The Witch’s tale

There’s a woman selling dreams 
on the corner of the marketplace
a beribboned tray of wonders 
slung blithely round her neck.


She sports in spring-green velveteen, 
sleek floor length tulle confectionery 
hennaed tresses turban wrapped 


Keen black eyed kohl rimmed mirrors 
scour the crowd of eager punters 
summoning her gifts she gathers
lost souls into her net 


‘What for today my sweetlings is’t love philtres you desire

something for the weekend when your husband’s strength is spent

a mother’s helping handful when her patience it expires

a cloak invisible to wear when the landlord calls for rent

a quickening decocktion, for when the childers overdue

what dreams do you require today that I can help come true?”

Granite walls run mossy green with misery 
old stone swallows the weight of words uttered in terror to no avail 
rusted manacles a clink of nightmare 
awaking stolen voices pointlessly pleading down echoing hallways
roaches scuttle down into the dark vortex rimmed in blood and gore stinking foul betrayal lurks in every corner uncovered through torture and pain, lies and neglect, guilt before evidence, men’s will be done 


A figure curled broken against the back wall piteously moans
a smell of panic permeates the ragged blanket she wears to cover her vulnerability 
a chink of light wavering under the door, a grunt of the key in the lock,
scrape of the bar, accusation of a hinge
a change of pressure as the door swings suddenly wide open 
a pale halo of light illuminates the sad grey shadows finally coming to rest on the bent buffeted head of the prisoner 
hollowed eyes slowly rising to meet her latest date with misery 

stripped naked thumbs bound behind her back publicly scourged the scald lies exposed on the village green chiding stone now sat spitting bile dressed in widows weeds tied to the ducking stool breathless, drowning faggots piled high point hot to the sky her funeral pyre a mockery of justice she dares their applause they promise her Hell and Damnation She spits in their faces eyes mocking craven wives as they bear false witness a tale as old as time “It’s my face they see as they fuck you wriggling maggots squirming beneath them in my pliant young body they plant their seed you birth the demons coming to haunt them my ripening vengeance lies smiling complicit beneath your children’s lily white skin behind their innocent blue eyes…”

Just popped this post in to check out the features and format etc

Isn’t this site wonderful? Don’t know how you did this Gil ✨ full marks, lovely to be here.👏👏👏❤️

Photo 1 by Inês Ribeiro on Unsplash
Photo 2 image @seajade
Photo 3 Photo by Callum Skelton on Unsplash