Author: ailsacawley

I have written since I can remember, devouring the stories of Roald Dahl under the covers by torchlight. I have always loved fairy tales, myths and magic. A good deal of the things I write has some truth in it. Others, not. I’m pleased you dropped by, please feel free to leave me a comment or if you’re kind enough to share that’s fine. ☺️

All of it

What shall I tell you of me?  She asked
All of it.
The dark,  the sordid,  bits wrapped in silk, the nice things?. She nodded,  awaiting the refusal
All of it.
Trust me,  try me. He whispered gently.
But I might look different then she countered
How can the person I see now change by yesterday’s words?  Or actions from another life?
You might not like who you thought I was…
But as I know so little and I need to see more it can only give me understanding
Of what?  She questioned
Of you.  I want all of you.
I need no perfect specimen to stand in a showcase
I want a real person and she stands here
So please allow me in,  allow me all of it.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

Crones end

The old crone watches, eyes scanning for chances to gain
More to add to the purse hanging from her wrist on a chain
Nodding and smirking of her grizzled grey head
Cackles escape now it’s almost the day of the dead
She has gold aplenty but will spend not one piece
On something so tasty from cauldron will feast
One tooth sticking forward like a tombstone
Your body shivers telling you she can crunch through bone
What will you be on her table of feasting?
Looking back gingerly to the plate from your eating
And she’s moved leaving behind a most pretty young girl
Large blue eyes and long golden curls
Can you help me to find my old grandma she asks?
I have neglected her for other more exciting tasks
She hangs her head, tears in her eyes
Do you have the heart to watch as she worries and cries?
Through the door you’d never seen in the wall
The world is silent no birds seem to now call
Turning to speak to her changes you now see
Sweet voice of the old crone, young girl saying this is me.
Mocking you as your confusion she clearly observes
My sweet you had to see what your heart did desire
To not lose your mind,  your humanity,  nerves.
I was never to hurt you just open your mind
Now go home young one leave prejudice behind.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

Ghost slaying

Sometimes you find it necessary to walk back where they reside
For there’s only so long that it works,  hiding
Not always needed to be able to go revisit
The bad stuff I found can be exorcised mostly
So similar are they to any night time haunting
Turn a corner and see a former life living there
And it has to be given the nod a simple action
That it existed in the other world
But it may be close enough to touch while it’s a light year away
Give it gentle acknowledgement of being there
Once
Then gently wish it peace and be gone
It will take it’s leave only if you allow it
Let it go free to float like a feather blown on the wind
Deep breath in and out fill you with newness
No need to forget,  but don’t live there.
Let ghosts be slain if they bring pain.
Choose your energy to be from the heart
Ensure it’s not fighting the painful demons of long ago.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

Healing

The words wash over me, cleansing, healing
Filling in the cracks and chips that time has made
Not one syllable do I know from a spoken language
Or at least that I have been taught by any man
But my soul accepts their soothing
It tells me I understand when I should not
And that it does not matter
For what are words but an expression of the soul
If the soul could not be heard in all dialects and none
In any language and many
We are alone all of us,  forever.
So I allow the ancient words of all our ancestors
To enter and teach me to be
Just to be still to quiet my mind

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

Slipping into light

She slipped and slid towards the precipice her body cold
As fear broke out and saturated her in a film of sweat
He smiled as he kept pushing, nudging her over
The edge ever closer.
When she had little left to throw aside in hope
She began to wonder aloud at her own fear
He taunted, teased that she had nothing, was nothing
Whose guidance would she seek on the way down?
Out of the world she knew into the realms of the unknown
And she would have to crawl back if, just if
She managed to break her fall after the final push
The last thought she had before the final push
Was not of survival
But of even in falling she could sink no lower
Lose nothing else
As he came to push the last time she stepped
Backwards over the edge and the wind carried her
As though on a downy coverlet
To a place not safe, but free of the constraints
That had held her fast and she felt lighter than ever before.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

The cat and the seagull

Such vivid, multi coloured dreams that swish and swirl

As she rests at night her work is only just beginning

For as much as she tries to turn away her eyes from the impending storm 

They take on a will of their own

Draw her back to where they demand her vision be trained

Momentarily, she sees only a wave, spray from the sea

Her mind clearing, stubborn heart softening she watches from within

And for the first time she sees , where it was hidden in plain sight 

The seagulls call out warnings to one another ‘stay back’

Braver souls scream, screech and carry on their daily battle

With the cat in hiding 

No ordinary feline that sits on the window seat purring 

She is the cat who can calm, charm the storm cat 

Making him over into the kitten he was many moons ago 

While one lonely seagull sits on a cliff side, 

Unsure of what he did so wrong that he is punished by loneliness 

Till the time they both take their eternal rest 

But will they ? Their memories linger after they depart the earth 

You may see them around the village 

One flying higher than possible for a gull

The other singing calming, hypnotic lullabies to the storm cat.
©Ailsa Cawley Poetry 2015
*This is a compilation and tribute to the books Jonathan Livingston Seagull and The Mousehole Cat by Richard Bach and Antonia Barber/Nicola Bayley respectively*

The unspeakable truth

Your words speak of your yearning to know every single part of me, 

And almost tempted am I to pour forth more

So many more secret parts I have played, lives lived

Than your eyes tell me to give freely to you. 

I eke out snippets here and there to ease digestion

Give you the chance to run which you will one day, I feel the chill wind

Void cajoling, pleading that I lie instead of giving truth 

If this can be escaped with honour and no honesty you will sigh

Content that your vision isn’t altered beyond reckoning

Blundering on as I do, the lie will not lay pleasantly 

And be petted , stroked into submission at your feet 

The truth they say will always out, so better now than …. 

Your eyes change from terror to anger as the game is spoiled

It is all of my doing, but rather the unspeakable truth 

Than a vipers nest of indigestible lies to bite me when they choose.
©Ailsa Cawley Poetry 2015

The dream of the end

Deep in the hidden cavern where no person could ever visit

Lay a pinprick of light, the tiniest spark 

It was enough 

No man, woman, child had entered because the doorway was hidden

Till the spark lit, like a match and sputtered

It was enough

Keeping the centre alive and warm enough to carry on hoping

That a day would come allowing her release

It was enough

She felt the turmoil as chains snapped and air rushed in unbidden 

Before she felt ready to execute change, escape

It was enough

Now it was more than just a wish, a needing to end confinement  

The very door barring escape burst it’s own hinges

It was more than enough

The dream of the end brought a new beginning 
©Ailsa Cawley Poetry 2015

Arianna

She rode the wind that danced upon the waves
Flaxen hair trailing out like the tendrils of an octopus
Sapphire eyes that shone as beacons to lost ships
And sparks shooting from her slight body
So many her whole body seemed to have a current of it’s very own making.
A hand in front of her pointing out to sea
Her fingers straight and commanding the very elements
Towards the shores an old man watches transfixed
As the beautiful maiden in the shimmering garment comes closer
He sighs as she reaches the surf line separating sea from sand
Sleepy now his head nods as a voice as smooth as liquid silver
Speaks to urge rest
He tries to fight like a child at bed time
Urgently she says ‘if you see me I cease to exist my friend ‘
Obediently his eyes close despite his minds protest
He wakes,  and she is nowhere to be seen.
Never finds out in waking hours who she was
But on the sand he hears a whispered ‘thank you ‘

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015