Category: poetry

In front of me she did roam 
Slowly but I was not surprised 
Her dress a bridal one
Almost taking her balance 

Chestnut hair flowing in the night 
Windless though it was 
Something not quite right 
Her face too veiled for evening 

Sweet words carried on the wind
A bell clanged dull and dank
Terror now my belly did find
And of a sudden I realised 

There were no feet striking ground 
A floating woman was what I now saw
My eyes drawn to feet turned round 
Toes point to me and blood went cold 

My evening jaunt did wait that night
For she was sucking in the light 
Drinking souls if she could catch 
My door was barred lock and latch.


©Ailsa Cawley 2022 
Written for Folktober hosted by Paul Dragonwolf 

I stand here awaiting you 
Walk towards me slowly until 
You can see me unhidden against 
The trees that shelter my form. 

I’m here in plain sight daily 
But do you listen? 
As the Bodach awaits you 
Do you think I cannot see? 


What do you expect as I encompass 
Your being, first left, now right 
Lifting your face to mine
Your body shaking in fear of a fate
But it cannot tear itself away from me 


My eyes see into you through you 
shiver at the Bodach’s understanding 
Wish that you were not called here 
This day, time, hour into the forest

Day has turned to night 
Seconds into hours and you will 
Yourself to leave and yet
Until the Bodach says aye ye go

You are here at the Bodach’s Will
Never after this can you jest 
At the power he holds as you did once
You shall smile weakly knowing 

The Bodach shall bring to him 
All and any he wants 
Those woods become his army 
You are less than an ant under him
You no longer doubt his power. 


©Ailsa Cawley 2022
Written for Folktober Challenge 

There in the distance I see the shape

A person wanders hillsides they should not be on

Something stops me from checking

A shiver, a tingle down the spine

As they dance and weave disappear

Between the trees.

They are there then gone and reappear

A pale light beckons as an imitation moon

Caresses the earth and the air

I am drawn to a place I’d not usually go

Their presence pulling me on a chord

I cannot see but it’s there, human to human

She dances on tiptoes between the wooden guards

Of the sparse forest that shelter her from life

The world as it is has grown to crowd her in

She needs to inhale the scent of the trees

Touching their bark to prove there’s something

Outside of the small world she’s trapped in

Without escape, or pity wanted she trudges

At this moment all she needs is the company

Given by the trees

Without question or need for answers

I leave her to her solitary dance.

Ailsa

©Ailsa Cawley 2021

You will I’m sure have heard of the ghost of Duntulm Castle. I’ll specify which I mean, as there are a few keeping one another company. If each of them wailing can be classed as companionship. 

The one I mean is the nursemaid who was set adrift in a boat, as punishment for the death of her young charge, who fell from the window of the castle and was killed. 

This is what really happened that night and beyond.

She was indeed put on a boat to be dashed to death on the rocks, or starve, whichever came first. The chance she would go mad is not an impossible one either. 

And yet, she was not killed. Nor did she drown or any other gruesome thing hoped at the time. 

In that boat, on that night, she learned that stories were true. That dreams she’d long had were not just dreams. The images in her mind last night existed. 

As the boat drifted away she sat there, calmly accepting of her fate. Spiteful voices on the shore came on the wind, desperate to see her panic set in. 

Once she realises there’s no food, or water she’s going to panic. Once she notices that she’s adrift with no oars, and no way of getting home, she’s headed into a storm and certain death

On and on the gleeful voices went, happy to watch another suffer. It meant that today they were safe from the wrath of the masters. The blame was apportioned elsewhere. Joining the mob meant safety. And the boat sailed out of view. It was dark early that night and the baying crowd were disappointed that they could not watch longer. The sun set, blood red in the sky and the near darkness plunged straight after it. 

‘What was that noise?’ One of the villagers said, knowing what he’d heard wasn’t human. 

‘Ach, it’s the dogs, the foxes maybe. What’s wrong with you?’ Laughed his wife, still wishing she’d seen the girl panic at least. A new song to waulk the tweed with tomorrow. Yet, the wilful girl denied them that. 

He looked back towards the sea but saw nothing there, as he expected. The noise lay ahead. At the edge of the copse of trees, that led to the home they shared. 

They hurried along, for who wants to walk in the dark? 

Stepping into the copse he stopped as he came face to face with the noise he’d heard. A wolf. It looked balefully towards him, or so he thought. He tried to push his wife behind him, but she was too busy complaining about this and that. As quickly as the animal appeared, it was gone. Not an apparition, it just slunk quietly away. Lifting it’s top lip in a silent snarl, and it’s eyes flashing red, terrifying the man. 

When he tried to explain to his wife what he’d seen she laughed. 

‘You’re afraid, husband. We were not sending out some demon there, just a stupid girl. But, if you keep saying ridiculous things, we’ll be the next on a boat to nowhere. Do you hear me?’ She hissed in his face. He felt her spittle spray his cheeks like a mild sea fret. He looked back towards the water and as expected he saw nothing. Except on the shore what appeared to be a pair of shoes. But, of course, could be the kelp that dragged under the boat. He would check tomorrow. 

They carried on home. She feeling her husband was afraid of shadows and filled with anger at him. He sure she couldn’t see what was in front of her, but resigned to it. 

The next morning dawned cold and bright. The air was fresh and crisp. Winter was on the way. 

On his way to the shore to check on the shoes that haunted his dreams, the man crossed again through the patch of woodland and looked carefully for the wolf, of which there was no sign. 

His feet carried him a little faster to the shore, and he licked the salt from his lips. Felt it pulling his skin tightly. He loved this feeling. 

Looking out to sea there was a seal playing. His eyes must be playing tricks. It appeared to be waving at him. Much as he knew it was foolish, he returned the wave. The seal disappeared from view. 

For eight days the man returned, each day the seal appeared to wave and on his return wave, disappeared. On the ninth day he waited and seeing nothing, was about to leave. However, he heard a voice beside him that told him something he’d long suspected was true. 

The shoes he’d found on that first day. He’d moved them and hidden them within the rocks. 

‘Thank you for putting my shoes in a safe place. You are indeed a friend of the seal women. Do not be afraid, but never decide to swim out to me. You will surely drown. They will say when you’re old and beyond, that I haunt the castle. I’m not dead. I will return on the night they set me free, every year. My wolf is of no harm to you. He merely howls at the injustice of men. However, I am free and happy’ 

He made to turn, but feeling the wind pushing him forward heard her. ‘Please do not look at me. I wish you no harm or torment.’

For many years, the man returned to the shore. Sometimes there was a seal and sometimes not. He never confided in anyone, not even his wife.

Just before his own death, and long after his wife had passed on, he returned to the shore. Knowing that this would be the last visit here, and certain that the seal or the woman or whatever she was, would be long dead or moved on. Yet, he hoped that he might see it once more. There further away than usual, or it may have been his aged eyes was a seal and he was certain a hand raised in the surf. Long after she was gone he sat on the shingle beach, a huge stone his seat. His eyes drifted to the castle as darkness fell. He knew he should go home, but he felt rooted to the beach. Soon he would go home. Soon. 

There at the window from where the boy fell, little changed, was the girl who had been set adrift. Next to her, the wolf. Her head was thrown back and she emitted an ecstatic howl. The wolf joined her in pace and she stroked it happily. They both looked directly at the old man. 

He was found the next morning, by local fishermen on their way to sea for a catch in their small boat. He had a small satisfied smile on his face. In his hand he held a pair of shoes. 

Yet, to this day on a calm night you might hear her, wailing for the loss of her friend, if you listen carefully. Listen more carefully still and you might hear the old man sigh on the wind.

©Ailsa Cawley 2021

As a star

You watched me there at the window

Laughing at my dreams, hopes

Of something you couldn’t see

All of it unimaginable in your world

Where nobody thinks they can try

And break from the normal drudge

You weren’t watching on the day

I looked up transfixed at the beauty

Even though death was what I saw

A shooting star burning bright

Dust, burning rock dust shining

In it’s death throes

And I knew then if a stardust can glow

Show the world it’s glow in dying

Mine had to shine by living

Ailsa

©AilsaCawleyPoetry 2021

Written for @PaulBrookes wombwellrainbow ekphrastic poetry April challenge.

Artwork by Jane Cornwell

Sitting here I wait for the right time to show

My face to you each season

Now I’m young again the reborn one

Of our pack no longer hobbling on

The stick taken from a branch to aid me

As the final season aches my back so

I appear withered when I’m merely tired

In need of sleep so I can return and help

The maiden when she wakes from her sleep

Stretching out in all her splendour

Fingers crooking and every year I am

Entranced again and we work as one

Through the trees I watch and wait for her

To return once more

As we are young together we grow old, tired

Withering and wizened in need of sleep

Resting the long winter

So the greenery lives again and I the man

The Green Man and my maiden are young again.

For @thewombwellrainbow. com

Picture credit: Green Man by John Law

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2020

Darling remember carry your keys

In your hand sharp end out

And if they come, when they do

Fight for all you’re worth

Take them down, out, run

Her grandmother said

Sweetheart watch for ones who stalk

Look at you like prey

Make your skin crawl

When they come, kick scratch bite

You’re in the fight for your life

I might not be there

Her father said

Decades later it’s ingrained

To have to be more careful

Go home earlier

Because she’s a girl and it’s made her

A target, a walking target

Not for any reason than she is she

No change needs to change.

Ailsa

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2021