The Old Couch…

I found this image on Pixabay a few days ago, and it has been haunting me … This could be its story…

image by pixabay.com

The morning sun warmed the memories in the heart of the old couch, spreading through the worn feather cushions to the wooden framework, easing the pain of arthritic rigours.

A rustling in the tree above announced the presence of a lone squirrel. Landing on a cushion with a soft thud, the squirrel began to stretch his muscles in the sunshine. The settee sighed as he watched, a sound like a gentle whisper of wind, as he remembered his early days when he was king of the house, looked for by tired bones after a hard day’s work.

Babies had been born on his comfortable cushions, and countless children had safely fallen asleep in his arms.

So many good times.

A cloud passed in front of the sun, temporarily removing the heat. A shiver reminded him of other times when tears were shed, dampening his upholstery.

Of angry tears, and later, happy ones.

Romances had begun and ended, and the years passed.

Before he knew it, they noticed the sagging cushions and faded covers. He heard the uncomfortable complaints and the plans to replace him. All too soon, he found himself forgotten, dumped under a tree in the garden awaiting collection.

Only nobody came.

He wasn’t lonely. The birds and animals were his friends these days, and nature did her best to comfort him, spreading soft moss and grasses around him as if to protect him from the elements.

Families of field mice had made homes under the cushions, their happy existence bringing joy to the heart of the old settee…

#Whatdoyousee ~ #Keepitalive ~ #WDYS ~ # Poetry

What do you see # 100 – September 20, 2021

Image credit; James Wheeler @ Unsplash

For the visually challenged reader, the image shows sunlight beams are falling on a mother and daughter walking in the forest, holding hands.

This is not my usual walk 
through the woods with my daughter
Today I am alone, 
walking through God’s fingers
A warm touch of heaven, I tell myself
My feet leave the ground
My body lifted to the top of the canopy
I hover there like some high wire act
From a forgotten circus
My heart in my mouth
The land lies before me
A giant monopoly board
With houses, hotels, 
a patchwork quilt of adventure
From here I cannot see people
I assume them to be Tom Thumb sized
While I am Gulliver, overlooking Lilliput
For a moment, 
my mind wonders how I will get down
Am I expected to climb?
A firm swift movement 
lowered my feet to the ground
I found my daughters hand in mine
It’s twelve o clock and all’s well…

© Anita Dawes 2021

The Sunday Whirl ~ Wordle 515 ~ #Poetry

Small children with gaily painted masks
Storm the sweet shop, the blinds are down
They climb over the counter
The floor is strewn with sweets
Their goody bags full to bursting
An enormous surge of wind
Blows a sandstorm through town
I stood with my mouth open, dry
Watching the children rush from the shop
To be picked up by a gust of wind
They now look like coloured balloons
That someone has let go of
I send my thoughts skyward
Hoping they will land safely…

© Anita Dawes 2021

The Past…

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Is it old age that has the past rushing in like a raging river?

Lost moments remembered.

The way my legs felt after taking off my roller skates, they were still there, like a phantom limb, my dad said.

The way my backside ached, playing on my bike all day. No trouble leaving the front door open, people walk in any time of the day.

Kettle always on the boil, no worries as to the lateness of the hour.

We were safe playing out after dark. That’s when I took notice of the stars.

A penny would buy a bag of broken biscuits, keep me going until teatime.

Or a bag of chips if you remembered to bring old newspapers.

Running errands for the neighbours meant I always had money to spend.

Mum gave me a shilling a week pocket money, with that I could go swimming, buy a bag of chips after.

Walking home with hot chips in my hand wrapped in newspaper, one of my best memories.

It’s not the same today, they come in polystyrene boxes.

I took my granddaughter swimming. There’s no diving, no jumping, no fun

Just swim up and down. We used to chase each other beneath the water

Pull each other under, who could make the biggest splash is frowned upon now.

Some places had a diving pool only, which feels sterile to me.

That’s the way of things these days, we all walk on tiptoes.

Could be the past should stay behind a dark curtain…

© Anita Dawes 2021

#writephoto ~ Cliff Edge ~ #Poetry

#WRITEPHOTO – Cliff Edge

Cliff Edge – Image by KL Caley

Standing on a windswept cliff
The colour of blue grey slate
Remembering what I had forgotten to remember
A time when I did not stand there alone.
You were with me, blue eyes smiling
Somewhere, there is a slice of sky missing.
That was then, back when I had forgotten
Memory brings back pain and pleasure
Now I know that empty space is filled
Because you have gone.
A part of me walks beside you
The sky weeps with remembering…

© Anita Dawes 2021

#Writephoto ~ Arch ~ #Poetry

#WRITEPHOTO – Arch

Arch – Image by KL Caley

I approach the archway, puffed, ready to sit
As I do, I know magic was born here
The pond is still,
a whispered voice calls, bring it back
Bring what back I wonder,
as much as I wonder who long ago
may have walked down these steps
Did they have royal blood?
Did they drive magic away?
I feel the grey stone walls around me
Gently tapping my mind
Think, what has been taken,
Can you bring it back, keep magic alive?
Don’t let the stories fade into the mist
It placed here by the order of the dying King
Without the sword the story fades, the magic dies
Find it, bring it back, let magic live again…

© Anita Dawes 2021

Silver Linings…

Image by Mambeni from Pixabay

Mother told me often
Every cloud has a silver lining
Given time, all things turn out well
After being knocked out in the sixth round
Looking up, I could see stars, no silver lining
On that occasion, mother said my brains were addled
Count your blessings, she said with a kiss
Every occasion comes easy to mother
Ringing in my ears has me wondering
On Sunday, I found her outside
Sitting on our porch in floods of tears
Getting the truth from her lips
Is like breaking into Fort Knox
Gettysburg says everyone has the right to the fifth amendment
Asking mother again, thinking she had taken it in silence
Never one to wash her linen out doors
Today was no different, apart from the tiny squeeze on my hand
Enough for me to know she had an answer in mind
Undermined by Sonny, my brother, mother
Sat crying, tears I could not stop, please send a silver lining…

© Anita Dawes 2021