Four Poems by Jo-Ann Newton

 

Let Down Your Hair

 

Golden ropes

of curls

unfurl

at his feet

pale skin

silhouetted

against brick

and moon

 

he scales walls

slippery

with whispers

and moss

towards

green eyes

and a promise

of happy

ever after

 
in his mind

she sings

lips parted

notes plucked

from a tale

he climbs

one hand

on the ledge

looks up

falls

as the tresses

are cut away

 

thorns rip his lashes

tear his lids

and when

he is blind

her face

is all he can see

 

The Thinning of the Veil

 

I wonder if you know about

the thinning of the veil?

Some say it’s just for Halloween,

a ghostly, Old Wives’ Tale.

I hope it is a place to meet

between your world and mine.

For me, to be a child again.

A chance to turn back time.

I may have missed you touch my hair

and tuck my quilt in tight.

Perhaps you just peeked through the door

to whisper “Love, goodnight”.

If you could come back once a year

I know you wouldn’t fail.

So, I wonder if you know

about the thinning of the veil?

A meeting place of memory

where love will always flow.

I fell asleep and waited but

I guess you didn’t know.

I pray that I will hear you

whisper to me once again.

The veil will thin once more next year

and I can wait ‘til then.

 

Tempting Fate

 

Clotho and Lachesis

take my fragile, silver thread.

They spin its length and measure

while I'm sleeping in my bed.

They nod so very woefully

at every happy smile

because they know

there will be tears

in just a little while.

 

I try to keep my counsel

and not give too much away.

My world can turn in moments

if they cause my thread to fray.

I should not laugh too loudly,

cannot make my smile too wide

Atropos waits

with sharpened shears

just on the other side.

 

My joys are kept in secret

so I do not turn their eye.

I fill my glass half empty

lest they turn my life awry.

I celebrate in secret,

it's a self survival trait

for never do

I want to be

accused of tempting Fate.

 

 

Gingerbread

 

Her walls were gingerbread

Soft crumbs of pride

and powdered sugar

pretty and fragile

 

And all invited

found sweetness and

treachery in her

sticky embrace.

 

They yearned escape

by moonlit, pebble paths

instead their eyes clouded

with dust and breadcrumbs.

Jo-Ann Newton was born and raised in Ayr on the West Coast of Scotland and grew up believing in Witches, Kelpies, loyalty among the Biker community and the fact that anything can be made better by home made soup.

She now lives in Rochester, Kent with her comedian husband and perpetually poorly cat, Bagpuss,

In real life she works as a Procurement Manager I the food industry and escapes now and then to write poetry and fiction for the likes of Bewildering Stories, The Linnet’s Wings, Silver Birch Press, I Am Not A Silent Poet and Writing In A Woman’s Voice, among others.