#Memories… #Poetry

 

 

pink-rose-on-empty-swing-3656894_1920.jpg

Image by Goran Horvat from Pixabay

 

Memories

Children’s empty playground

Swings, roundabouts

Shiny metal slide to hot to slide down

Do I dare go inside?

Swing awhile, remembering

Old summer days when we had

all the time in the world before us

My long-lost school friends

Are they there beside me?

Do I see the empty swing moving?

Or is it my own vibration

that moves, ghosts remembered…

©anitadawes 2020

The Old Lantern… #Poetry

norway-4420668_1920.jpg

Image by Jan Lüddemann from Pixabay 

 

The Old Lantern

The old lantern swung its yellow light

Outside number 9 Millpond road

When the moon was full

Alice gave birth to her son

Who screamed the night awake?

Wrapping him in the only linen she had

She walked out into the full moon night

The old yellow light fading behind her

Alice lay down and slept by the old woodpile

Would anyone find them, before the night

Stole their lives away?

An angel of the Lord found them there

Bright yellow moon lit their pale countenance

Their souls lifted from the poverty

that lay ahead of them…

©anitadawes 2020

The Outsider…

 

The Outsider…

 

When I found out that one of my favourite authors had written a new story, and that it was being serialised on tv, I knew I had something good to look forward to. Having to wait for each episode might stretch my patience into a wafer, as I don’t like to stop reading when enjoying a good book, but I was already hooked.

 

Stephen King is best known for horror stories like Carrie, It, and The Shining.

Based on the first two episodes, The Outsider is a classic King story and in structure and tone, it feels more like a murder mystery than a horror story. Mild spoiler alert: it’s both.

What’s the story about?

The Outsider tells the story of the gruesome murder of a young boy in the fictional town of Flint City, Oklahoma. Detective Ralph Anderson (Ben Mendelsohn) investigates, though it’s not a tough case to crack as mountains of forensic and eyewitness evidence point to beloved local teacher and baseball coach Terry Maitland (Jason Bateman, who also executive produced the series and directed its first two episodes). But Maitland has a solid alibi for the crime, which means that it looks like Frankie was murdered by a man who was somehow in two places at once.

 

The series is loyal to the novel’s dryly grim tone, with Mendelsohn perfect as the weary but honourable small-town cop and Jason Bateman coolly moving as a man who’s watching his life explode in front of him. The first two episodes play out pretty much like the beginning of the book, slowly unfurling the mystery: after the discovery of Frankie Peterson’s body, witness after witness can tie local coach and family man Maitland to the crime. He was spotted offering the kid a ride in his van, and then later seen covered with blood. The crime scene is finger-painted in his prints, his blood type was present, too. But Maitland was also captured on video in a totally different town at the time the crime was committed, attending a teaching conference with countless colleagues who can all vouch for his presence. And his fingerprints are found at the conference site, too.

It would seem that the coach was in two places at the same time, but this can’t be possible, even for Stephen King.  The title begs a question too, who is this outsider?

 

I will be reviewing The Outsider when the series ends…

 

 

#Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge…

Colleen’s 2019 Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry Challenge No. 161 #PhotoPrompt

It’s the third week of the month! Time for a #PhotoPrompt

IMG_20190930_161231585.jpg

 

This month’s photo prompt has been provided by Willow Willers.

 

One

Small sign

India

Celebrating

Painted hands dancing

Temple sounds in the air

Sweet spice filled markets, crowded

Smiling faces wait with greeting

Namaste, sunshine will bless your day

Painted hands take me back to India…

©anitadawes 2020

 

 

#What do you see #Keepitalive #Poetry

What do you see # 13- January 20th, 2020

 

54e8d593-903d-469c-b15c-dc970d3c312f

 

bc86bc91-943c-4b3b-9b31-e1bbcc2454a7-3580-0000011d215a31c0.jpg

Image credit; Pixabay

 

No Change

In the stone circle stands a chance

To split dark from light

Offering the world below, fire

The blue moon whispering a warning

They are too young, they are not ready

Let them find their own way

You come too far from the future

To understand their way of life

Why hurry things along

When you have no way of knowing

What they might discover by time alone

Your world is driven by speed

Theirs is not, they hunt for food

They live, they are happy

Some might call it fate

I call it interference

As it has been through the ages

Name one culture that has been

Allowed to walk its own path

Wars, famine, floods have changed so much

Of what might have been

For once, I would like to see

Where they would travel by themselves

Without interference

I hear you all shouting

It was meant to be…

©anitadawes 2020

Outside…

 

dark-1936954_1920.jpg

Image by Jordan Stimpson from Pixabay 

Outside

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…

©anitadawes 2020

#The Sunday Whirl ~Wordle 439

banner.jpg

img_1695.png

 

One slim chance to catch the wolf

The chill wind at my back

Nicely scratching the itch

A warm sun tendril illuminating

The ground beneath my feet

My home-made arrow flew

Missing the dark brown fur by inches

He lives to swagger through another day

I allow myself one shot, and that was it

Time up, I will set my cloak

same time tomorrow.

Walking home to the hoot of an owl

I knew tomorrows arrow

would miss its target

There’s no fun in taking

down such a beauty

After all, I am not one of

Robin Hoods merry men

My age is ten, the wolf

and I have grown together

I never stand downwind,

so he knows where I am

We are connected…

©anitadawes 2020

#99 word Challenge for Carrot Ranch Literary Community #Poetry

January 16: Flash Fiction Challenge

cropped-carrot-ranch_lc_30july17v2.jpg

99 words, no more, no less. It’s a simple constraint, an easy-to-master literary art form, and a powerful writing tool for creatives and entrepreneurs. Writers calibrate the usefulness and beauty of 99-words through weekly flash fiction challenges.

protest.png

 

Wave your hands in the air

Like you just don’t care!

They do care very much

About the conditions they work in

Too often the loos don’t flush

Water is turned off

Waiting repair

Which takes too long

Poor management in winter

Means working in the cold

This in turn, slows down production

Which means working late

No extra pay

Too many break times cancelled

People become sick

Our floor manager asked

For hot drinks to be made

Every four hours

This went down with management

like a lead balloon

it’s no wonder we’re shouting

and waving our arms…

©anitadawes 2020

 

Cold… #Poetry

 

snow-1782614__340.jpg

Image by Pixabay.com

Cold

Frost white morning

I slip my head beneath my duvet

No way are my feet moving

From this warm cover

Today I stay hidden from the world

To dream of things to come

A future made of stardust

 With bright green jewels

A land where you leave a wish

Knowing it will come true…

©anitadawes 2020

The 2.40… #Poetry

 

rails-3371495_1920.jpg

Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

 

My father, a staunch academic that never flaps.

At breakfast, I met a stranger at the table

He spoke at a speed I had never heard before

I could see a hint of panic in his eyes.

He didn’t ask, so much as forbid me

to take the 2.40 train from Paddington.

Asking why his voice became calmer

I don’t know if you have heard this story

Or remember it from the newspapers

One year ago, a young man just turned eighteen

died on that train in the third carriage

It’s said he may return on the anniversary of his death

To sit in the same seat for three weeks

In the hope of finding the part of self

we all leave behind on being born.

He waits for the other half, the missing piece

To sit on the seat opposite the door.

When the right person takes that seat

He becomes whole, having entered the sitter.

There are many tales of what takes place next

You have just turned eighteen, I am asking you please,

Take the earlier train to your next job?

Seeing how much this meant to my father

I agreed, and kissing his cheek, I left for work

I felt a little odd approaching the station

Standing close to the edge of the platform

I waited that afternoon for the 2.40.

I remember asking my father why I couldn’t just

Take my journey in the second car

Father said it was best to avoid the 2.40 all together

As curiosity gets the best of some people.

I could hear the train approaching

I stood where the third car would stop

I could see a grey outline of someone sitting

in the seat Father mentioned

There were no discernible features to this mass

Shaking my head, thinking my father’s story

Must have gotten into my mind

I felt a connection, a longing, something remembered

I remembered my father saying that a soul mate

Was not someone you search for in life

It’s the missing part of self.

I knew what this meant, for I had often felt

Lost lonely unsure even when falling

in love with a boy from College

A few minutes of happiness that doesn’t last

Leaving me with the feeling of being unwhole.

Now that I have felt that missing part

I would break my word

I will sit in that seat tomorrow at 2.40

Let the missing part enter

See what life will bring…

©anitadawes 2020

%d bloggers like this: