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

Who Are You? #Poetry

Image by Ri Butov from Pixabay

Who are you?

I hear the voice, as if someone walks one step behind me
The words unformed, the sound of an angry bee caught in a web
I turn, face the empty street
Keeping my voice low, I ask, who are you?
“I am your shadow, here inside you
Where no light shines.
Most of your life you have taken no notice of me
As if I don’t exist.”
My shadow is nothing more than a trick of the light
“You think so? I am here to tell you I can be free of you.
Let someone tread on your shadow, while you continue to walk away
You may feel lighter without me.
You will feel slower, your days will take longer to pass
Each time you allow someone to step on me
 A small part disappears
Soon I will be gone, you will miss me, wish me to return
This I will not do; I will have the freedom I seek…”

© anita dawes 2020

The Launch of Shadows… Anita’s book of poems…

Shadows, a collection of poems by Anita Dawes
image by Jaye Marie

Anita has always wanted to see her poetry in print, and I think this is because they mean a little bit more to her than her fiction work. Probably because they are closer to her heart and soul.

Now, I was an editor long before I became a writer, so I thought compiling a book of poems would be a walk in the park.

It wasn’t.

I started with the eBook, which as you know, doesn’t have pages, it just rolls along until the end. I uploaded 100 of Anita’s most popular poems from last year, all suitably separated by a fancy divider.  I wanted to use colour for these, but thought it might be too expensive, (or complicated) 

As I was scrolling down the poems, it occurred to me that this system wouldn’t work for the paperback version.

The one thing you don’t want, is what I think they call Widows and Orphans, where you have half of the poem on one page and continuing the next.

The next problem that hit me was that all these poems were different lengths, so fitting them all neatly on the pages was going to be difficult, complicated to say the least.

One problem lead to the next, when I realised this book would need a TOC, or table of contents.

I haven’t done one of these in ages so had to scrape my morale of the floor and search the house for my thinking cap.

Which leads me to the last problem.

At least I hope it’s the last!

My brain keeps letting me down right in the middle of a procedure. Every time I have a good thought, half of it seems to vanish in a puff of smoke and I’m left with just enough to drive me crazy!

I tend to write a lot of notes these days because of this new development, but it happens so fast now, I often don’t get to the pen in time.

Sometimes the rest of the thought pops up again later, but then I must remember the first part and marry them up!

So I would be grateful if you find any howling errors, to let me know, so I can fix them!

What with one thing and another, I haven’t been able to do any marketing, so I’ll be playing catch up forever with this one. I have tried to add the link but unfortunately, it doesn’t feel like behaving. The link on the cover in our sidebar isn’t working either so not having a great day! I seem to have done everything right, so must be this new editor. Methinks its time to ask WP for help…

There will be more about this book, but feel free to add some feedback in the meantime…

Hell of a Week…

It would be lovely if I could think of one thing at a time these days, but it’s not happening. I have been trying to publish shadows, Anita’s new book of poetry. Fate is conspiring against me, but I aim to release it next week.

And the more I struggle to think about writing, it opens the floodgates for a ton of ideas to jump into my head. I often wonder if I am on the wrong horse, so to speak.

Wrong house more like, as we have had major roadworks outside the house for two weeks. They have moved along the road today, but I can still hear their infernal noise. 

And now we have these temporary traffic lights right outside the front door!

So concentrating has been a mite difficult, to say the least.

Making sure we have enough medication for Anita is proving difficult too, as our doctor’s surgery is obviously being run by a bunch of idiots. That is probably a little unkind, as I’m sure they are doing their best. I keep sending them the updated lists from the hospital whenever the meds change, but they still don’t get them right.

Then today, the heart consultant telephoned to talk about the pacemaker/defibrillator and to reassure us that it will happen soon. This will be the last piece of the puzzle and will finally fix Anita’s wagon!

Petersfield Pond

This afternoon, the family took us out to our local lake, affectionally called the Pond. We love this place, but it seemed as though the whole of Petersfield had the same idea! There was no room on any of the benches and the lovely cafe had removed all their seating, so I had to forego my usual mug of hot chocolate. 

All things considered, it was wonderful to see the water and the wildlife and the walk was undoubtably good for us both…

When Shadows Fade…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

When morning shadows fade, I shrink back into darkness

Forgotten until daylight when I can once again search

For the one who stole my lifeforce while I was dreaming me.

Yet, he has no face, not fully formed

I must be quick before he takes more from the shadows

To become the one I am meant to be, leaving me in darkness

Never to step into the light to find my own form

To live outside my own form, my own shadow

The faceless one will not give back with ease

The fight will be fierce, I must protect the little I have

I am forced to hide in darker shadows, wait to find help there

from those who wait to live outside.

Not an easy thing to ask, each life force is a precious jewel

To find one that is jaded is my hope

One who has lost desire for the outside.

To borrow from this being is dangerous,

as I might forget my own desire

A risk I must take if I am to live outside my shadow

For there is one there I dearly wish to beside

I have watched her from the shadows

Planned our wedding, seen the birth of our children

I have yet to make it so,

to breathe the same air, I must find the jaded one

plead my case, steal his life force if I must

She is worth the evil I would carry to the outside

A sin on my new-born soul.

It can carry many more, not that I intend to

I will escape the evil voice that haunts my shadow life

Lay down all previous sin as I take form from the jaded one

As I do so, he will fade into eternity

There he will live again, in a better form of self

There is no way back, still, I will send him

His sins may be as fleas on a dog’s back, too many to count

I care not, my need is greater

I see him now, crouched in the darkness, a lone wolf

Waiting his own demise

I am here to help him on his way, I will ask first,

if his answer is unfavourable, I will steal from him

Gather more from those who hide with him

They have given up, I shall not

 I will find what was stolen from me

I will live again, outside my shadow…

©anitadawes

Who was she?

 

 

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Image by Jaye Marie

 

Her eyes black beads, her face skeletal

Her bones lay in a crescent, the earth carefully swept aside.

The copper of a turning leaf lay beside her hand.

Dried berries, red once, now more like

the shrivelled eyes of a dead badger.

A thread of red cotton bound her wrists.

Who is she and how long has she been there?

Why has someone unearthed her?

Questions I cannot answer.

There was no sign of anyone

No markers to say this was an archaeological site.

There was no real reason for me to believe

that the bones were female.

the broken string of blue glass beads around her neck

gave me the she, rather than the he.

The church had stood there from the 1600’s

the graveyard, judging from the headstones longer.

How old were the uncovered bones?

I could not tell, not versed in the art of bone reading

I needed to find someone, let them know of my find.

Looking at my watch, it was late

The church doors locked, not yet fully dark.

I looked for somewhere the vicar might live.

Walking the length of the graveyard to the front gate

Across the road, one house had its lights on

Holding my breath, I knocked. I had found the vicar.

Asking me in, his lady wife made tea with two biscuits on the saucer

my clumsy hands held the delicate china like the claws of an eagle

I had no desire to drop it, to look like a fool.

Bad enough, the questions I was about to ask

The vicar’s answers glued my body to the chair

A hundred years ago, Margaret Lee was stoned to death

The night of the crescent moon on Michaelmas eve

For carrying another man’s child.

My thoughts became jumbled with the vicar’s words

The items you mention were there to keep her earthbound

For the past five years we uncover the grave

To let her remember how it felt to be free

We believe her punishment didn’t fit the crime

Our hope is, she might be released from her bondage

We wait for a sign.

I had forgotten it was Christmas eve, before leaving,

I suggested they should take the red cotton from her wrists

Remove the remaining items, including the broken blue beads

That once may have adorned her neck.

The vicar looked at me in surprise, his wife almost dropped the cup,

standing as if she had been shot from the chair.

God in heaven, why haven’t we thought of that?

It must be done, husband. It may stop the crying

that haunts us each year on this blessed day.

I left the vicarage

thinking it was no blessed day for Margaret Lee…

©anitadawes