A cappuccino with one sugar
sits on the sitting table beside the chair
waiting for lips to touch froth.
the forest cathedral around the house
moves and blows in the wild rain
and the wind tells all of her stories today.
A favourite blanket covers the old chair,
which sits near the logs on the fire
and warms clammy, squishy old buns.
The communion of two begins with a sip,
then continues until the sorrows
start to leave the witch's sweet light heart.
Tag: witch
Forest Witch
The forest is full of the sounds of snow-covered trees, scurrying creatures, and the hoot of an owl.
By the lambent glow of the lamp, a witch walks along carrying a song to the trees, the snow, and the Earth.
As she walks, trees bow, creatures dance, and the owl nods.
Whispers
Where others don’t go,
she stays for the lonely ones
who need her kindness.
Whispers of a witch in the
woods create stories and legends.
Whispers are only empty
words for a warm heart to forget.
Dripping with Curiosity
The door you can never enter,
intricate patterns carved into the door.
A child should be seen and not heard,
so you dared never enter the wooden door.
Older, you arrive at the house from long ago;
no longer a child, yet you have the heart of a child.
No longer afraid, you are dripping with curiosity.
To hell with it, you whisper,
then turn the handle and walk into the room.
Your Grandmother sits at her desk,
within a room of dreams and magic,
‘I wondered when you would join me.’
You smile and take the stars within your hands;
now you are ready for your mother’s secrets.
‘You have always been a witch, and now it is time to become one. Welcome to the heart of our coven, my beautiful Granddaughter.
I wish your mother could see this day, yet you know she still lingers.’
The Raven
No one visits;
no visitors visit
her home.
More a witch than a woman,
or they say something
like that in hushed tones.
Living alone stirs rumours,
tales become more and
soon blood may flow.
A beauty despite the time.
She refuses to brush her hair,
many curls, a bird appears.
Black eyes know the
way to and from this
world to the next.
The chimney sends smoke
puffing thick into the
atmosphere.
Careful, she leaves
no trace of who
she once was.
Only what is needed,
she takes from her home,
the place loved so well.
Moving on, she sets her
home alight, so no one
will find what she felt.
Hearing her home burning;
the moor hides and
not a living soul is around.
Gone before the judgement
police come knocking,
and kill her with stones.
Very Short Story: Office Woes
Sheets of coffee-stained paper sit near the mouse, yet that’s too far from the bin.
The keyboard is having a hard time accepting these old fingers don’t work the way they used to, yet the words continue to form on the screen.
The Witch wishes for her Familiar to be closer, so they can find a spell for the shit way this day is going.
C & K 