In the market they are talking
about last week’s linens,
still strung across the garden
beneath skies dazzling blue.
The butcher’s wife does not like
the cats with their black cloaks,
stalking the briar patch at night,
bright eyes like guttering candles.
Her husbands claims superstition,
but distrusts the foxglove purple swords,
the nightshade, the mistletoe,
the cut stems by the hedgerow.
Forgets who birthed their last child,
almost blue and so brokenly quiet.
Breathed that first cry into him
when they though him too far gone.
But there’s the girl and her tears,
and her husband raging
for some sort of explanation
as to why the seed won’t take.
And why this year’s harvest failed,
and the Harlow’s pig got sick,
and the men from the church came
and hung a witch out.
I’m going to admit, this poem got away from me somewhat, and I’m really not sure how I feel about the ending. Still, I hope you like where I took tonight dVerse prompt. I only used a couple of the phrases we were given but like I said, the poem sort of got away from me.
Carol J Forrester - Writing and Works 
Not what I was expecting from the title, but when I got to the end it all fell into place. I think it’s a great response to the poem, a build up of paranoia and superstition. You are so good at atmosphere.
Thank you Sarah. I struggled to pick a title for this so I’m glad it works in the end.
May we find the true cause of our problems.
Your poem works for the prompt just fine. Sometimes when a poem gets away from us, it can lead to magical places; sometimes not. Yours is covered with fairy dust.
Thank you Glenn
This is so good. I love this line: “almost blue and so brokenly quiet.”
Thank you. It was a tricky poem to write without disappearing into the realms of preachy
There is a sublime message of sadness to me, birth death and hope all grow in this garden.
Thank you.
Still the old days of superstition lingers and today explanations might even look to the sky to alien beings to satisfy our questioning minds
Happy Tuesday
Much💙love
There’s also the element of control over populations. Fear gave the witchfinders a powerful tool to ensure people behaved the way they wished.
Cursed places need someone to blame. You did a good job of conjuring a cursed place here.
I would say cursed. Quite often the awful mundane is counted as bad luck, when in fact it’s just luck balanced out. When we count up all the bad it can seem overwhelming, but you’re only examining one side of the scales.
I was intrigued by the title, Carol, and delighted by ‘last week’s linens still strung across the garden’. I love how you’ve taken a well-known saying and extended it into a witch’s tale, with ‘cats with their black cloaks, stalking the briar patch at night’ and ‘foxglove purple swords’. There’s so much historical truth in this tale, how villagers turned their backs on wise women who they previously turned to for remedies and mid-wifely expertise. I’m not surprised the poem away from you!
not surprised the poem ran away from you!
Thank you Kim. The witch craze is a really interesting part of history, not only because it’s ongoing in parts of the world to this day.
You have told such a compelling tale here. I really enjoyed this.
There is always a witch to burn in the end… humans need their scapegoats.
Nice blog
Thank you.
My pleasure, followed you 💕