MLMM ~ Wordle #263 ~ #Poetry

My weltanschauung is no secret
I love the world and all its continents
I would remove most of the population
 while I travel to see the sights
Leaving my admirer at home
He would disturb my peace
The trip would end in turmoil
Leaving my blessings on my best writing paper
On his pillow, I took off for two weeks
I hope he remembers the word honour
when he sees my PS, no phone calls
I need this time out
I cannot wait for my eyes to take in all the beauty
So far, seen only on television
Remembering to keep my yin yang in balance
Toss out preconceptions
The overall tone is one of peace
Don’t take the high road, stay centred
A slight nod of the head, hands clasped
Say Namaste…

© Anita Dawes 2021

#Thursday Throwback ~ Review for Examining Kitchen Cupboards by Stevie Turner @StevieTurner6

Jill Hayes discovers that not all is as it seems in her new post as a college examinations administrator. When she turns whistle-blower and tries to report her findings to the authorities, she is horrified to discover that some people will stop at nothing to ensure her silence.

Our Review

Starting a new job is always fraught with tension, you worry whether you will be liked, and more importantly, are you able to convince them of your competence?

Jill Hayes is met with total disdain from her new superior, so when she questions something that doesn’t seem right, she is met with hostility on many levels.

If you discover something is wrong, could you be a whistle-blower, or would you hope that someone else would do it instead?

This story has it all, corruption and greed, and an interesting cast of fascinating and true to life characters. Although Examining Kitchen Cupboards is a work of fiction at its finest, you could be forgiven for thinking it seems far too real to be comfortable, and I’m sure some of it must be based on fact, which of course, makes it all the more chilling…

About the Author

Stevie Turner is a British author of suspense, paranormal, women’s fiction family dramas, and darkly humorous novels. She has also branched out into the world of audio books, screenplays, and translations. Most of her novels are now available as audio books, and ‘A House Without Windows’ gained the attention of a New York media production company in December 2017. Some of Stevie’s books have been translated into German, Spanish, Italian and Portuguese.

Stevie can be contacted at the following email address: stevie@stevie-turner-author.co.uk
On her website http://www.stevie-turner-author.co.uk you can find a free suspense novella to read so that you can check out her writing style. You can also find her blog at the following link: http://www.steviet3.wordpress.com and you can sign up to her mailing list at http://eepurl.com/dvNklL

A Sisters Gift…

Anita wrote this wonderful poem for my book, Out of Time…

Out of Time

Kate’s life, her mind, is out of time
A savage wind took all 
but the brush from her hand.
Her thoughts crash like a wild storm
She no longer has the will to speak
One last blow to strike
A fake wedding planned by Detective Snow
To trap the beast that waits without.
Will Jack be snared or run again?
The snowman, as Kate calls him,
Will he stay with her until the end...

►© Anita Dawes 2018

Book Description

Kate Devereau wakes up in hospital in this exciting sequel to NINE LIVES,

unable to speak or move after the brutal attack by her ex-husband.

Her brain has shut down, refusing to acknowledge the misery of her dark, disturbing past.

A past that conceals a web of painful secrets.

Can she gradually piece her shattered life back together,

Or will she discover that her nightmare is far from over?

MLMM Wordle #262Wordle and Substitute ~ New Memories

New Memories


Our winter ski holiday,
Years later, no more than a treasure
A shadowy memory
An element of toujours perdrix
A sign to the past
Together we navigate 
the slippery road ahead
Crisp white winter
Warm within, cold without
Years slow the body, not the mind
We sit, wait for mind and body to catch up
To forget the wonderful winter holidays skiing
Time to make new memories
Slow, warm, indoor memories


© Anita Dawes 2021

The Scarlet Ribbon and The Wishing Tree…

Clootie Tree At St Nectans Glenn Near Tintagel In North Cornwall. Clootie  Wells Are Places Of
St. Nectan’s Glen Wishing Tree
The wishing tree stood alone by the still, clear water,
Festooned with ribbons of every colour
A fallen rainbow reflected there.
One scarlet ribbon hanging low
Its ragged edge touching the water below
wanting to be washed clean.
I hold the ribbon in my hand
Feeling the weight of sadness lying within
Who placed the scarlet ribbon here?
Whose pain had soaked within this strand?
Who had touched me, calling for help...

© Anita Dawes 2018

Dreaming…

Image by Syaibatul Hamdi from Pixabay

I have been told that thinking is a dangerous thing to do at my age.  It is possibly a dangerous thing to do at any age if you think about it, for who knows where it may lead?

I quite like thinking, and all the things that trigger it off. Like books and pictures for instance. What I could do with is a method of keeping said thoughts, as they usually evaporate like so much smoke, never to be seen again. I make notes on everything in a vain hope of remembering all the good stuff, and it works most of the time.

Then I am told ‘what do you expect, at your age?’

But this is the difficult part. My mind does not feel old, even though it seems to have more holes in it than my favourite cheese, and when I see or read something that stirs my imagination, I am back in my prime, having a sneaky feeling that this is not all there is for me.

Some of the time I must admit I really don’t want any more, I am too tired to even consider the possibility. Then there are the other days– when you forget just how old and how stiff you are. That you find it difficult just going to the shops and back.

Days when you choose to ignore the sands of time slipping through your fingers and find yourself considering the most amazing possibilities.

Of course, this may be what happens as you approach old age. I don’t know, I have no experience or knowledge of it, not having done it before.

But if you can think, you can dream. And if you can dream, I believe you can do anything… at any age!

I have been struggling to finish the fifth book in my crime/mystery series. Although I am three quarters finished, the sneaky feeling that there might be something wrong just won’t go away.

It gets worse. 

I have been waking up in the early hours, thinking about the story. This has been going on for weeks now and last night I dreamed about it. In the dream, my hero and my villain changed places for some reason.

I wanted to know about temporary and easily changeable hair colourants. None of this made any sense to me, all my book needed, I think, is a substantial edit to tighten up the plot. But it did get me thinking. 

Could my choice of villain be all wrong? This could be why my hero was a bit lack lustre too. The whole premise could be askew. Anita and I had a brainstorming session to try to make sense of it all, and although we came up with some interesting ideas, they all involved major rewriting. No mean feat when you are 60.000 words in already.

I should be feeling devastated, and not sure why I’m not. The problem may or not be sorted, but whatever happens, it is doable. So that old post was right after all. If you can dream, you can do anything…

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…