New Memories Our winter ski holiday, Years later, no more than a treasure A shadowy memory An element of toujours perdrix A sign to the past Together we navigate the slippery road ahead Crisp white winter Warm within, cold without Years slow the body, not the mind We sit, wait for mind and body to catch up To forget the wonderful winter holidays skiing Time to make new memories Slow, warm, indoor memories
© Anita Dawes 2021
I could see his blue sweatshirt was torn
The pain inflicted shone on his face
The vulgarity of it tore at my heart
There grew a longing to help
I noticed white feathers drop beside the young boy
Which told me an angel was watching over him
An old saying popped into mind
Trouble follows trouble
Is there a way to bluff your way through life?
Dodge fate?
Will he end up with butterflies and rainbows?
He lay on the park bench as people jostle by
I sit opposite, catching a glimpse of him
Like looking through a slatted window
His life in small slices
Is there a way to double his luck?
What a pity I am not his fairy godmother
I would take away the terrible fate I fear for him
I hope the white feather has some merit…
© Anita Dawes 2021
Walking towards the glowing archway
My sister said Phlegethon,
Watch out for fairies
She loved to throw out big words
It’s Sunday, mum thinks we are in church
I kick a tin can, bored
I wanted to smuggle my bike from the shed
Mum was watching from the kitchen window
I swear she is psychic
She knows how to dig things from my mind
I crack my knuckles
I yell to my sister not to step
into the triangle of flowers
Too late, I felt time flip. She was gone
I heard the whisper of her voice
Telling me it’s all right
The mellifluous voice
that followed her message
Sounded sickly sweet,
too smooth for my liking
What the hell am I to tell mum
Or does she know all ready?
© Anita Dawes 2021
Hands are made to touch, to feel sensation
Hot, cold, silk, satin, warm skin on a cold night
To give us music, to soothe another’s sorrow
To hold a new borne baby’s head, feel that tiny life
Remembering hands were not always so kind
Not so long ago they were in the dark ages
Now, hands we never get to see, grow food for us
Make the clothes on our backs
Shoes to stop the heat of the day
Burning through our soles
Best of all, are the hands that love you the most…
© Anita Dawes 2021
I struggle with the amount of elbows
That poke me in the back, the side
I wish someone could save me from public transport
Last week, I almost found myself on the floor
With the rush of elbows
When did they become weapons?
It is most disconcerting being beaten up
By a well-dressed warrior
Someone else overheard my remark
I had not meant to speak out loud
The daily struggle is too much
I need a new direction in life
Heaven knows what I can do
The corrosion in my life
Help me to follow a better tune
Checking my savings account
My tiny flat is paid for
So, I can see I have enough for about a year
Can I write a number one bestseller in that time?
Don’t ask, do…
© Anita Dawes 2021
I believe in the other side
Whether you can see it or not
It is always there, like dust motes
That float, no matter
how many times you clean the house?
As you walk through the room
You see them,
caught in a light beam from the window.
You never feel them touch your cheek
Unlike the remote seduction
That had me lip biting, dizzy with feelings
I cannot define, my breath shallow
Body tremble, shattering sound
The supply of pleasure beyond words
Behind the mask, a guttural sound
A voice full of gravel
Shattering all illusion
I am awake now…
© Anita Dawes 2021
The dishonourable so and so
Standing on the sidewalk
With that cocky look on his face
So sure of his self
Believing most folk will forget his misdeeds.
I wear the crystal he gave me.
He was someone I loved.
The chains he wove have fallen from me.
I am no longer cramped, hiding in corners.
Awareness floods my being.
I have no need to search my mind,
Looking for ways to blame myself.
His lofty platitudes fall on the ground behind me,
Where they vanish like fallen leaves
Picked up by the wind…
© Anita Dawes 2021
Dancing in the dark, beneath the new moon
I spot a tiny distant star
First star at night, I make my wish
Let life never end
Let my life go on forever
Let moonlight enter each new life
Let the mystery of moonlight live on
Teaching magic in subtle ways
Let me forever dance beneath
This mysterious light…
© Anita Dawes 2021
The shape of wind
Looked like a greasy bacon sandwich
I heard the scream of excitement
As the float passed us on new easy wheels
That stayed on this time
Looking over the heads of the crowd
I could see the return
of the shirtless man in apartment 3B
I have been told that nothing good
Comes of his beautiful body on display
through his window for all to see
Don’t let his smile fool you
He breaks hearts like others collect stamps
There is value in stamps, you get nothing
For a broken heart…
© Anita Dawes 2021
Mahdie Farhadkiaei
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!
Stuck between the tick and the tock
The Joker plays his final hand.
It was bound to happen, wedged between the pack
The two cards merge under the Jokers spoken word
Lovers from the beginning,
Nothing would have kept them apart.
The Joker, thinking he has done them wrong
To mess up the pack, to pay the many hands back
For leaving him out of the games they play
He has done those broken souls a favour,
Bringing them together
A spell once woven, is rarely broken when love is true.
Turn the card over
to read the final words the Joker spoke to seal the deal.
Off with their heads!
© Anita Dawes 2021
Shades of Paliarchi?
Anita Dawes and Jaye Marie 