Milky fingernail

It peeps over the horizon

Then rises boldly

Into the darkening sky

Driving the sun

Off the western edge

And replacing the golden rays

With opalescent gleam

Her cool light shines

Moonbeams dance on water

And cast deep shadows

As creatures scuffle under bushes

Searching for their prey

Oft shrouded in dark clouds

Her glow then muted

Yellowed, greyed

Made yet more milky

'Til she emerges again

She brings the tides

Which surge upon the shores

Makes dogs howl

And nervous birds flutter

Even lonely people

Mutter to themselves

Their eyes smudged

By restless nights

Bathed in pearly light

Her power is more subtle

Her hand more deft

And yet she is formidable

She will not burn you

Nor cause your eyes to squint

But she will send you disquieting dreams

And buzzing insects

And yowling cats

And gooseflesh on your skin

When the round moon sashays across the sky

Then gentle creatures must hide

For predators stalk in every shadow

Hungry for their supper

Teeth sharpened for the kill

Mouths salivating

Eyes alert and ears pricked

Waiting and coiled

To pounce on their prey

Be it leathery bats

Or silent, taloned owls

Spiders with sticky webs

A snake on a summer's night

A patient black cat

A man with ill-intent

A cunning, smiling fox

All have come to kill

To net their trophy

She dances across the sky

A round, glowing orb

Beautiful and dangerous

Aloof of all the destruction

That trails in her wake

The moon

I want to learn to cackle

To laugh in that uninhibited way

That only a woman who has

Blithely discarded the chains

Of expectation can

I want to cackle at the body shamers

At those who think I have no place

In this magnificent world

Because I haven't birthed a human.

I want to cackle in their face

I want to cackle at capitalism

And unrealistic beauty standards

And the needless violence of men

I want to cackle like a witch

Like a woman liberated

I want to cackle at the leering eyes

And at the eyes filled with pity

And at the arch, judgemental eyes

I want to cackle at my own eyes

When they only seek to see my flaws

For what is a witch

But a woman come into her power

Freed from the crushing expectations

Of a society obsessed with controlling

All that is feminine

Oh yes I long to cackle

To dance around a fire

To mix hearty soups in a cauldron

To gather herbs in the forest

To whisper to trees and flowers

What bliss there could be

Living a life like that

Of peace and calm reflection

Of picking up the shattered pieces

And creating a beautiful mosaic

Of finding the person I could be

Underneath the hopes and wishes

The sadness and the trying to fit in

The bending and then breaking.

But first, I must learn to cackle.

I thought it had gone away,

Had flown like a bird

Migrating to warmer climes

One day here, the next day departed

Leaving just a faint impression

That swiftly faded away

That it had ever been here at all.

My step was light, my heart warm

The sun glinted off leaves

And even rain brought only

Bands of colour to the sky

Suddenly time stretched

An expanse of exciting opportunity

The world felt like a mum hug

I baked, I wrote, I sewed

I read grand works of historical fiction

I napped and sipped tea

Poetry flowed forth

And I sketched dogs and cats

Walked in fields of flowers

And felt a glowing peace

But it returned uninvited

Unexpected, untimely, unwished

The shock felt yet more keenly

From it's too-short absence

A marauder with no code

With no-one else to torment

Tailor-made for me

I awoke heavy with dull eyes

And slow thoughts

I moved through treacle

The sun's rays held no warmth

It would not reach me

Below my thickly wrapped

Cloak of shame

Sophie woke suddenly. The mournful howling of wolves echoed around the valley, but something else caused her skin to prickle. She held her breath and listened....A quiet sound, that ceased a heartbeat after the howling faded. Like someone was working loose the latch on the door. Silent as an owl, Sophie moved to the window and peered out. Three silhouettes darkened her door. She counted two jerry cans and the barrel of a gun. Tools to burn a witch. The whispers she'd spread in town had finally borne fruit. Souls, delivered to her door. Starter, main and dessert. Bon appetite.

Soft white flakes drift

On the hot current of air

And settle amongst

The dry grass stalks

Baked brown and crisp

By the unrelenting sun

On the ridge, blue smoke

Curls and coils like serpents

And, with the aid of binoculars

It's possible to see the orange glow

Of the fire, licking, devouring

Everything in it's path

Leaving only charred remains

It crackles and pops

As it tastes this trunk

And spits out that rock

As it journeys up the slope

Accelerating like a race car

With a hungry V8 engine

The wind picks up

Whipping itself into a frenzy

Carrying the flames higher

And higher again

Lifting the smoke

And tossing it though the hot air

Soon the valley is shrouded

With grey, greasy haze

The heat shimmers on the ground

The soft flakes dance on the breeze

Then settle on the dusty ground

Feather light, til everything is white

The fire makes it's slow descent

From the flatness of the ridge

Into the once verdant valley

Leaving a trail of wanton destruction

In it's smouldering wake

Corpses, stumps, ash

The air is thick now

With heat and smoke.

It's getting hard to breathe now

The acrid air sears eyes and throat

It's mistress, the fire lurks

Perhaps near, perhaps far away

A sudden gust of wind

Carries bad omens

Singed gum leaves,

Edges still aglow

With the greedy embers

Of the ravenous fire

The hose feels small

The water tepid, weak

In the face of this monster

The only blessing is the drought

It's turned the country to dust

And dust is no food for fire

Still, the burning leaves alight

And soon a grass stalk flickers

With the dancing orange flame

A moment of joyous life

Before the harsh wind

Blows it roughly out

Janette wheeled the barrow through the thick oak gate. After months of pleading with Ms Rhodes, the stately lady had sighed resignedly.

"You may enter the garden. But please, remember this was your idea."

The garden on the other side of the gate was beautiful and wild. Vines curled and danced, the air was fragrant with the scent of flowers.

A dark corner by the far wall drew Janette's eyes. A wall of verdant ivy draped down to the ground and something glinted in the morning sun.

Setting the barrow down, Janette picked her way carefully across the garden, over cracked pavers and sun-parched weeds.

Reaching the far side, she bent and swept a handful of the ivy to the side, with her gloved hand. Then she peered into the inky shadows. Light glinted again. Off eight shiny round orbs. The larger were the size of oranges, the smaller were like plums.

Janette felt the scream building in the pit of her stomach, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and slowly revealed the owner of the orbs.

She dropped the ivy, turned and sprinted to the gate. It slammed shut. CLICK. Across the garden, the ivy rustled and twitched.

From the curly blonde Australia

I'd keep the way you loved your brothers

The friendship you shared with them

Was heart warming and pure

As was your patience and respect

For someone so innocent

From the Canadian I met in Greece,

I'd keep that sense of adventure

That lust for travel, that hunger to live

To sleep in caves and on beaches

To savour the food on every table

To dance joyously in nightclubs

From my German ex in Berlin

I'd keep the picnics we had in your room

The olives, hummus, cheese

Spread on stretchy Turkish bread.

I'd keep your hot-breathed desire,

For it lit a fire in me

From the Queenslander in Sydney

I'd keep the excitement

That came from peeking into your world

Of eating in nice restaurants

And meeting your cool friends

Your cooked breakfast and crooked smile

From the one I thought was mine

I'd keep that razor sharp intelligence

That goofy, silly side that rarely came to play

I'd keep the love you had for your mother

And the love you had for cuddles

And the way you held my hand in the car

From the French sailor in Harlingen

I'd like to keep you still

Those lips, those eyes, that laugh

That fresh smell of soap

The picnics, the sailing, the bike rides

You coloured my summer

It's too quiet

The air's too still

The birds are silent

But the ant hill

Is frantic movement

Sets of six legs scurrying

Hither and thither

They know something

I sniff the air

It smells of pollen

And fresh cut grass

There's no insects

Humming as they fly

Or scent of rain

But the farmer fertilises

She knows something

I make some tea

And when I sit again

The sky has changed it's outfit

From blue, to striking grey

Storm clouds billowing

As tall as skyscrapers

Thunder growls

And fat drops of rain

Begin to fall

It's empty on the ant hill

The farmer - disappeared

The tractor's roar silenced

And now I smell the rain

That fresh, metallic smell

And hear it's awesome crescendo

As it pelts down

And washes everything

Drops turn to rivulets

And tiny pools to puddles

And still the torrent falls

Until it's gushing

Gushing - in the gullies

Gushing from the gutters

And splashing on the windows

And the whole world turned opaque

Thunder roars and groans

Lighting stings and strikes

Cloud sweep across the skies

Those violent, angry skies

And I curl up on my lounge

To watch the fury unfold

To marvel at my smallness

In the face of such turbulence

Black cats stalking

Helpless prey

Jagged nerves

That start to fray

Moon rays glitter

On the mud

Mosquitoes whine

Their quest for blood

What's that howling

To the south?

Bone-white teeth

And foul-breathed mouth

The veil grows thin

And creatures gather

Cruel, dark eyes

And sides a-lather

One false move

And they'll get in

You shiver at

Their awful din

The streets are full

With drunken goons

Made bold by liquor

Oh what a boon

With any luck

They'll take the heat

If demons come

And want to eat

The weekend beckons

On the morrow

But first, this night

Of deepest sorrow

For some will perish

Some will die

Their loved ones left

To wonder why?

The hundredth time

Or 'haps umpteenth

Bad omens on

Friday thirteenth