A Falling Autumn… Mindlovemisery Menagerie ~ #Poetry

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. by Albert Camus

Catch a falling autumn 
leaf for good luck
Bite into a crisp apple
As if for the first time
In the garden of Eden
Let Spring wash over you
See every flower grow in slow motion
Walk through the seasons a second time
When every falling maple leaf
Becomes a wish in dreaming…

©AnitaDawes2022

A Dream Space… #Poetry

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay ~ Poem by A Dawes

A Dream Space

Inside time there is a dream space
Never has there been a time like now
For dreams to come true
Afraid to sleep, don’t be
Memories fade into shadows
Often repeated in a new life
Under warm covers, you must dream it first
So that you can be reborn...

©AnitaDawes2022

Colleen’s #Poetry Challenge ~ #Specific Form ~ 4-11 ~ #Dreaming

Image by Pexels from Pixabay 

Will we meet again
When I’m dreaming
My heart beats loud
Like the ocean
Rushing to shore
Searching for you
Are you dreaming
Waiting for me
Hold the dark nights
I’m on my way
Will we meet again?

©AnitaDawes2022

Awake… #Poetry

Wake up, you’re not dead
You’re dreaming
The ghosts you see had their time
My bones ache from walking
I see new faces through the fog
They smile, then vanish
It’s as if I’m walking from room to room
Families seated at their dinner tables
Then the screaming starts
Drumming against my ear
Then I could see the bodies, heaped in a pile
The screaming came from the women
Their mouths a giant O
Their eyes blank white orbs
I wake to my own screaming
So glad I was only dreaming…

©AnitaDawes2022

The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 532 ~ #Poetry

I ignore the sign
Rush towards the crossroads
Trembling, I stand
Unable to choose
Thoughts dip in and out
I let them pass, no use
How can I pick the right road?
Toss a coin, heads you lose
I feel the flow of blood
Rush to my head
I linger too long
Chasing old dreams
I drift toward the right-hand path
My thoughts drifting after me
They fray like old cotton on a slow draft
My path chosen, I let my legs
Take me where they will…

©AnitaDawes2021

Dreaming…

Image by Syaibatul Hamdi from Pixabay

I have been told that thinking is a dangerous thing to do at my age.  It is possibly a dangerous thing to do at any age if you think about it, for who knows where it may lead?

I quite like thinking, and all the things that trigger it off. Like books and pictures for instance. What I could do with is a method of keeping said thoughts, as they usually evaporate like so much smoke, never to be seen again. I make notes on everything in a vain hope of remembering all the good stuff, and it works most of the time.

Then I am told ‘what do you expect, at your age?’

But this is the difficult part. My mind does not feel old, even though it seems to have more holes in it than my favourite cheese, and when I see or read something that stirs my imagination, I am back in my prime, having a sneaky feeling that this is not all there is for me.

Some of the time I must admit I really don’t want any more, I am too tired to even consider the possibility. Then there are the other days– when you forget just how old and how stiff you are. That you find it difficult just going to the shops and back.

Days when you choose to ignore the sands of time slipping through your fingers and find yourself considering the most amazing possibilities.

Of course, this may be what happens as you approach old age. I don’t know, I have no experience or knowledge of it, not having done it before.

But if you can think, you can dream. And if you can dream, I believe you can do anything… at any age!

I have been struggling to finish the fifth book in my crime/mystery series. Although I am three quarters finished, the sneaky feeling that there might be something wrong just won’t go away.

It gets worse. 

I have been waking up in the early hours, thinking about the story. This has been going on for weeks now and last night I dreamed about it. In the dream, my hero and my villain changed places for some reason.

I wanted to know about temporary and easily changeable hair colourants. None of this made any sense to me, all my book needed, I think, is a substantial edit to tighten up the plot. But it did get me thinking. 

Could my choice of villain be all wrong? This could be why my hero was a bit lack lustre too. The whole premise could be askew. Anita and I had a brainstorming session to try to make sense of it all, and although we came up with some interesting ideas, they all involved major rewriting. No mean feat when you are 60.000 words in already.

I should be feeling devastated, and not sure why I’m not. The problem may or not be sorted, but whatever happens, it is doable. So that old post was right after all. If you can dream, you can do anything…