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Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Seven

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Seven

The Final Days:  Rosalia’s Death and Destruction
In the wake of such evil, debauchery and depravity what can be said now in the case of Rosalia?

Now in her mortal form the old black witch no longer had the unspeakable power of hell-spawned evil at her instant command. In spite of the victory of the power of goodness and light and the attenuation, if not the dissolution of witchcraft in the Harz, the memory of who Rosalia was and what she had done could now begin to be eased somewhat from the minds of local people and the clergy. But the memory of Rosalia and her evil could never be forgotten.  How could it be otherwise?

After three months of confinement in the dungeon at the Burg Worlerede, a fortress castle, very near to Cloister Marten in the Harz, Rosalia was eventually tried and convicted in a special church court convened at this castle to try cases concerning witchcraft and sorcery, which were beyond the normal jurisdiction of civil courts. Monseigneur Wolfgang Augustus Hardenberg of Cloister Marten was the residing church chief judge with four priests in his assistance serving as subordinate church judges.  One civil magistrate judge from the local Harz provincial government participated, in an advisory capacity, with the five church judges in these special judicial proceedings against Rosalia.

Everyone in attendance at the witchcraft trial of Rosalia knew what the outcome would be. With that said, the testimony of her victims on public record dragged on for several weeks, to include the final interrogation and confession of witchcraft and supreme evil doings by Rosalia herself.

In her rebuttal statement to the assembled church tribunal, Rosalia actually gained some of her old fire back as she spoke to the group—in a taunting and derisive manner. Rosalia showed no remorse whatsoever for what she had done and perpetrated upon others. She still renounced the Almighty Lord God and did not ask for his mercy and forgiveness. Her love and passion for being and existence was still with her god, Lucifer, who had forsaken her at last in her hour of need during All Hallows’ Eve and the Black Witches’ Sabbath. 

As easy as it might have been at that moment to pity such a pathetic and revolting creature, Rosalia’s hurtful words in complete defiance of God and her taunting mockery and snickering at the victims of her black deeds were beyond the pale of any shred or strand of human decency.

At the conclusion of Rosalia’s rebuttal statement, Monseigneur Hardenberg announced the verdict and sentence of the special church court:

“Rosalia, Black Witch of the Harz and Purveyor of Lucifer’s Evil on this Earth, you are hereby adjudged by this special court of being guilty of the practice of Witchcraft and Sorcery, and the murder of untold numbers victims over the centuries to this present one, and for the malicious corruption of your victims’ souls as they died in torment and faced the reality and agony of eternal damnation. And your acts even against young children and babies are so unspeakable and abominable that they readily defy any iota of rational understanding in our human society here on Earth. All these actions reflect your absolute depravity and lack of regard for human life, and they defy directly the teachings of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. All of your transgressions have been entered into the final record by this assembled court.”

“As a priest and a man of the cloth, I would normally ask the Almighty Lord God to have pity on you and your soul. But you have no mortal soul since you have been in very long service to Satan himself. Once more, you have committed the ultimate sacrilege by renouncing the Almighty Lord God yourself.”

“Therefore, there can be no plea of mercy or divine forgiveness rendered for you by this court on your behalf.  Your final fate and disposition beyond the reach of this court lies ultimately with your master—Satan.”

“It is therefore the judgment of this court that you Rosalia—Black Witch of the Harz—be taken on the next morn’ at dawn to the gallows specially constructed here at Worlerede and this is where you shall be hanged by the neck until pronounced dead, and then your mortal body shall continue to hang for three days on public display, for all to see, and then your mortal body shall be burned by fire while it is still in its hanging position. Your mortal body shall burn until it disintegrates into nothing but fine burnt ashes.”

“In God’s name, this is so adjudged and it shall be done!”
 
As Monseigneur Hardenberg finished his verdict and sentencing, before Rosalia was to be bound and shackled for her departure from the court, he asked her if she had any final words for the court.

At that very moment the wily old hag became extraordinarily animated, and in a wild-eyed uncontrollable manner, jumped high into the air with an energy she had not possessed in a while and made this very provocative pronouncement to the Monseigneur and all concerned:

“Monseigneur you may have me hanged and burned into nothingness, but I will once again triumph with Lucifer’s will and power behind me for I lay eternally in his bed and seek not Jehovah’s forgiveness and the rapture of Heaven. My Master will restore me once again and resurrect me to return and execute his evil deeds once again here on Earth. It is I who renounce you and all the people assembled in this court. I renounce what all of you stand for. I curse all of you forever, and I will be there at the very Gates of Hell awaiting the day when I can greet all of and condemn you to eternal hell fire and damnation on my Master’s behalf. A curse of death and eternal damnation be upon you all, and all of the relatives who follow you for future generations to come!”

End of Part Seven

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)


Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Four

Rosalia - The Evil Witch of the Harz, Part Four

Rosalia’s Date with Destiny and the Power of Light and Goodness
It is said that the Almighty Lord God works in very mysterious ways . . . 
meaning that even an all-powerful witch like Rosalia had her Achilles’ heel, and could lose her sheen of invincibility in certain instances which date back to the earliest clashes between Good and Evil at the outset of mankind.

With her perfect cover working in a local village Inn near the Brocken, Rosalia could plan, plot and scheme her witchcraft activities at will 
when meeting unsuspecting villagers and outside visitors alike—
giving her near-unlimited control in shaping the very course of events.
Fate would have it, however, that one event would challenge and alter Rosalia’s perfect cover forever . . . 

One day a young girl—named Aurelia, who was barely 15 years old,
visited local village relatives while traveling near the Brocken.
Aurelia, who was quite intelligent and mature for her age was also a 
close relative of the regional church Monseigneur, Wolfgang Augustus Hardenberg, and she was part of a traditional German catholic family. 

Aurelia was a rare child indeed, endowed with “Heavenly Eyes”
from her eternal soul at birth which gave her a unique, unusual gift 
of sensing and seeing the true nature of the men, women, and children
as they came into contact with her . . . without them realizing it. 

Aurelia, with this fantastic gift, was truly one of God’s children,
and the antithesis of Rosalia and the incarnate evil she represented.
Aurelia’s family was fully aware of God’s favor on their daughter
and all of the goodness and light she shared with them in the family.

Aurelia was also quick study; she was endowed with an unusual ability to absorb, understand and remember vast amounts of information and detail.
And while attending religious schools, she demonstrated an exceptional proclivity early on for learning and mastering classical foreign languages. 

Aurelia too was a centuries’ old soul like Rosalia, but whereas Rosalia embraced the Dark Side, and was the very manifestation of evil and debauchery; 
Aurelia embraced the Light and Goodness of the Almighty,
and was one of God’s angelic souls destined to do his bidding in the continuous titanic struggle against Lucifer and his Dark World minions;
she was truly a “Princess of the Light” and a “Precious Child of God.”   

With this in mind . . .
On visiting the local village Inn with relatives one afternoon for lunch,
Aurelia immediately felt the presence of a specter of evil and foreboding.
And this specter was, of course, none other than . . . Rosalia.
Beyond her perceptible sensing and feeling of pure evil,
Aurelia was able to make momentary visual contact with Rosalia,
and with her God-given heavenly vision glanced the true image of Rosalia,
which filled her at once with undeniable dread, fright and revulsion
at the terrible visage cast by Rosalia among her unsuspecting relatives.

Aurelia was in luck since Rosalia felt no reason to suspect her, thus paying no attention to the young girl with her relatives.

Aurelia’s God-given power shielded her from Rosalia’s attention,
at least for now . . .  
From the encounter at the village Inn, Aurelia knew that some of her relatives were already marked by the witch.

After the visit to the Inn, Aurelia immediately informed her unsuspecting parents of the evil incarnate she sensed and discovered at the Inn.

Time was fleeting and quick action would be required to corroborate this event. It was already Monday, and on the upcoming Saturday, which was All Hallows’ Eve on October 31st, Rosalia’s Coven was set to conduct The Black Witches’ Sabbath in celebration of the Devil himself. This evil Sabbath event was done twice a year with the one preceding All Hallows’ Eve occurring on April 30th on the Great Sabbath of Walpurgis Nacht.

The preparation of the Black Witches’ Sabbath would include black rituals and both human and animal sacrifices with the invocation of the Vespers’ Prayer Preparation for Black Mass, followed by a 24-hour period of preparation by the Coven for its next attack on the local villagers.

Riding horseback to the Cloister Marten in the Harz some 20 kilometers away, Aurelia’s father traveled there with two close trusted friends to inform Monseigneur Hardenberg of Aurelia’s unexpected discovery of the infamous and evil Black Witch of the Harz known as Rosalia. 

On hearing of the discovery of Rosalia and her masquerade in human form,
the Monseigneur instinctively knew that immediate action was required, 
and that the very lives of the villagers and their eternal souls were in the greatest of peril.

An immediate meeting with his council of priests at Cloister Marten was in order; there was now a chance that Rosalia and her Coven could be finally 
destroyed forever. This chance event had been a long time coming and the Monseigneur knew that they must not fail.

The Monseigneur also knew that God’s avengers must act smartly . . .
Rosalia was a virulent evil force not to be taken lightly nor underestimated.
Many priests and their parishioners had already succumbed to the Devil 
and his Dark World of eternal damnation, courtesy of Rosalia.

The Monseigneur would need Aurelia’s help in finding Rosalia’s Coven,
and he realized that he and his priests must prepare for the greatest test of their faith, as they contemplated their plan to destroy Rosalia and her spawn of evil.

The Monseigneur understood all too well that to face down Rosalia was almost the same as facing the very Devil himself.

The Monseigneur and his priests must be swift in their vengeance against Rosalia in the name of the Lord, and that a second chance may not be in the offing.

End of Part Four

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)


Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Two

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Two

Rosalia’s Instruments of Evil and Debauchery
Rosalia needed certain tools or instruments of evil and debauchery to successfully pursue her nefandous plans of bringing the people of the Harz countryside under the dominion and control of the Devil. The following instruments could be construed as weapons in and of themselves and were integral to Rosalia’s practice of Witchcraft and Sorcery, and were central to her fervent desire of accomplishing this dastardly goal as she actively sought to corrupt and destroy the souls of her victims. Her bright gems of evil and debauchery included:
 
Necromancy  
As Rosalia expanded her power, control, and influence among the people she became involved in Necromancy, that is to say, the art of predicting events by communicating with the dead. She would use her channeling efforts to enter the spirit world, and in an act of true malevolence, would prompt her spirit contacts to conjure evil dreams and have them pervade the consciousness of her unsuspecting victims. She would, at times, summon Lucifer himself in the midst of all of this to directly maximize her channeling efforts.      

Moleosophy and Wartology  
Rosalia had mastery of the arcane art of Moleosophy and Wartology, whereby she could divine the temperament of people and surrounding future events by spiritually sensing and reading the moles and warts on men and women in a stream of consciousness. Beyond this divining and sensing aspect, this power was also amply reflected in the use of her Black Wart and the use of its bile liquid contents to inflict irreparable harm on her victims and engender absolute fear.

Witch’s Broom  
Rosalia had a Witch’s Broom, serving as her primary mode of transportation for traversing the Harz and for frightening and wreaking utter havoc on her unsuspecting victims.

Black Hen’s Blood
Rosalia used a Black Hen’s Blood gruesomely obtained by beating a black hen to death, and then smearing a small portion of the blood on her human victim or the victim’s clothing— in effect, to transfer the agony of the hen’s death to her intended victim. 

Magic Wand
The Magic Wand made of hazel is another invaluable weapon used by Rosalia as an instrument of indomitable evil force and power as personified in its likeness as a phallic symbol.  Rosalia’s mastery of her Magic Wand enabled her to instinctively react in casting black magic spells on her victims and conjuring an aura of evil spirits to plague and ultimately destroy her victims’ families.

Black Potions
Rosalia brewed alchemic poisonous potions to a horrifying hideous effect,
using them to startle, stun and paralyze her victims with unending fear
while unmercifully taunting and tormenting them with equal evil effect,
and using Witchcraft to destroy once innocent souls and harvest fear.
Rosalia employed her alchemic masterpieces to great effect in gaining control of her victims’ will or desire to resist her evil intentions. Rosalia sometimes used her Black Potions to immediately subdue and poison to death victims who had insulted her and driven her anger to an insatiable lust and frenzy.

Witch’s Dagger   
Rosalia’s Athamé was her special coal-black-colored ceremonial dagger, of course, with a double-edged blade, but in her instance totally black to include the actual blade itself, with the sign of the Pentagram firmly engrained into the dagger’s handle. This was Rosalia’s magical dagger, her tool which she used for ritual black mass ceremonies and to direct psychic energy and to even exact both torture and murder—beyond the normal expected use of such a dagger in a witchcraft ceremony.  

Black Cat   
Whereas a vampire has the power to command his or her “Children of the Night,” and to take the form of a wolf or a bat, similarly, Rosalia could transmute her human form and soul appearance into that of a Black Cat, or on occasion, into that of a White Cat to better mask her nefarious activities and evil intentions.

Black Witches’ Sabbath
Given her power and authority from the Dark One (or Satan himself), Rosalia was so anointed to conduct a Black Witches’ Sabbath two times a year:  April 30th on the Great Sabbath of Walpurgis Nacht and October 31st with Halloween (All Hallows’ Eve). These were the events during which Rosalia summoned the “Goat of Mendes” by which Satan would appear in physical form as a goat or a ram. Rosalia used these special witch coven gatherings on Walpurgis Nacht and Halloween as defining events by which she would give over the souls of her trusted disciples to Satan. She would also recommit her blasphemous Faustian eternal allegiance to the Dark One made over centuries before when she existed in other evil reincarnated soul being forms before becoming Rosalia.

Black Mass 
Intoning, in a shrill repetitive manner six times:  Rosalia recited the Satanist Prayer (Our Father, which wert in heaven . . .) during monthly Black Mass celebrations and the Black Witches’ Sabbath with her Coven. Rosalia used the transformative power of these events to further energize her disciples and to call directly on Satan to inform him of her evil activities and seek his continued influence and support for her acts of terror, torture, and debauchery—all in his name. Tragically, all of Rosalia’s disciples were lost souls and faced eternal damnation because of their continued association with her.  At the end of the Black Mass rituals all of Rosalia’s disciples were left in a state of unfettered “Humicubation,” whereby they lay on the ground in a state of submission and penitence to her for ever having worshipped the Lord God.

End of Part Two

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)


Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Five

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Five

The Monseigneur knew that they must be successful in this venture as the “Lord’s Madmen” or face the very real possibility of eternal damnation, if they should fail. They had no choice but to risk all in this endeavor. To do nothing and to retreat back to the safe confines of the monastery would consign innocent men, women, and children to a fate worse than death itself—they would be in the hands of the Devil forever.  

God’s Reckoning and Vengeance and the Planned Destruction of Rosalia
Arriving at the village below the Brocken by the early hours on Friday morning, October 30th, the Monseigneur and his priests met with Aurelia and her parents in a chamber room near the alter of the local village church under a marble cast visage of Jesus Christ himself.

They had the rest of the day on Friday and a partial day Saturday, October 31st until 6:00 pm to ready themselves for an all-out assault on Rosalia’s Coven in a deep cave located some 100 meters down from the Brocken summit. Being able to actually find Rosalia’s cave in time was a momentous task unto itself—and might even require divine intervention. Rosalia would quite assuredly conceal and mask its entrance to the uttermost.  

The risk of discovery of their planning efforts by Rosalia and her Coven was now greater than ever.

It was now time for Aurelia to invoke her direct prayer to the Lord,
to seek His blessing and His protection for everyone involved in supporting
the Monseigneur’s efforts in discovering the location of Rosalia’s Coven,
and for ensuring the triumph of the power of light and goodness. 

Aurelia kneeling before the church altar began her prayer to the Lord:

To our Almighty and Most Merciful Lord God, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost . . . 
It is with the greatest of humility and respect that we beseech thy support
in confronting and destroying the Black Witch Rosalia and her Hell Spawn
Minions who serve thy fallen angel known as “Lucifer.”

Oh Lord please hear us in this hour of maximum danger, as the very lives and the very souls of many innocent people are at stake in this great  struggle between good and evil which has been with mankind since Adam and Eve walked the face of the Earth.

We are, Oh Lord, very aware of the immense burdens you carry in the Universe and that mankind is only one of your many divine creations.  
Mankind, after all, was created in thine image. An enormous challenge awaits us from the forces of darkness and pure evil here on Earth in the Harz.  In the name of Jesus Christ—your only son, we earnestly pray for your divine intervention and timely guidance as we must soon confront Rosalia and her minions of evil who worship only Lucifer and the world of darkness at his command.

We thank you for listening to our prayer of urgent need Most Merciful Lord God.  Although our group of church followers will soon be walking through the shadow of night and the valley of death itself, we know that Thou Shall Be With Us, and will give us thine power and strength in overcoming and destroying the forces of evil and darkness.  

AMEN . . . AMEN . . . AMEN, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

Aurelia’s Prayer to God is Answered
At the conclusion of Aurelia’s prayer, Monseigneur Hardenberg and his group of priests met with some trusted local villagers who knew the landscape around the Brocken summit very well. Aurelia had asked to be part of the Monseigneur’s group. Although a young girl, she was a very special young girl, and given the circumstances in spite of the risks the group needed all the help it could find. Aurelia’s help was invaluable. 

The key action was to get the search process underway soonest to find an aperture in and around the Brocken that might yield the entrance to Rosalia’s lair. It was already late Friday morning and the search must commence immediately after the Monseigneur and his party had a chance to rest awhile, for by 6:00 pm on Saturday, the powers of darkness would begin gathering and massing an unconscionable strength and fury as the six-hour countdown to the Black Witches’ Sabbath ceremony would be underway.

Next, by Friday afternoon the Monseigneur and his party journeyed to the vicinity of the Brocken summit and began their concerted search for Rosalia’s cave.

Searching well into the night and into the wee hours of the morning on October 31st—to no avail—the mounting frustration and the growing sense of expectation among the group was both palpable and undeniable. By around 5:30 pm, the search turned into a scene of utter desperation. There was very good chance that they might not find the hidden entrance to Rosalia’s lair in time to disrupt the Black Witches’ Sabbath ceremony. Aurelia could sense the closeness of Rosalia, but even she was helpless to precisely pinpoint the location of the cave.

Aurelia knew instinctively that she had to act. Finding Monseigneur Hardenberg she told him that another prayer to the Almighty Lord God might improve their chances of finding the cave in time to act. And almost instantaneous to their brief discussion, a very large bright light suddenly illuminated itself on the immediate horizon in the deep forested area. As dusk was falling, this radiance of this bright heavenly light was at once as telling as it was compelling. Aurelia knew at that instant mirabile visu that her prayer to God had been answered and that divine intervention was truly at hand.    

End of Part Five

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)


Long poem by Brian Johnston | Details |

The Troll

‘An interesting guy I think,’
People might say on meeting you for the first time,
Oh yes, I’ve come to know you too well.
Thank God for the Internet,
Although there are bodies in your wake,
And stench follows you like a garbage scow
There is protection for many in distance from,
In the miles of wire, the waves of wireless
Communication, and so like a deer
Caught in the headlight of your amazing ego,
[Fashioned by the fires of Hell (like Gollum’s ring)
And as empty as the devil’s soul],
They stand frozen for a moment,
Throwing it off finally, the vision of their own death
Shaking their heads in wonder, ‘What just happened?’

It’s like the first lesson your mother tries to teach,
‘Be careful who you choose as a friend,’
A cautionary tale for adults too.
‘Fire does burn’ even when you reach adulthood,
All that sparkles is not gold, my friend,
And a ‘nom de plume’ like Talvia Sprinkles,
Just one more bush the troll hides in.
Sometimes that strange feeling that you have
Is actually another human? being? peeing on your soul
The golden shower they offer, however,
Does not assuage your guilt (which is real, so what?)
You’ve just been sold a bill of goods,
Dr. Killdeers Magic Elixir, a not so benign fixer.

If you have been in this dark place of the soul
And saved by Satan not in fact being God,
Then rejoice my friend in God’s provision
In youth or childhood, you did something good?
Do more, bear witness of your weakness to others,
Not to mortify your own flesh (God knows you’re sorry)
But so that those with ears to hear (also God’s gift)
Perchance will themselves not feel so alone.
Remember that half-truths strung together like pearls
Are still sh**, if you’ll pardon the expression.
‘If it sounds to good to be true it isn’t,’
Remember only God knows your soul,
Satan is just a very experienced guesser
And revels in our penchant to deny our own sin.
His wisdom does not serve the greater good.
Do not look for truth among the cold stones
Of the temple that once stood at Delphi either,
Or trust any oracle that does not bend his knee
To the living God, the creator of us all.
It is your life, it is your responsibility,
Don’t parrot Cesar’s surprised last words
As a ‘friend’ slipped his knife into Cesar’s heart,
‘Et tu, Brute?’ You have been warned!

Brian Johnston
September 26, 2014

Poet’s Notes:
The Troll now joins what I am calling ‘My Ring Trilogy’ and completes this cycle very well I think, though I had no idea I was writing a trilogy when I started it many months ago. ‘God is Great!’ Hope that you find it interesting too! All three poems while not written to attack Merov Tachgovirian specifically, do in my humble opinion describe him all most perfectly by accident as it were. Perhaps because he uses my verse as a sick goal for his own life, lacking the imagination to come up with his own game plan for a truely evil life.

On PoemHunter.com there is a poorly implemented rating system that if allowed by each individual poet, allows visitors to the poet's site to rate each poem from 1 - 10. Used in its intended manner, this allows visitors to my site for example, to easily see which of my 200+ poems have been the most popular so far. This can be a nice tool for a visitor when he/she comes to my site for the first time. I use it myself quite frequently in this way, not really a gauge of true quality but at least a crude measure of popularity. What Merov and his like are doing are doing on PoemHunter is to, without regard for the poem at all, to give the poem MULTIPLE VOTES of 1.0 which can bring the 'average rating' of a poem that has been given 4 votes of 10.0 for example whose average rating should in fact be 10.0 down considerably. I had one poem like this that Merov gave 8 votes of 1.0 to (in a 24 hour period). So doing the math, 40 normal points + 8 Merov points equals 48 points in total. You divide that by th number of votes cast 12 votes and now the poems average rating is 4.0 and not a perfect 10.0 that it should be. Merov can do this because he joins a site with multiple false identities and then uses these membership votes as a base from which to launch attacks on others.


A note in passing to honor the 'Walking Dead' among us (Hi Merov):

Well apparently PH has banished you from it’s halls and once again because of your amazing ego (your greatest weakness and most devastating weapon), and, of course, the pornographic language you use to comment on other's poems. If you have not been attacked by people like him, count yourself lucky. If you do not care about the pain that he brings to others by this behavior, then count yourself his victim already. ‘Talvia Sprinkles’ and  ‘Jimmy Tuhans’ (nom de plumes he used recently on PH) may be history, but Merov certainly is not. There are an infinite number of internet ‘nom de plumes’ for him to hide behind, more sites will be attacked, more sites and feelings damaged by his misinformation and scurrilous comments. Do not dream that evil is not real. Good men may lay down their arms, even admit defeat, admit that they were wrong. Evil never does. The suffering of others is its only goal.


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Legend of the Red October Run

Dedicated to the 2000 National College Football Champions, the Oklahoma Sooners 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Over fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan
Watched and reveled in their glories, every one;
But there’s no more glorious “Sooner Magic” 
Than the Red October Run.

The new millennium's first football season,
Excited Sooners fans’ hopes did soar.
They had tasted victory in Bob Stoops’ first year;
Now, they wanted - no, expected - even more.

There was a glint of promise in Bob’s eyes,
Strength and confidence in his every word.
“Our Team has shown improvement”, is what he said;
“We’ll win!” is what fans heard.

By September’s end, the Sooners were 4 and O,
A “cupcake schedule” some anxious fans would say;
Twenty-two days in October would rule their destiny.
Texas, K-State, Nebraska, the teams they’d have to play.

“OU’s October is a gauntlet”, said ESPN;
“Play #10 and #2 and #1…and win”?
So, on a rainy Saturday morning in Dallas,
The Red October Run would begin.

The Texas State Fair at the Cotton Bowl,
Fans were welcomed by Big Tex.
They screamed, “Go OU!” and “Hook’em Horns!”;
But none could imagine what happened next.

Heupel was a dominating General;
The Sooners Offense, his relentless troops.
Calmus and the Defense assured a total rout,
The Coach of the Day was Bob Stoops.

Sooners fans were wild, delirious with glee;
But Bob seemed focused and sedate.
“We’ll enjoy this victory Sunday;
Then Monday, we’ll prepare for Kansas State”.

No time to revel in the Glory, #2 was tough.
Better than the Huskers?  The possibility was real.
The road to #1 went through Manhattan,
And the Sooners would have to win it on the field.

The sportscasters had a field day.
Last year’s “coaching coup” was news again.
Beasley versus Heupel was “The Match-up”.
Could Heupel evade K-State’s awesome defense 
   and find a way to win? 

Again, Heupel and his troops met the challenge;
And as the Sooners “D” assured a hard fought win,
Every Sooners fan’s heart was stirred.
Could our Sooners be “Big Red” again?

Mighty Nebraska, #1, was coming to Owen Field.
“Biggest OU - Nebraska game in years!” Corso said.
It would be 1 versus 2, a heralded gridiron epic
For the coveted title of…”Big Red”.

It was OU’s biggest home game ever.
The campus was alive with vendors and would-be 
   ticket buyers.
Every Sooners Fan’s heart was pounding.
Could the smell of #1 stoke the Sooners' fires?

The Huskers struck so quickly.
At 14 to nothing, Sooners fans were stunned.
It was shaping up to be a long, long day;
And it wasn’t going to be fun.

Quickly tho’, Heupel rallied his Sooners troops.
They scored and scored and scored again.
The Sooners “D” built a Wall at the 50,
And would not let the Huskers in.

Winners, the Sooners ran and jumped with glee.
Fans flooded Owen Field, milling all around,
Praising and hugging their Sooners Heroes.
They even tore the goal post down.

Now #1, the Sooners had won it on the field.
Their preparation had been well taught.
Bob Stoops, all his great coaches and assistants,
Took pride in how the Sooners fought.

Someone once said, “Everyone loves a winner.”
Everywhere you looked confirmed it’s true.
OU flags fluttered.  Decals, hats, and clothes abound.
Come November, the Sooners and their Fans
    had been renewed,

There’s no slighting the importance of Red October.
The Sooners came together as a Team.
No doubt too, without “The Red October Run”
Their National Championship would still be just a dream.

For the next five games, it was simply unacceptable
For the Sooners to even think that they could fail;
And, tho’ Heupel played injured, they won the Big 12 Championship;
Great Sooners Defense had prevailed.

But no one gave these Big 12 Champs the slightest chance to win
Against the mighty Seminoles of Florida State.
The Heisman Trophy Winner was their quarterback
And their defense was touted to be great.

At the coin toss, Team Captain Torrance Marshall
Said to their quarterback in words most serious and sure,
“You took our boy’s trophy”.  Then he smiled,
“Now we’re gonna take yours”.

The Sooners “D” was everywhere and completely shut them down;
And, when Quentin Griffin’s touchdown closed the door,
Their quarterback knew that Marshall’s words rang true;
The not-so-mighty ‘Noles had not been allowed to score.

Yes, Bob Stoops and his Sooners knew the challenge:
To win Each game ‘til Every game’s been won;
Win for Sooners and their Fans the unchallenged right
To revel in the Glory of being #1.

Yes, my Sooners Team goes on and on,
Different faces, different names;
But these Sooners Champions will be well remembered
For the Season they won Every game.

Undefeated National Champions!
Before October, who would have ever dreamed?
Why, just last year, we didn’t even know the players' names;
And now, they’re College Football’s Greatest Team.

To overcome all adversity and rise to every challenge,
The reward for such a feat is being #1;
Their path to Glory born of a Sooners Legend
Called The Red October Run.

-----------------------------------------



Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Three

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part Three

Vespers’ Prayer Preparation for Black Mass
In preparation for the ritual Black Mass at midnight, Rosalia recites the following prayer incantation which must be rendered latest at 6:00 pm on the eve of the Black Mass. This is a six-hour process that lasts until midnight when the actual Black Mass ceremony formally commences. The Vespers’ Prayer incantation by Rosalia reads as follows:

Boil, Boil plague-ridden rats and toads in oil,
with a pair of gleaming snake eyes too;
Mix in fresh hen’s blood and a rabbit’s paw,
with a touch of horse dung and a lizard’s tail too;
And add six cups of Vitriol and a tablespoon of Goldwater;
Stew, Stew this Stygian alchemic brew for ne’r six hours
during Vespers for midnight Black Mass;
Serve this unholy sustenance to my Coven at midnight,
while praying in Lucifer’s name for his guidance
in defeating Jehovah’s forces of good and light.
All in the name of Great Lucifer—The Dark One.
Blackness, Darkness, Degradation, and Negation—
Our Coven has the power of His Power as granted
by His Unholiness when the full moon’s shadow
crosses the face of the Earth. 

Rosalia’s Sacrilegious Activities and Mask of Deception
Rosalia was very self-aware of her bewitching and beguiling activities,
and her seasoned ancient command of the instruments of evil and debauchery, whether by plan or at will, to execute her nefast activities against all who were innocent and unsuspecting. Her negative actions left an indelible stain and a wicked scar of evil on the spiritual psyche of all of her victims.   

Rosalia was also vividly aware of the Church’s knowledge of witchcraft and sorcery, as written, codified and passed down by two Catholic inquisitors in the Malleus Maleficarum published in 1486. The power of her profane instruments of witchcraft found many of their original associational relationships with certain sacraments and church procedures, but were later corrupted and brought to the dark side to aid the Devil’s work. What was once good, could become instantly impious, if the witches focused their negative efforts and pagan power on corrupting and harming mankind.   

And so, Rosalia understood and appreciated the power and the knowledge
of the Catholic Church concerning matters of witchcraft and the witches’ devotion to evil.  The Church was not unaware of Rosalia’s evil activities, 
but they were confined presently to a local area and were not of a larger regional nature—at least for the time being.

With this in mind and being so informed of the Church, and with the power and influence of the Dark One, Rosalia continued her ruthless, evil crimes
and her heartless, blasphemous activities during periodic nocturnal visits 
in bucolic villages in the Harz countryside.

It was during these so-called “evening activities” that Rosalia’s dark-side mask, that is, her true witch’s countenance shone through and presented her ghastly Gorgon-grimaced face to her chosen victims—men, women, children—with no quarter given. This was Rosalia’s true self, her “evening mask,” but yet her true self.

Yet while during the day, as part of a masterful chameleon-like deception,
Rosalia would appear to unsuspecting people in her “daytime mask”
as a beautiful and charming blonde-haired, blue-eyed lady of young adult age, with a kind and genial spirit who worked in a local Inn in a village close to the Brocken. This was Rosalia’s perfect cover for plotting and conducting 
her wicked and unholy activities.

Rosalia naturally commanded the insatiable power of the black arts
which allowed her to maintain her “normal appearance” for as long as she chose—and yet, she could summon her real dark appearance on a moment’s notice, but preferred the night when her dark-side powers were at their greatest pitch, whereby she could command whatever hell-spawned demons or earthly elements she needed to help and support her evil intentions and deeds.

With the daily reality of this “perfect deception,” Rosalia, with her coven of disciples, could strike with impunity throughout the numerous villages in the Harz countryside, consummating their evil intentions and horrible deeds 
in the name of God’s fallen angel.

Rosalia’s goal was to deceive, corrupt and destroy the eternal souls of as many men, women, and children as possible, while ensuring the maturation and permanence of her power, and the unholy glorification of her master—Lucifer.

Who could ever imagine that a young beautiful blonde lady who innocently worked in a local village Inn could be one of vilest black spirits in the history of witchcraft?

Could Rosalia and her hell-spawned soulless minions be stopped and brought to justice for their terrible actions and deeds?  

Who would dare challenge Rosalia’s power and the evil she sought to inflict on mankind?

End of Part Three

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)


Long poem by Alfred Vassallo | Details |

The Ghosts of the Past

 
My journey has started an excursion of doubt
which will open the door for my dubious freedom
without linking my past with my future;
a journey that will take me to a weird and murky point
though I know it is not a place I want to end in.

The ghosts of yesterday appears to warn me of dread
yet I am heading to a place menacing on a crest of a secluded life
and my past life seems to be millions of years away!

The appalling time presses in as though it is still alive hanging to my past
I can almost sense it, 
I can almost feel it
pressing on my fragile chest
and whispering echoing words
which haunts me to this time.

The thought of one vital woman brings no relief
from the tension that inhabits my old heart
at least some of the pains has passed
pains that touched on my fears that I have never known before
hoping that fear will be ended and so will hope!

As the journey continues with more doubts than ever
the doors are wide open
revealing disturbances of weirdness.

Within I found a strange and lonely life
like a sleeping existences waiting to wake up.
I know I should leave at once
yet I can’t,
not as long as I feel my answers 
which I have been looking for a long time might be found inside.

The darkness,
the isolation
corrupted by the dust of a hidden life
walled by the ghosts of my past
and the fears of my uncertain present are all for an answer;
Where shall I search for the truth,
Where can I wait for hope to appear?

The past is drifting through the dark corridors of the unknown,
settling in a corner of fears
waiting for my mind to uncover more than the known truth
which I thought I knew.
The demons of my unsettled time are here,
where they found their place in the isolated area of my heart
which echoes with so much pain
of a lonely and frightened sphere.

A realm where the answers for the future
can transform me into an existence of hope. 

The future answers have not been found yet
the existence of hope is still in doubt;
since I have entered through the doors of life
I became part of its strangeness	
a peculiarity which seems to reach out and touches my soul.
The past is my prison
in which I have been too long confined in.

I should not be afraid of the present
neither should I be fearful of the future,
and yet both carries a filthy stench of fear
which transfers through my veins and mingles with my blood
seeping into my heart interrupting the smooth flow of its beating.

My present is situated on an isolated peak
the secrets of the past has not been opened completely yet
but since I have journeyed this far I must wait 
even though it is a most weird life for me.

A cold sweat started to attack the body 
an attack with a force of a thousand demons;
there is no life beyond,
seemingly only the sadness and the dejection 
not to mention the terrible seclusion of trepidation.

From the moment I slipped through from my mother’s womb
I have been surrounded by tension and conflicts.
Everything seems to be echoing the ghosts of the past I knew,
ghosts which have a tight grip on my present.
The connection between then and now is very real
and somehow I shall discover what it is.

The dark themes of the present are binding me to the past; 
I wish to forget it
and soon!
I have realized,
I think,
nothing seems to help me. 

The dark ambiance of my life dominates
it is part of an uneasy world which I have built around me
through it I listened to its rumors,
I shuddered at their approach.
The first tragedy came upon me,
a death
he was taken away,
the man I have protected since I was merely eight years old,
my father!
While the hidden impacts of the past
suddenly moving closer and closer.
There was no sound,
except of the sobbing by the siblings;
the crying of the guilty one
gazing into my eyes for forgiveness.

The strangeness that surround me is haunting me now!

The past is not a mystery to me but my future is;
it is bound to the childhood years I lived
the compelling tension I endured were endless
so much had happened in five measly years
especially to face the woman who loved me
and the man who abused me for a long, long time!

The woman, who never left my thoughts;
a mother who had been shocked 
knowing well that her secret though safe with me still haunted my mind.
A mother who was concerned and thorn 
for the one person she loved most……Me!

The man, ten years my senior,
a cunning pedophile 
who lured me into the dirty world of sexual abuse.
How could I have faced him for all those years
even knowing what damage had he done to me?

The road I took in those days was steep and winding,
It twisted and turned like the hidden secrets I kept so long,
which led me to ruin my teenage life
and hurt all the people who love me most.

Alfred Vassallo on Sunday 21st September 2014: 5.28 am for  Free Verse Poem sponsored by Regina Riddle


Long poem by Gary Bateman | Details |

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz, Part One

Rosalia - The Evil Black Witch of the Harz

Prologue
This is a rather grim epic poetic tale of Rosalia, a 16th century German witch who terrorized villages, destroyed the lives and corrupted the souls of many people throughout the countryside in the Harz Mountains in Germany. 

Rosalia focused her evil and malicious activities at the outset in a land area directly below the Brocken summit in the Harz. Over the time and extent of her macabre reign as a Black Witch and a Master of the Black Arts, Rosalia began to expand her campaign of evil among other provincial areas of the Harz beyond the Brocken. Her periodic nightly raids on villages in the Harz are part of the continuing legends of witchcraft and sorcery that still pervade the local culture there to this very day. 

Rosalia in modern day parlance was the “real deal” when it came to wreaking havoc and pandemonium among mankind. That is, she was truly a redoubtable force of evil and unmitigated malevolence, not to be toyed with nor underestimated by anyone seeking to confront her. Rosalia was bent on fulfilling Lucifer’s principal goals: destroying the peace and harmony of mankind; disrupting the holy balance of the relationship between Man and God; corrupting the eternal souls of men, women, and children; extinguishing the light in the world; and bringing mankind into darkness and despair.       

Rosalia’s Entrée to the 16th Century
Rosalia was born and later raised as a child in a Witches’ coven.
Although Rosalia was born in the 16th century again in human form, 
she was, in reality, a reincarnated evil soul many centuries old.
Her Hell-spawned soul was seared in Hell’s very own oven, 
and like the Gorgon Medusa herself—she was a creature gone wild. 

Rosalia indeed was also an intense and a very precocious child: 
who was imbued with uncanny and unearthly powers,
who was “left-handed” and obviously “sinister,”
who possessed a keen and piercing intellect,
and had scaurous, strong ankles and a schnauzkrampf-like mouth,
and was fisslingual like the Devil—with a “forked tongue,” 
who had a horrifying and monstrous Medusa-like appearance
at a glance—stark and menacing, frightening and rapacious, 
with jet black stringy, snake-like hair and black teeth,
with dark probing eyes and exceptional sensory perception,
and a bulbous, bile-ridden black wart . . . 
protruding on the lower left side of her nose close to the tip.

Rosalia and Black Magic were one in the same, and
her craggy appearance and coarse demeanor—black wart and all,
her deceptive powers, and her utter malevolence toward man— 
all constituting a terrifying reflection of pure evil and foreboding, 
and all the while illuminating mankind’s quizzical wonderment 
at the power of die Hexerei.

Rosalia was aptly known and greatly feared as the “Queen of Walpurgis Nacht,” “The Devil’s Concubine,” and “The Queen of Darkness.”

Rosalia delighted in being “The Devil’s Concubine” by name,
for her liaisons with Lucifer made her omnipotent and devoutly unholy.
Her unbridled sense of power and invincibility was this Black Witch’s aim,
for this fed her conviction to do vicious and evil things—to be unholy.

Rosalia’s Power and Relationship to the Devil
It is said that Rosalia’s power of Witchcraft and the Black Arts
derived from her worship to and direct relationship with the Devil himself,
thus making her virtually omnipotent, all-powerful.

As the most favored disciple and mistress of the Dark One
Rosalia acutely honed her pagan skills in the Black Arts 
to the highest rapture while using her Gorgon-grimaced face
to strike fear in all who resisted her using a withering and wicked 
mesmerizing gaze with which she paralyzed her victims with unending
torment, agony, and fear.

On occasion she would extract the putrid bile liquid from her Black Wart
and used it to poison and corrupt the life essence of her victims—if they resisted.

The utter revulsion and palpable fear felt by Rosalia’s victims
was practically indescribable given its horrible nature. 

Both her power and her conviction to do vicious evil things 
appeared to be wrapped in a cloak of seeming invincibility.

Lucifer did exceedingly well in his choice of Rosalia as his most favored disciple and mistress—for she savored his ferocious favor and unleashed without a conscience a torrent of evil doings and unholy machinations on those unlucky enough to cross her path.  

To know Rosalia was to realize a gorgonesque damnation forever 
while she pursued the unholy glorification of her master—Lucifer.
In time Rosalia was granted the power over all hell-spawned demons forever to support and consummate her unholy activities in the name of Lucifer.

End of Part One
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 20, 2014)


Long poem by frank halliwell | Details |

Blossom

Blossom

Just grab a seat on that stump lad, and I'll take centre stage, 
With a yarn about a small brown donk, and a lad about your age.
And thanks much for the offer, but I'll give the beer a miss, 
I've got half a cup of coffee here, and I'll be drinking this.

One afternoon, just as the sun was starting to go down, 
Dad chased him on an errand, to the little shop in town.
Now this young fella blazed along, the old ute fairly flew, 
About as close to the speed o' light as the four wheel drive would do.

And as he roared up a small hill, just standing past the top, 
Was a jenny donk with a half grown foal, and the young lad couldn't stop.
The jenny was the closest and she took the deadly blow, 
But her body saved her little one, although she'd never know.

The young lad checked the jenny out, but she'd begun the flow, 
To that great green meadow in the sky, where all the donkeys go.
The foal was badly bashed up, with her hide all torn and slashed, 
But her eyes were bright and she might be right...stitched up where she was gashed.

So he huffed and puffed and heaved and swore, and he got her in the back, 
And he set out for the vet that lived a bit further down the track.
And the vet, he laboured mightily to save that battered foal, 
And by dawn's first light after that long night, he finally reached his goal.

So young lad took the small donk home, and in the course of time, 
They left the territory, for Queensland's sunny clime.
He finished up in barracks, for the company took him in, 
And gave him work, down in the mine, scratchin' round for tin.

He'd seen the poincianas bloom, their crimson flowers aflame, 
And so he called her 'Blossom', and that became her name.
Now the Isa's not the most thrilling place there is along the track, 
So he taught young Blossom a trick or two, to help take up the slack.

To stand with forelegs on his shoulders, (gawd, that lad was game!) 
And to stretch out on an empty bunk, a trick that brought her fame.
For the common ass is pretty smart, her funny looks aside, 
And she soon preferred the soft-sprung bed to the cold hard dirt outside.

And though the blokes would chase her out when time had come for rest.
She'd soon sneak back through the open door to the bed she liked the best
And most of the guys didn't really mind, and felt a little quiet pride, 
In this funny donk who made them laugh, but left her souvenirs outside.

Ah yes, and she had one more quirk, that I'll add to this log, 
On a hot day, she'd walk up to you, and lick you, like a dog.
I guess it was a need for salt, that's found in many forms
To fill her need she found a source on miners sweaty arms.

Now the office took a new man on, and assigned him to his shift, 
To start on monday morning, at the number seven lift.
And this was friday, fairly late, so with the weekend free, 
He took his wad and went to town, to celebrate, you see.

So several hours later, and much the worse for wear.
This fella staggered back again, without a single care.
He managed to remove his clothes, with a lot of crashing sound, 
Then held on tight with knuckles white, as the room went round and round

Eventually he fell asleep as the booze turned out his light, 
And Blossom, at the same time, gave up grazing for the night.
She came on tiptoe down the room, as only donkeys can.
And gazed in silent disbelief at this new, intruding man.

Who'd taken without sanction, her comfy little bed.
And left our donk with no good place to rest her weary head.
She put her head down close to his and snuffled in his ear
Well then, perhaps a slurp or two, might bring him past the beer.

At last in desperation, she put her lips up to his ear
And loosed a mighty donkey's bray, that those in town could hear, 
And followed with a lot of slurps to help her win the toss, 
And ensure that he would stay alert 'till she got her point across.

Yes lad, I woke in terror, and much dismay at those
Two big brown eyes like dinner plates, and enormous roman nose.
And ears like radar dishes and a voice like a cannon's roar.
So I up, and out, and down the road, and I run for a mile or more.

So that was when I took the pledge and swore right off the grog.
And vowed that I'd spend no more nights in alcoholic fog.
And when I feel that stirring urge, I'll go out and get some grub, 
And never, never, ever, chat up sheilas in a pub.

I've spent lots of nights, out on the grog, when we had got our pay, 
And woke beside some dreadful dogs, come the cold gray light of day.
But let me tell you matey, no one's ever seen a sight, 
Like her that woke me with a kiss, that awful friday night. 
Frank Halliwell
Submitted: Sunday, September 28, 2008


Long Poems