Old Mag - Oscar Milde

Old Mag the hag sat with her cat,
she in her chair, it on its mat.
She muttered intermittently
as so befits a retiree
but what she muttered was not kind
she had unpleasantness in mind.
From time to time she cast a spell
or brewed herbs with a pungent smell
to conjure up, a witches’ trick,
a demon or perhaps, Old Nick.
Instead, to her intense surprise,
she got a maiden with blue eyes,
long silver cloak, curls on her head.
I am your Good Fairy, she said.
Three wishes I am granting you.
Come on, be quick, it’s time I flew.
Oh give me money! Hag Mag cried.
A chest appeared with gold inside.
Next wish? Speak up and speak the truth.
Give me great beauty, please, and youth.
Then Mag was altered in a flash
so she had beauty, youth and cash.
One last wish, then I’ve got to go:
you’ve got the cash and beauty, so?
Mag cried, please turn my young cat, Vince,
into a sexy, handsome Prince.
When this was done, the Fairy went.
Mag told the “Prince” of her intent:
long nights of passion, love and lust
until they’d jolly well combust.
The “Prince”, her former cat, looked sad.
He said, now look here, don’t get mad.
I’ll do my best but you’ll regret
the day you took me to the vet.

Oscar Milde


Image : Pixabay - StockSnap

The Spell - Ian Duquemin

Inside a house within the wood
A bent and twisted woman stood
She chanted words beneath her breath
That called on demons, summoned death
A fire burned within her eyes
Its flames began to demonise
Her spell then mingled with the smoke
And ghostly fingers formed to choke
She gave a smile this tragic night
As smokey fingers held on tight
The bells of morning brought a crowd
The Mayor in sadness spoke aloud
The people cried at news he read
"Our Queen is dead.... OUR QUEEN IS DEAD!"
And from a house within the wood
A pretty green eyed woman stood
Uncovered from the dark of night
She danced beneath the golden light
Then called toward the oldest tree
Now all shall notice me!


Image : Market day - painted by Y. G. B. O'Neil - from the Exhibition of the Royal Academy . Artist/engraver/cartographer: Y.G. B. O`Neil. Provenance: The Illustrated London News. Type: Antique wood-engraved print. Illustrated London News full page from 17 May 1856.

Ian Duquemin

The Catioroc Witches - Oscar Milde

Dancing at La Catioroc,
Nell and Dolly, Maud and Alice,
skipping, one rock to the next rock,
sniggering with joyous malice.
Three old witches, laying curses,
incantations, spells and verses.

To invoke their evil Master,
they gyrate and prance at midnight.
Not a stitch on, twirling faster,
ever faster, in the moonlight.
Three fat witches, chanting, smirking,
never guessing who is lurking.

Old Man Ozanne, not the Devil,
in the bushes, drunk and manic,
thinks to join their naked revel
but he causes them to panic.
With appalling shrieks of No, No!
they flee all the way to Cobo.

Oscar Milde

Rope Trick - Richard Fleming

Upward, upward, upward he goes
on the taut rope in dusty heat
defying gravity, belief.
One rope end lies, sweat-oiled, coiled, neat,
on a soiled, cheesecloth handkerchief.
From his father’s pipe, music flows.
The other end climbs vertically,
upward and attached to nothing
and up that swaying ladder, there,
a small brown boy, with gold ear ring,
shins, this red morning, while we stare
with breathless incredulity.
We western tourists: Brits, fat Yanks,
believe mostly in disbelief.
Dull cynicism is our way:
debunking magic is our brief.
It’s just a bloody trick! we say,
who trust in pension plans and banks.

Richard Fleming
This poem appears in Richard’s second poetry collection, Strange Journey.

For further information go to http://redhandwriter.blogspot.com