The clock strikes the midnight hour
Birds sing in this snow filled empty space
Soon, smiling faces shall play there
For the next hour,
ghosts hold sway over this space
Laughing, remembering their days in the sun
Now snow, cold bites at their white fingers
Their laughter louder,
knocking snow from the leaves
Wind sweeps through the trees
Joining in their merriment
Hear, tiny voices can be heard
A whisper, will you remember us…
© anita dawes 2021
We really wanted Christmas to be special this year but could not possibly have foreseen what 2020 had in store for all of us.
For the first time ever, it feels right somehow that the year is slowly dying, slipping away unnoticed among all the chaos and misery.
We are feeling much the same way as the ghost of Christmas present hovers in the doorway like an unwelcome guest, unsure, as we all are as to what will happen next.
2021 is just a few days away, a brand-new year.
A year we were beginning to think would be the same as the last.
But does it have to be?
I woke up this morning with the overwhelming desire to send all the misery, worry and complacency packing along with this dreadful year.
To rekindle the spark that will make us all feel alive again.
At first, we will probably have to ‘Fake it until we make it’, push the envelope like crazy until life feels better.
We wish all of our friends and followers a Wonderful New Year, a year full of promise and possibilities, and in a few days’ time, we will be sending out the first of our 2021 newsletters, looking forward and planning a much better year for us and hopefully you too…
from Both of Us… Anita & Jaye
My tv controls are beside me on my side table
Every now and then, they crackle
As though someone is handling it
The phone too, makes the same noise
Today I had the tv controls beside me on the couch
There it goes again, someone touching it.
I got to wondering if the previous occupants are
Still living here with me and my family
Touching strange objects and wondering what they are
Do they sit and watch tv with me?
If so, they may realise what they are touching
Trying to change channels
I often have the controls beside my leg on the couch
We might be watching something long waited for
When the tv changes channels
I get, ‘Mum, I’m watching that!’ from my son
A sideways look from Jaye
I say it wasn’t me.
I didn’t touch nor did my leg
These are old cottages we live in, built in 1887
One last thought
The people living here must be very clean
For the bath creaks late at night
Could be their time is different to ours?
I don’t mind the noise,
It has been said that houses can speak to you
Do they also have the odd shadow
Passing you in the hall?
The creak of your bed, long after you have left it.
I have the feeling they know I don’t mind them being here
Sharing our space
After all, they were here first…
© anita dawes 2020
Buried Ghosts
Mountains high
Old dark scars
Black tar rivers run
High castle walls
Lords and Ladies having fun
Unearthly sounds split the night
Warning went unaided
Fools entered
Swallowed by dark inner walls
Never would angels enter
Indoor evil attracts its own
Walls scarred by sounds new, swell
Souls buried in old castle mortar
Too long they lie forgotten
Names scratched on walls
Calling out dates to remember
No visitors heeding
Their hearts unturned
By old news…
© anita dawes
Inside my Head
Welcome to my mind
The cold, dark, often empty place
Until the voices start
Then it’s as if I’ve been fed liquid bliss
The world inside becomes rainbow bright
People I have known all my life, changed.
I don’t recognise their shining faces
Their pleasant ways, so happy
Did they feed on an overdose of sugar pills?
Ghosts of their former selves
Wound up, let go, clockwork toys
The other side of the coin lets the dark out
I can see black clouds above their heads
I feel the need to run, but where to?
How to get outside my head?
Walking the streets I saw ghouls, ghosts
Floating above the people
They walk backwards in front of them
Trying to touch, teasing, pulling faces
Trying to get their attention
This is where my darkness lives
Inside my head
The dead watch me with envious eyes…
©anitadawes 2020
Image by scvincent.com
Blue purple clouds above the castle dark
My body lying in the silver water below
My soul trapped within black castle walls
I wait, a ghost you cannot see.
The chains that held me,
hang against damp walls
My tormentors long gone, a forgotten time
Damp walls pulse with remembered pain
There are few visitors to this dark place
They never come twice
Strange feelings creep into the skin
They carry them away for a few weeks
My hope is one visitor will see me
Hear my whispered voice
They can read about my plight
In a paperback novel.
I need someone sensitive
to the horrors of this place
to feel my presence
lay flowers on the silver waters outside
reunite soul and body, help me move on
to pray for the ghost, they cannot see…
Image by Pixabay.com
Ghosts
Singing
Old stories
Some yet untold
Sat by mother’s knee
In the telling made bold
Some will fill the world with joy
While others bring evil thoughts to bear
Growing in the dark places of your mind
Take you where Lucifer regained his crown…
