Best Cauldrons Poems
Hall of Silent Women
in valhala
in a far corner
of this martial paradise
is one small unobtrusive hall
above the heavy iron door
these words are faintly inscribed
“ the war department
regrets to inform you
that your son……
has been killed
in action, in defence of……”
women
silent
row upon row
straight backed, tight lipped, blank eyed
their amputated anger melting hearts
while words swift shot pierces soul
women
from life first stirrings
through vaulted cave to clapboard ranch
crouched sweating over birthing pit
to numbed white linen labour
in their pain and joy shudders steel shod feet
march through the womb.
women
ancient cauldrons
endless source of armoury
kept tongueless
then given tongue to teach
man made words
toy soldiers bleed rust.
in valhala
indeed in every martial paradise
there is one small unobtrusive hall
above the heavy door
words are faintly inscribed…
I was embarrassed for my gold-finding prowess was slim to none.
I lived alone, in a mushroom hut, built sloppily for one.
My leprechaun relatives were braggarts, and blowhards and mean.
The things they said to put me down were evil and obscene.
A friendly cardinal named Ed saw them for who they were.
He told me I had to get away, he gave me ideas to stir.
He showed me where Old Man Ligglie Howser buried all his gold.
The man was long-gone from the spot, in a home for the truly old.
I started digging up buckets of gold that very night.
I was careful to hide all of these pieces, clearly out of sight
I bought a red Ford 250 Truck with all the trimming.
I drove away from my relatives with gold pieces clearly brimming.
I gave a little gold to Magna-Fe, a shape-shifter-professional witch.
She changed Cardinal Ed into a handsome lad, although he had a slight twitch.
We married in a little church, in a ceremony so light.
Ed turns into a cardinal in the evenings, so he can do his finder-flight.
He finds the gold and I dig it up. These Leprechauns are so silly.
They use their gardens, throwing the cauldrons willy-nilly.
I have become famous in town, as the Leprechaun Gold-Finding Queen.
And I have wiped my feet of my relatives who were always truly mean.
It was a howling good night for a pumpkin fight.
The cats were ready, their witches soon would alight.
The woods were aglow with lit cauldrons so bright.
Halloween Eve was prancing about, a marvelous sight.
How many pumpkins will we need for the fright?
Asked Merlonia, the head cat of Old Witch McBright.
She was the most sage and wise familiar here tonight.
They began stockpiling their ammunition, a horrific sight!
The choice is yours. There are four cauldrons of magic potions.
Choose green, and you will be happy the rest of your life.
Choose blue, and you will become empathetic and loving.
Choose yellow and you will be able to turn invisible.
Choose silver and you will be able to travel between planets.
Choose gold and you will be able to run up the side of skyscrapers.
Choose pink and you will be able to swim with sharks safely.
Choose red and you will be able to sing like Mariah Carey.
Choose purple and you will be able to dance like Tina Turner.
Choose aqua and you will be able to look like Cher did in 1971.
I choose rainbow, the wise woman said.
Upon the steamy broth of words we feed,
A spoon of sonnet’s spice, a pinch of rhyme.
Each simmered thought, a poet’s secret seed,
Stirred gently through patient hands of time.
The flavors mix—metaphor, verse, and sound—
In bubbling cauldrons, meaning softly sways.
Within the bowl, lost syllables are found,
And every line a seasoning conveys.
How savory the blend of joy and pain,
When seasoned hearts compose the lyric stew.
From humble roots, a feast of art we gain,
Where every taste and tone is rendered true.
So gather 'round this meal of crafty strains,
Poetry soup forever feeds our brains.
Part 3
9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: Alienation
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: Jetsam
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: Relief
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
REAWAKENING
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
End
On dark Halloween Night
The moon will lose its light
The goblins will hunt you
To cook your entrails into barbecue
There will be loud screams in town
Cry of crows will be heard all around
Ominous howls of wolves will be the worst
They’re Draculas’ Foreboding Blood-thirst
Ugly wraiths will hung themselves in gallows
On ghost gum trees with monster shadows
Hunchback men will haul caskets with their spade
Putrid carrions will soon be insidiously laid
Witches will set scalding poisons in cauldrons
Tarantulas will scuttle out from their alley holes
Be wary and wear your red-lighted horns
It pre-empted them from feasting your eyeballs
On that very dark Halloween Night
Your friends will be out of sight
Grave yards will be widely opened
Zombies will be searching all hunky men
If you are really one of them
Better hide from those arrant Zomb-women
A warning for both adults and children
To ignore a bloody and one’s horrifying mien
There will be more scary creatures
On that Halloween night if you go out and venture
Just wear your spooky costumes and make sure
You cannot only walk but fly and crawl
Sept. 12,2014 1.50am
With flashing eyes she did enthral
as to the beat of drums she danced
a wild flamingo with clacking castanets
her wide hooped skirt was all a-swirl
Golden earrings sparkling and flashing
heels looking impossibly high as she twirls
her eyes flashing enticing messages
as the men flock to her a mocking laugh
Siren of the senses as well she knows
she taunts and teases as she grabs hold
only to push her admirer head over heels
leaving him stunned and dazed in the dirt
In a puff of smoke she vanishes from view
long rolls of drums call to her to come back
the men look in vain for her return
a soft voice enticingly calls from the shadows
Singing of long journeys to far away exotic places
of caravan wheels swishing and of horses gavotting
of smokey camp fires bristling with full cauldrons
no clue to what lies within just enticing smells
She tells of lovers she has known in distant past
entreating the men, who try their luck to no avail
she sits brushing her long raven black hair of curls
and the sparks fly giving her an ethereal appearance
The fires die low and still she has not yet chosen
it seems she is waiting for someone not now here
flashes of lightening fork across the sullen skies
and the skies open in deluges of rain and thunder
As her admirers scatter seeking shelter she laughs
spinning round and round hair flying out scattering
droplets that glisten and sparkle in pale light
at last she crumbles done to the sodden ground
A mighty flash of lightening rends the sky in half
highlighting a jet black horse rearing up high
she runs forward laughing he is here, he has come
her gypsy king, he swings her up before him and turns
As the summer storm fades the last fork shows
the two lovers high-lit on the rolling hill
then gone, gone to their secret place of tryst
she leaves lingering memories in men's minds of what might have been
I WISH I WEREN’T A COCKROACH
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I wish I weren’t a cockroach, its no fun at all
People stomp on me, if they find me in the hall
I need to hide in gloomy spots, niches n crags
Arriving at your house, at times in grocery bags
I can not show my presence, during daylight hours
Food you drop while eating, no longer yours, it’s ours
Don’t blame me for squishy feelings, that you deplore
Clean up your bad habits, leaving edibles on the floor
Those wet n dirty clothes, you pile up in the corner
It’s where we meet and greet, a common roach agora
You pay an exterminator, to find out where we hide
Spreads insecticides, in hopes that we will die
You may kill some of us, but no matter how you try
For 300 million years: we know just how to survive
My cousins called German roaches, small n quick
Big ones in Florida, palmetto bugs, wow, that’s rich
We are a world wide, of that, there is no question
And when we multiply, it’s called an infestation
For all these eons, we continue to force our will
But now there is an ominous threat arising in Brazil
Someone uncovered that we’re a source of protein
As a food source, a menace certainly unforeseen
It seems they fry us in boiling cauldrons of oil
We become really crispy, guaranteed not to spoil
Well, that may finally do us in, a grim fatality
Being bred in the open and offered as a delicacy
Being boiled in oil, a fate that’s frightening to me
After considerable analysis, I want to become a flea
Picked up first by man in cave
First graffiti for stories they crave
Used by First Nations fire and trade
Wagon wheel trails new comers forged laid
While miners dug deep under the soil
Horse buggy venders many did toil
Stored in homes and sold street to street
Easier lives this was the feat
Used to fire the engine for steam
Steam powered ships imagine the dream
Shovel by shovel strong men did heave
Black coals value like diamonds believe
Black diamond coal was driving a nation
Rail to rail connecting each station
Put to good use to stoke the industrious
Building up future future Illustrious
Jobs were created with easy combustible
Into the furnace producing industrial
Heating giant cauldrons ore in a pot
Producing the steel we need a lot
Fossil fueled war one and a two
Quickly after technology grew
Tiny black diamond magical rock
Picked up by man not only chalk.
8/3/16 for black diamond contest
Wicked winds and wandering mists,
Moonlit hours and secret trysts,
Spells and charms; unhallowed loam,
Stealthy do the witches roam.
Boiling cauldrons, smoke and fire,
Fallowed fields, dearth and dire,
Ungodly grants that demons give—
O’ thou must suffer not a witch to live.
Elegant in burnt orange afterglow,
sparkling starlight opens the show.
Neighbors and strangers appear all aroun’,
porch lights and car lights enlighten the town.
They arrive afoot and atop handlebars.
Tots wave from strollers like famed movie stars.
Mothers bellowing orders to stay in sight,
transgressors will rue being naughty tonight.
Flickering lights and untied laces
nudge fidgety feet through their paces.
Masquerade masks make eager accomplices’
too impish eyes and mischievous faces.
Scowling Jack-O-Lanterns carved in creepy effigies
prove impotent charms to appease candied fantasies.
Festooned arches adorned in orange and black,
ornate ornaments to win the neighborhood plaque.
Into the gauntlet of terror they swarm;
dressed to play in pillaging uniform.
Tree and flower tremble and quiver;
Bumped and trampled in their fervor.
Werewolves wailing through grimacing grins
herald a night of howling hymns.
Ghostly spirits from the bowels of earth,
hang from gallows, grinning in ghoulish mirth.
Silken chains embracing all who stray,
beckons the widow to her frightened prey.
Garnished by cackling cries of certain demise,
steaming cauldrons poach their pitiful prize.
Spades of woe shadow souls who rashly ignore,
ominous omens attached to windows and doors.
Like tocks from a clock they continue to arrive,
will the morrow find anyone left still alive?
Hostiles charitably looting town,
sacks of booty slowing them down.
Toting bags of looted plunder,
looming hordes scatter asunder.
Pass me by, to my neighbor grace his stage,
assuage with him your gluttonous rage.
Rapacious hands swaying in ritual dance,
exuberance untethered in blitzing advance.
Eyeing my castle the rioting rabble rush in,
guarded only by growlin’ dog an’ smilin’ pumpkin.
Upon my stoop they brazenly climb,
my breath on hold, I hear the chime.
My time I fear is near at hand,
my blood or treasure they demand.
Hunkered down and hidden from sight,
no mercy presented for my plight.
With sweaty palms and pounding heart,
please Lord I pray, make them depart.
For a shot of strong “Spirits” I silently scream,
‘cause I forgot the candy on this Halloween!
Already the leaves are staining red,
Blood, too thin, seeps through taut skin,
Capillaries weak walled and weeping;
Dying Summer bows proud head,
Emptied of green glory;
Filled, fiery cauldrons blaze red-orange,
Golden flamed tongues glowing.
How harsh that she must fly
Into the great beyond,
Jettisoned like a human soul
Killed before its time.
Letting go, whether fast or slow,
Makes no variance in the pain;
Numbingly, it strikes the heart
Over and over again.
Passionate, she would linger,
Queenly in her floral gown,
Regaled for stunning splendor;
Sympathy never his approach,
Time beats a strong percussive stroke
Unstoppable, dispensed in quick cadence.
Valiantly she struggles, clinging,
While wild winds hew each leaf down;
Xylogenous lichen sparsely veils
Yearning limbs laid vulnerable and bare:
Zephyrus and Chloris frolic there no more.
Note: Zephyrus, the gentle god and personification
of the west wind, the bringer of light spring and
summer breezes in Greek mythology; he abducted
and fathered children with the goddess Chloris and
gave her the domain of flowers.
Xylogenous - living on or in wood
Copyright, August 15, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Ha-llo-ween
In the dead of the night witches fly
On their broomsticks across silken skies
There they practice their art without fear
On this one frightful night of the year.
Trick or treat is the cry of the young
As they hover round each hearth and home
Unaware of the dangers they’d meet
As they knock on the doors down their street
Dressed as zombies or demons or ghosts
Grisly faces look totally gross
With ‘terror’ they scream as they play
On the eve of that sinister day
With their cauldrons of sweets they return
Safely home without cause for concern
As on All Hallows eve when that clock strikes thirteen
The undead then reclaim Halloween.
Heather Buxton 2014
Under ghostly moon--
Bloody skeletons hang
Opening coffins
witches brew maggots in cauldrons
at the end of hooded dance
Shrieks from bleak alleys
Ruffle cobweb hairs
Medusa hunts for flesh
a shortening of pulses
mingles with children’s sweats
Pumpkin lanterns
expand knifed fangs
Loot bags ripping
from cracked windows of trickery
Halloween’s beat mounting, run!
*alternating 3- and 2-lines, traditional rengay
For Rusell Sivey's The Ultimate Halloween Contest
by nette onclaud