called

One crown of sharp thorns

His mother waits below

Sound has vanished from the world

Standing close, Joseph holds the cup

Take your mother; hold her as your own

Day three gave rise to a new religion…

AAAAA

Memories…

 

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Dante Gabriel Rossetti

 

 

Memories are funny things, aren’t they? The way certain things suddenly pop into your head, and you think – hey, I know about that, and you remember.
I wonder what makes some memories surface and not others? You could say it’s down to something you have just heard or seen, but I know that’s not always the case.

Just lately, I have been remembering a specific time in my youth, and never realised before how that time must have influenced me.  Was it that threshold of childhood, the time you really start to think and question things? To imagine a future for yourself, that you won’t always be just idling along, not really caring if it snowed, depending on others to organise your life.

This particular time was when I lived in Kent, in a small village called Birchington, a few miles from Margate. I was about 8 or 9 years old, and up to that point, I didn’t really think about anything much. So much had happened to me that I had got into the habit of not questioning anything. Not much point really, as I knew I couldn’t change anything.

I was with foster parents by then with several other children, all from broken families; and surprisingly it was the first time I felt relaxed enough to appreciate the peace and quiet of the countryside, not to mention the freedom from all my mother’s problems.

Every Sunday we all went to church, and right outside the church door was an impressive gravestone. It was made of a beautiful piece of marble, and I thought the writing on it was very ornate and posh. I looked at it every Sunday for ages, when it suddenly struck me that this had to be someone quite famous. But why was he buried here in this tiny village?

The name on the stone was Dante Gabriel Rossetti  (1828- 1882), and I remember being very impressed by the sound of him, resolving to find out more about him. I was about the right age for romantic flights of fancy, and the more I discovered about this tortured man and the life he lived, the more intrigued I became. He was a poet and a painter, and some would say that he wasn’t very successful, but history will always remember him as a founder member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood with William Holman Hunt and John Everett Millais.

I learnt about Rossetti and how he ended up a recluse in Cheyne Walk, Chelsea after a nervous breakdown, finally retreating to Birchington for rehabilitation only to die less than a year later. Perhaps he should have spent more time in Kent, for it was making me feel better!  I secretly sympathised with the mess he had made of his life, determined that my life would be better than it had started out to be. I just needed to be old enough to set the wheels in motion.

So you see, I think Dante was my friend back then, right when I really needed one, guiding me to where I am today…

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#Writephoto ~ Threshold…

Thursday photo prompt: Threshold #writephoto

 

 

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Image by scvincent.com

 

 

From inside the one they call the magician’s cave, it felt wrong.

On the other side of the small bay is the cave I always think of as his.

Where the fallen eagle with its beak touching the ground,

his wings guarding the threshold to a second cave.

One is full to the top with giant boulders, but on the other side of the giant beak, you can walk through to the sea.

Looking at this grand entry, with the Castle perched on top of the cliff, was enough to send my mind reeling back into the past.

I could almost see the magician sitting on one of the giant boulders, as I had done. It has been said that he was trapped by his love for a woman, and gave her his secrets. They say no man can free him, maybe a woman can?

I have searched all of these caves, one so beautiful it was worth the climb. I found myself standing inside a green jewel.

However, magic is not to be found inside a hollow cave.

On this small beach stands a large solid rock. I stood there wondering, is his soul alive inside. Does he want to be found?

Has he learned not to give away all his secrets? Could someone find the key to release him?

I doubt it, for love makes fools of us all…

AAAAA

writephoto

My Queen… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

My Queen…

My Celtic Queen, she does return

a horse of white, its mane in flight

the wind picks up her flame red hair

She looks for family lost in the fight

Her crown lies broken, her spirit bright

She means to mend the wrong

that Rome had done.

The cold grey mist hides all from sight

She goes by the sound of horse’s battle

clashing swords

Battle ready she fights once more

to find her crown still broken as before…

AAAAA

#Writephoto ~ Bright #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Bright #writephoto

 

 

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Image by scvincent.com

 

Waiting

 

The woodland at the back of my house is a place I visit often. Today I noticed a bright pillar of light swaying as if windblown. There were shadows dancing, whispered voices, children playing.

The children in the light wait to be born. My mother and grandmother told me the same tale, but I never expected to see it. I could sit here forever watching, wanting to hold it in my mind. I may not be lucky enough to see it again.

Two hours I sat, before going home, where my wife told me she was pregnant.

Floored by the news, telling my wife of my experience, I had to wonder, had one of those dancing shadows waited to make me a father?

I like to think so…

AAAAA