The Headland

The Headland

walking along the cliff,
toward the Headland,
in the mist.. 

a haze forms from
an inner myre...
There is a witching 
in the breeze...
I walked as a soldier
less at ease and
less bolder..
drawn into the brickwork..
sucked across the heath,
Into the elaborate hall.
beyond the breach
between the walls..
where cobb webs dance
The Black Bottom,
flapping in the
forgotten.

...not a childhood dream,
I saw it years before,
the silver screen.
Before The Witches
drew attention..
to the magnificence
I mention.

We ate a splendid afternoon
tea, drank cocktails till three,
Fell asleep in the bay window..
or did we ?

Did we awake in a dream.?
and I'm now not me..
I've been switched..
Chickenified..by 
That head High Witch..?

Oh my god I'm fat !
Oh my god look at that..
After all those petite fours
and sticky buns ..
I've profiteroles about
my tums..

What is this trickery ?
But the last laugh..
is on me..
It's my own doing..
and only I can un do
the spell.
 ( meanwhile I'll have a coffee
 and a small slice of death by
 Chocolate - what the hell !)