Best Crone Poems
Nothing savored Nothing cherished
Chewing wood, spitting silk
Hating every creeping moment
till darkness lowers and laps at my toes
Blessed darkness gives me a cave
where I may retreat from all hateful, glossy life -
oblivion with eyes wide open
Monumental sorrow grinds my guts to dust
Hopelessness, a perversion that licks my ear
and whispers obscene melodies.
An ache to take out the tools
used to mark my hatred on myself
Hope is a lie believed by fools and sinners
That baked desert called my mind spits dust on dreams.
Trapped by iron bars bleeding despair
my face is a pale moon of desolation
peering out on savage scenes of normalcy.
Fingers tremble on the keyboard
longing to smash its plastic against my head.
Some say how sweet and gentle I am
I can’t wait to escape and laugh at their gullibility. . .
had I an ax I would chop off my haunting countenance
and hide the pieces in brown paper bags
flung into back yards around the town
Am I sweet and gentle as they say
but refuse the treacle of the words
Or have I acted upon the stage so well
I have become what I loathe to be
Categories:
crone, angst, anxiety, mental illness,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
II.
Liesel spent months worrying about this,
about dark minions and young souls that hurt,
she even started fearing for herself
for questioning the teachings of the church.
She did not want to damn herself to Hell,
but she couldn’t believe that it was true
that a loving God would punish children
for something that they themselves couldn’t do.
How did it make sense that helpless infants
could be punished due to their parents?
Why would they suffer for another’s sins,
how in the world did such a thing make sense?
But Liesel kept this turmoil inside,
and tried to just keep on living her life,
didn’t tell of doubts that haunted her thoughts,
or worried dreams that kept hear up at night.
It all came to a head six months later,
her neighbor’s new baby died in his sleep,
The town gathered up for the funeral,
to weep loudly, and to pour out their grief.
Liesel loitered near the back of the crowd,
every so often she glanced to the woods,
until finally she saw the woman,
and decided she’d settle this for good.
She crept out of her parent’s house that night,
made her way slowly down to the churchyard,
at midnight the old crone walked to the grave,
and from her cloak removed some sort of jar.
She opened it and stood there quietly
for a long moment, then shuffled away,
Liesel followed, determined that somehow
she would not make this foul demon pay.
Through a dark forest of eldritch oak trees,
where brushy undergrowth scratched at her skirts,
across gurgling streams that wet her feet,
down dark ravines where the wolfpacks still lurked.
Amidst calling owls loud in the night,
she followed that old crone through the wild,
she kept a good distance, forty paces,
her feet bled, and she wheezed from the trial.
Finally she came upon a small glade,
to the center of it the crone did go,
right to an old cabin that rose up there,
Over the door was a sign that said ‘Limbo.’
Her heart froze as the old woman walked in,
she saw the briefest flash of light from inside,
all of her reason screamed out, ‘You should run!’
But she couldn’t, no matter how hard she tried.
Some great force acted deep within her soul,
she couldn’t say if for good of for ill,
but Liesel found herself approaching the door,
simply a pawn to some powerful will…
Categories:
crone, anxiety, baby, children, heaven,
Form:
Epic
The Maiden
I wake up in the morning and stretch,
Luxuriating in the feel of a young body
Able to follow any command given.
With no pain
And with No fear of injury.
My mind floats distracted by the millions
Of tiny insignificant thoughts
Drifting through.
I try to focus on just one of the tasks
That occupy my time,
But I cannot seem to find
The motivation to use
All the energy
I have.
The Mother
The afternoon has come far too soon.
There is not enough time to do
All the things I neglected this
Morning.
I rush with the city,
Smoke pouring from my engines
As I race to do the things
That my kids require.
My love never lessens.
The world is my child,
And I am
Forever and always
Its mother.
The Crone
Old age has come with the evening
But now it is the time for joy.
I have lived my life
To the fullest of my possibilities
Even if my body
No longer can move
Like in the morning
My soul still dances
On nimble feet.
But oh how I wish
To go back in time and
Dance again.
Categories:
crone, growing up,
Form:
Free verse
THE MAIDEN:
My little Juliette,
my hand floating over her back;
and her tiny hand with mine.
Now, we all sing songs to Capulet.
And they all pause;
they are enthralled.
Younger lads know their remedy;
no, not strong drink -
whatever you think.
But, like if the gleaming sun is her virginity;
that power of light is her affinity.
In the late hour,
I did inspire her,
in her bower,
her bosom to bloom and blossom.
I saw she and she me,
with a wide look of glee,
wild eyes and heartbeats of jubilee.
She was not toward I, nor I to her, persnickety.
We fell fast together, authentically.
THE CRONE:
That crone, witch and total %#&^%.
She made everything a hitch,
and brought today's sorrow,
and brings more curses the morrow.
Her. In The Brothel.
She is there in every hovel.
Her coiled brown hair,
that brings my passions to bare.
The desires all around us.
'Why does she bother' you ask?
Her nails pushing and rummaging
under my skin,
raking the hair of my arms.
I can smell her now.
Her soft perfumes.
And. Also.
It is night.
And so she wrapped me tight,
yet it was all hollow.
I wish I could forget it now.
THE GODDESS:
And there! The goddess in the pale moon,
she walks and talks and makes the willows swoon.
She walks and talks to me,
and causes romance to loom.
The way sunlight moves around her hair,
and the breezes that pushes against her form.
The gold of sunshine in the tall grasses,
where we did roam.
The Pixies sit up there,
over the brook.
In the trees, at night,
above her shoulders,
while the water laps moonlight.
The smell of pines and saplings,
and the colors,
glaring off the ice, and,
the never ending sheens of summer.
Her hand in mine.
S.M. Diamond
7/01/2019
Categories:
crone, romance, self, senses, sensual,
Form:
Rhyme
spotted grandma's hands
lovingly helping others
handed down softly
Categories:
crone, 6th grade, 7th grade,
Form:
Haiku
For Idril; a Summer Solstice rhyme
At Avebury, on Solstice eve, a crone and a maiden sat
The crone wore a weary wisdom, and the maid wore a flowery hat
And as the sun sank ‘neath the hill, and the sky flushed rosy red
The maid, her eyes all full of flame, turned to the crone and said
‘I know nothing of love, speak to me, of marrying, and men
How will I know if I lie with a man, that he’ll come to me again
How will I know if I lie with him, that his heart be faithful and true
They say that the crone knows everything, so tell me, tell me do’
The crone put down her weaving, sighed a little, thought, and spoke
‘How do you know that the bees will buzz, or the wren will sing in the oak
How do you know that the night will flee, or the birds fly free on the morn
As sure as you know that the sun will rise, and the stones be here at dawn’
‘That isn’t an answer,’ said the maid, ‘I want more certainty
How will I know that he speaks the truth when he lies down with me
How will I know by the look in his eye, or the touch of his hand on my breast
Whether he be the man for me, and king above all the rest’
‘You won’t,’ said the crone, ‘you’ll never know, ‘tis up to fate and chance
‘Tis biology, mystery, fantasy, a curse, and a merry dance
Just drink of the wild heat of him, while fire still burns in the sky
For men will come and go, my dear, all suns will fade and die’
The maiden sighed a little, and the crone a little too
‘It seems like only yesterday that I was a maid like you
With oak and roses in my hair, and eyes all full of flame’
‘Best get some in,’ the maid said
‘Ay,’ the crone said, ‘that’s the game’
At Avebury, on Solstice eve, a crone and a maiden sat
The maid wore a little wisdom, and the crone wore the maiden’s hat
And time passed by in a wheel of stars, till dark gave way to the dawn
And the sun rose pink upon the hill, and the king rode in on the morn
© Gail Foster 17th June 2017
Categories:
crone, innocence, love, psychological, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
Any chick is prone
to become a crone.
Volodymyr Knyr
2014
Categories:
crone, girl, teenage, time, woman,
Form:
Couplet
A heart as brittle as last Autumns leaves,
Withers away and crumbles into dust.
This life is such a lonely place,
And for my death do I now lust.
A plaintive wail rips my throat,
As I entreat upon any name,
That will save me from my own destruction,
And return me whole and sane.
But alas, this wish upon my lips,
Shall be the last one I whisper.
The Death-Crone comes to me in my dreams,
And kills me gently in my slumber.
Categories:
crone, death, depression, loss, sad,
Form:
Rhyme
The warmth of the sun
Is gone with life
For now she's the one
Who rules these nights
(CHORUS):
Dark Goddess
Bringer of Death
Bringer of Darkness
Bringer of Less
One of the Darkness
One of the Night
Bringer of Wisdom
Bringer of Might
Come on swift wings
Great Goddess please come
End all my sufferings
The circle is one!
Waters to ice
The flowers have died
life covered in lice
For summer has lied
(CHORUS):
Dark Goddess
Bringer of Death
Bringer of Darkness
Bringer of Less
One of the Darkness
One of the Night
Bringer of Wisdom
Bringer of Might
Come on swift wings
Great Goddess please come
End all my sufferings
The circle is one!
Great Crone
Goddess of Death
Don't leave me alone
Pull me out of this mess
Winter has come
with death you now bring
with darkness of love
Let freedom now ring
Death is a freedom
Death is a light
Death is of wisdom
We return in the night!
(CHORUS):
Dark Goddess
Bringer of Death
Bringer of Darkness
Bringer of Less
One of the Darkness
One of the Night
Bringer of Wisdom
Bringer of Might
Come on swift wings
Great Goddess please come
End all my sufferings
The circle is one!
Categories:
crone, death, depression, song-teen, freedom,
Form:
Lyric
Dirty scowling crone
Old as the wind
Tear-stained cheeks
Sadness of knowing
Shuffling quietly
Through twisted shadows
She is darker than night
Darker than you
Stony chill of her breath
Whistling across
Withered yellow lips
The foulest of crypts
Hating eyes
Hating you
Earthen pits of decay
Windows to oblivion
Embracing you…
Twitching, dying bats
Scurrying, gnawing rats
Screaming, slicing cats
Don’t look
Don’t watch
Don’t see
Don’t know
Ever
Categories:
crone, fear,
Form:
Free verse
Beware this crone called hate
Her smile and ever open gate
A beckoning of her icy fingers
All is hurt, darkness lingers
Her heart a cold and lonely place
Where fear thrives, growing pace
To the point we all turn blind
The way to light so hard to find
She carries a flag of hurt and rage
Has left her mark on histories page
And yet mankind has failed to learn
With every page our future spurn
Beware this crone called hate
Would it win would decimate
Gnaw away and take your soul
And of your mind take control
Categories:
crone, life
Form:
Rhyme
Silhouette of a sassy
Little sex pot
Trembling in midnight air
By her big white picture windowsill
Captured by a muse she feeds in her mind
Loved by homegrown worshippers
She never really has to leave
Bitter is as bitter does
And what has been seen are her bitter,
Reddened lips
And her fake silk-lined soul
All crazy nail biting
Vengeance and delusion
Oh the petulant crone!
Categories:
crone, dedication,
Form:
Strategizing your next move
In our little game of chess
That we have been playing
Against each other for so long
Precious one, don't you
Realize that I already
Know your next move
My teacher was Bobby Fischer
He taught me how to defeat
Players just like yourself
He made me a pro at this
Game of cat and mouse
My eyes see the truth
My ears hear what you
Are really saying and
Not what you utter to me
I know what you're thinking
I know how you will answer
Me before you even open
Up your lying mouth
No naive school girl here
I have been playing this
Game longer than you
And believe me, baby
I know how to win
I will take your King
Before you even get a
Chance to move your pawn
You cannot defeat the
Mistress of love games
I have have been played
With too many times
To miss when I have
Met up with another player
Trying to outwit the dominatrix
Are you going to quit or
Am I going to have
To get the whip out?
Save your masquerading
For someone who will
Fall for your bag of tricks
This old crone has been around
Way too long to be fooled
By a mere amateur like you
Categories:
crone, girlfriend-boyfriend, husband, introspection, lost
Form:
Free verse
Stirring up love with her chant.
Frogs eyes, Bats wings and the lips of an Ant.
Categories:
crone, adventure, fantasy, imagination, love
Form:
Couplet
IV.
Liesel looked down to the girl by her side,
her brother’s features were perfectly clear,
she hugged the small girl, and her fears vanished,
replaced by a cascade of happy tears.
She look up and cried, “Tell me, what’s your name?
Who is it that care for kids after death?”
The woman replied, “In life I was known
as a Duchess from Munich, Elsebeth.”
Liesel’s eyes went wide with realization,
“I know that name! They say you had twelve children!”
“Thirteen,”she said, “I think that’s why he chose me,
I had experience mothering them.’
Then Liesel frowned, a dark thought occurring,
“If you are dead, and these children are too,
then am I not dead? Is that how I could
pick up your trail and easily follow you?”
Elsebeth saw real fear there in her eyes,
and said, “Do not fear, you are living yet.
He probably let you pick up my trail
so He could find a replacement, I’d bet.
“I have delayed my entry to Heaven,
but even this is a matter of time.
Maybe He wanted you to see all this,
the next caretaker He wanted to find.
“But I wouldn’t let that weight on your thoughts,
you are quite young, and not even a wife,
children and family lay before you,
so go out and live a good, happy life.
“But not right away, we have all this food,
and a bed where you tonight can sleep safe.
Come on children, help me carve up this goose,
another gift of our God’s endless grace!”
And so they did eat, and come the next day,
Liesel hugged her nice before she did depart,
never again could she find that cabin,
though it was never that far from her heart.
And in coming years, when children died young,
and all would sadly tromp out to their grave,
Liesel would look to the woods for the crone,
then give dear Elsebeth a friendly wave.
Categories:
crone, anxiety, baby, children, heaven,
Form:
Epic