#The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 400



Sacred Site

His newborn wings formed by ancient light

Lift him high above England green and pleasant land

Yet bittersweet the sight below

Broken monuments where stained glass no longer glows

No limit to pilgrim’s footfall

Still, they come to climb the ridge where the tower stands

Soothe worn out feet in water that ever flows

Quench their thirst from the White Spring spray

Where no salt lies within

Joseph’s blossom tree has stood the test of time

Offers shade, rest awhile

Hear the whispered songs of old

Feel the beat of ancient wings where power still remains…


The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 399



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Look not upon deaths cruel face

Nor decay where worms dwell

Move on to new dimensions

Let your own words write your destiny

Sit a while beneath the shade of a maple tree

Watch the sun bleed through blood- red leaves

The shadows drawn by your feet

See the patterns, strange worlds forming

Stories to be written by silent shadows voice

Let life wash over you, remove the boot that holds you

where you no longer need to be

Let bird’s song in, hear the music of our feathered friends

Let the feral world you dislike, fade from memory

Find a broken mansion, walls crumbled, forgotten

Build it new; bring love back to where it once lived

Let in the cat that lives outside

Companionship, a friend to whisper your secrets to

Watch as his black fur gently rises in sleep

On that old stool, you rescued now in front of the fire

Sit back; stir that cube of sugar in your coffee cup

Let not thoughts bait old memories return

Your written words paint life in rainbow colours

One thing left to do, live it…


#The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 359


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Rain-washed along our street in a wave, pushed by the wind.

Half-formed bubbles floated on top as if someone was blowing through a straw trying to amuse unseen children.

It has been this way for the past three weeks, helpful for my writing, my desk in front of the large bay window.

Early one morning, I noticed a yellow garment drifting by. A small jacket, possibly a child’s. A beam of light broke through the clouds, illuminating the jacket as it passed. It caught on the corner of the street.

I decided to retrieve it, not knowing why and as I stepped outside, the rain stopped and the silence felt like a soothing balm.

Inside the pocket, I found one large marble, a whistle and a very old tin soldier.

The jacket must belong to a boy. I doubt it would be a girl.

I placed a card in the corner shop, hoping the owner of the jacket would want it back. I wanted the story of my find, a child’s treasure. I remembered my own, long ago squirrelled under my bed. The fires of yesterday blown out now.

Saturday morning, I answered the doorbell to a beautiful young woman holding the hand of a young girl of about five years old. I asked them in and went to get the jacket.

As I handed it to the woman, the child snatched it from her and checked the pockets, smiling at her treasures.

“Jessica, what do you say?”

Thanks received, I asked if they would like tea, that I had cake.

A ploy, giving her mother that look that only a child can, without saying please.

I served the tea with a small glass of orange for Jessica.

I asked Jessica’s mother if I could talk about the three objects I found in the pocket.

“The marble was the first time Jess won a game, I told her to keep it for luck to remind her she is a winner. The whistle is for unwanted attention, should she feel uncomfortable. It has a very loud sound and scares of dogs and other nuisances.”

Her look told me I was supposed to know what she meant, and of course, I did.

The tin soldier was the last gift from her father. He told her it would remind her that he would always be by her side, fighting in her corner. The Gulf War I understood.

I thought the mother to be in her late twenties, too young to be alone with a child. The Gulf War ended a year ago. I couldn’t bring myself to believe she wouldn’t have found someone yet. I hoped not, because I intended to be that someone …


#Wordle 394 ~ #TheSundayWhirl




Running towards a dark passage

My legs were filled with concrete

The Other is right behind me

I hear the sound, heavy clang of metal

The chain he carries, a reminder of pain

This is no Halloween prank

The Other keeps pace with my fear

No place left to run

I lean against the gate

the metal bar pressed to my back

I rub sweat from my eyes

Instinct tells me to jump the gate

I have no plan to defend myself

The sound of the chain, closer

Made heavier by the darkness

The Other steps from the dark passage

wearing my face…


#Wordle 389 History…









A chill wind swept through the church, the candle flames flickered

I prayed to swap places with my daughter’s tormentor.

How could my mother inhabit the mind of my shy twelve-year-old?

I hear her at night, speaking fluent German, a language she knows nothing about.

How had I missed the signal, the hints my daughter dropped?

Questions like was her grandmother German

My answer had to be yes, for I never lied to her.

“Did she beg to come with you when you left Germany?”

Too many things I had never spoken to her about.

My wife died in her sleep, I believe my mother’s hatred of her

or more, had something to do with her death.

It had been a tough decision to leave with my eight-month-old daughter.

How would I manage a small bundle and make a life?

I have, and will not let old hatred take it from me.

I lit a candle, telling my mother, “She is mine, you cannot have her.”

Maybe it was speaking my mother tongue after all these years

that inhibits the spectre, but my daughter no longer speaks late at night

in a language I never again want to hear from her sweet lips…


#Wordle 384






Who am I?

I would rather have an invisible cloak

Of good hope, rather than sail around it.

Sprinkling hope like stardust as I go

Tinkerbell, that kind of thing.

Dreaming of my search for the right door to open

I would welcome any suggestions

As I am not sure what it is I seek.

There are times when my thoughts fill my mind

I feel like Noah, trying to hold back the flood

Like sorting through a waste bin.

Which thoughts to keep, which to risk throwing out

What if I should have taken a poor thought

Embellished on it, break down the border

Between the left and right side of my mind.

See what comes of letting the mind work as one entity

Would I regain the joy I lost years ago?

I let the hypocrisy of others tie my spirits in knots

Over the years, I tried not to listen.

Thing is, once a seed is sown it takes hold

Like the weed that keeps coming back.

Many cling on from childhood, darker now

Pushed further to the back of my mind.

Still, they linger, popping up unexpectedly

Often to the detriment of self.

Oh for a crystal ball, a deck of Tarot cards, dice

Throw a double six, do or don’t

Take the road that leads to the left.

Calling an unknown destiny

In this fashion doesn’t work

I know, I have tried most things

Light a candle in church, whispered dreams

Hope echoes from the walls

Drop a coin into that dirty hat on the pavement

Beside an even more disheveled piece of humanity

That many are blind to.

No, to all the above this year

I mark each step, guided by the small inner voice

I should have listened to years ago…


#Wordle 383 #Poetry





Shades of Blue

Morning shadow falling across my face

A touch of something calling

Needing to be remembered

To return

My thoughts tied in a string

I am shaken by a memory

A view from the deck of a ship

A lonely shadow of a man

Walking unsteadily on the pebbled shore

The ship passes, I hear dogs bark

I remember feeling sad, not knowing why

The kettle calls me away from my window

The shadows gone, sunlight fills my room

I sit with the brew, feeling spent

As if I had taken a long walk back

 From time and memory

Notes left on my pillow

Soft summer breeze lifting lace curtains

Float into the room, like the veil of an invisible bride

The kiss that never was, the lips I never touched

Yet the memory of both, haunt me now

The love I left behind

The life I could have had

I wonder, is memory a sweet treat

Or lost dreams, returning shades of blue?



#TheSundayWhirl: #Wordle 375



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We have been here before.

I remember the drive across the mountains

The cool breeze and the misty spray

We try to sing, words fail us

Our hearts broken, still longing

For the child, we cannot have

We have spent a lifetime running

From something we can never find

We watch mothers wiping runny noses

Our tears hit the ground, time wasted

Wishing our lives could be swapped

Farmers across the land watch their corn grow

Lay their heads down at the end of the day

Attentive to every detail to keep hunger away

Family fed, roof secure over their head

While my eggs are empty shells

We no longer go to the movies, no popcorn eaten

While watching happy families on the screen

Many have told us our lives could have been

Filled with small-unwanted souls

This was not meant to be, I could not fill

My arms with anything but my own

I pray that this will come in my next life…

©Anita Dawes

#Wordle Puzzle 373






Locked In

My life has only just begun

Yet I am stuck between two worlds.

I have a need to forget, to alter my thoughts

This ordinary cafe where the waiters sing

Let me in, with no way out

Mother told me never to hit

“Talk, let them see you.”

She has no idea, the mood

Of those that hold me here.

I smell revenge, the air thick

With a need to spill blood, my blood

My will is weak. I have no strength to act

I need a weapon to fight for freedom

This is not my world

Whitewashed walls, pills to make me sleep

Sunlight blinds these walls of white

But my mind can see the place to be.

Outside, I see my mothers smile

She sits in shade beneath our tree

That father planted when I was five.

My world is there, by her side.

Voices tell me she is not there

I took her life when I was ten.

Can this be a dream that keeps me locked in?

I pray that fate will not charge me to live it over again…

©Anita Dawes

#Wordle 372

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You really should, such a great exercise for the writing mind, log in HERE and have a go!




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Matches flared

Vision blurred.

Body bruised

Mind numb.

Voices blossomed

God’s listen

Savor silence.

Doors unhinged

Nail slammed in.

Aches begin

Edges vanish…

©Anita Dawes