Month: October 2015

Circus paint

Many a time spent chasing behind, smile painted on
There under false pretences not sure
If I’m going to be found out anytime soon,
Driven away for not being who I allude to
Never the sparkly, witty one
Rather the one who watches from a quiet corner
As the circus unfolds…
Who shall I be tonight?
Dancing rock star whirling about the room
Or a wallflower clinging to the bar there,  like a life raft?
Circus paint on,  costume on? Check
Hair,  heels, personality all in order
Still unsure if I’m in the wrong fairytale,
And how soon can I escape it all….
It’s all started to bore now you see
Daily adventures have become monotonous
Looking at faces flushed red, dull eyes
Comprehending nothing other than a drink
Which is blotting up the spilled ink of their daily story
That they have no way to escape from.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

The fearsome warrior

I don’t care what you think about me, I don’t think about you at all – Coco Chanel

Just a woman she’d heard it said, no good for much except a bed!
She worked harder than any man she knew
Proving herself daily as her confidence grew.
Always knowing she was an almost son, respect forever hard won.
As she grew old and retained her inner fire
They looked and saw just a woman filled with ire.
Her favourite saying “you’re as good as everyone else, and in some cases better, but keep that to yourself!”
For when she was a girl you hid your light so deep
You’d forget it were there, a secret to keep.
She heard the comments, formidable, tough, hard, unforgiving
Except that she knew at the end she was winning
As woman, mother, sister, friend
You took your hurts she still found a way to mend.
Feeding you plenty, asking what no one else could
Because it was not nice, or not something you should
So every time I hear a mention in comparison I swell
My pride in her always will dwell.
A warrior she was and will remain on a green hill
A fearsome woman ahead of time then and still.

What is it my pretty?

What is it my pretty,  asked the crone swathed in lace
Her smell of dust, decay and old roses around the girls face
The old curled nails stroking her throat
As she robs the girl of speech, gloating
One sharp scratch you see it won’t hurt for long
And oh you will give such a pretty song
The smell is growing stronger,  hypnotic and plodding
Slowly the girl offers her neck like a sacrifice
Speaking in tones soothing, trying to hide the ice
Not long my pretty and it will be over one sharp……
At the sound of the tinkling she awakes with a start
Fury boiling over from the old woman who now changed
From what appeared to be merciful to animal and deranged
The girl cannot look at the face she would die for
Looking down to the ground and backs towards the door
That she doesn’t remember having been here. .
And the tinkling she sees now was rising from her toes
Not a scream for the trance she’d been in stopped
Any human reaction even lamentation of her own woes
What saved her you ask?
Pearls.
Worn around her throat,  so intent on her dark task
The crone could not see and undid her own work
As her fingers caught and she did jerk
Causing a whisper in reality as they called as they fell
Wake up,  wake up,  and run, for she is a guardian of hell
Come back it’s not your time to go from life
Run, run by the four winds that do blow
Faster, faster go now go.
As she opens the door the girl bends to thank
The necklace which saved her in her trance
Picks one bead before she takes flight
Puts hand to throat she notes the blood
But she survived it, that thing of the night
Like it never happened,  well who would believe?
She tidies herself,  pink mark at her throat
And wonders if tonight that crone will return to gloat.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

Dancing to the tune

Watching them as they give you tasks to join their world
The one you’re desperate to be part of
You move slowly, anguish crushing your features
So faster turning, swooping, diving, anything
Anything that gets them to see the steam rise from your breath
Making them aware ‘look I’m alive, I breathe ‘you smile
They laugh at your confusion
Braying, pointing to the marionette who dances for them
Despite everything still wanting, needing to be on the inside
Ever willing to be laughed at
And the bells jingle loudly, the fools bells
But you wear them proudly like a badge of honour
To say you made it and got noticed
Even if they make you dance and sing, at heel like the puppy
Whose eyes will adore you while you kick him
They can smell the desperation pouring from you
See it shining manically in your too bright eyes
They have a clown, jester, puppet
Don’t try to break into their enclosed heartland
For the hearts are withered and lands are barren.
Stop dancing, close your ears to the tune.
Leave the dance mid-turn, with some pride intact

Haunted by

I walk to the bus and you are there, not by me
Never by my side, following incase I speak to a person unchecked
Someone not through your process.
Which is that you ask? Surely speech is free?
You might think, but
I’ve to watch my step, my expression, my interest
Smile and say hi for a moment your voice says
But as I half turn looking over my shoulder slyly
For all the world a spy in my own prison world
I see you shuffle-dive into a doorway
Once I used to ask you why you followed me, always
You laughed, huffed, got angry
Except it wasn’t me alone who saw you, was it?
Jokes masking the serious questions of why, just why
Did you need to know my every second and try to breathe for me
If I tried to do it alone I was closing you out
So you followed sometimes nearly stumbling into me
Or you called telling me I had been away long enough
And if I loved you, really loved you
I would only want you and it would be enough
Till the day you issued a threat up close
When up she stepped, the hidden one, usually being timid
Always wanting to see you happy, or just calm
You threatened me the last time then didn’t you?
When I looked you in the eye and told you to sleep awake
Keep your eyes open forever
You hurt me before, but never again
I have waited, and like the snake who strikes
You will find you cannot time my attack, nor will I stop!!
Would I have ever been able to do it?
I simply don’t know, but it stopped the onslaughts
Every day.
But the strength began to build a bridge
Not between us, but to a new song where you don’t feature.
And I am not haunted by
Day, night,you.

The man who had dreams

An excerpt from a conversation which extracted a promise,  for which I shall remain ever grateful ❤

The man who had dreams, called to me one day
If you have wishes my child don’t bury them away
Never parcel them tightly, hidden in a box
That is bound by ribbons ending in locks.
They’re put there by those who have fears of the dark
Give them a fire and their fear is now sparks!!
Anything different they can’t comprehend
So whatever you choose will seem like the end
Promise me dear child among their own road of tumult
You will step back and ensure your own heart is full
For if you will trust in the world you can see there
This is the wonderful world of mine you can share.
Never have fear of pursuing your heart
Without the head cannot make a start
Follow it,  follow it,  follow your dreams
For they mean so much more than many have seen.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

And you were wrong

In your head shakes I saw it more clearly than you thought

As you wandered off telling me not to be stupid

Dreams were for other people, other world’s 

Best to just forget with almost disdainful pats to the head,

While crushing my dreams,  your fears,

Underfoot a grinding to dust to be sure the fire couldn’t ignite

Except it never fully extinguished

It just went on a slow low gas, like dinner set to low

Awaiting it’s time to be served, fulfilling needs

Maybe not yours but you can never search horizons

Looking at the beauty therein

Your only thought is tomorrow’s weather,  hang tonight’s beauty

For what good is a golden ethereal light really

And as you walk away marvelling at how sensible you are

How much of a sleep walking dreamer I am

Ask yourself how much you have to show

For blocking out the golden shimmer,  or the almost violent sunset

I have my wild imaginings some can be real

But like a genie you fear

You corked the bottle tightly,  bound and hid it.

My genie roams free but when does yours  burst forth

Escape and turn on you

For keeping it a prisoner TOO long?

The day you change your future

It can be done although it seems too hard
I looked at mine and accepted things
Then I decided to say what if…
If I open my mind aswell as my eyes and just wait
For the path before step by step to show clear and true
I don’t expect it to be easy or simple
But since when was a new walkway mapped in safety
And would I choose it if it were?
I’d rather learn a little at a time daily
Than think I know who I am and all maps are charted
Irrevocable,  unchanging
Living in fear of difference and change
Shouldn’t you allow the path to show you
What can be,  a life of promise,  change
A future
Or get old and wish you had done all the things
In your mind
But ignored studiously because it wasn’t on the chart
Whose directions were written wrongly anyway

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

Eyes of

And she watches me intently with the eyes of a recalcitrant child,
The anger there like an icy cold blast
Her disappointment on display for all to see
If the shutter has rattled down the blue is slate grey
With only lighting flashes of their original blue
The time is fast approaching where your tenuous thread
She will snap in icy anger
Your face will register shock then disbelief
Because it wasn’t you,  never was, couldn’t be
Could it?

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

Feather touch

You turn to look behind you and see nobody there
A hand upon your shoulder that does touch
whenever  burdens weigh
Convince yourself it’s wild imaginings
And you’re being fanciful today.
Shake your head impatiently,  yes force it from your mind
Tell your soul your heart is bringing those feelings
Force it to pay no mind
What is it you’re afraid of, thoughts you do not speak?
Allowing the comforting arms at your shoulder
Or a missing other that you seek
Why be wary of the feather touch from those in shadowlands?
Has there been harm within the warming hands
The ones who help and guide you will return day on day
Give them the grace of acknowledging a shield
That by you will always stay.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015