Monday, October 10, 2011

La Vieja Bruja

The bells are as hard as the street,
but, though so much more beautiful than pavement,
like pavement, they can fail.

Fill them with mud, or chocolate,
or a choking storm of pigeon feathers,
and they whisper
like lost children.

The old witch reaches midtown
under a bitchy sky, twin to the pebble-hidden concrete sidewalk.
She knows,
spirits have been walking up and down across them
both the same
like double evils.

Damn the crows who stole my beauty
(says the witch).
Damn the time that took the talent I had
for soft-talking the bells, and filling them
with cayenne sways
like red-skirted gypsies.

Now, the bells are as hard as the street,
and the old witch makes heel-sparks across the church steps,
hurrying past, looking for her stub-tailed cat,
unseen and unremarkable
as dust.


linked with Real Toads open link monday


Daryl said...

unseen and unremarkable
as dust.
Perfect description of me on Monday morning

hedgewitch said...

I'm sure you know this one rang every bell for me. And I think I can still see a cayenne red skirt flicking around the corner, as I spit out my mouthful of feathers. (I know they have lots of fiber, but yeesh--they taste like hell.) Keep soft-talking those bells--some talents never go away, they just take a new form.

Anonymous said...

Will done Shay, you have an exceptional and vivid ability to paint your imagined on to the readers mind canvas. What a delightful haunting picture this poem reveals. I thoroughly enjoyed the read and the pleasure of the painting.

Anonymous said...

exceptional imagery and tone.
i love the idea of failing bells. and the feeling of crawling through the thoughts of a bruja vieja.

Lynn said...

Poor witch.

Brian Miller said...

i imagine she can still make the bells ring...some dont lose it with age, they just get better...vivid as ever...the heel spark was a nice touch...

Kerry O'Connor said...

Love these lines:

Damn the time that took the talent I had
for soft-talking the bells, and filling them
with cayenne sways
like red-skirted gypsies.

And the 'bitchy sky' - so apt a description on certain days, I think I'll add it to my lexicon of personal phrases: 'Man the sky is bitchy today...etc'

I love how you slid the focus at the end from the witch to the stub-tailed cat.. then away to dust.

Abin Chakraborty said...

wonderful poem.I only wish I understood what the title meant :(

Roshanda "ShonEjai" Glenn said...

Fill them in with mud, or chocolate...what a great line. Well done!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

As always, you excel in covering new ground. You have such a brilliant mind, and your writing is off the charts EVERY DAY. (How is that even possible? But I'm grateful it is, for you. I so love to read your work.)

Fireblossom said...

Abin, the title simply means, "The Old Witch."

Lolamouse said...

Another fantastic and fantastical poem Shay! I love the 4th stanza especially, but the whole thing is just great. Where do you find your photos? I always love them too!

Fireblossom said...

Lolamouse, I find my pictures all over, but especially at weheartit. There is a link on my sidebar.

Mama Zen said...

"Under a bitchy sky." God, I love that.

Susannah said...

As always your vivid word pictures create lasting imagery, and I suspect that 'bitchy sky' will soon be in regular use. Wonderful writing Shay. :-)

Caty said...

Yes, I do love "the bitchy sky". there is one today at my house, actually. I had my clothes hanging out to dry, and the sky has decided to slobber all over rude!

Cloudia said...

thank you for inviting us to walk here too!

Anonymous said...

"and they whisper
like lost children."

LOVE this, Shay! be honest, i've yet to read one of your poems i don't love. i've missed you and your wonderful words. ♥ d