The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 497 ~ #Poetry

I wait on table; the tips are below average.

Our small village is dying. Tourists pass us by,

as if we have vanished from the land.

I sigh a lot these days.

I remember reading in the good book, As above, so below.

Daffy talk because I still don’t know what it means.

I wish I could lift myself high, fly away

Watch the people below become too small

to figure out what I’m looking at.

Vanished, like our poor village,

leaving me to float away…

© Anita Dawes 2021

The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 496 ~ #Poetry

Wordle 496

It is no surprise my soul has sunk below the water line

I lost the race to suppress the evil in me.

I had a morsel of hope, for the feeling of shame

Would act like a hand to pull me back to reality.

I would not wait in line to vote that Spring

would bring forth the changes

To prevent my soul from becoming charcoal

It is inhumane to ask the congregation

For more prayers, rosaries spoken on my behalf.

I am beyond redemption…

© Anita Dawes 2021

The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 495

I have given up on the idea of becoming enlightened

By some trick of the mind, meditating,

floating over your favourite meadow.

Ideas written by supposed enlightened minds

don’t work for me.

I resign myself to the fact that my shine is hidden miles away.

I stab another needle into my homemade doll,

Whispering rude things

while telling myself I am entitled to get my own back.

The child in me remembers the fright.

The evil intended by so-called friends.

There can be no reconciliation.

Their denial of wrongdoing falls on deaf ears.

The bile rose in my throat

As I stabbed the last needle into the doll’s image

Let the deed be done…

© Anita Dawes 2021

The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 494

Slow moving slice of time
A moment is never enough
Choosing from the many
Like walking a dry desert fringe
Forget the string around your waist
That holds you to time and space
Chains await, the forge in mind
Frantic to follow the singe marks
That tell of your simple story…

© Anita Dawes 2021 She’s Back!

#The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 493 ~ #Poetry

A fiery temperament
Matching the flaming colour of the catwalk
The casualty, her refusal to take the hand offered
When she lost her rhythm, her flow.
She fell, hitting the glass table.
The blow knocking three shades of temper from her.
The air blue,
her words turning the heat in the room into a furnace.
Those assembled, moved in unity.
Like a wave being drawn back out to sea
Unable to help the swirling ball of temper on the floor
That once had been the beauty on the catwalk…

© Anita Dawes 2021

#The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 492 #Poetry

Blind justice has left its vicious whip marks on his back.
Cheers from the crowd, loud in my ear
I feel myself sway,
knowing I cannot settle the payment asked for his release.
The chain replaced; he is lead away.
I call upon my father, the door is closed in my face.
Who can I tell
about this wicked web of lies against Jack.
I send for help,
my brother might be able to talk sense to my father.
I know it will take a month or more
Before I hear from Frederick
If he cannot come,
Jack will be hung for theft that has become murder.
He did not commit either crime.
Strange justice, blinded by the roar of the crowd…

© Anita Dawes 2021

The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 491 ~ #Poetry

A world divide, one half untethered
by rules, made by fools
The other sticking to a plan
They have a text they must follow
Regardless of how much it may hurt
They never have fresh clothes
As water is severely restricted
Play for children is strictly monitored
To half an hour a day
To speak of the future is forbidden
Punishable by fines and imprisonment
Travellers are told to move on
Needless to say,
this half of the world is shrinking
While the other half is flourishing
Life is good where there are no rules
The water here flows freely
Thanks to their forefather’s careful planning
There is sufficient for all
The untethered half works
like clockwork under glass…

© Anita Dawes 2021

#The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 489 ~ #Poetry

When silence comes knocking like a jackhammer
It’s time to run
Check your bank account
It may not be a good time to take a risk
So shelve that new idea
Don’t let that heavy metal feeling bend your spine
Shake the cobwebs from your mind
Try not to step into it when crossing the yard
Shower, soaped, you dry yourself down
Your mind wrapped in a haze
sleeping within the sound of silence…

© anita dawes 2021

The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 487 ~ #Poetry

I follow the divine light
The shine through morning
Leading me to the vista
Through my open window
The miracle of a new day
I sigh, I gasp
Breathe cool fresh air of early Spring
My favourite Ash tree
Its bark peeling
Reminds me of a ragged ball gown
from a forgotten era
Last dance no more than ash in memory
Spring flowers push through warmer
To show their colours
A prelude to Summer
My toaster pops
I spread each piece
with my favourite salmon paste
My day is full of promise…

© anita dawes 2020

The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 486 ~#Poetry

My children decorate the Christmas tree
The fire crackling,
shadows dancing, walls aglow
Their noses pressed to the window
Hoping to see Santa fly by
After a while, their eyes stream
Time for bed
Each tiny mouth quiet with sleep
Arms limp as I carry each one to bed
My head in a swim,
checking my list before the big day.
After I tuck the last
of my precious bundles under cover
I trim the tree, tidying earlier efforts
Making sure the last present is wrapped
Taking one last look at the room
Pleased with what I see
It would seem to be time for me
To put myself under cover until morning…

© anita dawes 2020