Palette of time 

Hardly able to breathe and skin tingling 

She watches as it creeps forward 

Awe filling her very being 

Almost as if its unsure of welcome

It begins to glow 

Not certain of how open to be 

In trailing upward tendrils her escaped breath moving 

Small wisps not disturbing the movement 

Legs sinking down onto the dry earth 

No knowledge of her descent 

And closer, brighter it moves 

She couldn’t shift if she wanted to 

She doesn’t, 

Won’t, can’t till it’s ended 

Fierce hues spring forth envelope all 

Flames licking the trees and they succumb 

Grateful or compliant? 

Crimson to purple all shades combine 

A palette of vibrance alight 

Alive 

As the sun dies through the trees once more 

Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017

Wings of the storm 

You pushed, pulled trying to mould me into shape 

Clay on the turntable forgetting, ignoring? Not caring 

The flesh bruised, bone splintered, blood spilt 

Eyes that didn’t cry  

Not that you saw, not that you felt 

As sobs were swallowed deep and churned 

Tears silently rolling down into the vortex 

Moving faster, bubbling, burning 

Sometimes aching from wishing on stars, pebbles, anything 

That just might work 

Till the time when the storm brewed enough to explode 

Sending me forth to a new world on tides unseen 

Roads not travelled and water never crossed before 

Propelled away from your mean smile 

That once appeared shy and urged entanglement 

All you wanted was nothing real 

A picture fractured into mirror shards 

To break me with 

Scarred, damaged by things tainted 

Broken? 

You imagine too strongly your power 

Bloodied wings I thought clipped teaching me to fly 

All over again 

And I soar 
Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017

The time of last 

Knowing it’s the last time they savour it 

Every sense alive and desperate to devour 

Force themselves to eke out each morsel, crumb, sight, sound 

To etch upon memory for when there’s 

Nothing, none, all gone 

Living on memories shrouded in silver light 

The little things ingrained and sharpened 

Did they say this? Feel that? 

Were parts harmlessly imagined 

To apply a balm to the wound an ending day brings 

Does it matter if the essence is unchanged? 

If the truth is polished like glistening silver 

Perfume from flowers which bloomed longer 

In images they create to remember a brighter day 

They look only to replicate a better future 

So let them make it their perfect 

Their wonderful may be your mundane 

Does it matter if it glints a shade brighter? 

Illuminating the end 

Allow the poet license, the storyteller space 

All of us have a tale to tell 

Tell it your way with grace to return the same favour
Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017

Give all, leave nothing 

Give me this, I’m taking that your shrill call cuts 

The air sliced into rough edges 

Hewn jaggedly from unexpected demands 

On time, people, life, AIR! 

You split things up to gain your way 

Crying tears that utter apology but are bitter 

At being caught out and not winning the battle 

That was in the bag , wasn’t it? 

Nobody cleverer you utter 

A vain tattoo beating on the wind 

As backs turn and the lock clangs 

Heart door swinging shut for the last time 

Leaving you in the cold night 
Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017

Carry on 

Carry on 

Carry on the words chime through 

The bells that toll to say your choices 

Have been removed or changed 

Your world is smaller and circle shrinking 

Just as they planned so shrink is the only option 

Expand, grow, step forth with no fear 

Carry on as you did before, no don’t!! 

Make yourself show bright and light 

Fight back not with weapons but words 

Keep going as you would if they weren’t instilling fear 

The only dead thing must be your calm 

Do what you want, need and desire 

Does it hurt or harm the human race? 

No???  

Why hesitate….while you do they win 

Carry on as maybe never before 
Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017

The Attic 

There’s something here that you keep telling me to find 

Not with words but imagery 

Apparently I’ll know it when I see it 

The walls so old and dusty that I  barely see paper on the walls 

Smell of old books rising from boxes long neglected 

All here dumped, forgotten, dusty and old  

Scrub at the walls to reveal a rich ruby pattern on once cream 

Was this a haven for someone? 

It feels like it could become one if the boxes are moved 

Just stacked elsewhere here not taken away 

I see the space is huge,  beams above my head 

A threadbare carpet covering the floor and a shaft of light 

From where? Following the line find a tiny window painted in dark colour 

The rejected here was also protected I muse 

Beauty hidden in old boxes, a dirty wooden trunk 

Carved symbols and initials are waiting to be unveiled 

Will I ever leave this room? 

I have needed to return to a place I can’t recall seeing 

But it’s like a hazy memory 

I can only leave when it’s all tidily boxed away 

Rearranged like the protective armour that stops 

The past from invading the future 
Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017

Woman of the tree 

Waiting until dusk has fallen she slips away 

Into the expectant forest 

It seems to heave a collective sigh  

No human foot treading this woodland floor 

She is careful to glide slowly around 

Slipping behind a fallen log or standing object 

If she ever feels them drawing near 

The humans who know her as children are told 

Forget the foolish nonsense when they grow 

And for the most part they do 

They believe she was illusion, imagined 

Call it what you will 

Except the otherly children who still see 

Going about their daily business 

Until the compulsion forces them back ….SNAP 

In time, in belief who knows? 

Into the forest to the hugest tree they come 

Head bowed to bark in rain and shine, 

Coming back to feel the earths heart beat 

Steadily taking strength and knowledge 

From the tree they feed from 

Some silent, or singing, talking or dancing 

Always a touch on the wind they feel 

They keep secret their visits as how do you explain ?

I went to the healing tree and all is well 

Many offerings are here a ribbon, a message scrawled, a carved figure 

So much, so many to quietly help 

Have you been to the forest yet? 

Ah you found it too and they told you to forget 

I see. 

Tuck away your knowing words and keep them for yourself 

Ssshhhh you have been chosen 
Ailsa 

©AilsaCawleyPoetry2017