Best Deadly Nightshade Poems
Beauty bows and surrenders at her bare feet,
The gold glitters jealous of her glowing skin,
Her bright eyes light embers of passion within,
Men yield to her will!
Warriors clang their weapons to fight to die,
Flags with horseman fly, write history again,
While sat in emerald throne, she rules their minds,
With potion of love!
Is there a poison more deadly than such love?
A woman to whom the Roman empire bows,
Juice of poison berry* she put in own eyes,
He who loves her - dies!
Mighty Caesar or Anthony were like clay,
Their tirades, history fade in her presence,
They lost in war, lost in her love, end by knife,
She put Asp to breast!
Sapphic stanza Poetry contest
Sponsor Edward Ibez
Date 08/July/2020
Cleopetra used poisonous berries or the deadly nightshade juice( medicinal name Atropa belladonna) that yields Atropine which causes dilatation of the pupils. Was used in her time to make the eyes dreamy, innocent and beautiful! Hence the name “Bella = lady, Donna= beautiful)
Weightlessness
My soul floats "along with the thunder,"
Saturated with impending rain,
Scattered back throughout the earth,
Lost among ancient ruins and countless seas.
I awaken, feeling hollowness within my quivering heart.
Frantically getting dressed,
The front door blows open—
Listening to its siren's call.
Piece by fragile piece, I must absorb it back into my mortal coil.
Hike through deadly nightshade-tangled forests,
Sleep amongst somber bones in graveyards of contrition,
Push through arid, combusting deserts,
Swim through the waters of paranoia—
Riptides of mentholated melancholy.
Watch as the embers of dawn settle into the ashes of dusk.
Build a golden pyre upon the jaded shale,
Lay my weary bones on the cleansing flames,
Until I rise anew from the ashes,
Never again to be confined within corroded psychosocial cages.
Walk along the leafy paths dappled with shade
turn over a rock or two and watch the scurrying
as little insects scatter looking for some covering
finding it underneath some sticks and a grass blade
Sit quietly and just listen to the song birds singing
with music and beauty they fill the forest glade
then walk down to the gurgling stream and wade
cooling feet in its crystal water with lots of splashing
Turn over the leaf of a fern and see the spores clinging
watch the leaves waving in the breeze as they are frayed
then some red deer fawns bucked, frolicked and played
not seeming to care who was there, jumping and springing
Squirrels chattering angrily as they send nuts down in a cascade
bombarding all who pass by, they seem to lie, hidden and waiting
to catch unsuspecting walkers as they explore without disturbing
taking care to preserve the wafts of bluebells and deadly nightshade
Wandering onwards seeing the silky cocoon of a future butterfly cacheted
and mushroom rings surround the tall trees mystical and captivating
some plain, many with multi-coloured spots in sunshine glittering
old oak trees stand in splendour with leafs of emerald, turquoise and jade
Arriving at the banks of the lake surrounded by the forest glade
this place of mystery and tranquillity, no need of further searching
all one could ask for, spread out in glorious array that is so fitting
walking home I am content that into the magical forest today I strayed
written 03/13/2014
contest: The Magical Forest
black snakeroot, yew, cocklebur, poison (ivy, oak, parsnip, sumac, ryegrass, hemlock), blister bushes, daffodil, mayapple, lilium, jerusalem cherry, indian licorice, deadly nightshade, christmas rose, bleeding heart, asparagus berries, wolfsbane, tomato leaves, doll’s eyes, the suicide tree, young larkspur, blue-green algae, stinkweed, dumbcane, european spindle, blind-your-eye mangrove, manchineel, laburnum, mother of millions, elderberry root, bacterial pathogens, exotoxins, mycotoxins, grayanotoxins, rhinovirus, chicken pox, sleeping sickness, cholera, yellow fever, typhoid, rotavirus, river blindness, measles, japanese encephalitis, hepatitis (a,b & c), cryptosporidiosis, shigella infection, pneumonia, meningitis, tuberculosis, schistosomiasis, malaria, influenza, herpes (1 & 2), crab louse, scabies, chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, chancroid, trichomoniasis, hpv, hiv/aids, ebola virus, marburg virus, mad cow disease, mudslides, avalanches, blizzards, storms, cyclones, hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes, earthquakes, floods, fires, supervolcanic eruptions: evidence of absence.
Witches and warlocks gather around,
will give you a list of poisons abound…
Arsenic, Hemlock, Belladonna you know…
Add to your list, these below;
Purple Foxglove; Black Hellebore;
Deadly Nightshade; Strychnine Tree;
Stavesacre; Jimsonweed; Yew;
Calabar Bean; Aconite; Clematis;
Cocculus Indicus and to many
more to mention…
You will find truth serum, sulfur
elixir, embalming fluid, spider venom,
snake venom too…
Toxic gases are a must, to mix
with this dastardly stuff…
How else will you be able to
whip up this nasty brew…
Wishing you a rocking Halloween!
By Sandra Lea Hoban
©2009
A demure damsel, her prussian blue eyes.
I astray all blurred, in subtle catalyze.
High cheek bones, beneath her caramel hair.
My purple veins pulse, in red wanton flare.
The pretty Belladonna smiles in cold blood,
Venom frolic my veins, they wilt in lava flood.
Extravagance of heaven, in blink of an hour,
I see lavender and lilac, in the toxic purple flower.
(Belladona in Italian means "beautiful lady",
it is also a harmless looking poisonous plant with
purple flowers,.known as the deadly nightshade)
19th January, 2019
Submitted to Kevin Shaw Purple poetry contest
D on't do it
E ven the Gods will cry
A rt is only illusion
D espite your pain
L oneliness is human
Y ears melt to one
N o need to sip that cup
I nternal storms
G row into calmer seas
H earts that bleed
T ake time to heal
S hadows forever lurking
H oping to conquer
A nnihilation the only cure
D eath the final solution
E radicate their cruelty in the cool breeze of the dawning sun
Even Devils couldn’t tempt or soothe as sex and wealth they offer me.
These things are meager swings of mood – its witches' tools I want for me!
Henbane, hemlock, liverwort,
the left foot of a crow,
Saturn’s fumes and sulfur dust,
an image of my foe.
The withered pose of petal rose and Vervain’s vile tea,
the spider’s leg and lizard’s tail with deadly nightshade seed;
such salts and stones and baby’s bones,
bloodroot, bat, and bee.
These little things the Devil brings
are all I want for me!
hello, my name is deadly nightshade
and I bring the nightfall of scarlet fever
down the endless winding stairs
I am the cause of malice in Paris,
tentacle spectacle and bullet ballet
fear my endeavor, this is my caprice
through shifting mirrors
I'll vanish in Venice
on eve of delight
I realize, tottering
scarce but not fanciful
starlings are on their way
starlings with green irish eyes
blazing upon me as witches sing
that art of war is not the same
as war of art (among the insane)
and so crooked count sleeps unaware
through the night shift
till the dawn of flames
Clutched jaw, grinding teeth against pulp,
until ash and blood coat a deadened tongue.
The nightsong quiets—a pulsating silence encapsulates the land
as I walk up to a pyre built of withering dreams and deadly nightshade.
The cold, bitter air brushes against protruding flesh.
Looking toward the skies, faith stripped and shamed,
I climb and take my place among my ancestral spirits.
The silence of the night breaks, with chants of *Burn the witch* filling the void.
Leering eyes and foaming mouths scream obscenities my way.
But even among this fanatic freakshow, I hold on to my dignity.
I do not let them see the fear festering beneath my eyes,
nor does my lip quiver.
With insurmountable strength, I hold my head high
as I watch the torches preparing to set me ablaze.
Closing my eyes one final time, I breathe in everything I have ever held dear.
Memories flood—of loves lost and gained,
of the changing seasons,
of my connection to this glorious earth.
I can feel the flames licking at my feet now.
But I will not scream,
for my resurrection will come soon enough.
He lingers there, suspended in air
with one eye blue and one green,
bulbous nose, long pointed toes
and nails shaped like castor beans.
His see-through skin is so thin
it glimmers an eye-popping sheen-
resembles whey, neither white nor grey
but shimmers somewhere in between.
Intestines twine like twisted vines
backed by a neon purple spleen.
His chest is bright, flashes a light
with a rotating, multi-hued beam.
His mouth, a red smear, wears a leer.
One eye shines with a feral gleam.
My throat is tight, frozen in fright,
momentarily unable to scream.
My mouth is so dry I can barely cry,
"Oh God, let this be a dream.
Please . . . let it be a dream."
And in mortal men
we often find, in the end,
we are our own mortality.
In that we drive the spitfire beast of ambition into the sun
to dance among stars
with the reins in our hands like firey wings
and control lying limp beneath our legs.
In search for the supremacy, of justice and truth,
through mastery of sheilds and inflections
imposed by the perceptions and delusions of a conceived reality,
and the illusions they inspire.
Tantalizing, they breed the bitter coils of regret with the face of such obscenities as lust and pain,
and watch their offspring bloom as the evening primrose and deadly nightshade quick
like a promise.
That time then leaves no room for fathers
or Fathers, nor are their hearts swollen enough for mothers to wrap
their leathery wings around their throats
and kiss them with familiarity cold on her lips.
Just lessons, drunken in through needles and swords and words tipped with poison on the breath,
seep through the heavy condensation of nonsensical speak and falsified craze.
And in this game of thrones,
death is the jester
and all hail the King.
Oh, belladonna, deadly bloom,
Potent in your smile,
Bold, the dew-drops in your eyes,
Bewitching in their guile
Blazing with a brazen nerve,
Your irises aspire
To burn the embers of your fire
In flames of our desire –
Deal your deadly night of shade
Let it, with stealth, conceal
Your flower fruited to appeal
– A thief set out to steal
Dispense your tonic potion,
In lethal doses drip
Your biting kiss upon our lips
– A bite we can't resist
Oh, beautiful lady, femme fatale,
Seductive in design,
Your bite of berry, toxic wine,
Is not the glory we divined
Your deadly nightshade, deadly guise,
Which takes our breath away,
Reveals in beauty's masquerade
A belladonna that betrays
Written on April 13th 2025 for Sara Jama's Prompt The Cold Embrace of Death
Reverberated within the empty chambers of my soul,
As I soak my skin in a clawfoot tub, drowning in my sorrows.
Daring the waves to wash me away,
I lay barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of Merlot.
Dismembered voices and I shared a night of haunting memories,
As suppressed trauma resurfaces,
My life flashes before my very eye,
Murmurs of a soft lament of what could have been.
At that moment, I was drunk with clarity,
As I swashed the bottle swirling, a whirlpool of emotions.
The red-stained taste of tomorrow’s regret coated my lips;
In this state and plane of existence, my ghosts and I find solace
In our shared suffering.
I ask the Lord for respite from the unyielding ache
Of unrequited love,
Lying in stillness, for I am but a cast of your shadow,
Like a wilting deadly nightshade.
Breathless without rays of love to quell me,
Forgotten upon a dusty shelf,
Hexed by Eros’s wayward lovelorn arrow,
Left to wander this plain perplexed.
Pondering if you were both in cahoots,
All the while, the unbearable ache of my burgundy beating chambers
Spills into the tub.
Then slowly,
I sip,
I drip,
I slip,
Into,
The cold embrace of death.
Adamina and Everitt
Her rib it was before the Master lost the plot in evil Eden
when Bella Donna Adamina handed the fruit to her man
Deadly nightshade Everitt sensed he did not take God’s bate
‘I know my place she fights for women’s equal chances here’
Hell came first before the hedonistic pastures but the story
was fake narrative propaganda misconstrued representation
Wishbones candy apples fortune cookies when she climbed
his mountain unperturbed by twisted concubine conceptions
No blasphemous satanic verse but pages turned the roller coaster
and history of world ensued with passion’s flowers blooming large
18 March 2017
Narrative Two-liner Quintet from the Ministry of Truth