#Ghosts
The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 580 ~ #Poetry
Image by Jan Mallander from Pixabay
The dead don’t talk, they don’t play games They walk through doors Somewhere a chain to bind them to time Over time the stories have grown To keep the local boys from playing in the old mill House Many have entered and never returned The towns folk say it should be pulled down The sea has tried to reclaim the old mill house It stands perilously at the edge of the land If you visit the grave of Tommy Wilson You lose the power of free will To plead with your mind would be useless You enter the old mill house, never to be seen again… ©AnitaDawes2022
Midnight… #Acrostic Poetry
Image from Pixabay.com ~ Acrostic Poem by A Dawes 2022
The Rising Moon… #Poetry #Wordle 572 ~ TheSundayWhirl
We made love under the shadow of the rising moon The ghosts of our ancestors danced in celebration Nothing between us but time and space Angels watching in mute silence There is no way to break the spell To throw away our souls No way to give words to the moment… ©AnitaDawes2022
White Ghosts… #Poetry
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
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
Thoughts of You… #Poetry
Eugi’s Weekly Prompt ~ A Halloween Horror
Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Halloween – October 28, 2021
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
Tattooed by Time… #Poetry
Bittersweet…
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
Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie 