The Witch

Slender.
Long, dark hair.
Softly flowing clothes.
She came to my market stall
requesting an aura drawing.

Afterwards, on impulse,
I asked her telephone number.
When she wrote her name, I said,
'You’re X’s Tarot student!'
'And you must be
the mentor she talks about.'

I invited her into the coven.
She’d been a Solitary.
Years later, coven scattered,
we two still meet for coffee,
swap books and DVDs.



[Poem #69]

A MySpace Friend

I first fell in love
with her mysterious photos:
flowers, landscapes, self-portraits
washed with unearthly colours;
still think her blue period
most beautiful of all.

Then I started reading
her words, at once mystical
and confessional – a journey
through alcohol, recovery,
depression, regeneration …

and permanent paths:
the friendships, the art,
while holding fast the hand of God.
Full lips, long hair, soft heart –
yet a warrior!



[Poem #68]

Peggotty

Forty years all but one day
older than me.

Soft fat woman,
voice like honey.

Lying gowned in flowing purple
one liqueur chocolate
in smooth fingertips.

Musk and lavender wafting
from a cushiony bosom.
A yielding cheek for kisses.

Her garden had swings
and winding paths,
nooks for hide-and-seek
among rhododendrons.

Gave me '18 Poems
by Dylan Thomas'
one shared birthday –
1962, my 23rd. I have it still.



[Poem #67]

Sharing, 17 years after writing, with Poets and Storytellers United, for Friday Writings #222: Legacies.  This lady's whole self was her legacy. (I started writing a new piece about her, then remembered I had this.)