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Best Incantation Poems | Poetry

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The Best Incantation Poems

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Black Cat

                           A                           cat
                         has                         nine 
                       lives,        so,       they say,
                     but a black cat lives forever,
                   its claws always sharp.  Green
                   eyes that pierce the night like
                    magical green flames set afire
                       by witches' words of darkest
                          incantation.  Spoken, softly on
                           moonless nights in archaic chants
                          known only to druidic priestesses in
                         songs of mesmeric power, silhouetted
                        against twinkling multi colored stars. Soft
                       silky fur that entices, dark as mid-night on
                       silent paws               that tip toe without the
                        sound of                 forlorn echoes as they 
                         glide, so                  very lightly, over sacred
                          ground.                     Feline notions always creating
                       resounding             echoes in the twilight space between reality
                      and                         the                 world of alternate creation,
                                                                                              Phantoms of life.  Is it real or just our lonely need to justify our own feeble existence.                
                                         I for one shall never know the secrets of the black


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015

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Classical Incantation


As if the sunlight breaks the day
And dawn arrives with a whispered breath
Ascending like a clarinet                                    
As gentle as a cradle song 

Small butterflys, will twirl aloft
And circle in the morning breeze
A mantra of incantation
Stirring thoughts to meditation
To revel, shy against the dawn
With quivering wings to climb the stairs
In rippled waves, that stirs the air

The fleeting leaves, will dance and sway
And songs exhale, so crystal clear
To gently sway the flowing glass 
Of bubbling streams, sweet, crisp, and pure

So gently soft, and sweetly felt
A first note broods, without fanfare
A petal drifts, then spins away
it can be heard, like breeze once stirred
A timid bird, a quivering chord
A sonnet's love, with lanquid words

Each breath a spark, that kindles change
With trilling voice that wraps around
A wreath of mist lifts off the ground
Skimming rainbows, with a song
A never ending, ... wistful sound…
Then rumbles like a stormy cloud
The lightning strikes, and cymbals clash
The music fills the soul at last
Until it climbs and drifts away
The storm has passed , the music played

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

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An Enchanted Voyage

"An Enchanted Voyage" love reflects emotion embraced by motivating force a visual crystal ball evokes journey through endless Time upon a magic carpet floating guided by heartfelt course. stars whisper in midnight canopy twinkling soft chime toward destination to reunite with lost lovers' soul a visual crystal ball evokes journey through endless Time. in Fantasy, a tender heart pursues ultimate goal as love's adventure strives to capture essence known toward destination to reunite with lost lovers' soul. the sting of Death refuses to separate powerful feelings sown an incantation from a mythical book of charms as love's adventure strives to capture essence known. thoughts of caressing sweet desire within silky arms ignite sheer wings absorbing strong love potion spell an incantation from mythical book of charms. an enchanted voyage fascinates realm with golden wishing well love reflects emotion embraced by motivating force ignite sheer wings absorbing strong love potion spell upon a magic carpet floating guided by heartfelt course. "Fantasy Chant" love power wills beyond cold grave lives cast potent magic spell? *For Terzanelle Fantasy with Questionku Chaser.

Copyright © Linda-Marie SweetHeart | Year Posted 2012

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Malkavian the second

The constant assault of the silence on his senses is intense 
Hands clenched in fist he wished for noise and bliss
Buddy stopped talking and drinking he begins pacing as he’s thinking 
Tired from walking he knells before the bird and begs him to start talking 
Every emotion emerges inside him as a whisper in his ear 
Tears stream down his eyes, as he cries, victim of his own lies 
The screaming wasn’t the problem only a symptom 
He hugs his knees, bites his lip, bleeds, and tries to listen 

The burnt and hallow hospital once his prison is now his home 
Where he wrestles with his inner demons trying to grasp his own emotions 
Guilt over his crime haunts his mind all of the time 
He dreams of his love Nancy burnt and covered in blood 
She deserved no less than pure happiness instead she is dead 
He bends downs, kissing buddy on the forehead, crying
Dying for the company of his only friend and companion 
He begs god for forgiveness for the sins that he can’t amend 

Blood slips then drips off his bit and split lip into the cup from which buddy sips
Buddy’s head begins to bob, he sobs as buddy’s black beak bares a glob of blood
He thinks, as buddy drinks, that the blood is the key to his friend being freed 
The bird absorbs the blood then stops bobbing, he begins thinking and plotting
His brain decreed a dream where people scream and bleed unheeded by the need to feed them 
He strains his brain as he schemes of means to bring his dream from fantasy to reality 
He felt like a little boy, full of pride and joy, from finding a new toy 
His mind frothed with frenzy as he indulged every fancy, except thoughts of forgotten nurse Nancy 

There is a drug called lysergic acid diethylamide, or simply just acid 
A large enough dose introduced into the system can make the brain rancid 
Though he doesn’t have a P.H.D. or even an internet bought certificate 
He learned enough from books and his doctors, he’s positive he can make it 
An old abandoned building untouched by the fire is perfect for his laboratory 
It has everything he will need, drugs and all, even has a lavatory 
Soon buddy would have more blood then he could ever think to drink 
Soon he would hear the screams that would bring him back from the brink 

All the preparations were complete in time for the Fourth of July commemoration   
When most the city will gather on the waterfront for its yearly celebration 
He was the first to arrive in the morning dressed in his finest Sunday suit 
Purple pants and shirt with silver lining with a black ten gallon hat to boot 
He took a moment to savor the silence before setting up his special stand 
He watched the people mingle and patiently waited to unleash his plan 
When the day reached the hottest he started to hand out toys to the kids 
Super soakers filled with acid, with a reward promised to whoever gets the most hits 

Wave after wave, the children came to get a squirt gun and chase the reward
Wave after wave, the children spread the seed of his madness into the herd 
It took less than hour for every single person to get implanted 
Then he watched and waited for his wish to be granted 
Then the worst thing that could happen, happened, nothing, nothing at all 
As it became nightfall he crawled into a ball and began to bawl 
From frustration to fear his emotions took him to unfathomable despair 
Then somewhere above the clamor of the festivities, a scream filled the air 

Chaos, pure unadulterated chaos, spread through the crowd like wild fire
They committed every act of sin and deplorable indecency their hearts desired
He walked amongst them, untouched, as their leader…..nay their god 
He searched through their twisted minds, enhancing every flaw
Thousands upon thousands, screamed as they bled 
Thousands upon thousands, gone mad and then dead 
Through all the insanity he saw a redheaded angel left untouched
He knew in that exact instant that he loved her so very much 

He walked up to her, bowed, and then tipped his hat 
Brushing her cheek, with a whisper, he renamed her Nancy
He pulled out a chair and sat, setting her down on his lap 
He indulged in the flattery of her beauty, the beauty of Nancy 
He caressed her ever so gently, and kissed her gently more 
He lost himself in the sensation of her skin, the sensation of Nancy 
Unable to be contained anymore, he gutted her and threw her corpse on the floor
He wanted to see how the inside worked while he made love, made love to his Nancy 

With his lust sedated, and his love soon to be cremated, he pulled buddy from his pocket
He set the bird in a puddle of blood, watching him bob as he quenched his thirst
The few survivors left started to chant and incantation he can’t ever remember hearing of
But he joined them, singing louder and louder, letting his voice rise above 
Once again Nancy burned for him while buddy swelled with blood until he burst 
The wood splintered and shattered, showing a growing and beating heart 
And all the blood for miles around came rushing in like a rabid river 
It wrapped around the heart and took form, hell rejoice, Malkav is reborn 

Copyright © Nathan D. | Year Posted 2015

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All Hallows' Eve Black Mass Incantation

All Hallows' Eve Black Mass Incantation

We Pray in The Name of Our Father Lucifer, 
Which wert in Heaven:

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.
Add six cups of Vitriol and a tablespoon of Goldwater.
Stew, Stew this Stygian alchemic brew for ne’r six hours
During Vespers for Our Midnight Black Mass on All Hallows’ Eve.
Serve this unholy sustenance to Our Coven at midnight,
As we pray in Great Lucifer’s name for his guidance
In defeating Jehovah’s forces of good and light.
We do this in the name of Great Lucifer—The Dark One.
We seek Blackness, Darkness, Degradation, and Negation—
As 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. 
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
October 5, 2014 (Narrative Incantation)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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Flight of the Eagle

At the first sign of light, I can hear incantation
slowly  ascending,  from the depths of the canyons
Windward it's calling to get my attention
while my eyes search the sunrise, to look into heaven

Gliding with ease is the shape of an eagle
swooping on wings that have lifted my soul
Reverently regal,  the rare golden eagle 
flies overhead while leaving its shadow

Scouting the timber for one special tree
it circles the forest, so high, in the pines 
Far in the branches,  limbs cradle her nest
She'll pause for a rest, where her fledglings will feed
safe from the bite, of the darkest of night

Deep from abyss of the narrowest canyons,
she'll soar like a plane to the clouds in the sky
I close tight my eyes, and will dream I'm beside her
Far above treetops......I wish I could fly.
I'd look at the world,  in the softness of dawn
and wish for such peace, until my tears overcome

Written for "Golden Eagle Contest" 
Sponsored by Shadow Hamilton

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

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A Lament For My Uncle, As His Day Approaches

Steel resolution, made a thousand times
To reach across black rift between closed hearts
Carefully constructed, a thousand lines
Rose incantation, enchanted restart

Dim hourglass of the blind excuse dancer
Clings desperately to its final grains
Dark wolf’s mouth slavers, he smells your cancer
Speak now, or forever we keep these pains

Knock on your door, thunderous echoes fade
Younger guilt and fear restrain me no more
Resolve not weakened, steady hand not stayed
Blade drains poison, flowing blood you ignore

One thing stands clear at your onrushing end:
It takes just one to break, but two to mend.



Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

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Witch and Warlock

The warlock said to the witch,
Man, ain't it grand living large like Oz,
being bigly Emerald City rich
The witch crowed back,
I get paid good for giving speeches
that have no policy incantation glitch
The warlock laughed hard and long,
then chortled with maniacal glee:
I like the way you got a huge fee
for selling that "Deal Me In" dirge song
The witch returned the faint praise
with a piercing scowl and a sinister smile
You got those lemmings running thru a maze,
chasing your tale that it's all rigged anyhow
The warlock started getting miffed,
and his hair began to burn with an orange glow
He mockingly said, Endora, all the polls show
that you're a walking political gift
The witch angrily retorted: What spell did you use
to make yourself become 50 feet tall
Oh yeah, that's right. Should Humpty Dumpty lose,
it won't be much of a fall off that stupid wall
The warlock let out a sigh, and said:
You know we have to spit venom
at each other on the campaign stump
That's just how it is, and has to be
The witch let out a sigh too, and said:
Since our youthful days of wearing denim,
it's something we can't tell the voting chumps
That we're really friends, you and me
Then they both hugged each other,
and said goodbye to one another privately
The witch winked at the warlock, and cackled this:
No matter who wins,
I'm offering well wishes to you
So don't forget to send me a mean tweet
The warlock nodded back at the witch, and bellowed this:
Once the results are in,
I'll reply with well wishes too
But of course, don't you forget to delete

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016

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Bewitchment of Poseidon

How sweet the sound of raging sea!
Long has peace reigned so devoted,
But has it thought of wicked treachery? 
Nay, it had never plotted retribution!

Be that as it may,
I, the goddess of the deep,
Utter these very words of incantation
To suppress the fury that curses my veins!

May the vicious wind kiss the sky,
As rain pours down with shattered glass.
Let waves of thunder lacerate merciless boulders.
If confusion withers the depths of tranquility,

So let it be!

Copyright © Varise Duxbury | Year Posted 2005

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An Empty Throne - Part 8 of 9

An empty trace – part 8

The shaman held the vial near
it trickled slow into the glass
A shimmering this welcomed tear
as precious moments came to pass

He shook it slow with tempered stroke,
the gem, his staff, once more did glare
Again the incantation spoke,
an emerald glow was everywhere

“Return this beauty to her form
of daisy rush and willow feel
To cleanse the soul of poisoned storm 
and sorrows cast as to reveal”

The sun now but an empty trace,
a fainter amber light is found
As nightfall rushes to the place
above horizon’s silent ground

Another drop, his fingertips,
then quickly to her mouth did lean
To place upon the tender lips
of this, the kingdom’s precious queen

He feared this might have come too late
as others in the room agreed
Yet not with words, but quiet wait
their silence floats on hoped for deed

This staff, its light begins to dim,
the healer breathes in heavy sighs
“I fear, I fear, we have lost him,
indeed our king this hour dies”

When then a flickered lash does flow,
another comes as if to thrive
As now her eyes they open slow,
once more, their queen has come alive

Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016

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Poetic Warlock

The tide was getting rough, crashing into my body like a pile of rocks
And when I had enough, I morphed into a poetic warlock!
My pen became a magical staff, with such extraordinary power!
And with a demonic laugh, I sought out poets to eat and devour!

My pen seemed to glow a brilliant shade of blue like sapphire;
This lit up my studio with a bright hue that became hot like fire!
I took my wordplay and sentences of the dark, mixing them in a pot
Opening hell’s gateway, which ignited a spark and my poetry, got hot!

With my black cape, and magical pen, I stormed into the bowels of Hell!
I took duct tape, cast an omen and put the old devil under my spell!
I tortured the pathetic being and made him beg for my mercy.
Seeing is believing as I made him recite all my love poetry!

I returned to earth and had no more fight left in me
Reciting my incantation, I was rebirth and again took to writing my poetry
I regained a soul, but could still feel the aura of the aftershock
Every now and again, I still spin out of control for I’ll always be a poetic warlock!

Copyright © Jimmy Anderson | Year Posted 2010

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Tule Fog 

The mist hangs in the canyons, 
like a whisper, like a prayer.
Like an ancient dark suggestion, 
of something not quite there.  

It’s a misty cauldron, 
or the steam of dragon’s lair.
A secret incantation, 
removing the despair. 

It’s the “just add this”in H2O,
and the “freeze” in frozen snow. 
It’s the “way too much” in drowning, 
and the “not enough” in glow. 

It can float on waves of warmth, 
rising halfway from the clay.
It will promise up renewal, 
in a shroud of liquid spray. 

It’s as old as Earth itself, 
and responsible for life. 
It cuts the dry boned land
in half, with its liquid knife. 

It’s always been around here,
but it’s too moody to appear. 
Vanished like forgotten love, 
but remembered when it’s near. 

By Edlynn Nau
© November 28, 2018

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2018

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The Clown

Hurrah! Hurrah! Three cheers for the clown!
A sing-song incantation of both old and young
His witty arsenal and outrageous antics
Kept them screaming in fits of hysterics
Why do they scream? This contortion isn't funny
I only wanted to catch a glimpse of my beloved Jenny
The joke is on you folks, you think this is just a show
But behind this carefree mask, dark streams of sorrow flow
Ah! There she is, sitting near the theatre's end
And this well- dressed fruitcake must be that new boyfriend
My eyes are burning, knees wobbling, crowd thinks I am just faking
Fools! The tears are genuine, I am really crying
Jealousy is shooting fiery darts inside my head
Three hoots for your stupid cheers, my heart is cold as lead.

Over standing ovation rings Irony's hideous laugh
Mocking the clown that played the Great Pretender part
While inside he was dying of a broken heart.

Copyright © Frank Scott | Year Posted 2012

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The aged gypsy woman speaks,
A curses ancient spell, a dark ruins incantation,
From ages long ago,
Beneath the full moons illumination, a single red
Drop of human blood is spilt,
Upon the blossoming wolf bang, turning
It velvet shin to redden crimson.
Cruelties hatred and malice, has created
A beast that travels by night alone, underneath tragedies
Fallen sunrise this emotionally crippled animal
Pleads for mercy’s redemption, but it is the shunned
A banished unwanted thing of hell's domesticated
Born with the devils marking, his birth right of the
Demonic plague, justifying torturers agonizing
Punishment making it a serial killer by moonlights
Accursed is he from father to son, until the final seed
Has been made undone, for only the fresh bite of loves
Promised sacrifice, can release him from this fatal curse!
A whispers echoing, is carried upon the night winds
Screaming breathe, run son of the damned, never linger
Too long in this world of man, seek the sheltering shadows
Live by thy own basic instincts of survival, for nothing
Can save your forsaken soul!
Never to love, or be loved in return, for the claws of
Retraction will be the rippling at the throat of loves
What a blood baths banquet to be served at your bridal
Celebration, the leavening of the intended served on the
Silver platter of regrets feasting table of remorse, beneath
The blackened chapel of the devil’s own kindred!
Within the castle walls that bleed, in the dungeons
Of sorrows cage, the beast of the fields howls at
The elliptical giant above, for it has killed its own
True love, and relished within the murdering!
As the gypsy's woman’s laughter, heckles at him,
The moonlight streams through his cells prison,
Enough you old hag, I’ve had enough,
Begging the jailer, to end his torment,
The man shape shifter, becomes the night stalker,
One single silver shot is fired, leaving
Nothing behind but smokes illusion,
And a hushed whispering of thankfulness,
Is the reprieve of generations of the unborn!


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

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Possum of Possibilities

The Possum of Possibilities was invited by Grandpa Troll to visit our brood,
The Possum heard Carol had a dry spell and a terrible writer’s block, so true.
With the troll’s adventures, penguin’s antics, and witches brew...
With Dragon’s mayhem in town, something had to be done, they knew.

Grandpa Troll brought Possum over, for Carol to peruse,
He looked her up, down, and sideways to everyone’s amuse,
Her mind’s wheels were not lined up right, he announced.
You have activity all about you, that's very pronounced.

It is all swirling around and not latching to the cogs.
Ideas and stories are coming in fast and plenty, but…
There are so many and they are acting like a stream of logs,
Her brain is overloaded and getting a little bit clogged.

Possum instructed Grandpa Troll on the best course of action,
But Dragon was nearby and overheard the conversation.
Our fiery friend was planning on how to clear the brain jam,
Then ski-daddle and go on the lam.

Like so many plans before, he knew Carol’s brain was crammed,
And his ideas always ended up like some explosive spam.
Grandpa Troll saw that look in Dragon’s eyes and knew there was a plot,
And said to Possum; “We'll need your help again, before we’re in a spot.”

Over to Dragon Possum went, then a once over, right, left, and top to bottom,
Grandpa Troll reached into a dusty drawer that hadn’t seen light since Suttom.
Out he pulled two pens, one larger than the other, filled with magic ink.
An incantation filled the air – “E pluribus divideous writeous inlink.”
(Basically saying; what stories were divided are now joined by two writers.)

Possum handed one to Carol and the larger one to Dragon.
“With the magic pens, you both will be able to see the stories about you.”
For Carol, he pointed out; now the cogs won't get dinked, as ideas get linked,
And Dragon, a source of the jams, once written down, became happy as a clam.

Both help each other, now, as Grandpa Troll had hoped with all the activities.
And with a little help from an old friend, called the Possum of Possibilities.
A writer’s block that was going on with his dear...
Is a tale that Hubby has now told, and made so clear.

And now another peaceful evening… was suddenly shot all to Heck...
Until Next time…. As Dragon and Carol are now racing all about!

Michael Eastman & Carol Written 7-21-2015

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015

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The kitchen

"The Kitchen"
Good old fashioned witchery in the kitchen 
Casting spells to allure one's nose with manipulative spices
Sniffing the air with special interest, 
People stop what they're doing

The toaster let's off a melodious chime in the background 
Offering the crisp smell of lightly browned perfection
Doughy goodness never done haphazardly
 This is what homemade bread is all about

The dinner bell sings with a ring-a ding-ding
Drawing people into her dining room from everywhere
With preparation that went into stirring a wonderful mix
Good recipes are those made for gathering the family

To fill a grumbling tummy instigated by culinary magic
The love that is put into the dish will never be fully appreciated
But the chef can see the company around the table is her gift returned 

For performing a social stew, even if enjoyment lasts but a few minutes
She will dine on togetherness feeding her soul more than her stomach 
There is only one moment each day when love fills her plate

A couple of whistling teapots start a chorus of piping hot hymns
Holy loving care for a lightly flavored fantasy
It is music to their ears 

Such is the ultimate compliment, while serving to impatience
As good cooking gets eaten by faces over packed 
Napkins are forgotten with the manners put aside

The final course of the meal and she can see her incantation working
All eyes are on her as she enters the dining room once more
For her last dish of sweetness, there is sweetness returned
By a sort of thankful yet quiet anticipation and in it enough is said
 To be remembered later when hearing the discordant clanking of dishes

Copyright © karl marszalowicz | Year Posted 2011

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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:

We Pray In The Name of Our Father Lucifer, 
Which wert in Heaven:

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.
Add six cups of Vitriol and a tablespoon of Goldwater.
Stew, Stew this Stygian alchemic brew for ne’r six hours
During Vespers for Our Midnight Black Mass on All Hallows’ Eve.
Serve this unholy sustenance to Our Coven at midnight,
As we pray in Great Lucifer’s name for his guidance
In defeating Jehovah’s forces of good and light.
We do this in the name of Great Lucifer—The Dark One.
We seek Blackness, Darkness, Degradation, and Negation—
As 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)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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Oh you Titans of the other world
Oh you the legend of the unseen
I rise my voice up on to you today
Hear me and accept my supplication;
Attention rules the life of house mouse,
When the loving mother hears her baby crying,
Does she not attend to it? Attend to me today.

You that clad on thousand garments
Yet none touches the ground;
Whose teeth make no noise,
You that eat child and crush its bone;
From the top you eat the bowl,
From the liver you devour the guts,
From the bottom you savour the bile ;
You promised that whosoever knows you
Him you shall spare, I know you,
Spare me, spare my children.

When you were learning how to fly,
On my branches you learned;
From my fruits you ate, so you vowed :
I shall spare you and spare yours; 
Remember this in your days of anger,
Spare me, spare my children.

Three things you do not eat :
You do not eat Sparrows,
You do not eat beads,
You do not eat from  ‘‘Obo trees’’;
I have Sparrows in my house,
Visit me not; I have beads in my waist,
Lay not your hand on me;
In my reservoir is bark of Obo tree,
Drink not from my pot;
Spare me, spare my children.

Hear this and spare me,
Hear this and spare my households;
We can’t know vampire’s name
And still become its prey.

Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode | Year Posted 2014

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Grand Canyon Suite

^ ^ From an abyss of the darkness, I hear incantation It slowly ascends, sun awakening canyons, Windward it heralds those sleeping, to wonder.... with a visual score, that deepens with thunder, sweeping me under, to lighten the soul -at first tint of light, my own shadow leans over, to hear a sunrise- Between the chasms of a dream, comes a lark waking day as she follows the river, and the splendor unfolds Sweet sounds to exclaim, this is heaven, displayed! Grand in the sunrise, all creation, beholds! Closing my eyes, hearing trills to be awed Suite bold enchantment, from thunder and drums I will fly with the eagles, over lands of the Gods and will breathe in each movement until my tears overcome
________________________________________________________ Inspired by the Contest: Three Stanza Suite Sponsored by Sheri Fresonke Harper 4/13/14 Stanza 1: Five lines non rhyme Stanza 2: 1 line Stanza 3: 8 lines rhymed (About this poem: Please do is so worth your moment to listen !!):) ) Grand Canyon Suite: • I. Sunrise • II. Painted Desert • III. On the Trail • IV. Sunset • V. Cloudburst

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

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A Talismanic Incantation

A Talismanic Incantation
By Faleeha   Hassan
Translated by Mahmoud Abbas Masoud
I gathered the pores of my being
And came to perfume them with your own fragrance
Only to discover that you are an oleander -- a rosebay
While in the memory of unease and apprehension
I trace some features that resemble no one but you
An image has its own dimensions
And, when hopelessness assails me, I have roads
That never cease to pull and lead me toward you
And while in the nook of anxiety
I fancy a preordained timing
For events that never materialize
The image draws near
And I talk to it
About the tons of heavy separation
That oppress the seasons of my life
I have recited you as rain
Yet your lightning never came near me
Alienation gathered thick
Tears heaved with gushing flow
Who will tell you that
My silence is like the mouth of a volcano
I am boundless
Yet fettered only by my own memory
And you are
And will always be
The ever-never closest to me

Copyright © Faleeha Hassan | Year Posted 2013

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Superior knowledge

The world is a lave a pallet of creation
Looking into space, a futile distraction 
The earth is in space and all it represents 
Looking upward wondering ignoring the obvious 
The pattern of nature the key to life 
Everything in nature release us from strife 
From wondering mind, from wondering soul 
Pillar too pillar young and old 
Some think of it as architecture, some confusing mess, 
Some a spontaneous fragment of scientific jest 
To some a duty a jigsaw to caress, 
And some just get on and never confess
We each hold the answer to our brain 
Coming once sometimes again and again 
Sometimes never at all, contained in distraction 
The harrowing lore, the abyss of infatuation 
The buckled belt restraint on the mind 
Have to find out, not sure I will with death and time 
But will it empower or dissolve my life 
Sitting here continually wondering why
When that could be it, just to live to experience and enjoy it
And we the fools who try to explain never understood the simplicity 
Expanding our stupidity with information overload, we didn't need 
To study or to vex our thoughts flexing our complexion 
With stressful sickness broken and distraught,
Are we just the sickness in god’s body? 
A disease spreading in the DNA of the supreme 
Thinking we are special, a comforting belief 
Or are we trapped in our own creation, 
Our creation is no waiting quotation 
Or selfish intoxication of boredom 
Or perhaps, the conclusion the capstone solution 
Buried with its foundation, alas the incantation released 
And now fondled into confusion its veil of truth still uncovered 
No one is true enough to bind its rudder, 
Elevate one’s conscience, conjure up the thunder 
Not in modern times where knowledge is sought 
By any mind, any person, any element of thought. 

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2012

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When the blood- red of moon acts as a backdrop, In your arms I begin to feel this night’s potion Beguiling hours as we sway to the beat; Our flesh clings near, nearer with night’s alchemy… So let us dance on a field where Jack lanterns dim Where stars circle around the ebon night sky, Awakening rabid thrills of a ghostly trance. With my velvet frock, O tango me caress me Till the pinch into love’s rite sparks a witching moan, A cauldron of incantation heating in whirled bliss… And while the city screeches from October’s devilry, Just dance me right, we’ll play old raven’s quick flight Before moon’s credo turns us into iced zombies, A sorcerous twirl we must replay next Hallows Eve. 10.19.2016 Theme: Love Galeo DS’ Contest : May I Dance With You

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

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Crystal Visions the 5th world of mysticism well I see
A Crystal Vision and consulting my big black book of
Miracles to recite the incantation you need tonight with
A wave of my hands and a flash of light I change your
Life...just as surely as the moon has a hold on the
Oceans time has casted their spells on you...look for
The day during the summer solstice when Venus
Eclipse the sun and the night when the resurrected
Dragon comes then and only then can the next chapter
Begin...apprentice to the Wizard I have seen the
Path to enlighten in a Crystal Vision of a new
Golden age and the holy mother holding the world in her hands
Saying ceases the violence and hate now as
We enter the 5th world love is the new command thus I

Copyright © Bo Lanier | Year Posted 2015

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Ripples in Time

After the breath came the Word
After the Word came Creation
Within the Cosmos of what is heard
Blue prints of the Divine and incantation

The Word has reverberated
Behold what the eyes can see
As our Souls have orchestrated
Our lives in the Grand Marquee

Gravitational waves that sail beyond
As we experience Love and free will
To our destinies we must respond
Until our end and then refill

It will always be an uphill climb
For we are vibrations... ripples in time.

Feb.27.2016   ^WW^

Copyright © Winged Warrior | Year Posted 2016

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Green Eyed Monster

Hent my heart from wandering concepts of affection.
Recant the murmurs of insecurity that riddled my temple.
Like a slow wound toy awaiting release from a child's grasp and attention.
Toss and birl, whipsawed into the oblivion of life's gamble.

Take away this wretched knife in my side.
A knife that twist with every incantation.
Those bastards! Jackanapes! Stirring in the tides.
Exordium! When I appear to disappear. Insouciance!

This tires me into a gaumless breathing, beating whole.
Furl all I can, these product of fallibility and madcap.
As I breathe deep into a bibelot diamond. The centre of my soul,
I feel the urge to plotz from reminders and blankets.

As I indite a subtle line of assurance. I contrived.
Culling into materials and conversations. I quelled.
Forgoing this disposition. Finally, Peace has arrived.
Retribution in it full essence. Salient though dishevelled.

Copyright © Fariq Yusoff | Year Posted 2015