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Let’s beat cancer sooner – Would you support me in raising funds – every little bit helps – even the price of your next coffee?

In aid of CR

Hi.  I am once again calling on friends here and the writing community at WordPress for support to ask if you can either donate a small amount by using my donation button below (any country) or text BGON64 to 70070 (for those here in the UK) to give whatever you can (even the price of your next cuppa) to help Cancer Research and Breast Cancer Research.  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.  So don’t let this being UK based put you off donating. Regardless of your country, your generosity will one day give the gift of life to the world.

The Just Giving page is verification and will also tell you all about my own reasons and action plan for the foreseeable future.

Thank  you very much!

Anita x

JustGiving - Sponsor me now!

 

 

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Frivolity, My heart

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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?

Rare Breeds

dead-oiled-seabird-kuroshima-dutch-harbor-spill_noaa_356

 

A magnificence of feats,

if dear hearts survive testimony,

witness to the ills of humanity;

stubborn as it is smart,

lethal as it loving –

doomed from the off.

If one red breasted heave

survives our test of time –

life has not been in vain.

 

 

A Quadrille consists of 44 words.

Default

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abuse-writingasitcomes-Potus-Scotus

When I tore into his eyes with my defiant mind,
they were the deepest hazel; still soft and round – almost moist.
His dark stares had a reach, renowned to grab me.

My pale hands, soft, glistening, regimentally
moisturised and glassier than its dark history
or darting hiss, tried to smash the toxic air.

My hair, once silken with titian’s wondrous sheen,
separated easily – torn from my metaphorical scalp –
and farce – as my life was smashed away from my skeletal base.

Then the blood soaked rains would suddenly flow
like blood, muddied, but largely still broken.
It reminded me how fragile we are.

How fragile we are.  But more, how fragile we are perceived to be.

When struggles, even when redemptive, are slain,
and even though my fists, glassed and ready
are armed, they are too pristine…

and guilt free.  God help us all against a default society and
patriarchy.

On and on, the rage goes on, and on and on this bias
rocks our soul – but blood and flesh belong. Like the sun
and the burning evening skies sat bold and ready…

to glow with belief is not is a fragile state.

Tone

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With every sound
and 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
until caught and lightly wrought
on cool staves,

and as they stir,
no tone is forced, harsh
and breathy –

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

Microplastics – Grains of Humanity #Rant/Haiku

 

I’ve just watched a documentary about the plastics devastation to our world.  Cheap, strong, light…. deadly.  Decades into this nightmare is seeing the prolonged use and production and the research of such manifest.   By now the consumption by marine life all the way up the food chain not only kills and maims, it has long since seeped into their>our deadly diet.  New findings reveal that plastic for some reason carries bacteria that is both harmful to us and marine life.

Small clean up groups and small innovations will not be able to attack fully or kill this giant disaster; global action from wealthy governments need to turn off single use plastic taps and invest in saving planetary life.  When the ocean dies, we die.   It is monstrous what we continue to pump into the oceans each day.  Despite added pressure by us the consumer on huge industries, experts reckon that production is set to rise by a massive 500% a year as we go forward.  The more we do is countermanded by this greed, ineptitude of big business.  Governments whether in denial or corruption based leave peoples no other option than to send their waste to the nearest rivers due to the lack of effective recycle or sanitary conditions.

And here in the west, we do it too!  We need global action, guidelines and enforcement.  Now.    This scourge has travelled to the far, far reaches that scientists find mind boggling.  From the Antarctic, the north and south poles, to life in seas so deep, that we are only just discovering vast species that live there… they are all stuffed with harmful pieces of plastics and microplastics (material no bigger than 1mm).

A huge proportion of birds fail take off due to the weight of plastic in their stomachs.  Birds feed plastic to their young every second we breathe.   Birds are a main source in gathering this vital information.  Shocking, disgusting and heart wrenching are just some of the words used by renowned scientists today.

We ought to be doing a whole hell of a lot more.  Educate ourselves more.   We can never live without certain plastics by now, but with the amount of resources floating around this planet today , it is shocking how little is being done, and how much by those who have nothing!  We need to share that and put an end to this and harmful single use, extraneous objects we do not need –  if we care to at least save some semblance of a future for our great, great grandchildren.

But to be honest, I care more about the other sentient life forces on this planet that we have cruelly disrupted than I do the former.  Hunted to extinction, garrotted by deadly plastics, suffering malnutrition due to heavy consumption of plastics on a daily basis.  Numerous species are being wiped out.  Whales torn in two by fisherman loath to adapt to new innovations and dumping their gear – a major killer and torturer of marine life.

Fishing gear and debris is a main source of cruelty and death in the oceans today.  Imagine young marine life ie young seals struggling to live, breathe, grow and feed whilst being strangled by plastic wires around their necks until they are decapitated.  Apply that to almost every contributor on this planet, going about their lives in this way, because of us.  All whilst we get on with every day things, from school, gas bills to the death of our dog, while drinking from our one hundredth, unnecessary, shop bought plastic bottle that we survived pretty well without for most of our lives.  This planet encompasses all of that.  But know that research has yet to unlock what effects to our hormones, reproduction and other this plastic epidemic is having on us – and also, if we cannot eat the food we hunt…  Already other sentient beings are showing signs of all of this.  This nightmare.  Use the tools we have.  Become educated.  Act!

We (humanity) are yet another blip on this planet – worth seconds in the scheme of things. Yet, we have been the most deadly and poisonous one.

Once soft were oceans
We are deadly assassins
Oh misery, we

Thank you for reading, and I hope it encourages a lot of you to ‘do’, create and instil in others the most basic of change.  Join this global revolution and take the time to learn what you might achieve, ie do not buy single use plastic, petition companies, change your habits.  Find out all you need to do.   This is so huge it is the stuff of nightmares.

 

Smells

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St.Bruno-smoking kills-writingasitcomes

I have a section in my blog called Ghosts from the Shoebox.  I took some verse, accidentally stumbled on, and kept writing.  Anyway, ’tis there, lol.   My dad smoked a pipe, and in it he stuffed St Bruno pipe tobacco, which I loved the smell of and crave it now.  Probably why I became a smoker. But in November 2018 it will be 10 years since I stopped smoking, and 3 years since my dad died.  With my husband in the US for a family visit and me dwelling as the day is resting, here I am.  My dad is the reason for my blog to begin with. So bear with me .  And ever the activist, please, please do not be tempted to smoke, take drugs or anything you are curious about.  It is not worth it!

Newspaper clippings,
old stories spilled on the floor.
No smoke, no cigar.

All good stories emanate from
tall skinny houses
with their cracked secrets
and crumbling walls?

Great monologues
came from those giant shoeboxes
and pipe tobacco –
the houses I have left

to tobacco flakes
from an old St Bruno tin –
they inherit occupancy.

There are no rooms for emptiness
or spaces for grief.
There rarely is smoke
without heartache.

the death of a poet

Another amazing piece.

jdubqca


my words bleed no more
bandaged and clotted
how they stop in their tracks
my entire body trembling
for the very last time

three angels hover above me
I pretend not to see them
and though they say nothing
I easily read their thoughts
just as they easily know mine

I ask for pen and paper
but nobody hears my call
so I arise from the table
unshaken and all on my own
resurrecting words left unsaid



september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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