White Ghosts… #Poetry

 

Image by Ashish Bogawat from Pixabay

Grey clouds on white candy
Black clouds carrying heavy rain
Lovers kiss beneath outstretched umbrellas
Rain splashed pavements wait for blue skies
White prisms of light shine on polished leaves
Trees sway, shedding their last teardrops
The earth greedy with thirst
Eagerly swallows each tear
White ghosts painted on blue skies
Light souls shining through
Touching those below, covering
The earth with memory
Waiting to be remembered
Grey clouds dropping rain
Showering the earth with secrets
Children splash in puddles
As other feet did years ago
Lift your face to the clouds
Taste the rain upon your lips
Do you remember?
Does the taste of something lost come to mind?
Clouds will bring the rain again.
Teasing you, daring you to remember
Secrets of the past hidden in each drop
Clouds pass, unseen by many below
Tilt your head, see the magic they make
The shapes and wonder of sky art…
White bleached clouds sail across blue skies
The day is washed clean as if by magic
Pink clouds hiding behind pillars of white
The day sails through to the purple hue of evening
All is well with my world…

© Anita Dawes 2021

 

#Writephoto ~ Antique ~ #Poetry

#WRITEPHOTO – Antique

#WRITEPHOTO – Antique
Antique – Image by KL Caley

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a collection of tables, chairs, lamps, baskets, teddies and other objects in quite a busy space.

How do we mark the passing of time?
Is it memory alone?
Do the visual prompts take us back?
Bring the past to life
At 75, am I considered an antique?
I certainly feel like one some days
With so many antique thoughts popping in mind
Wanting to live alongside me
Is it a reminder that the time I have left is too short?
So many empty chairs that were once loved
Put in pride of place
So many ghosts that have now gone
Do we still feel them when we sit in an antique chair?
Looking through the window
At once cherished items
I wonder, as I walk home carrying a small red vase
How will it speak to me?

© Anita Dawes 2022

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt ~ A Halloween Horror

Image by Gerhard G. from Pixabay

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Halloween – October 28, 2021

Image by Jazella from Pixabay

It was the night after Halloween and I imagined that all the ghosts, spirits and ghouls would be safely back where they belong.

The moon shone clear and bright and there were no bats or beasties to be seen. So why had I just spotted the face of a skeleton peering through my window?

I dismissed the accompanying chill, thinking it must be one of the neighbour’s children, unwilling to bin their costume and smiled at the thought.

Later that evening there was a knock on the door. I decided to ignore it, thinking the child was pushing his luck.

When they knocked again, I felt a pang of guilt, wondering if there really was a small child standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night. I peeked through the curtains but saw nothing but the tendrils of mist gently swirling through the streets.

The next morning, I opened the front door on my way to work to find a strange pumpkin on the step. As I stooped to pick it up, I saw the blood still dripping from the corners of the curved mouth…

© JayeMarie 2021

Bittersweet…

Image by (El Caminante) from Pixabay

I swallow my words, a slow-moving bitter taste.
Full of broken glass that burns my veins.
A storm raging inside, a fire that cannot be quenched.
Fuelled by anger, disappointment, loss,
a life lived too long.
The past doing what it does best,
haunting, stirring the mind to self-destruct.
Ghosts of those once loved smooth the sharp edges
of the hills and troughs dug by bitter memories.
It is better to have loved.
A life lived without is a hollow bubble.
The space inside too hard to handle.
So my friend if love is offered,
Take it, keep it safe.
Don’t live life in an empty bubble…

© Anita Dawes 2021

‘Fiction In A Flash Challenge 2021.’ Week #31 #IARTG #WritingCommunity #FlashFiction #Poetry

pexels-todd-trapani-1690405

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

The Last Newsletter of 2020…


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

Do they still live here?

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… #Poetry

Image by Martin Winkler from Pixabay

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