Moon Dust Late February, a cold moon hung in the sky I could feel moon dust in the air The stuff that dreams are made of Once in a while, a dream lingers Demanding to be remembered Turn the page to a darker side Nightmares can haunt for weeks When a walk in the woods becomes a horror movie When a hand shoots up from the ground Dragging you under through the roots On either side of the path, they whisper to each other A strange place where flowers grow in the dark Beautiful to look at, don’t touch they bite Being bitten by a rose is no fun Don’t go near the tall grass, they whip your skin Like an overgrown task master I expect to see welts on my skin when I wake Thank God, they are never there I am grateful for the night terrors Working on my mind Now, I have a new novel to write… ©AnitaDawes2022
Is it snowing where you are yet?
August 5, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about an open door. It can be literal or metaphorical. What is behind the door? Who is seeking and why? As the writer, how will you manage the discovery? Go where the prompt leads!
Honey, you left the door open
God’s doing that shining thing again
Does he still have the hump with you
For believing your own abilities?
For taking so many of his winged ones with you
What did he have to say?
The more I lift them up, to do their own thing
The more he will smite them
He is threatening floods, famine, plague
He has a nasty one up his sleeve
Says he’s been working on it for awhile
When the moment is right
He will arrange for a cock up
Many hands, but China will take the blame…
© Anita Dawes 2021