Feather of Hope… #Poetry #TheSundayWhirl #Wordle 598

Image by Christine Sponchia from Pixabay 

… and one of my favourite poems …

Hope is the thing with feathers

Emily Dickinson – 1830-1886

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Serenity… #The SundayWhirl ~ Wordle 595

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

Serenity

I see her face, familiar yet unknown to me.
Her voice, a whisper, gentle sighs
I stand on a timeless place,
I feel my mind quiver.
leaping over new thoughts
The killing fields far behind me
I see a halo above each fallen soul
A twig from the Judas tree
caught in my clothing.
I turn a page in my bible,
my mind numb
As I walk towards a low lying cloud
I feel serene, as the blanket of white
covers me, taking me home…

©AnitaDawes2023

Looking in the Mirror… #The Sunday Whirl #Poetry

Image by Marat Mukhambetaliev from Pixabay

Looking in the Mirror…

This morning I realised I say sorry far too much.
It’s time to change, take time for me.
Find something to be proud of
I owned that thought for the rest of the day.
Nothing else mattered
First my job, my clothes
Here I am, a whole new me.
After a few days, I looked at myself in the mirror.
The penny dropped, I had lost something special.
The person who is not afraid to say, ‘I’m sorry’…

©AnitaDawes2023



The Blade… #Poetry #The Sunday Whirl #Wordle 588

Image by WilliPuschel from Pixabay 

The Blade

I stand alone, waiting for the moment
When silence wraps itself around me
I am broken, thin as paper
I hear the blade slice through my mind
I shuffle along, my shoulder bumping each doorway I enter
I am nearly there, again I hear the blade, 
sharp edged, cutting away at my life
The inside of my mouth tastes powdery, like fine sand
Strange manifestations assail my eyes
Confusing day and night
Preventing my progress in reaching 
the last door that is marked home
I stagger towards it, like a blind man
When I feel the blade 
slice through for the last time…


©AnitaDawes2023

This one gave me goosebumps!

Rose Tinted Worlds… #Poetry #TheSundayWhirl #Wordle586

Image by 👀 Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay 

Heaven and Hell… #Poetry ~ The Sunday Whirl Wordle 582

Image by David Mark from Pixabay 

Heaven and hell
Words we bandy about
Should they exist?
There is no urgency
to open either door
not yet
We have time to live
beneath the blue sky
To channel the flow within
Trying to love one another
A rule I set myself to follow
I should say
Sticking to it I did not find easy…


©AnitaDawes2022

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