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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?

Ketley #A short story.

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Ketley was a burly man, and because of our differences over the years, he and I stood at the end of that aching pole; his muscled arms alone were bent on pulling in that monster.  He often snarled, and I was sure, at times, he would have loved the head on that line to have been mine.  I may have been wrong, but I had chills that morning on the river; strong notions, dare I say it, that I couldn’t cast aside.

He chilled my core with his backward glances as he caught me reminiscing – all the while knowing how wrong, but at the same time, how tantalising my dalliances had been with his shapely, fair-haired, sassy woman, whom I do love with all my heart.

Had I been altogether spoiled for choices, I could have kept her, instead of being plainly faced with death’s place underground.  So, I kissed her farewell and braced myself for the wrath of Ketley; but why we had to meet here of all places was, and was not, a curiosity to me.

His sights were held firmly on that there bleak as hell’s charmed water and god knows what he thought was underneath it all.

“Give me that small hook, will you?” He growled at me like when a dog or other threatened animal growled and made a low noise in its throat – usually, it meant it was angry.  He looked at me hard, and that always made me go cold.

What he called a small hook could have suspended a small calf.  The cold steel was sharp and grey,  and it looked like it could pierce three men at a time – and I was just one.  Still, I had trusted him all of my life, and I didn’t necessarily want to stop now; also, I had an escape planned.

I handed the hook to him, recoiling involuntarily, while at the same time, I watched my sweat be flung into the Four Corners of a god-awful night’s sea swell.  He swung the steely crook over the boat’s edge and it soon took hold of the hellish, glistening creature he had managed to draw alongside us.  It was magnificent. It was huge. It could have been the devil.  I’d never seen a catch that size.  Heh, in my mind, he should have rode off majestically then and there on that critter!

But, he started talking, and not in the angry voice I’d anticipated for most of the night; he was too watchful of the water, and seemingly, any possible onlookers.  I sat back away from him just in case.  He seemed calm and collected as he (just like that) asked me if I felt confident enough to run his livery, and that he ‘knew’ I could take care of his wife, but what about his three kids?

I stammered for quite a while, both inside and out – the words would not come.  My mouth?  Well, that giant fish from hell was looking mighty interested in that large hole as my jaw got wider and wider.   Despite the abundance of torrid sea water, my mouth just plain dried.

“Just as I thought.”  His creased to bust eyebrows then burst.  He savagely continued with,  “Thinkin’ with yer groin, but with actions of a jellyfish.  So, yeah, meet your maker, squirt!|

Plunging into the freezing, dark perdition of my predicament, I felt a hitherto calming warmth, as if hell froze for me what was bad.  Ketley saw wrongdoing and acted… and  I, at the time, saw curvaceous smiles, fear, her desperation and a hallelujah heaven awaitin’, and so, I indeed acted.  But who was right?

By now that great creature of a fish was as damn inconsequential as one might get.  And me?  I was a goner, but also didn’t altogether mightily care two hoots.  Ketley went home, she froze as she did, and turned for warmth to another who soon joined me in purgatory for cosy chats and fishing and good times.  I knew just by commons sense, she would soon be joining me.

 

 

 

Haeddre 29/7/2016

I’ve been so busy. Apologies for not visiting your great works much. I hope you don’t mind this.

As it Comes

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i
It is fine to be in balance, to hear wistful
cries like invisible veins in the winds,
and see lucky, white strands amongst
the heather’s Scottish highlands type
of sobbing, and to listen as the wind speaks
in gusts; inhaling deeply as if sucking
up a thought before breathing it out
smoothly in a musical phrase.

ii
Our giggles are swept away instantly
as we try to stand with pale, bare,
chicken legs; goose pimples and heads
lift deliberately so that we may
be bludgeoned by the wind – our cheeks
are malleable like Playdoh as we turn
to face the brave. Lana’s spectacles
are nudged from their cosy space; nudged
all the while with nary a murmur or complaint
right up until she would trip – her straight
edged, rimmed nose would turn red
underneath freckles that are faint traces
of sunlit birds across a pale expanse
of…

View original post 458 more words

waiting for the light (Teenage Suicide)

The Lonely Author

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waiting for the light

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dressed in her best
better off dead outfit
she resides in the shadows
for the sun
never shines for her

even in the blackness
the unnoticed signs
were always there
until she grew weary
tired of the dark

longing for enlightenment
she sits there
quietly
patiently
waiting for the light

.

In the past year, four friends/acquaintances lost their young sons and daughters to suicide.  Incidents of teenage suicide are growing at an alarming rate.  Each day there are an average of 3,041 suicide attempts of teens attending the 9th through 12th grades (in the United States alone).

Could one conversation, one hug, smile, pat on the back, or question have made a difference?  Can’t the ballgame wait for another time?  Can’t you catch the latest epsiode of your favorite show tomorrow on Hulu?

Every message, every minute counts.  The most important thing…

View original post 49 more words

Tickets Please!

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Chances should come with stickers –
carrying instructions, like which buttons to press,
which way to turn
and how to survive those innocuous bouts
of life that intercede,

with their damp edges that peel way
and which always leave me stuck,
with nought but a panoply of wetness;

extremities made of stodge and glue,
at the very point where I thought
my life would start, until
I’d always dig a bit more,
only to find I had no real chance at all.

So, I have nothing.
On most days, I lift a dirty nail
to scape that crimped and lifeless
pape mache, only to reveal
the plastic drudge of the rain soaked window,
on this bus going nowhere –

to be fair, this bus takes me places
while I sleep, and feel safe,
and where I can sometimes peep under the skirtings
of life’s bitter edge without having
to peel it away.  Most days.

Ultimately, the traffic of heavy breath
unwittingly peels away the crudities
waiting for me once I get off;
such is the nature of rain soaked passengers
and do gooders all mixing to make my life hell.

Trick the Treats

It’s Halloween, and I am unashamed and this has been published… again…

enjoy!

As it Comes

witch-by-scottepentzer1For the Halloween Writing Event Oct 22nd – Oct 31st

The Cracked Lens View

Blood spilled over onto the cruel hand that had just squeezed life out of her latest victim. Such a strong little girl, she mused before laughing. The same dry cackle exuded from the ravenous bellows deep within her mottled soul. She stopped and looked around; her long nails scratched uncouthly at her long, flowing, ragged garb. What she saw was completely different. No tatters or drab, grey bloodied stain. She only saw ‘true’ beauty, which she was not. Her large feet clunked around the dusty grit as she sniffed the air before running a tawdry sleeve across her nose, blistered and generous.

“Ye gods, another day, another year. It gets monotonous,” she said sighing. “Little upstarts trying to outdo me. Will they ever learn?”

A few miles away Jane, Sarah and Sasha giggled in a…

View original post 2,247 more words

Mindless Control

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Looking out
on this piss pouring, cloudy day,

I find it hard to unravel.

My life,
inside this invidious smog,

includes those many ubiquities and other tawdry, awkward bits,
often unkind to my demeanour.
And, as a consequence, they are always sent reeling.

But then, I tend to reel them inland –
from LSD to intense, or
merely simple chats,
until nothing will rival that
unwinding, mind bending
anecdote of inner self and healing whilst reeling.

“If I am not myself,
then how can others
see me?

To me,
it was, and still is
a revelation.”

But looking out today
on this rainy morning,
I still feel nothing inspiring –

so  I drain away this fancy
and torturous pain,
to  at least allow me to see the question

of Who I am,

and how that makes me feel…

Ok,  I see.

Looking out
on this piss pouring, cloudy day,

I find it hard to unravel.