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In 2018/19 I beat my targets. In 2020, I am 2/3 of the way to this year’s target of £3,000 despite the devastating Covid-19 tragedy. Would you support me in raising funds at this critical time? – – Every little bit helps. This article is pinned, but please do explore my writing!

In aid of CR

Hi,  If you can donate a small amount and give whatever you can (even the price of a solitary cuppa) to help Cancer Research and Breast Cancer Research.  In these devastating times, charities are being hit as hard as the next.  Work has to carry on behind the scenes.  Vital work.  As a breast cancer survivor, I can sincerely say that your help is more than appreciated.

Cancer Research is not government funded and is responsible for a high percentage of the major breakthroughs we have seen to date.  Without you and me, those breakthroughs will not happen.  Regardless of the amount or where you live in this world, your generosity will one day give the gift of life.

On the JustGiving page, you will find verification.  It will also tell you all about my story, reasons and action plan I’ve used and for the foreseeable future.

Thank  you very much!

Anita

JustGiving - Sponsor me now!

 

 

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Frivolity, My heart

imagesBAYNZMH1

Wouldst thou call
on love’s embrace
and its clumsy cuffs
of flimsy lace
to wrap warmly
and surround thee

when spectral lights
adorn the sky,
and snow ghosts,
haughty, loom at night
only to come and haunt thee,

and if thou were touched by such
as she and her lustrous trumpery,
wouldst thou still forswear
under this black maire,
our undying love, but yet vow
to leave me?

Wouldst thy call on it?

Corridors

Picture source unknown

I say goodbye
holding your hand,
desperately searching
for raw comfort,
but from clay cold skin and defeated flesh,
words will no longer form, nor
draw me close.
You hold a smile,
and it squeezes my heart softly
with a palpable
sense of who I am and who we were.
I think you have just found a dream
inside of death, and see a vision
higher than we, one rich in vitality
for your journey or destiny –
I don’t believe we are
really saying goodbye,
and so, sweet dreams, my love –
stay far from errant shadows –
so I can see you
on the other side
.

Song for a Bluebird

Picture source: art for CRUK: Anta Nabonne

walk me to the end
of love, let us be love

fold me where the
seams are stitched

edges brought closer
till there is no end

play me until the piano
aches, just as drifting sighs

start dancing, and crooning
violins stop playing

lift me like a hope
seeking light from dust

hold me with your beauty
like a soul on fire

let me be the risk you take
dance me to the edge

wait with me until the end
of love, let us be love.

Burning Both Ends

Unknown source

A
flicker,
a stare,
fires the
column,
bled bare,
by the pale
yellow, violet
flame
as

its gliding wax
grips and its rhythmic drip sets fast,
and not unlike our game.
The Slowness of time
runs with our thoughts down
this vine as I tease the quick
with scorched fingers. And, as
is your want, you navigate me,
and like moths, we
self destruct when we linger.
A stolid breath of air soon releases our
stares, and we flinch in the
flame’s parting sigh;
its sulphuric stench from the quickening
wrench, reminds me of that
stark light – as
sleeping birds hum
and a candlelit morn draws nigh.

Charlie’s Black Christmas

Enough of snow foxes and cute birds… especially after a rich thick slice of a Christmas cake disaster. It’s time for a rich thick slice from the other side with this old chestnut of mine.  For children young and old. A very happy holiday celebration/Merry Christmas to all of you lovely, WordPress people and readers everywhere.

gruesome santa

Charlie touched his brown-rimmed glasses knowingly, and his freckles crinkled as he marched down to the garden’s borders.  He loved how delicate and austere it all looked at this time of year, but he remembered from school how birds and other small creatures found it difficult to find food – he contemplated eking out worms and other treasures just for them.  His smiling eyes were soon agape when he reached the hole in the deep, green hedge his father took pride in.  Charlie decided to follow a walk of unusual footprints leading off to the street, which was paved with gold – Christmas gold.

The huge, black-lead street lamp shined golden yellow onto a neighbour’s decorative efforts.  They had gone to town with sled, reindeer, Santas and lots of glittering sights and sounds.  His mind was still on the tracks and the puzzle they presented.  Charlie’s jaw dropped at the magnificence of next door’s sled where he noticed similar sized prints, and more right beside a giant Santa with glowing red and white smile, and which had a pneumatic wave for everyone.

Charlie knelt down and checked under the sled and inside of it whilst holding onto his specs; moving them up and down in inspection mode whilst murmuring the occasional ‘aha’. Charlie could see nothing really.  He scratched his head with stiff cold fingers and rubbed his cold red nose, wiping the drips on his new scarf,  saying an apology to Aunt Mildred for the mess.  He clapped his padded hands together before they clasped behind his back and a shudder took him into high-speed detective work.

He decided to sit on its large leather seat to shelter from the snow falling once again.  The sled began to move slightly, making Charlie feel a bit uneasy, but that soon went as he soon became enamoured of the blue-black sky and the twinkling stars above the white dots of snow.  The gentle snowdrops became a whirr.  From out of nowhere, a booming laugh and bells shrilly rang out behind him before sounding all around.  Charlie’s short-lived, nervous excitement was tinged with longings of the warmth of home, his mum, the Christmas tree and just about any familiar things.   But, on the other hand, Charlie thought, maybe that was Santa.  Was it Santa?

Charlie’s eyes were drawn to the sled floor and the tiny prints, which had reappeared.  He pushed his glasses onto his nose, pulling back fast when he noticed a small creature on the seat beside him. Charlie smiled at its furry paws though they were dirty and wet with very ragged nails – he was anything but cute.  Charlie’s smile was met with a scraggy, dark face and crooked, menacing teeth that dripped saliva, and which had turned the sled floor, a greenish yellow.  Charlie’s heart sank, together with the thoughts that his companion might be a Christmas elf. He held onto his red scarf from aunt Mildred and smelled his mum’s mince pies on his glove, which also bore some squished crumbs.

He was pulled out of regret, near tears, with the roar of ‘Santa’s’ instructions to the hideous 6 beasts pulling the sled.  It jolted Charlie. The horrible goblin like creature that now terrified Charlie, turned to ‘Santa’, and with a hyena’s laugh, and to Charlie’s disbelief, it shrieked the words, ‘One more, Master, and we will be done for this evening!’

Charlie, the grotesque elf and ‘Santa’ were carried into the freezing night’s blizzard – bells ringing and gruesome laughter abound.  And Charlie, at least, was never seen again.

So, be good! Lol.

A Little Light Relief

I wanted to share. Please feel free to donate, or share, or just appreciate what you have right now. (Well maybe more so in 2021 with better weather on ALL fronts about to happen!)

I’m delighted to announce 🏆OUR WINNER OF OUR GROUP CRAFTS, ART, MAGIC AND SUPPLIES MEMBER OF THE WEEK IS ANITA LUBESH from CRAFTS BY ME BOUGHT BY YOU🏆Congratulations!

This weeks winner has been chosen for 2 reasons: Anita is very creative, diverse with her makes and mediums and Anita has her own personal story.

Anita is a cancer survivor. All of her arts and crafts are designed and created to raise money for Cancer Research UK. Anita has been working hard trying to meet a target of £3000. I’m sure we can all help share this post and support Anita to reach her target.

Anita says:“I really enjoy experimenting with most kinds of art and crafts, mostly just to sell for CRUK. Normally, I write, and I have a blog. But, with these past 3 years of arting and fundraising, not so much! I love to try different techniques and mediums, and if they are close to any good, I sell them to raise vital funds.

Since my own battle with breast cancer and recovery, to years later helping to look after my mother then watch her die horribly from lung cancer, I have striven to fight in the hope we can eradicate all forms of cancer from our lives and make a better future possible.

I have sold my writing, glasswork, and last year, I experimented with acrylic paint pour jewellery, which I am selling now among many other things. Being chosen like this is thrilling, and it also raises awareness – thanks to your help.

Since CRUK does not receive any government funding, I see it as our mission or duty to support those where we can. Treatments have come a long way; one new treatment actually saved my life back then. It is vital that we support their research, and hopefully in the near future, a lot more people (women and men) will live longer and not have to suffer this at all.”

To support Anita, please visit Crafts page:https://www.facebook.com/CraftsByMeBoughtByYouForCRUK FB page:https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100002317234302 Anita also has a justgiving page if you feel you are able to make a donation. Anita has raised £2,666 of her £3,000 target.https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/anita-nabonne…

Tone

I have been here at WordPress for five years apparently. Thanks to everyone who has supported my efforts, and those in passing, who have stopped a while. Be safe out there until this surreal period of our lives is over. Take care.

guitar-touch-instrument-guitarist

With every sound
of each word uttered
there is pause, a silence –
as if waiting for the touch
of a lover – distant still,
but out there.

Until such time,
words float as poetry,
lightly wrought
on cool staves,
only now just stirring;
no tone is forced, just harsh
and breathy –

they wait, and would wait
forever,
as every song, like love,
is incomplete
until it hears its heart echo.

Strange Arms

I hope you’re all well and taking care, now and this coming holiday.

As it Comes

tree twisting

Picture source:  Strange…tree.  Thanks Paul Militaru.

wrap me in strange arms
not sinew’s calm unity of muscle to bone
but like before when molten flesh
was writhing, malleable, lasting –
not like now with intangible flame
shot from an archer’s crossbow –
with quick precision

writhe with me in twisting turns,
not rolling ambiguity’s speech of tongues,
but like before when deception unraveled
to suffocate me with a slithering hiss –
do not place your wreath
in the space where the cobra stabs
with quick precision

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Remembrance

Picture souce: pickist. com

‘Miss me not ‘til I have died,
then always remember me…’

In the early glow of dawn,
silence rolls on the bosom
of heavy clouds –
solemn doves in a new formation
accompany sunrise, hearing
the sound of an abundance of rain.

Above tumulus soil,
peace remains a warm blanket
for all who were lost there
since death is an aching cold,
and mired in these fatigued
and embattled lands;
lands where life spilled into dying,
and courage became mulch
to the seeds that were sown.
Acres of crimson mist undulate
to waft forever in cool breezes;
its pitch black eyes peer
though the ruddy murk,
we feel the pulse of its stoic heart,
and, we are touched by the dew atop each poppy’s blade.
All are there to remind us still,
and without words
often drowned by time.

Raindrops sheet in silver threads
to lace our silent tears. And, as the flight
of doves let loose like windswept petals,
to surrender one by one, we humbly
promise

to always remember,
and shame on us if we fail.

It’s Game Over – Back of the net, USA! (just about, but good enough).

The election has just been called by Decision Desk HQ. I hope this is not too early. I posted this at the start of the dark nightmare of 2016. Here’s to one down… a few to go – join together and we will watch them all fall. Heal the soul, heal the world, heal this planet and its observers, and its destroyers.

“When I despair, I remember that all through history
the ways of truth and love have always won.
There have been tyrants, and murderers,
and for a time they can seem invincible,
but in the end they always fall.
Think of it–always.”

~ Mahatma Gandhi

Cedar Summer: late summer silhouette & whimsy

From 2016. I’m not able to be here so often now but, again, hope you’re all well.

As it Comes

I was inspired yet again by the fabulous, sock monkey.

for the Waxwing,
summer withers
sending the bare bones
of blooms to exit; their shift over

high up on defoliated twigs,
these sturdy spires become crows nests –
for one last look at sparse reminders
and stark remainders

and perched reverently
with subdued crest, rakish black mask
and brilliant-red wax
droplets fallen on tail feathers –
splashes of hot springs
long before flames burned out,
they are temporary beacons
for the Indian summer
as birds gradually disappear
like iron filings
falling from silky paper

soon they will fly south
for winter before shivers ruffle
silver grey feathers, autumnal
splendour from its box of tricks
is spilt and trickery dazzles us
with cooler combinations
of life clothed in warmer
costume

like petrified stone,
stygian contours champion the night sky;
dulled for now, but grey streaks charm
expectations sat on the horizon

where…

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