Fly Free… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Fly Free

I fly as far as I can

My crooked legs no longer hold me down

My secret place sets me free

Where my wheelchair has a sticker

Marked no entry

I breathe a different kind of air here

That says don’t walk on the grass

 But you do anyway

It feels soft under my feet

Here I walk in sunshine, shadow, summer rain

Here my legs work the way they were meant to

Here my soul is free. I fly until morning

My wheelchair safe beside my bed…

©anitadawes

Dreaming… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Dreaming

I am dreaming of a world I cannot see

Where love never dies

Where your eyes never fade with age

Where we walk with the heart of a child

Imagination ever in bloom

Where dark clouds have no way of forming

The sun shines at an even 72 degrees

Rain only falls at night

Where laughter is a soft breeze against your skin

But then again, I know I am only dreaming

Thunder wakes the air…

©anitadawes

The Tower… #Poetry

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Somehow, I found myself inside the Tower of London

There I was, prancing around, wearing the Queen’s crown

So splendid, magnificent, it felt like wearing new clothes

I could hear the ravens in their cages

They knew I was here. I wondered if the noise

Would alert the guards on their night patrol

I didn’t care. I felt dazzled by the beauty of her jewels

The security lights made each jewel dance

The colours jumping along with their own beauty

Why must such treasures be locked away?

The Hope diamond, rubies, sapphires

I wanted to take them all home with me

Knowing full well, I could never get inside the cabinet

Alarms would ring, I would be locked inside the Tower

A traitor to the Crown, yet here I am, wearing it

Looking at it at the same time.

I woke clutching a small sapphire

Had I brought something back from a dream?

I scanned the newspapers, not a mention of someone

Invading the Tower. No sapphire reported missing.

Somehow my love of splendid jewels had transferred one

Into my hand. Should I return it, risk being branded a criminal?

I think not, for it was a gift from the dream world…

©anitadawes

The Road Ahead…

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

This life holds the key to your next

Everything you think, say, do

Draws the new blueprint

Thing is, there is no way of knowing

What you are drawing

Are you dragging the past?

Like old baggage?

If so, let it go

Think differently, in order

To find that yellow brick road

Where you meet the dreams

You wanted in the first place…

©AnitaDawes

Mind Meld… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

In my hand I hold a key

Three golden gates stand before me

Past present and future

The key does not open the first two

The third opened easy

My future rushes past me

Like a drowning man

I grab for a life raft

I am wrapped around a fallen log

The green river carries me past

A city of glass domes

A row of houses with stained glass windows

Golden skinned people walking the streets

Going about their daily business

This is not the future I had planned

The river moved me on

Past lush green pastures

Rainbow coloured horses running free

An image from a child’s colouring book

But not where I should be

When I wake in the hospital bed

Having been knocked from my bike

I am saddened by the loss of images

My mind had carried me through

My future now, was waiting

For a broken leg to mend

And a story to write…

©AnitaDawes

Returning Life…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

Returning Life

What would you do if you found a message

In the talcum powder, you spilt by the bathroom sink

I live alone, and unless I am walking in my sleep

I cannot explain how the words, ‘help me’ written in the powder

I should have cleaned before I went to bed

I didn’t know who, or how to help

All day, I kept thinking, what kind of help do they need?

Next night I left powder by the sink, hoping they would say more

Early sunlight dragged me from my bed

I read the message, ‘Help me, I am not complete…’

Looking at my reflection in the mirror

Watching it fade to nothing

The last thing I heard was myself screaming

‘I am here, don’t take me back.

 Let me stay, I almost made it…’

AAAAA

Loves Dreaming… #Poetry

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

Loves Dreaming

 

When the lights go out, whose arms hold you in sweet embrace?

Do they feel like your partners? Don’t turn until morning

It could be loves dark memory from repeated dreaming

Does his breath on the back of your neck set your heart racing?

Do you long to turn, touch his lips to your own waiting desire?

Whose face will you find on the pillow beside you?

Which one of your lovers will make you turn, reach out in ecstasy?

Who wins the racing beat of your heart?

AAAAA

Dreaming of Another Life…

 

Dreaming sounds idyllic, doesn’t it?

All too often, it can be anything but. Not exactly nightmarish, but many weird confusing images that can make you feel uncomfortable.

You find yourself worrying about them, what do they mean? Is there a message there somewhere? Why do we dream?

Doctors and psychologists have come up with some interesting theories over the years, but do they really know?

Common sense would seem to suggest that it is just the brain sorting through the days images when we are asleep, and most of the time it does sound likely. But what about all those dreams that seem to mean something? Or those that seem to warn us of danger?

Then there are those that appear to predict the future, which then come true. What are we supposed to think about those?

Personally, I don’t dream much, not that I can remember anyway. The odd romantic fantasy about whomever I fancy at the time, but these are getting rarer. (unfortunately!)

Sarah Curtis, the lead character in Not My Life, is being driven slowly insane by upsetting and confusing dreams, where she seems to be someone else entirely. Someone very real and in a lot of trouble.

This excerpt picks up the story when Sarah has wandered into the woods and gets lost…

I didn’t know where to go, so I let fate lead me off towards the woods. I walked for a while, trying not to think of anything. I told myself I should be feeling the beauty of the place.
The trees in their splendid autumn colours, leaves falling here and there making little drifts under the trees. I had heard somewhere that to catch a falling leaf was supposed to bring good luck. I tried and it was impossible. They seemed to fall gently towards you, and then at the last minute, darted away on a capricious breeze.

Trying to catch one frustrated the hell out of me. I gave up and sat for a while on a dry log, eating some chocolate I found in my pocket. Then I realised I had no idea of where I was and it was getting dark. I should have brought a loaf of bread with me to leave a trail, like Hansel and Gretel.
I didn’t feel too afraid; they would find me sooner or later. And later might be better. I walked on between ever-thicker undergrowth, hoping it was the way out. That a path, any path, would appear soon.

I found myself in a clearing with a pool, large rocks and slow running water. My throat was dry enough for me to scoop up a handful and it was surprisingly good. Deciding I was definitely lost and too tired to walk any further, I gathered up as many fallen leaves as I could to lie down in, and buried myself for the night.

The temperature dropped considerably and my bed of leaves gave little warmth. I slept fitfully, dreaming of who I really was. A girl called Kelly. And Tommy, my four year old brother, who once again had been sent to the coal cellar as punishment for wetting his bed. It wasn’t his fault. Father had made him drink far too much water; he must have known he would wet the bed. And mother, she did nothing to stop his cruel games.
There had been times in the past when she did, only to be cruelly beaten herself, without saving Tommy or myself from whatever punishment he saw fit. I knew the house I was in, these people, my parents as well as my own skin. Yet there was another place with gentle people I could sense, but somehow couldn’t reach.

Soft cold rain washed the dream away and I awoke, alone on a bed of wet leaves. Lost, waiting to be found. Too tired to move. Too dark to try to find my way out. Morning couldn’t be too far away; I would try again then…

We would love some feedback for this book, and free review copies are available…

Victoria Cornwall, writer and dreamer…

Today we welcome Victoria Cornwall to our blog, to talk about her dreams and new book, ‘The Thief’s Daughter.’ We would like to welcome other bloggers/writers to came and talk about their dreams too…

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My Dream by Victoria Cornwall

We all have dreams, or something we would like to do before we die. I have had a few in my time, although the reality of achieving “the dream” does not always meet with my expectation. I remember the time I wanted to learn to play the guitar. The experience was far harder than I expected, left me with calloused finger tips and short nails on one hand and long nails on the other. Needless to say, I didn’t keep it up and soon forgot all I had learnt. However, I now hold great respect for people who can play a musical instrument. They make it look easy, but in reality it requires dedication, motivation and a passion for the instrument. Another dream I had was to own a horse. I eventually got one, but he was very unpredictable and dangerous to ride. The phrase, “Be careful what you wish for” came to mind as I picked myself up after being thrown off.

Of course I have had dreams that did work out for me. I wanted to be a published author, have a nursing career and to get married and have children. They weren’t unusual aspirations, just normal ones that anyone might have. I think I must be quite cautious as you won’t hear me saying I want to climb Everest (too cold), run a marathon (too much training) or live in the wilderness (well maybe the odd day trip, but I would want to go back to a hotel at night).

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The dream I have now is to take a six month trip of a lifetime to visit all the places that have always captured my imagination. I would like to enter The Tomb of Tutankhamun, marvel at the Taj Mahal and walk around the Colosseum in Italy. I want to feel the water spray from the Niagara Falls, fly over the Grand Canyon and marvel at the Terracotta Army and Great Wall in China. I’d like to go on a safari trip, swim in the Great Barrier Reef and visit the ruins of Pompeii. And I would like it all arranged and paid for by someone else. It’s rather a big ask, I know, but hey, it’s my dream and maybe, just one day, I will achieve it, even if the reality is that I will have to pay for it myself!

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the-thiefs-daughter

 

 

The Thief’s Daughter

Hide from the thief-taker, for if he finds you, he will take you away …

Eighteenth-century Cornwall is crippled by debt and poverty, while the gibbet casts a shadow of fear over the land. Yet, when night falls, free traders swarm onto the beaches and smuggling prospers.

Terrified by a thief-taker’s warning as a child, Jenna has resolved to be good. When her brother, Silas, asks for her help to pay his creditors, Jenna feels unable to refuse and finds herself entering the dangerous world of the smuggling trade.

Jack Penhale hunts down the smuggling gangs in revenge for his father’s death. Drawn to Jenna at a hiring fayre, they discover their lives are entangled. But as Jenna struggles to decide where her allegiances lie, the worlds of justice and crime collide, leading to danger and heartache for all concerned …

The Thief’s Daughter is published on all ebook platforms from 6th December.

Website: www.victoriacornwall.com

Twitter: @VickieCornwall

Facebook: www.facebook.com/victoriacornwall.author

Instagram: www.instagram.com/victoria_cornwallx

Pinterest: uk.pinterest.com/vickiecornwall

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