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

#Jaye’s Journal ~ Week 49

Jaye's Journal x12

 

This week I have set myself the task of re-editing an old manuscript, one with the old-fashioned straight speech marks. I did try to find a way to remove/replace them with curly ones, with no luck. At least, not on the version of Word I am using.

There must be a way to do this, but the advice I get from googling the problem seems impossible to implement. So, unless someone knows an easy way to do this, I am destined to be doing it by hand for the next six months!

Changing the subject to something a little closer to my heart, I have to report that Autumn is happening rather slowly outside my back door where most of my bonsai trees are taking their sweet time to drop their leaves.

Which turned out for the better really, for me that is, as it gives me more time to clear up after the ones that have obliged. Because it has become so cold out there, I am having to cut my trips outside short as my hands get so painful even with gloves on, which means I am having trouble keeping up with everything.

Normally, my trees drop their leaves quite quickly and I can get them all tidied up and bedded down in one afternoon. But this extremely cold weather is playing havoc with all things garden related.

The grass is getting longer by the minute but cannot be cut as it’s much too wet. There is going to be such a backlog to catch up on come Spring as most of my trees will need repotting by then too.

On one of my lightning trips outside, I happened to notice the state of some of the bonsai shelving. The wood is rotting, the brackets are rusting and the wall these shelves live on desperately needs a coat of paint too, so the list of outstanding jobs is getting longer.

This year, through no fault of my own, I have not been a very good gardener, that’s my story and I’m sticking with it, so next year I have a lot of work to do once the good weather returns…

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I love having guests on the blog. If you have a new release, a sale or just want to chat, send me an email via the contact page and we’ll set something up. Hope to see you soon!

Freedom… #Poetry

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Freedom

Gipsy winds painted caravans

Horses that shine like shoe polish

A way of life that many frowns upon

others secretly wish they had

I am talking about true Romany pride

The open countryside they leave clean

like the homes they live in

to be caged by four walls

a death sentence

much the same as it was

for the American Indians.

I would love to go back to a time

when we take only what we need,

to run wild with the buffalo

and live free with nature.

Not just in small increments.

To chase that open road.

Alas, I can only dream…

aaaaa

Is it a Plane?

 

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Image from Pixabay.com

I had awoken before dawn again and stood at my window, searching the velvety night sky for the first signs of dawn. That barely perceptible lightening of the blackness that seems to happen almost without warning.

I found myself staring at a star, defiant in its lingering and as I watched, it seemed to be moving. My eyes must still be clinging to sleep for it couldn’t possibly be moving.

But it was.

So very slowly, it crept across the sky. I strained to see if it could be a plane but could see no flashing lights. As I watched, mesmerised, it seemed to grow bigger, which meant it was getting closer to me. I stared at the star, desperate to see what it could possibly be.

When the flashing lights appeared, I knew it must be a plane, or maybe a helicopter. But wait a minute. I counted several flashing lights all in a row and as far as I knew, planes didn’t.

Fascinated, I kept watching. The sky was beginning to lighten, revealing the outline of the craft. It did look like a plane now, but not one I recognised and far too small for a commercial airline. It glided slowly past my window, all the lights twinkling like a Christmas tree until I couldn’t see it anymore…

©jayemarie

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

To Be or not to Be?

 

This morning, as I was reading the news on my PC, there was an article about recognising the signs of Alzheimers or dementia, and as I am constantly being told that I am well on my way to having one or the other, I gave it a read.

I suppose it was inevitable at my age, 75, for the remarks to start,  because I must admit I am nothing like I used to be. (Sssh, don’t tell anyone I said that!)

 For instance:

… How many times do I forget what I am doing, or what I was going to do?

… How many times do I ask the same question or misunderstand the answer?

… How many attempts to find the right words to express myself.

… Are my mood swings more pronounced? Although personally, despite public opinion, I think I am having more good moods lately.

… Am I have trouble learning new skills? (This is not exactly new, I have always been a bit dense, but I get there in the end!)

But on the good side:  (That I managed to find a few of these pleased me no end!)

I haven’t yet got lost in the street. (Although I did recently forget my dentist appointment)

I haven’t yet staggered down the road, waving my knickers in the air. (And I hope I never do, but it could happen apparently!)

I haven’t lost interest in any of my projects or hobbies. Just the time I need to do them!

I can still do sums in my head and follow a plot. (More or less!)

I have begun to worry less about our progress, but do wonder if this is down to losing the plot!

One of my main accusers is also displaying some of these telltale signs, so it is probably only a matter of time for either one of us falls foul to the disease of the aged…  This isn’t a competition I intend to win, however…

All joking aside, I am becoming a little concerned about the state of my brain. At first, it was amusing and on a good day, it can be hilarious, watching myself do the most stupid of things. Like going out for a walk without any shoes on, or forgetting to switch on the washing machine/computer/iron/oven and wonder why nothing happens. One of the best was wondering why the kettle didn’t quite fit in the fridge. Even I had to laugh at that one.

All of this is beginning to affect my writing too, despite all the notes I make, and the frantic checking to find what I actually wrote yesterday.

I still get a satisfying buzz when I achieve something or reach my daily total, but the extent of my elation is in itself alarming. I am having to work in short bursts, and this is playing havoc with my productivity!

The Book Tour for Silent PayBack is nearly over, and we have been overwhelmed by the amount of support and good wishes we have been receiving! So huge thanks to everyone involved!

The price will rise on Thursday, so if you don’t have your copy yet, you don’t have long!

 

 

 

Are We Afraid of Tomorrow? #Poetry

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AFRAID OF TOMORROW

I am afraid of tomorrow, of what it might bring

Of a hunger for things unseen, yet unknown

A feeling that something interferes with your thoughts, your plans

That something watches, waiting for you to mess up

Take the wrong road.

Spend too much time on things that go nowhere.

There are days when the world around you

Feels as though it is made of treacle

Each step you take, your feet gather more of the sticky stuff

Until you feel as if you are wearing lead boots.

Tomorrow comes; the sun shines through your window

Birdsong filters through your sleeping mind.

Today you believe in angels

You put the lead boots in the cupboard

Open the window and let the new day in

Let the soft summer breeze carry yesterday’s dark thoughts away…

Anita Dawes

Jaye’s Journal ~ Week 39

 

Jaye's Journal x12

 

Where I find out just how patient I can be

After having both cataracts removed from my eyes over the last few months, I have waited patiently for them to heal. In many ways, this was not a pleasant process.

My vision gradually became so much clearer and the increased amount of housework I have been doing will bear testimony to this. (the house is a lot cleaner now, as I tackle all the grime that I haven’t been able to see before, with or without glasses)

This new development is ironic in a way, and only serves to emphasise the fact that I still cannot see that well to read or use the computer.

I will still need glasses for close work, but until my eyes have healed, I must wear my old ones which aren’t working any better than before. In fact, my eyesight seems worse when I wear them as the prescription is wrong.

Doing anything became a tiring and depressing struggle as my new eyes constantly fought against them, and I couldn’t wait to get them changed.

Waiting to see my optician has been a frustration I could have done without, but finally the day arrived.

She was impressed by the level of improvement in my eyes and declared that my distance vision was now 20/20. My near vision has also improved substantially too, and I will need a much weaker prescription.

All of this was wonderful news, of course, but now I must wait for these new glasses to be ready, but eventually, the waiting will be over.

Talking about waiting…

I am having a little trouble organising the launch sequence for my new book, Silent PayBack, and if I don’t get my act together soon, I will miss the opportunity of successfully marketing it before Christmas. It has been the wrong time to finish a book, what with everything that has been going on (or not going on, if you see what I mean!)

It has taken me so long to edit and do all the necessary stuff that most of the joy has fizzled out along the way. I have been running on stubborn determination most of the time, I can tell you!

Right now, I am wrestling with the content of my launch newsletter that will coincide with the pre order date. I have been trying to understand the finer points of Mailchimp, the people who hold our subscriber list, but it seems the harder I try, the further away the answers get. Something I have never understood, so no change there!

Once, I did attempt to change to Mailerlite, who are supposed to be more user friendly, but didn’t get past the sign-up page. Now, I’m not stupid, (says she confidently) I can sometimes be slow to grasp the finer points but usually manage to get there in the end.

 

Although, I get the sneaky feeling that this may be another aspect of growing old, whether I like it or not!