The photograph is from Anita Creations at DeviantArt.com.
For the visually challenged writer, the photo is of a woman with a pensive expression on her face as she sits upon a large, mossy rock deep inside a forest.
She was starving and very cold.
Her feet hurt, bleeding in several places from stumbling on the sharp stones scattered about in the woods. She didn’t know why she ran to this place every time her life became too hard to bear.
There were no answers here; she knew that. No help either. Just the soul-shattering proof that she really was lost and far beyond help.
She had been here so many times, always ending up feeling far more alone than ever. She strained her ears, hoping to hear a bird song or the stealthy movements of a passing creature, but there was nothing.
Maybe today, there would be a breath of wind to move the branches above her head, letting her know the world was still out there.
But this place seemed as dead as her soul.
As she stared at a large oak, the fallen leaves around the base of the tree began to move. So, something did live here, or were they merely visiting, like she was?
A small grey squirrel appeared as she watched, his tiny hands clamped around an acorn. He suddenly stopped, his fluffy tail twitching. He wasn’t looking in her direction. Did he know she was watching him?
He slowly turned his head and stared at her. His dark, beady eyes seemed to twinkle, and she wondered what he thought of her. He slowly nodded his head as if he heard the question, possibly acknowledging another lonely soul?
This thought caused her to look away in shame, and when she looked back, the squirrel had gone. That was when she realised he wasn’t lonely. He had a purpose.
These beautiful whale sharks are my favourite creatures in the ocean, bar none I am 75, and before I leave this earth, I will swim with them Whenever I see them on TV They look as though they are made of velvet, another of my favourite things, soft, sensual I hope to cross this off my bucket list soon I will say no more, or I will go on for days About their gentle beauty…
For the visually challenged writer, the image shows a man riding a bicycle on a bridge and there are tall buildings that are partially or mostly obscured by thick clouds reaching down to the ground.
The image is from MilosCreativeArt at DeviantArt.
Growing wild, running through cornfields Gran said my feet were on the ground, My head up in the clouds Lying in a field one day, I wondered how that would feel. The warm earth pulled me into a dream, Where I lived in a city in the clouds I tried telling myself to wake up. I was dying to tell gran how it feels Inside the cloud. It felt amazing. I need to let her know there is no problem Having your head among the clouds Please wake up. I pinch myself To burst the dream like a balloon I guess gran was right My head was in the clouds Now my feet have joined it there I hear myself screaming now Please, wake up!
For the visually challenged writer, the image shows a man dressed as a clown with a sad expression walking outside in a wintry storm.
His sad, painted face The only colour in a snow-covered field He shines out, like a strange fallen star Calling out for help Running from the circus From his cruel ring master Joey’s only wish is to find a place to call home To wash his face clean To let his heart love and be loved He has run many times, washed his face Only for the paint to return Leaving him with only the circus to call home Where he remembers selling his soul to be…
For the visually challenged writer, the photo shows a man wearing a fleece hoody walking through snowy woods and casually carrying a shotgun on his right shoulder.
Faceless hero, or menace? I could not tell The snow blinding my vision The sun gave him an eerie glow as he walked towards me My heart beat a tattoo against my ribs I turned to run when I heard the shot that crossed over my left shoulder In front of me, I could see a fallen wolf His hindquarters badly mauled His mouth a mass of white foam As if he had eaten a bag of marshmallows. A hero after all…
Worry is a terrible thing, it steals the quality of life from right under your nose, reducing your world into a place of doom and gloom. We have been sitting on a massive worry these past six months and have refused to start the new year until we had good news.
I have desperately tried to keep everything normal, finish my WIP and keep the website going, but have to admit it was a poor imitation of the real thing, and I apologise for that.
I have not been sharing much of this with our friends and followers and this may seem strange after all your incredible support when Anita had that massive heart attack in 2020. Your love and good wishes pulled us through that terrible time, but when disaster struck again last year, it seemed far more serious, and we really felt that talking about it might make it worse.
Anita’s heart is still severely damaged, and despite having two stents and a pacemaker fitted, it only barely functions. When a series of lumps started to appear around her neck last year, the alarm bells started ringing again.
Because of the raging virus and all the hospital delays, it took months to have the lumps investigated. The consultant mentioned cancer and after deliberation, they finally decided to remove part of her thyroid. Surgery was a problem as they didn’t think her heart was strong enough, but they said that delaying it was not an option.
A nightmare time for all the family, especially Anita for she can’t abide hospitals at the best of times. My sister has never been ill and to be struck down by two life threatening illnesses almost at the same time seems very unfair. She made it through the surgery without incident, but we had to wait two agonising weeks to get the results of the tests.
By this time, we were all terrified and sick with worry, dreading the news.
The day of the appointment, I felt sick to my stomach but somehow kept a smile on my face. I think I held my breath when she was called into the consultants office, but five minutes later the door opened and she rushed out of the room, a massive smile on her face. We watched in amazement as she ran out of the ENT department to a standing ovation from the nurses.
By this time, we knew the news must be good, but I wanted to know how good. Just before we all reached the lifts, I caught her arm and made her stop walking. ‘Well,’, I said and waited.
She stood there and laughed at me, and I didn’t think she was going to say anything.
‘THERE IS NO CANCER,’ she shouted.
All the way home in the car, she kept saying those words, and her relief was wonderful to see. Despite the odds, her poor old ticker had survived the surgery and she was cancer free.
But four days later, we had to rush back to the hospital, as Anita was having trouble breathing. She is now back home, but it seems that worrying isn’t going anywhere after all.
She is looking better, although still very weak and breathless much of the time. The list of her medications grows ever longer, but … and you may have noticed this, none of what happened has stopped her writing her poetry.
Now all I have to do, is get my own head back together!
No men allowed; this is where we chill. Away from male restraints, macho thoughts, ego swagger. Here we can fantasise about what waits over the mountains. One voice will say, from the fat to the frying pan. I see a world of peace. No need to prove anything here. My friend sees a world of fairy tales where you can be what you want. Change it from day to day, minute to minute if you wish. Yet not one of us would step away from our paradise island, our home…
For the visually challenged writer, the painting shows a woman sitting at a table in a restaurant or diner. A man is sitting at an adjacent table and seems to be staring at her.
Early morning, she waits for her breakfast order, Illuminated by sunlight. The man opposite is looking at the young couple at the table opposite her, holding hands across the table. They lean in for a kiss. He is watching people stroll by the large window. The young lady in the blue dress sees none of this, she appears to be lost in thought. He watches as a young girl loses her glove, no one noticing. A cheeky young chap waves, as he passes with his mother. instinct made him lift his hand to wave back. All the time wondering why the young lady, Lost in thought, takes no notice of the life around her…
For the visually challenged writer, the photo shows two sets of parallel railroad tracks heading toward a pedestrian walkway that crosses over the tracks.
Scoop out a large plot of land
Lay down your iron tracks
The journey planned through forest green
Birds song on wire above
Do you notice the time shift as you slide under the bridge?
The slight curve that shifts your body to the right.
For the visually challenged writer, the photo is of a human skull placed on top of an old book. To the left is an hourglass and to the right is a single smoldering candle in a glass candleholder.
Worry is a terrible thing, it steals the quality of life from right under your nose, reducing your world into a place of doom and gloom. We have been sitting on a massive worry these past six months and have refused to start the new year until we had good news.
I have desperately tried to keep everything normal, finish my WIP and keep the website going, but have to admit it was a poor imitation of the real thing, and I apologise for that.
I have not been sharing much of this with our friends and followers and this may seem strange after all your incredible support when Anita had that massive heart attack in 2020. Your love and good wishes pulled us through that terrible time, but when disaster struck again last year, it seemed far more serious, and we really felt that talking about it might make it worse.
Anita’s heart is still severely damaged, and despite having two stents and a pacemaker fitted, it only barely functions. When a series of lumps started to appear around her neck last year, the alarm bells started ringing again.
Because of the raging virus and all the hospital delays, it took months to have the lumps investigated. The consultant mentioned cancer and after deliberation, they finally decided to remove part of her thyroid. Surgery was a problem as they didn’t think her heart was strong enough, but they said that delaying it was not an option.
A nightmare time for all the family, especially Anita for she can’t abide hospitals at the best of times. My sister has never been ill and to be struck down by two life threatening illnesses almost at the same time seems very unfair. She made it through the surgery without incident, but we had to wait two agonising weeks to get the results of the tests.
By this time, we were all terrified and sick with worry, dreading the news.
The day of the appointment, I felt sick to my stomach but somehow kept a smile on my face. I think I held my breath when she was called into the consultants office, but five minutes later the door opened and she rushed out of the room, a massive smile on her face. We watched in amazement as she ran out of the ENT department to a standing ovation from the nurses.
By this time, we knew the news must be good, but I wanted to know how good. Just before we all reached the lifts, I caught her arm and made her stop walking. ‘Well,’, I said and waited.
She stood there and laughed at me, and I didn’t think she was going to say anything.
‘THERE IS NO CANCER,’ she shouted.
All the way home in the car, she kept saying those words, and her relief was wonderful to see. Despite the odds, her poor old ticker had survived the surgery and she was cancer free.
But four days later, we had to rush back to the hospital, as Anita was having trouble breathing. She is now back home, but it seems that worrying isn’t going anywhere after all.
She is looking better, although still very weak and breathless much of the time. The list of her medications grows ever longer, but … and you may have noticed this, none of what happened has stopped her writing her poetry.
Now all I have to do, is get my own head back together!
Time has taken its toll on book and soul. The candle has gone out The egg timer no longer flows The devil called with death on its tail Its quota must be met. Those dodgers of time must be caught They’re messing with the universal vibration Their presence is abhorrent They make no attempt to cloak their actions Their aliveness A slap in the face of the universal plan Each story must be told as written The hole in the net must be mended For death to breathe a sigh of relief For he too can die again…
Grandad’s aged worn hands Counting his shrapnel Saving for his granddaughter’s birthday Remembering the days when his time Would have been spent Looking in shop windows for her gift These days he is trapped Telling himself he will see her soon As they both gaze through their windows Looking at the same moon…
Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie 