The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle #544 ~ #Poetry

My tongue in spite
Could split an atom
Letters written in a book
Would be unreadable
There’s an ugly face
Ready to drag me into hell
No candlelight vigil
To save my soul
All roadways barred
By a giant barrier
Can I climb over,
Run from death
Will the rose memento
In my breast pocket
carry me through?


The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 518 ~ #Poetry

I watch the yellow leaves of autumn falling
On coming winter, carpets the land with new colour
My phone rings, down the line I hear the bad news
Late last night our pastor took a new journey
One not planned. His wheels hit a patch of oil
Sending his car over the bridge
Our small village gathered
Out tears mingled with the flowers we held
Candlelight flickered like dancing stars
We could feel our pastor reaching out
Touching the living, one last time
With his soft-spoken words…

© Anita Dawes 2021