Four Poems and Love Apothecary (a haiku sequence) by Farah Ali

 

Starling Theatre

 

the sky is aflame

a weary sun and brooding twilight

set the stage for a primal ballet.

though you lost your ticket long ago

let the dying leaves of autumn

be your usher

let the frosted light of winter

be your seat.

 

the velvet curtain lifts

a hush descends over the auditorium

limbs freeze but your gaze flits

as an ensemble of thousands

ascends and plummets

crushable bones cradled

in the wind’s palms.

witness the intricate ebb and flow

of wing and feather in surreal formation

witness a pulsing black cloud

of liquid synchrony.

 

fastened to the ground

burdened with flesh

and fears of tomorrow

you feel the swelling and diminishing

the twisting and soaring

dipping and whirling

inside your heart’s unchartered crevasses.

mouth open you clutch the programme

soul yearning

hungry and bruised

you wonder

why.

 

like a concrete slab

beneath fragile feet

science explains with cold words

that bite.

the truth is this:

we dance to cherish the sun

and honour the moon

to serenade the oceans

we dance for the innocence of butterflies

and the fertility of bees

to hear the symphony of flowers

celebrate the creaking pirouette

of the earth

to learn the cosmic poetry of ancient stars

to lament the desolation of cities

and cruelty of humans.

we dance for love

for ourselves

for each other

for purity

for joy

for our collective memories

each one a glittering salt grain

passing through eternity.

 

after the finale our absence

fills your lungs like seawater.

with glazed eyes you stumble

home.

 

 

To Walk In Ancient Woodland With You

 

Sometimes I wonder

what it would be like

to walk in ancient woodland

with you

and hear your breath

mingle with the murmurs

of mycelium and the sighs

of beech ash elm oak and fir.

whenever the path narrows

you move ahead

protective

interpreting the variegated shades

of my silence with ease

so many hieroglyphs

etched in bark.

instead of concentrating

on knotted roots

bulging out of the ground

and hazel branches

weaving the breeze

I trace the lines

of your back and shoulders.

samaras spin to the earth

lacework patterns of light

mottle the debris

as we watch the lilting flight

of a fritillary

and the stately march of a stag beetle

going to war.

crossing a rippling stream

of blue silk

I lean against you.

strange how moss

can render rock soft.

moving deeper into the woods

we study the intricacy

of lichen

our boots disturb fungi

until the air is thick with a confetti

of spores.

a gentle rain falls

unfurling ferns

and fattening tender buds

filling our nostrils

with loam and resin.  

entranced by the nightingale’s melody  

we separate

shadows encroaching

until I grasp your hand once more.

 

at the cry of a tawny owl

darkness falls

the way back is fading into mist.

no matter

you are my lantern and north star. 

 

 

Intertidal Zone

 

there is a moment

when the sea pulls away

leaving us naked

raw and exposed

to the blazing sun,

withering

on a shore of fossils

and broken shells,

a silent scream

tangling in the soft tissue web

of tongue and throat,

cells gasping for air

in a shrinking rockpool

of our own creation

where we convince ourselves

the suffering is worth it

for the relief

when water floods back

and we submerge

safely hidden

in the cold

dark

and quiet

of all we have

ever known.

 

 

Witches’ Circle

 

On a raw winter’s day

the sky roiling pewter

with tender flesh seared

by inquisitor’s metal

she fled through cursed woods

and into a witches’ circle.

Beneath tangles of ancient yew

where myriad pests etched

indecipherable secrets

water bubbled from knotted roots

she supped until drowning

for no spring slaked thirst

within a witches’ circle.

Afeared of the crows’ rapture

at the feeble sun’s descent

she crawled over decaying litter

north south east west

scrabbling at unseen iron

another mewling victim 

ensnared by a witches’ circle.

Clothed only in memories

of a red-ribboned dress

gnawed by frost and hunger

she plucked glinting death caps

lumps of cold moon

but no poison permitted death

within a witches’ circle.

Darkness unfurled from branches

suffocating with its weight

until even the white stag forsook her

melting into leaves and shadow

antlers bowed with regret

for all were lost who stumbled

into a witches’ circle.

Midnight swarmed closer  

bringing bestial nightmares

drawn to the symphony

of blood’s pulsing rhythm

how ruthless fangs gnashed

to behold their prey safe

within a witches’ circle.

Woken by raucous laughter

and lashing tongues of fire

hand clasped she rose above the yew

thirteen black feathers floating

cavorting until dawn intruded

and they claimed her as their own

for she had fled into a witches’ circle.

 

Love Apothecary (a haiku sequence)

 

aromatic basil

a handful to repel

the unsuited

 

sweet rosebuds—

dipped in honey

for tenderness

 

elegant lavender

a crown worn

for harmony

 

sensible poppy

a seed head under

the pillow for guidance

 

fragrant cardamom

a pocket charm

for good luck

 

exotic frangipani—

flowers set on fire

for devotion

 

protective rosemary—

sprigs scattered

to guard against hurt

 

precious orris root

a fine powder

for stability

 

holy verbena

a draught for

enchantment

 

seductive mandrake—

amulet of root

to inflame desire

 

brooding bay laurel

a leaf torn to prevent

infidelity

 

healing amaranth

a tassel woven

around a broken heart

 

dark henbane

coils of incense

to bind another

Farah Ali writes fiction and poetry with a particular love for the short form. She has been published, and has upcoming publications, in a variety of reputable online and print journals. Her supernatural Deerleap Hollow Series is available from Amazon.