Eyes of love

Eyes of love wept
At the glance not intended
For the bedroom door
Had she dared
Touch her heart’s
Need for intimacy
Something dark

Advertisements

Summer slowly passes

Summer slowly passes
Crumbled dust miles
Rise in tawny breaths
Dozing midday hours
Brooding over the plains
Dark hair windblown, loose
Mouth trembling, swirling
Like a dancer lazily
Purple sky twilight still
Long, empty legs stretched
Under a felt hat shadow

Feminist city

Feminist city, serenely felt;
Nurturing mother holds me close
To her interior, warm, complex
Organic beating heart
Underneath concrete exteriors,
Reproductive choice and motorways;
Where women march together
Creating female space
Among misogynist sprawl
Because life is renewal
And the future is female.

The Witch in the Mirror – Part 35

Beatrice decided she wanted to get to know Josh. The way his music moved her—she needed to learn more about this boy. She had found out his name from Emily. Bea had casually asked Emily to tell her about some of the kids in the class.

Emily said she didn’t know much. She usually kept away from them, she said, because they were mostly the children of rich parents—spoilt children whose parents could afford this expensive school. She didn’t have time for any of them.

‘What about that scruffy guy over there?’ Bea had said, casually pointing at Josh. ‘He doesn’t look rich.’

Emily had admitted they weren’t all spoilt. Bea suspected it was a way for Emily to justify her attitude to herself.

‘His name is Josh. His mother is the school librarian. That’s how he can afford to come here and why he’s always hanging about the school late in the afternoon—waiting for his mum I guess.’

The librarian! Bea made a plan.

That afternoon as soon as the final bell went Bea packed her bag and rushed to the library. Sure enough, there was Josh sitting on a bench just outside the library. The cello case was on the ground beside him.

Bea stopped for a moment to catch her breath then walked casually up to him.

‘Hi, is the library shut already?’ She knew it was.

Josh was startled.

He just nodded.

‘Oh, damn. I’ll just have to take these books back tomorrow.’ She had several books tucked under her arm.

Josh was looking uncomfortably at her.

‘Is that your cello? I heard you playing in the music room the other day.’

Josh’s face relaxed a little. ‘Yeah, it’s new. I only got it a few weeks ago.’

‘I think the cello is the most amazing instrument. It produces such beautiful music. It makes me want to sing.’

Josh was amazed. No girl had ever spoken this much to him before.

‘Do you sing?’

‘Not really,’ said Bea, ‘At least—I don’t think so.’

Josh frowned.

‘Do you ever perform in public? I love hearing the cello played.’

‘I’m in the school orchestra. Actually—’ Josh hesitated. He could feel his heart racing. ‘I’m playing at the Fireworks Spectacular on the weekend. Are you going?’

‘I haven’t decided yet. Emily wants me to go.’

‘Oh—yeah—Emily.’

Josh lowered his eyes.

Bea looked at him curiously.

‘Well, I guess I should be going. I have to catch my bus. Maybe I’ll see you at the fireworks on Saturday.’

Josh nodded and Bea smiled as she turned and walked away. Her red hair bounced against her shoulders as she moved and Josh felt a warm glow spread throughout his chest.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a notepad and began scribbling down some music—this piece was going to soar like magic spinning across the sun. He needed to get home and begin practicing it so he could play it for Bea on Saturday night.

Women creatives

Grow creations for their own sake
Renewal of creative power
Refreshed, invigorated
Raw ideas fertilised
All by the touch of a woman
Created by her, within her
Without among women
Winged into existence
Before a woman could speak
Of complex femininity
Hindered and wasted

The Witch in the Mirror – Part 34

Emily was smiling as she sat on the edge of the bathtub. Candles illuminated the bathroom. Flower petals floated on the steamy surface of the water. She had been left alone in the house while her mother was out with Dave. That was her chance to study the book she had found in her locker. She assumed it had been a present from Bea.

The book had a single crescent moon printed on its cover. No title or anything to indicate what it was. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she realised it was a notebook. The pages were covered in handwritten scrawl and drawings, just like the one she had found in the cottage.

But unlike the other book this one was full of spells. Emily took off her coat and threw it on the sofa. She curled up with her feet underneath her bottom and began to flick through the book. A small packet fell out and when she opened it Emily found a silver chain with a pendant in the shape of a crescent. It was the same as the pendant she’d gotten from the antique shop. She stood at the mirror and placed the chain around her neck.

When Emily went to bed that night her head was full of happiness spells, love spells, wish spells—but best of all was the page titled memory spell.

 

Herbs for sleeping and dreaming – hops (dream pillow), passion flower, camomile, lavender, peppermint, poppy seeds, willow

 

Emily let her gaze return to the steaming bathtub. She could still picture the tattoo on the back of her neck.

Emily whispered.

‘Goddess, send me your gifts.’

She looked around the room and her eyes came to rest on the chair. Even in the dim candlelight she could see the book propped against the back of the chair.

Through the thin walls of the apartment she could hear children playing.

Emily thought about her mother. The long hours she worked to keep food on the table and Emily in school. When she could, Emily would create a money spell and her mother would never have to work again.

Emily stood and slipped off her robe. She turned to see if she could see the back of her neck in the mirror. She couldn’t see it, but it was still tingling. Instead she studied her body. She could see the outline of her ribs, the soft layer across her stomach. She sucked it in then ran her fingers across the tattoo that was tingling at the back of her neck.

Smoky morning

Smoky morning
Lover’s cup
Right words struggle
Coming out wrong
Waiting for an answer
She lied, I’m perfectly fine
Going through a looking glass
To collect her thoughts
My cup rattled in its saucer
Making a complete mess of my mind
Breath catching, hands tucked
Into my lonely little life
Staring at those pretty blue eyes
Thinking about the chalk circle
That black book
The clippings she’d taken from my fringe
Whispering all the while
Enchanted by her soft voice
Blaming myself for the argument
The loss of trust

The Witch in the Mirror – Part 33

The town of Pemblebury had settled down to silence after the bustle of market day. Only the taverns still rattled with the noise of drunken traders being pushed out the door after last drinks. Decent citizens were safely home tucked up in bed because the nights were no longer safe.

The king’s guards roamed the streets, occasionally looking up at the stone castle perched on the hill overlooking the town. None of them were game to go near it even if they could. Some soldiers had tried in the early days of the king’s reign and their burnt bodies were later found in the woods. The king himself had decreed that the castle be left to rot—nobody was to go in, nobody was to come out.

The grassy parkland surrounding the castle had grown lank and weedy. To the west the woods were still wild and untamed. To the north was the crystal clear water of Pemblebury sound. The town of Pemblebury surrounded the eastern and southern edges of the castle.

The captain of the guard stood at the edge of the town square and watched a couple of drunks staggering home. A curl of red hair crept out from under his hat. The darkness hid the cruel smile on his lips. He would have some fun with those two later, just like he usually did. Nobody would ever miss peasants like that and if a body or two turned up in Pemblebury Sound in the morning nobody ever asked any questions.

But right now he was scouring the streets for signs of magic. There were still pockets of witches hiding amongst the villagers. The captain of the guard prided himself on the ability to smell witchcraft. It left behind a tang that was disgusting to him. He barely remembered the night his mother died giving birth to his younger sister but he could still remember the tang of magic left behind as the healer tried to save her life. She failed, though, and ever since Aran had hated witches until he could feel it boiling inside him. It was that hatred that had made him flee to the north, away from the rule of the witch queen and her blasted magic goodness.

Aran spat on the ground. He was only ten years old when he had reached Glaston Rock and fallen in with thieves and murderers. Then he was taken one night by the prince’s recruiters and trained to be a killer. His hand stroked the sword attached to his side. He loved nothing more than killing witches—killing drunks just kept him in practice and satisfied his thirst for blood.

A burst of light hit the street as the tavern door opened again. A few more drunks stumbled onto the cobblestones. Sailors this time. Aran could tell by the way they walked, as though they were bracing their drunken legs against a rising deck.

Aran never missed anything that happened on the streets usually, but he didn’t notice the figure in the dark cloak pausing at the end of the alleyway. Even when he turned his head and looked toward where the figure was standing in the shadows he saw nothing.

The cloaked figure waited until Aran turned his head again and then it melted back into the darkness. Leaving the town square, the figure paused again by a row of workers cottages. The face was obscured by the cloak but its head turned as though it were sniffing the air. Then it moved quickly toward one of the cottages in the middle.

Aeilin and her husband were fast asleep. Neither of them heard the latch on their cottage door unfasten and the door creak slowly open. Only the sound of the husband’s snoring carried through the tiny room.

The cloaked figure waited a moment and then moved toward the sleeping child. Alyce pulled back the hood to reveal her long silver hair plaited into a knot on top of her head. She hesitated. Guilt ran through her body. Could she do this? Then she remembered her sister and silently knelt by the child’s bedside.

With her healing talents it was just as easy to steal a child’s magic as it was to cast her own magic. Alyce pressed her hands together until they were warm and then lowered them to hover above the child’s heart.

Instantly Alyce could feel the tingle of the little girl’s magic running through her fingers and up her arms. It felt so good.

She kept her hands steady until she could feel the magic start to wane. Suddenly she realised the girl’s eyes were staring at her in horror—but what disturbed Alyce the most was the vacant look in the girl’s eyes. They were empty.

Alyce’s heart was racing as she quickly ran from the cottage and melted back into the night. She didn’t stop until she had safely reached the secret entrance to the castle. She paused and looked up at the full moon. It was shrouded in dark cloud.

She started saying a prayer to the goddess but an image of the young child’s eyes popped into her mind. She stopped praying. Then she remembered how good it felt as the magic ran up her arms.

She needed so much more.

Alyce swept through the secret door of the castle.

The moon disappeared completely behind the clouds.

Think twice between skyscrapers

Think twice between skyscrapers
Traffic crowds hurry past
While in my own world
Raindrops are fairy crystals
Falling softly on my cheeks
Adele is the only voice I hear
Flowers crack the pavement
Footsteps slow, face turned
Toward the sky arms wide,
Dancing too long in my heart
Hidden by silence
I sing, right there
On the street
Until they come
To take me away
Forever.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑