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Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details | . You can read it on' st_url='' st_title='Light On the Devil's Chord - Day 6'>

Light On the Devil's Chord - Day 6

Upon this date he spoke no more of the preceding moments, 
Tearing and hurling insult upon insult
In several directions, his tongue whipped and scorched me,
And he waited relentlessly to see the spark in my eyes fade…..
He was so livid by my silence, he began thrashing around the walls,
Grabbing a  wayside demon and crushing him into the ground…
He destroyed Death’s bass, pulling off each string in monotone menace
Glaring at me, as he yanked each off,
The whine of its timbre flooding the eerie, murky pit……

“Nothing else, but you and I,
No more music, no more beat…
Your heart alone is enough to drive me mad…”

He spat into the crushed instrument, 
And Death cowered, scampering away like a wounded rat
Picking up the pieces as he disappeared into the soot

“Just you and I, 
I will not hear another cry except from your  lips…
No cheer, except from your voice,
No fear, except from your soul…
No support from above….no love to bring us light…”

I circled him my tears glistening,
The light burning him, as he laughed bitterly
And I sang…

“Your attacks drill against your friends,
Your darkness sifts, in pending motion,
You can crush the pulse that you began,
Though you cannot end my faith and devotion.”

He stared, his nostrils flaring,
His claws protruding in and out
Suddenly he smiled, and he was calm again
The wailing of a freshly injured demon faintly sounding…

“Tell me Loving Lady, 
Of what you recall of mortality…
What do you miss the most?
The rush of Death’s call, 
The touch of slowly falling? 
The thrill of free-will…kissing the darts…
The crushing of sadness in your feeble heart…
You have missed mortality I am sure,
You have missed the spirit of mutiny,
The infernal blaze of my brilliant core…
We need not but our voices to replay such times, 
I remember your days as much as I do mine…
Remember you used to lust and lie?
Remember when you were afraid to die? 
Those darkest nights, remember me grinning?
Remember the infatuation of sinning?
No, it was your art, and you left a trail,
So He might follow close behind might you fail…
He allowed you to suffer, to ache…to retch 
You forgot Him, and embraced my ways…
Do you ever miss those wondrous days…
Surely, surely you must appraise…” 

I picked up a lone string of Death’s mighty bass,
Feeling the metallic twine cool in my hand
The crushed demon moaned in agony beside me…

“Mortality was a rustic feat into the fray,
Many times blinded in the dark, to emerge into the day
I miss the way danger led to discovery,
In suffering greatly, I miss the relief of recovery
I miss the way it was so bittersweet, 
When the wrinkles began to appear…
I miss the sound of that single drop of rain…
Falling into the rest, never missed, always blessed…
Recalling the times I have stumbled,
I miss what now I clearly see…
I recollect darker emotions and I miss how they built me,
How they led me to the ones that guarded me to the end
So I might live in a better place where pardon became my friend…

Death’s voice intrigued me, frightened me, redeemed me, 
The falling of those around me led me to my calling,
And swiftly, failing became a past that set me free…
The test of free-will became a weight upon my shoulder,
The challenge became what shaped me as I grew older…
Sadness became easier, and less enjoyable,
When I focused my life to the skies and into open eyes

I remember the lusts, the lies, the sins—they never belonged to me
At the time, I didn’t see this—they were all I wanted to be….
I hunted to wallow in the madness and sadness of darkness…
I believed I did not deserve the wisdom of righteousness 
In my mortal skin, I learned to look deep within…
And fight off the urges…the lusts….the timey wages of sin
It became my duty to no longer allow you in…
Though my love for your redemption grew brighter within…”

The Devil clawed the bass string in my hand
And it strung an empty sound that echoed dryly all around…

“Immortality has its torments too…
See how gently I return to you…”

He never could destroy the beat thumping from my chest…
He merely hummed along with it in begrudging dedication 
Stubbornly, he sought for my pain 
But the hurt had been released  far above, where still he dared not look…

I lifted up a crippled demon and kissed his forehead
“I love you as well, demon, do not be afraid…” 
The weary eyes stared into my own, than quickly glanced in fear toward our fuming Prince…
“You understand pain, fear, and torment more than any, I am sure
Would you like to sing too?”

The Devil in rage grabbed the demon by the throat before he could answer
“You foolish woman… he is MY pet… 
Nothing else, but you and I…
He has no voice, no heart…no mind…
I give him no permission to,
And he accepts his place…
Unlike I …unlike you…”

I touched his clenched hand, and his grip loosened upon the demon
“All voices deserve to be heard,
Through compassion, let his existence ring…”

The Devil scoffed and threw him down with much force, perturbed
The demon dared not move

“WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE TO US…. To mock me…to turn them against me…?”
The hush of his question held more intensity than his shouting
 “Surely…surely not…..
He belongs in the dust, 
At my command… he can never be like us…
You love him as much as pity will allow…
We are special, Silly Being, and his fleck of existence is but a toke
To gamble with for my amusement, nothing more…nothing more….
Stop this attempt to become the idol of the underdog
Don’t be such a predictable bore…”

The demon shriveled, but remained…
Like mortality’s fate, his body did shrink and fade…
But I heard his somnolent thoughts….

…I am but the refrain…
 Immortality….. has….. its torments….. too…

Long poem by T Wignesan | Details |


                                                  Free Power
                                         O                     P                   S
                                            W                                   S
                                               E                             E
                                                   R   -  M A D  -  N           
                                                       free power
                                                   from its fetters
                                         no power without the people
                                   does power arise from any other source
             than through the intent to control  confine  confiscate  con  conk  conjure 
    computerize  contort  compel  complicate  concoct  compress  concuss  conflict 
 confute                  condemn  corrupt  collar  convict  collectivize                   confound 
 concenter                   communalize  collogue  collude  collonize                commandeer    
        compartmentalize  castrate  calumniate crucify  combinate  cutdown  curtail        
       curryfavour  curb  cully  cuff  cuckold  crush  crunch  cross-question curveball     
        conform  confuse criticize  croak  criminate  crash  cramp  cram  crackdown    
                                                    covert   counterplan   
                   countermine  counterfeit  counterattack  corrode  convert  contrive 
                                           contaminate  constrain  consecrate 
                                                      connive  conquer 
                                            power is a venomous snake
                                                       that sheds its skin
                                                        but not its venom
                                                   free power from its sting
                                                     free power from belief
                                                    from self-righteousness
                                       from don’t-not-look-at-me aloofness
                                           from protective-damnedness
                                              from ego-centred-ness
                                                 from megalomanic mindlessness
                                                          from aryo-apartheid-ness
                                                              from i’m-right-Jack exclusiveness
                                                                        from self-opining holiness
                                                                                from crass-headed-ness
                                                     from puritanic-mule-headedness                                                                                                        
                                                           from airy-fairy grandiloquence
                                                                   from haughty vengefulness
                                                                        from scary authoritarianism
                                                                             from the love of command
                                                              from sexually dominating abusiveness
                                                                   from un-empathic tightfistedness
                                                             from back-scratching dastardliness                                                                                
                                                        from building castles in the air-ness
                                                                        from masonic clubbiness
                                                                   from musty brotherhood-ness
                                                         from stealing and selling-ness
                                                               from never-enough greediness
                                                                    from carion-loving usury                                                             
                                                 from thoughtless puttingdown-ness
                                                       from self-aggrandizing acquisitiveness
                                                                      from the love of pomposity                                                                                                                                                       
                                                          from the seclusive-ness of honours
                                                                 from fawning and flattery
                                                                       from foggy non-visibility
                                                                                from armoured parades
© T. Wignesan, Fresnes-Paris, May 14-17, 1997.  From the collection : « Poems Omega Plus : a less than obvious sequence », Paris, 2005.                           

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Chicken Soup Farm

Relationships are like farming,
if you don't plant the seed,
you'll have no crop to harvest.
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)

Gambling is like farming,
if you don't play the game,
you'll have no winnings.

Economics is like farming,
if you don't play the mutual cooperative game,
you'll have no competitive winnings.

Ecologic is like farming,
if we don't play the mutual mentoring Climax Community game,
we'll have no long-term sustainable,
much less optimized systemic,

Stay aware and purposeful in your search,
for happiness is truly in the searching.

Stay awake and purposeful in our research,
for peacefulness,
ecological economies are true within this polycultural searching.

Stay awake and mindful of polypathic meaning
in your Regenerative Permaculture Designed Research,
for happiness, confluence, equity, truth, Prime Relationship Balanced Teleology
are truly within this self-optimizing SuperEco searching.

How do we sleep while part of us is gone?
Frogs and night birds,
bats and insects cry out for company
filling raucous warm luscious breeze
gentle, caressing,
carrying chicken soup songs of love
not yet won,
love wanted and needed with primal longing
to belong back together
for our first really great time.
How do we sleep
while part of us is gone?

Night flight resolves revolving chatter,
fractal spinning spiral-echoes
haunting iconic timeless teachings
from potential future Right-brain memory
predicative facts,
intuiting predictors,
confluent, confident islands of prophetic sanity
boundary inspiring polycultures,
multi-open systems of optimal communication.

How do we sleep
in this racket of absent SuperEgo
missing evil hope of flight tonight?
God as the Doomed and Dooming Ground of All Being,
under Whom we hide from shamed non-redeeming character,

We thought we were economically neutral
on Goddess Moving Train of Earth,
oblivious to Her climatic millennial warnings
to ease up on the fire power,
take a break,
let's cool down,
enjoy some slower peace and more mindfully inclusive justice.

Remaining neutral in our farming cooperative relationships,
admittedly a slower moving train,
and yet it helps to confluently comprehend we are spinning 
with Common balancing thermodynamic balance,
and how fast is too fast, too Yangish,
and how slow is too slow, too Yinnish,
and when we might slow down to rebalance Yang with Yin,
and how much we might slow down
emerges permaculturally predicated
as [+Yang = (-)(-)Yin] = [+PolyNomial 0-sum equivalent to (-)Not-PolyBiNomial-4-Prime Spacetime Dimensionally Balancing Vortex] Open Natural Systemic
or +1/(-)0 = space/time binary Closed MetaSystem fractal-holonic-octaved reverse-hierarchical balance,
to sustain our permacultured rich teleological neutrality on Gaia's regenerative train.

How do we wake
when part of Us is gone?
How do we awaken
our search for polycultural economic justice standards
for researching well-being sustenance,
self-optimizing regeneration with SuperEco Mindfulness Intent?
Planting regenerative seeds,
to grow redemptive pay-it-forward gift economies,
winnowing metasystemic research to optimize repurposing meaningful purpose,
EarthTribe's ecological self-redemption future day
covering love, peace, happiness, contentment, justice, information, confluence roots
with threats, opportunities, strengths, weaknesses systemically balanced compost,
learning faith and hope in suffering dissonance as cooperative redemption,
evolutionary research,
the Permaculturalist Economic Tao:
sleep and wake and absorb others, as you would have them be you NOW
we re-emerge our SuperEcoTribe's cultural therapeutic,

Natural systems are to spiritual systemic comprehension,
as Physics is to Metaphysical Universe (B. Fuller's definition),
as Yang is to Yin,
as Polynomial Information is to Double-Bound Negative Polynomial Information Balancing Trends.

Polypathic and multisystemic relationships are like therapeutic organic farming,
if you don't plant fractal-holonic DNA/RNA-encrypted seeds,
you'll not have an Optimized PermaCultural crop to harvest.

Ain't nobody here 'ceptin us Chickens
and somehow we all land in this soupy mess together.
Let's start lickin' each other's wounds.

Long poem by ROGER SATNARINE | Details | . You can read it on' st_url='' st_title='IN LIFE'S SHOE STORE ONE SIZE DOES FIT ALL'>


      ~In  Life’s  Shoe  Store  One  Size  Does  Fit All~
                ~A long verse poem in rhyme~

I was out for a stroll one day.
I saw something and couldn't believe my eyes.
All the people that exited;
Were gathered in groups; shedding grateful cries.

“Hmm; what could it be?”
“What is so special about this place?”
I had to find out; and stepped inside.
What I saw transcended time and space!

“Excuse me please?”
“Yes. How may I help you?”
“Could you tell me?”
“Something about this shoe;”

“What is it exactly?”
“That you wish to know?”
“The sign on it says.”
“As you do; so too shall I grow!”

“Yes; it is that way for effect.”
“Finding your own fit makes one wise!”
“Such as with the saying;”
“Act your age, not your shoe size!”

“Yes; amazing isn't it?”
“Still can’t believe your eyes?”
“Well then; just close them both.”
“And listen to those sweet sighs.”

“Yes, yes; I hear them!”
“Now open your eyes and look.”
“Does our life; now not?”
“Read, like an open book?”

“See that man over there?”
“Yes; the tiny little one with tiny little feet.”
“He is trying on boots that are way too big.”
“They are for him! His true self he wishes to meet!”

“See that big girl hiding in the corner?”
“Trying to squeeze into the smallest pair?”
“She will get her desired size.”
“Then the world will stop and stare!”

“An ugly duckling can become.”
“One who has the prettiest feathers?” 
“Oh yes; that’s it my dear!”
“Squeeze yourself into those leathers!”

“You see my friend.”
“These specialty shops are found all over the earth.”
“There for just one purpose!”
“It allows one; to step into their desired self-worth!”

“And, this is for you.”
“Think of it as a freebie.”
“The inside of all this footwear;”
“Are made with an unseen beauty;”

“It unfolds; not before your eyes.”
“Should one miss it; they would certainly lose.”
“So their ears see it; with these words;”
“Have you ever walked in somebody else’s shoes!?”

“Now what do you do?”
“After hearing that;”
“You picture the other person’s life.”
“And that is a fact!”

“Now let’s, and to pun the word;”
“Take this a little “Step” further.”
“The reason for that question;”
“Is for those, unable to nurture;”

“When you see yourself;”
“Living somebody else’s life;”
“And especially unlike your own;”
“Theirs may be filled, with constant strife!”

“You have just fit into the same shoe.”
“But they are similarly-different.”
“Please pay close attention.”
“This part is very important!”

“The left side of the shoe;”
“Is named sympathy.”
“And the right side;”
“Is named empathy.”

“Wearing them enables us to.”
“Feel what someone else does!”
“It’s the exact same fit.”
“And that you see is because;”

"Once anyone can feel for someone;"
“It does not matter the wearer.”
“It makes their life;”
"Oh so much fairer;”

“Is there anything else?”
“It is getting quite busy.”
“I am needed elsewhere.”
“Yes; please, could you tell me?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”
“I already know the question.”
“OK then here in.”
“Is the end of lesson?”

“And that my dear friend;”
“Is how the saying got started!”
A hand shake ensued.
And we happily parted.

I walked out the shop.
Wearing a great big smile;
I thought about everything.
Had to ponder it for a while;

That was a great conversation.
I learned how to talk the talk.
But they are just words.
If I can’t walk the walk!

A voice inside me whispered.
“Let it out; you know you want to bawl.”
“I cried until I laughed the words.”

Long poem by Raymond Ngomane | Details |

State Of My Opinion

Once upon a struggle
Songs used to express and define a feeling before reactions struggled to impress a rumbling stomach
Songs used to harmonize our black lips giving away the strength of empty tummies
Lips were diguised in masks of zam-buk aiders
I live next to embarrasment built in power craving bricks

A house that give birth to Load shedded leaders
I choose chocolate skins dressing smart reactions
Choking on words drafted on school chalkboards like Mbeki's state of mind resurection speech
Every second in my creation, 
a hand pulls a trigger to rob souls whats ment for dinner
Get it or dont get me just look at the corner of my thoughts
This is poetry

This is my written confidence conducting a choir of confessions
My mouth craves to shoot military opinions
I choke words to impress my existance attached to all conscious writings
In the midst of wrong times at the expense of our leader's useless time celebrating ignorance
The state of Julius Caesar seized at a nation's heated selfmade selfish awards

Our votes planted rain and forgot muds and mop sticks
Buttocks play suprise jaw gestures as extras with less umbrellas
The Architects of futureless champion times in the back seat of our helpless knowledge
Fear less of your fears
Its poetry in Politics

Poetry pollute ignorance and rejects any dictatorship shipping from goverment pimps
Toilet queues are too strict to jump conclusions
and waisted opinions
I am pressed and oppressed  
I graduated in depression carrying a school bag of my reasons
My black skin will bury my thoughts at your own funerals
I am a walking poem
My education speaks against your numeral straggles 
My political virgin actions exercise mini immortal respect

My mind state is highly pressed 
Lets 6-9 on our parliament doors in atittude
Poetry screams the need for them state of minds
The hunters of truth in rhymes
Verbal exchange battles to change opinions at the expense of my people's change
Verbal violance changed the meaning of an educated homeless stomach
You spoke and littered gallons of spoken words
Tladi, Kgafela, Lesego re feng masego
The pain of giving birth to poverty was never painful for these learders
Leaders Who lead to feed us handwork leaders
Handshaking the success of a visible thief

Bleeders change your scissors
Your poetic blades cannot play polygamy in parliament
These Perpetrators penetrate our hearts from a distance measurement
Adament to show off easyness of playing a nation as a primary school assembly
Bulls determent to press elevations of oppression to the last floor
The evolution of my opinions is high in poetry
The revolution will never be compromised 
Please restore faith in my written oppressions with no humor
The state of my opinion circles around Jakobo's puma 
We need Kwame Nkruma

6-9 = Street slang meaning Urinating
Tladi, Kgafela, Lesego re feng masego = A plea for help from Poets Lefifi Tladi, Kgafela oa Magogodi and Lesego Rampolokeng
Vuma = Agree?

(c) Raymond Ngomane

Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

Reveal Your Face

Crawl out of your peeping hole 
and face me like a man
You have been hiding for years
and paying people to do your sordid scam
For years you have taunted me
without showing any mercy
invading my privacy
monitoring my computer
tracing my movements
and intimidating me with coward gangster
You have sabotaged my employment
Shows up at my job interviews
instructed my employer to banish me
just to see the other side of me
Touch not God’s anointed 
Or your sorrows shall be multiplied
You have punished everyone who contacted me
and fabricates false stories and treacherous lies 
You have broadcasted it on the news
And have caused many people to become confused
It’s time to stop your filthy scam
and close that chapter before you are dammed
If you do not stop hurting me
there will be another worldwide disgrace 
staring in your beguiling face
You have punished the innocent ones
who have decided not to do wrong
I have kept out of your way
but you crawl back the other way
I am ready for a real fight
I will beat you without guns or knives
I have cried seven days on my ancestor’s grave
And seven powerful sprits will come after you
in seven different ways
they will strip you of your abusive power
daub you in your own mud
and drench you with flood
I have also prayed a strong prayer
hoping for your forgiveness
but he promised that you will bear
your own shame disgrace and drunken laughter
I have wept day and night stayed up late
yet you kept following me looking for a fight
creating false stories for your meaningless glory 
Take a look at your shaking hands
you are no match for my iron man
If you are so strong and heinous
Why don’t you come out of your peeping hole 
confront me and fight me like a real man
Come with your bullet less guns
your entourage and wimpy bodyguards
Real warriors go to war 
they do not stage events or create false alarm
If you are so big and mighty 
why  are so many people in your house dying of poverty
Look around you and you will see
you spend all the money running after me
And your people are hungry homeless and dirty
your house is about to tumble 
Your buildings are old and shabby
And I can barely drive on your cracked road
Look I just damage my windshield 
from a pebble on your broken roads
Your children cannot read or write
Your classrooms are old and crummy
Yet every day you are running after my innocent soul
the people you have running after me
are actually working for me?
They are slaves in my land
while the bad boys are reaping gold in your land
You set up fake mad men at the junction
and little children to guard the centers
You send fake alcoholic teachers in classrooms 
to suppress innocent students brain
Yet with all of that you still cannot get to the top
I have travelled thousands of miles to be at peace
but you track me down and
sold me to heartless murderers 
Look my ferocious bull is about to get you
he is my bodyguard and fearless warrior
if you don't leave me alone
He will rip your sordid gut apart
before the fiery battle starts

©2013 Christine Phillips

Long poem by Victoria Anderson-Throop | Details |


                                                          STEALING FROM A GODDESS

   At Dawn
   I wait
   Beside the sea
   Under the tree
   Behind the dunes
   For his arms.

                                                  by colors without confines of name
                                                  I stand
                                                  By the mirrored waves—

                                                  Bronzed by Dawn’s immortal dazzling eye--
                                                  My Beloved’s smile
                                                  Goddess bruise-kissed brilliant
                                                  Looks up
                                                  Still shy-- but painted guilty
                                                                  In unfamiliar splendor--
                                                  God-like himself
                                                  Ignited by a bronze lit blaze.

                                                  I do not turn to face him—
                                                  but look-- water down--devour
                                                  His beloved smile
                                                  Insistently appealed forgiveness--
                                                  Dimples-- flashing his secrets, seek me
                                                            from the rippling water--
                                                  Breaking through the brilliance
                                                  Encasing me in
                                                      warm muscled arms which escape
                                                       the mad reflection.

                                                  Faintly in my ear flickers
                                                  Delicate-- but Jealous-- moans--
                                                  The Morning Goddess,
                                                  She, Pulled once again 
                                                            into timeless sandy dunes--
                                                            Aurora’s seaside prison hideaway

'Til Twilight
Beside the sea
Under the tree
Behind the dunes
We love.

                                            (In throes of wildest passion 
                                         there lingers the delicious thought—
                                                          Stealing from a goddess
                                               Is a rare-- but heady-- morsel.)

Aug 12 2013©

Long poem by LATARSHA GRANDBERRY | Details | . You can read it on' st_url='' st_title='A Woman's Worth'>

A Woman's Worth

A Woman’s Worth
When she walks in the room
she wants people to stop and stare
not because they’re whispering…
what she got on girl, what’s up with that hair?
But because she looks good, conservative and chic
looking her best from head to feet
she knows the spiked heels and look at me blouse
will make all the men become aroused
she knows that look would make conditions tense
but how she’s dressed builds confidence
she doesn’t do loud make-up, green hair or tight skirts,
if you don’t know, how will anyone else know your worth?
Not trying to be  Nicki Manage,
never putting on a fascad
being original, still blending in
all because she’s good  in her own skin
She looks pretty
and carries herself well,
clothes should hide
what only time should tell
When a man calls us out of our name
boy, do we get offended
Aretha told us the Rule of R-e-s-p-e-c-t
It’s usually us that bend it
Wearing anything to work, 
any and everything to church
talking that ghetto talk
walking that ghetto walk
telling your friends, girl, he don’t respect me
your friends telling you that you save nothing to see
Asking him out first
Not knowing your worth
You didn’t give him a chance
giving all of yourself on a one night stand
sitting there wondering why he didn’t call
now you’re starting to feel about 2 feet tall
think back, yall never took the time to ask for number and name
now you’re feeling so ashamed
It wasn’t your smile or your smarts that got you here
that drink, you didn’t think
Oh, is that a tear?
Men respect us based on how we think of ourselves
they measure us on what our body tells
what is your body telling?
that you have something you’re selling?
there’s so much you can tell with your body
you don’t have to be revealing to be a hottie
besides, I have daughters and they’re watching me
I try to always give them something beautiful to see
what are we teaching our little girls?
that our bodies will further in this world?
the answer to that question is no 
the BIBLE says train a child in the way they should go
what we need to understand as women we deserve respect
but sometimes what we give is what we usually get
when most men see a woman in low -cut shirts, short skirts and high heels
to him you’re worth about as much as a happy meal
if I’m a meal, I’m Crème Brouleé , Beluga Caviar, Laute Truffle Chocolate, with 1945 Chauteau Vintage wine,
That’s who I am all the time
Be who you are, 
can’t be me, I’m taken
If you think you can live as someone else
you’re sadly mistaken
I’m a woman every week,
365 days a year
I don’t clock out
I wanna make that clear
Ok, sometimes I can joke and be crazy, 
but I never forget that I’m a lady
so girls, get it right,
you can stay on your grind

Long poem by ROGER SATNARINE | Details |


                 ~*N*O*  *O*N*E*  *I*S*  *A*B*O*V*E*  *T*H*E*  *L*A*W*~  

                      ~AN~ ** ~ACROSTIC~ ** ~POEM~ ** ~OF~ ** ~HOPE~

                              *~*ROGER CHAD SATNARINE2015*~*

Long poem by nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Details | . You can read it on' st_url='' st_title='juniper's daughter picks a man'>

juniper's daughter picks a man

Juniper’s Daughter Picks a Man 
On a cold rainy early winter night Juniper’s Daughter landed her flying disc on the car park of Aldi and went for a beer. She was dressed in casual attire so as not to stand out, she wanted a man and did it the old skool way. Juniper’s Daughter sauntered in the bar held the door open with one hand and let all of the men in the venue get a good look at her, in turn she took in each of them. 
Most were crap but one caught her eye. She slowly looked his way and made eye contact and entered the pub, walking over to him. Two dozen sets of male eyes and several female tracked her as she went to the bar and stood next to the man. The witch shook her hair and ruffled it with her hand. 
Turning she glanced at the man and announced in her Danish accent, “Hi there, you gonna buy me a drink then?”
The man looked at the young woman beside him noticing that she was toned up under her loose fitting casual clothes and replied, “Yea why not. What are you having?”
“Why young man I’ll have you! I mean I’ll have a beer!” Laughed the witch slightly blushing, this got the man exited and guaranteed his interest in her. 
His gaze never left Juniper’s Daughter she looked into space at the spirit bottles upside down behind the bar. The man ordered the drinks in a flustered voice, losing his cool a little? She smiled gently at him and asked his name, he replied, “Jason.”
“I’m Anna but people call me The Witch due to my blond hair and looks coz I’m from Denmark. I don’t mind that actually.”
“Really? I’ve never been to Denmark but I like their beer they make, really good. Have you drunk it?”
“Oh yes my love, I’ve had it many times. Thanks for the beer.”
The couple were quiet for a minute drinking their drinks and thinking about the other, he liked the blond lady. She wasn’t like local gals and did she really want him or slip up? 
She liked the young man from first glance and soon she would make love to him in her flying disc after their drinks. Moving closer to the man, Jason, Anna gently held his hand and slowly moved her face towards his and kissed him once on he lips. 
He didn’t back away or resist, he met her kiss and parted the witch’s tongue with his kissing her deeply, she closed her eyes and ignored the envious looks from other people at the bar and tables in the pub. A few people whispered and pointed, this doesn’t normally happen and who was this foreign gutsy stranger? 
After a long timeless kiss the witch let her hand brush Jason’s jeans feeling his bulge, they kissed again and finished their drinks. She whispered that she wanted him and held out her hand, he took it and followed her. Together they left the pub and walked over to the car park where he thought her car was parked. 

Long Poems