Category: Blogs

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

The three in one

Confusion reigns in the eyes of the triune one
She was asked to play today’s part with aplomb and she did
So well received her role of Madonna and innocent too
Difficult after last night being questioned
And laughingly branded a whore
But the eyes provoked and the lips spoke for them
A gently menacing tap to the cheek in disgust
Barely hidden behind the false smile given
As her confusion mounts and her head pounds
He begs direction and to be told what exactly to do
From the mother he has decided she should be
She sets down the rules and adheres to them strongly
To find him embittered at her controlling manipulation
Finally in defeat the impossible woman,  
The triune that cannot join and mingle within such an unholy alliance
Shreds into the slivers of a real person again
And in fear she heads for the hills
Leaving him to search for the figments of the three.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

Standing by

They walk by unnoticed by some at their side
Quiet support always there unwavering
And sometimes because their profile is kept so low
Almost secret to the point of being missed
Until it isn’t there because they feel used,  rejected
It can be done by omission not meaning to harm
And slowly,  silently you take a step back and another
Until you fall so far behind that you lose sight of….
The person who was always by your side,  and at your back
Sometimes you feel like taking a step back to find out
Exactly who you are everyone wanting a piece
Some that don’t even exist in you
But are wishing thoughts of who you would be
And the pressures build till you disappear
In a sea of other people’s wants
Press down,  down,  and then you force your way
To the surface and break through taking a gasping breath
Grasping for a lifeline and finding someone
The one who steadfastly stood by,  silently
Waiting at your side till YOU returned.
I have.

Ailsa
©AilsaCawley Poetry 2015

The rose teacup….

You’ve snuck around the corner to the place nobody  ever goes 

Such an unusual garden lies ahead, filled with things you just don’t see

No really, the carousel in the corner spun out of sight landing at your toes 

And something the size of a dinner plate looks like a bumble bee 
A little note lies on the table and you just have to take a peek 

‘Welcome, make yourself at home ‘ simply written there in ink of rainbow hues

Feeling quite proud (but scared,) of the forbidden fruit you came to seek

You sit right down and decide to look for clues 
Who lives here, you think as a pot lands wobbling  on the table 

Another note around it’s rounded belly reads ‘look right ‘

Not sure what you’re meant to be seeing, but curiosity will always enable 

You swing to see the strangest roses in this garden now twilight.
It cannot really  be your head says ,as you pluck it from by your side 

I mean rose teacups however pretty do not grow on trees 

And you observe that nothing is real and your bed is where you truly bide 

Obediently, or shocked, you devour the warming brew and sugary treats 
Almost dark now a light so strange it seems there’ll be a storm 

Garden not so pleasant now it’s cast in eerie unearthly glow 

Deciding to leave, go home where there’s a hearth, fire and life is warm 

The garden starts to swirl around , done is the pretty crowded show
Get to the gate, one last glance over your shoulder you give 

To see the fancy place, has all turned to ruins and dirt and rubble 

You head back fast as you can go to the little place you live

Disbelieving what you saw and read, mind inside a protective bubble 
You slept not unlike the dead that night and woke up fresh and new 

Silly dreams I have you thought as the curtains they did billow

Thought no more about it during that day, this much is surely true 

Till climbing into bed that night, a rose teacup lay on the pillow 

©Ailsa Cawley Poetry 2015

Storyteller

The crowd looks on as he weaves his tale, taller and stronger 

You know it isn’t true……  But still you’re drawn in a fish on a hook

Need to see how the “truth, I swear it” fingers crossed behind his back,  

Ends.

Where, how, what you ask helplessly wriggling in your seat 

As the plot unwinds on a pathway so twisted 

His eyes twinkle amused by this audience who swear they don’t believe 

In magic.

Or in massive armies of one inch men who grow to giants at dusk 

So strong they could carry you away with barely a movement seen 

They don’t exist you say, but look for them secretly 

Anyway.

Of the magical lands visited and what he saw there, all alone 

You can’t take anyone there who doesn’t believe and nobody does 

So how can I show anyone monsters, demons, and sssssh the little men

Believe 

Loving to hear other tales that said his world of difference was true 

From as far back as I can recall he made me realise one thing 

That if just if I look further and delve deeper into everything 

I 

Yes, I believe anyway in magic.
©Ailsa Cawley Poetry 2015