#Flights of Fancy: The Gift #Poetry

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The Gift

I found a pebble in my shoe today

How it got there I cannot say

A little blue pebble to call my own

I am sure it needs me to bring it home

I placed it on my windowsill

Where the sun will shine

A magic eye, my young son said.

By morning it was beside my bed

No one said they moved it there

No matter, I said. It did not move there by itself

It seems to roam where it may please

Where I place it, it stays not long.

My husband said to throw it out

I made him swear to touch it not

Magic comes by cosmic hands

It’s not for me to understand

To know it is meant for me alone

I like this magic in my home

To question why, would blow the magic out…

©Anita Dawes

Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge #Etheree #Poetry

This week, Anita has excelled… not just an ordinary Etheree for Colleen’s Challenge, she has attempted a double Etheree poem! I am impressed, how about you?

 

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Double Etheree:  TIME

Soul

empty

Lost dark star

hands held slow dance

Love song remembered

Time flies and we grow old

Dark empty space left behind

To love lost long ago, tears shed

Slow handheld time rhythm left alone

Let no soul remain to cry at windows

As I am passing by this empty life

I stand all alone to shed my tears

Tears shed too long in fruitless pain

Vacant phantom I once said

Sunken life is depressed

Void the empty shell

I left outside

incomplete

searching

done

©Anita Dawes

 

#Flights of Fancy: Wings #Poetry

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Wings

On eagle’s wings, I fly at night

My love denied.

She sleeps below

An aged curse keeps space apart

A stone I’ll drop on waters shine

To break the spell, to make her mine…

Don’t lie beside me, cold and dead

Don’t leave those words unsaid

Don’t let love seep beneath the floor

I am the same as I was before…

©Anita Dawes

 

#Wednesday Writer: Nine Lives by Jaye Marie Chapter22 #MysteryThriller

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Chapter Twenty-two

Jack Holland couldn’t shake the image of the old woman from his mind. The way she had looked at him replayed repeatedly in his head, making him believe she knew what he was about and what he had done. Normally, he had the greatest respect for old age. If you made it that far, he thought, you must be worth something. She had looked at him knowingly and he didn’t like it.

What if she mentioned him to Kate? She might just assume some old women sometimes create suspicion in order to make their lonely lives more interesting, but the seeds of worry were growing.

Could she have seen anything else? One sighting might be dismissed, but had she seen him on other occasions too?

He prided himself on always being vigilant on his frequent visits to Kate’s flat, but the idea of a nosy old woman unable to sleep at night who might have been at her window had not occurred to him.

Now it ate at him. The woman’s face haunted him; sneered at his stupidity until he was convinced she would tell Kate everything and ruin his chances. He couldn’t have that. The thought of Kate finding out and running away from him again didn’t bear thinking about.

 

It took careful planning to keep both women under observation and not be seen by either of them and in a way, he was enjoying himself. He imagined he could be a secret agent on a mission of grave urgency. Down to him to do whatever was necessary to put the world straight.

His world, that is. Nothing would be allowed to get in the way of his quest to get Kate back to where she had always belonged.

The fact it had been so long now and Kate had shown no sign of missing him, had not entered his mind. It had tried to, and he had dismissed the thought as unworthy of a man in his position. He had to get her back, nothing else would do and he was so desperately tired of waiting. He was also tired of all these interferences and still fervently believed he would win in the end, once he had eliminated every distraction. He would make her need him again, one way or another.

He had invested in a small ex-electricians van, complete with a colourful logo on the side in which to conduct his surveillance. Nobody looked twice at a tradesman’s vehicle and he felt less conspicuous than he assumed Kate’s brother did, in his shabby old car. He could sleep in there if the need arose. It was a convenient arrangement and quite fitted his image of detective-hood.

She was a sweet old woman, he thought. She kept herself busy, popping up to the shops several times a week. Remarkably agile for one of her age, although he suspected she could be a nasty piece of work should the need arise. He had witnessed the way she treated the postman when he tried to post an armload of junk mail through her letterbox. He kept getting a mental picture of one of those small annoying Jack Russell dogs, busily tearing a rabbit to shreds, reminding him he had to be more than careful with this one.

Having to watch two people at the same time was a new experience for him and was proving to be exhausting, as he had no idea what either of them would do. The strain was becoming annoying and he knew he would have to take a risk soon, as he had visions of sitting in the van forever and that wouldn’t do at all.

The right time arrived just when he was prepared to risk everything by forcing the situation his way. It was Saturday morning and Kate had gone out. The old woman’s front door opened and she came out with a bucket in her hand and started to clean the windows.

It was the perfect scenario, he couldn’t have wished for better. He casually crossed the road, looking out for any nosy parkers and slipped inside the open door.

When the old woman came back inside and closed the door, she didn’t seem at all surprised to see him sitting in her living room. She just stood quietly in the doorway, waiting for him to speak.

He was in no hurry to tell her anything, in fact, he might not say anything at all. Pointless anyway, she couldn’t possibly understand just how important his mission was. He noticed she was nervously plucking at the handle of the bucket, trying not to look at him. It was almost as though she knew why he was there, and that was ridiculous.

After what seemed like an eternity, the old woman finally moved. She walked past him to the kitchen and he heard her rinse out the bucket and put it away.

He stood up and followed her, grabbing her by the elbows and throwing her to the floor. He had no real plan of action, no thought as to how to be rid of her, but he had no idea how strong an old woman could be. He had fantasied that the mere sight of him might have done it, but she was looking up at him, fiercely defiant blue eyes determined to see through whatever was coming. He took her head in his hands and contemplated crushing her skull. It didn’t feel strong. Her hair was soft against his fingers and he paused for a moment.

‘Shame about this, old girl, but no good ever came of being nosy, now did it…hmm?’

Then the sweet old woman with the soft hair and defiant eyes became an obstacle once more, something that had to be removed.

He closed his eyes and lifted her head away from the blue patterned lino. Her hands were clutching desperately at his sleeves, fluttering like birds wings. He thought of Kate, and how much he missed her, and the familiar mist seeped into his brain as he pounded the woman’s head against the floor repeatedly until her eyes closed and she stopped breathing. He left her lying there and went back to his van…

 

 

The Power of Believing…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

I have always been fascinated by dragons since I was a child, where myths and dragons were the order of play. Maybe there is a Welsh strain in my DNA somewhere!

I have a small stone plaque with a skeleton on it that I bought years ago when I was in Cornwall.  I really should move there, I love the place so much, but there is a problem. I can’t for the life of me decide which I like best, Cornwall or Wales. Decisions, decisions!
This plaque is supposed to have the bones of a baby dragon embedded on it, but it’s probably some kind of lizard. Most of the time I prefer to believe that it is real.

As writers, fantasy is basically what we are about, so I think I more than qualify!

Enough of all this dragon whimsy, and back to the subject of this weeks post.

Is there some kind of power in believing? I must admit I have a certain amount of trouble believing most things at face value, and that probably makes me sadly lacking somehow, or just stupid?
Surely not.
Why can I believe there were once dragons on this planet, but have trouble believing what people swear to me is the truth?

It does depend on the person of course. There are some people I wouldn’t believe if they swore on a stack of bibles, but when my granddaughter tells me that she loves me and that I am wonderful, I tend to believe her! But honestly, I think it must boil down to our common sense. I think that if something seems logical, it is probably true. Or is that just my stupid brain?

I recognise that I have a problem in this department and I blame all the people who have lied to me in the past. Too many, I fear.

It is astonishing the things we do insist on believing. Like I choose to believe that my writing will get better if I work at it hard enough.

And maybe it will, simply because I believe it…

©Jaye Marie

#Flights of Fancy: Lifted…

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Lifted

Beneath the crown lies his head

He blessed the world to make it new

Did we listen to the words he said?

Do we pray for those in need?

Do we let life squeeze us dry

And walk on by?

Am I my brother’s keeper

His burden should I lift?

My footsteps grow deeper

Ground depressed

My own burdens are heavy

With his, I cannot rest.

These words were spoken long ago

To one you help along the way

To you, my blessings will be sent

Your burdens lighter along life’s path

I carry it before you to light the way…

©Anita Dawes

Flights of Fancy: Dream…

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Dream

I need a dream to wrap my head around

The kind that angels bring with love and light

To let the new day in.

A dream to say you walk beside me every day

And if I fall, you will catch me

You won’t let life break me.

You are the wind that bends the trees

My shield against the rain.

I can take my life back, for with you I am whole again

I walk tall, sidestepping the rocks along the way

You are my love, I will never be alone again…

©Anita Dawes

 

#Wordle Puzzle 373

 

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Locked In

My life has only just begun

Yet I am stuck between two worlds.

I have a need to forget, to alter my thoughts

This ordinary cafe where the waiters sing

Let me in, with no way out

Mother told me never to hit

“Talk, let them see you.”

She has no idea, the mood

Of those that hold me here.

I smell revenge, the air thick

With a need to spill blood, my blood

My will is weak. I have no strength to act

I need a weapon to fight for freedom

This is not my world

Whitewashed walls, pills to make me sleep

Sunlight blinds these walls of white

But my mind can see the place to be.

Outside, I see my mothers smile

She sits in shade beneath our tree

That father planted when I was five.

My world is there, by her side.

Voices tell me she is not there

I took her life when I was ten.

Can this be a dream that keeps me locked in?

I pray that fate will not charge me to live it over again…

©Anita Dawes

Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday Poetry Challenge

Today, it is Anita’s turn to try an Etheree poem…

These look complicated, but really easy once you get the hang of it.

A ten line poem, beginning with a one syllable word, and ending with  words of ten syllables. Full instructions on Colleen Chesebro’s website

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Cold

Dark sound

Two ghost hands

Waiting by the

Old golden bandstand

Still, no sound to be heard

Lights and music once they played

People dancing while banging sticks

Lights out, no people dancing couples

Ghostly hands on drums sound, cold and empty…

©Anita Dawes