Witchery!

Halloween's coming! The witch-hag is nigh!
On hovering besom high in the sky,
with cloak and with hat, see her silhouette fly!

A familiar black cat perched on the handle,
ears all a-twitch, long tail a-dandle,
watches the stars, each bright as a candle.

Mewling spells to the moon, he fills us with fear.
So, remember, children, it's best you steer clear
of fast flying broomsticks once Halloween's here!

For IGWRT. One from my archives of two years ago.  Time flies, as well as witches! 

The Eyes Have It

Once again, I have been seeing things, thanks to Tess at the Mag 140.

Human brains
will search for faces
everywhere;
even when
the result produced is odd,
we are satisfied.
Scientists
will probably try
to explain
why this is,
but do we need to know?
We can just enjoy!

Fourteen lines, and then some...

I never did like people with red hair;
at school, it was not long before I met
one so afflicted with this colourful
attribute, that she glowed like a candle,
burned the skin of any who came near,
with words of ridicule, or unkindness.

From that day, I catalogued the colour
as one to be avoided at all costs.

When I cried, my Mother would comfort me,
tell me to ignore the flying insults
or teasing words of Mary Pond. Her name
follows me to this day, while my Mother's
dark, auburn hair has long since dimmed and died
and all but faded from my memory.

Before my first baby was born, I prayed
“Please, let it be well – and not be ginger!”
I got my answer.  She had long, black hair;
but in three days, it turned to bright copper...
Love laughed loud.“So much for old prejudice.”

IGWRT's challenge  today got me writing. After fourteen lines, the flow of thought was interrupted, before I added another five. Now, I'm not sure whether I should have stopped at fourteen? Does it feel complete to you too, at that point? I wonder...

Tantivy, Tantivy!

At the local meet,
pink coated riders gather,
scarlet blood-lust fuelled.
They talk of cross-country trails
and the best route to follow.

Horse and hounds move out,
a pack in pursuit of prey.
Horn sounds"Tally-ho!"
and the cavalcade sets off
in haphazard formation.
 
Frightened animal,
alert, outwits the hunter.
Tail remains intact
as the harrowing day ends
and fox has won the contest.


For today's IGWRT, thanks to Hannah, and Peter Trimming's Photo.

The Last Word

“I’ve not telephoned you for a long time –

this is a dreadful line –

can you hear me clearly, Rosemary?”

“What’s that?

You’re not Rosemary? “

Where is she then?

Oh...dead!

Pardon my mirth - IGWRT wanted a 30 word drama , and I couldn't resist a little black humour. Sorry!

The Script

Our book of life falls open at a page
whereupon we write our stories daily,
with tracery that weaves our souls’ intent
into the fabric of the words we choose;
ours the choice to seek the light, or dark inks,
used to embellish the script of our play.

We have to take the leading role. Each act
supplies a cast of characters for us,
without whom our production would be dull,
a monologue in shades of monotone
uniformity.  So raise the curtain,
let the orchestra play the overture,
as we stand in the wings of a stage, set
with painted backdrops poised to shape our lives.

This is one of my poems re-worked, linked today to d'Verse

Fantasia For A Wet Monday

The world has clothed itself in misted grey
as each damp day mimics the one before.
All memories of warmth and sun recede
into the mists of imagination.

But crystal rain beads line each graceful leaf,
as though the plant had decked itself with gems,
before attending some illustrious
gathering, a high society ball
to be held in a fairy-dream garden... 

There, diamond studded spider's webs are strung
to light, in place of cut glass chandeliers,
the mossy dance floor. Woodland elves and sprites
will make full use of this bosky ballroom
while Lady Moon looks on and smiles, content.

Others flights of fancy may be found in this garden, too!