Best Wand Poems
Wrapped in the solitude of one blessed night
the moon-eyed moon wanders lightly and alone
inside a vast and deep, darkly expansive sky
Dark cores of light glide
through a dormant ether,
as butterfly shadows play softly against
a dense canopy of leaves.
A still figure appears as if by chance,
underneath the cadence of the light,
swaying like wavering puppets on a string
she meditates on
the fast appearing stars ...
Creating magic from the tatters of the night
she's an invisible wand to the world
but unto thyself, she is as full, as the moon.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.
Never mind,I am the only place of
my heart away from this heart.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
Speak or say no,but I will still speak.
I have live for you only how I left you.
In the whole world, i am only wishing you.
Do not ever tell me,you forget me,
I'm not going to listen.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.
Never speak that moon will ever be
separated from the moonlight.
Is anyone ever happy to lose his life?
This is what I want for you,your loved once.
Never mind, I'm the only place of
my heart away from this heart.
Forgetting you I'm not going anywhere now.
How will I stay away from you I'm your crazy wand.
Form:
It is Magic Wand Day!
Magic Wand Day!
Magic Wand Day!
Magic Wand Day only comes onto the planet Earth once every 175,143 years.
Which means we are lucky we got it in our life time.
The magic wands were delivered in the middle of the night.
There is one for each household, not each person.
Luckily, my husband did not read the twitter feed, so he does not know I have ours.
I grabbed it up a second ago. It is lavender with blue and pink glitters.
There is a little red bow on the front, it is tied in a spectacular way!
Magic Wand Day!
I am bursting with excitement.
You get to wave the wand three times, and your wishes come true.
If you wave it a fourth time, all of your wishes vanish though, so be careful.
I wave my wand in front of my house, to clean it. Poof! Clean!
I wave it in front of Sophie, our cocker spaniel. Boom! Groomed!
I wave it in front of my mouth. All of my teeth are instantly fixed. Hooray! Done!
I carefully boxed up the magic wand and send it back in the return box with the return label.
Magic Wand Day! Magic Wand Day! Magic Wand Day!
It is three hours later before I realize I could have eliminated cancer, created world peace and gotten a chocolate marshmallow milkshake.
Autumn faerie touched her wand to a yellow mum.
The mum’s colors turned crispy and an October brown.
Whether she retains her yellow next year is up to fate.
Some mums do, others do not, I never know which I have.
Autum faerie is aware, fully in the know, she rules October.
The Magic Wand
Magicians around the world rely on their
magic wand, it is their main tool in their
trade, it creates the illusion of making
magic believable, it has the ability to
trick your senses into believing the
magician, when he has your full attention
he works his magic and makes everyone
shocked in amazement, magic wands
are not always used by magicians as in
the storybook story of 'Cinderella' it was
used by the Fairy Godmother to change
'Cinderella' into a princess while turning
a pumpkin into a beautiful coach with
white horses to take Cinderella to the ball.
The magic wand is nothing more than a
painted stick of wood, but when painted it is
transformed into a wonderful magic wand.
Written : 13th July 2013
A simple story of a wooden stick that when
painted becomes a magical tool for magicians
and fairies in fairy stories.
You come to me and wave your wand
and conjure an enchanted bond
Your passion begins to work its magic,
upon my life, which once was tragic
My soul's been raised and resurrected;
A fate that I had not expected
The life I'd lived was dark and cold,
still, upon my heart it had a hold
These charms of yours, arouse in me
emotions that must be set free
What feelings now my heart adorn!
Desire to feel, to live, reborn
A fever burns again within,
to hold, to kiss, to touch your skin
This fire that has begun to rage
shall burn these words onto the page:
The magic arts we lovers share,
the spells we weave, the deeds we dare
Are the kindling only passion sparks
into the fire that leaves no marks
Of enchantments love may die without,
passion's the one; aye, there's no doubt
If I could wave a magic wand and make a fantasy week,
I would rent some cabins in the wilderness near a tourist town.
And fill each one with my family’s love…butterfly kissing cheeks.
With all my children and grandchildren happily gathered around.
Camp food aromas would fill fresh air, tantalizing and good.
We would joyfully sing campfire songs amid giggles and sparks.
Talk about the “growing-up” days while warmed by firewood.
Each child snuggled under someone’s arm as happy as larks.
When darkness came, the moon would shine upon a distant owl.
Whip-or-wills would sing their tune; each child’s heart would thrill.
We would say prayers as a family thanking God for waterfowl.
Together on our beautiful earth, enjoying the quiet still.
In cabins nestled under the stars, amid the black of night,
Beneath scented cedars and pines, we would dream our souls to sleep.
Anticipating sounds of dawn and beautiful mountain sights,
I would lie awake and soak it in, remembering sweetness to keep.
Awakened by the sounds of dawn and crisp mountain air,
I would take my camera for a walk, photographing with flare.
In every bit of nature, I would recognize God’s care.
Thanking Him for sharing sights of deer, antelope, and bear.
When the week was almost gone, we would take a family ride.
And go to the nearby tourist town to shop and look around.
I would buy each some western clothes, feeling good inside.
And tell them I am proud that family love flows unbound.
On that last day, while packing up, we would hear waterfalls cascade.
All together, my children would work, singing a wilderness song.
As I, watching grandchildren, would thank them for good memories made.
Then, upon returned to each his home we could carry this dream along.
© October 4, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
If I had a magic wand I would make sure we would have the same skin color
It would be rainbow, but we could diversify it in these ways.
We could choose paisley, plaid, polka dotted, striped or heart skin.
Everyone’s hair would be white, we could dye it any color at will.
Including rainbow of course.
In December we would celebrate our neighbors, learning their customs.
Trying not to steal them, even when some of them would be fun to steal.
We would share foods from all of our cultures, especially cookies and fudges.
We would dance in the streets, and agree to disagree happily about music.
We would have a group hug.
If I had a magic wand I would give people a glimpse of their true self.
So they would be receptive to other people’s customs and habits.
Not merely tolerating each other’s eccentricities but appreciating them.
Because they would be living their soul dream,
and they would want others to live as their true selves also.
I would gladly do this for the world, if I had a magic wand.
Well wobbling around in a pear tree dressed in a space suit can be very very dangerous. You might fall. And fallings are failings and failings flay the flesh from even the smallest atom that arrives in a puddle so never question the movements of a pond in the seasonal adjustments. Eradication of waste from slumber kitchen is hidden in an attic drawer. Once opened it slides away in a drip format akin to drizzling sauce onto a plate of freshly carved meat. Carved carbonated creations can carry carnivorous carnivals cleverly closing chasms. And a beetle in a flat cap was racing around wildly while the worrying worm was moving thoughts around and around like a windy day moves leaves through the pathways. Ever since a hill breathed the path was pushed and pushed and pushed. Then to place ones feet upon the tracks ignites thrones, fields, destinations, and a large variety of six foot jars of giggling gherkins. The wearing of aprons at this time is heavily prohibited and the sixty feet of micro beads in a line stretching in gymnasiums is rather like the time the electric elephant circus played a wild thumping trumpeting time to the seven arched breezes of the tea cloud. Ha hats having heated hollering havens. How heavenly. Ha the misted mustard mouse moving mousetraps. Ha the feather forming a giant wheel and going down the motorways with the suitcase on full beam because it is foggy but no frog. X desensitisations x at over a million keys, motors and cute little jumping juggernauts with tiny five centimetre wingspans. Z z z z z z
Interesting to note that a snail can move at maximum speed in the morning mists of moons .
Form:
If I had a magic wand
I’d stupefy my enemies into becoming friends.
With me and with each other.
I would wave it around in New York City
And chant words that would spread love and hope
From that city to Tokyo and back.
I would build the homeless homes with it
and I would show them how to plant gardens,
So we could feed the third world countries.
If I had a magic wand.
A POLLEN PUFF WAND
Puff, puff, a pollen puff
That blows from a single rose;
The Field Fairy blonde, waves her gold wand
Constructed from giggles and bowes.
Butterflies know when springtime is late
And the moon is covered in cloud;
The Field Fairy blows a honey gold mist
Over flowers that bud in a crowd.
And Hummingbirds know, she takes from the stars
A glistening light for their wings;
She sprinkles the shimmering silvery stuff
So every hummingbird sings.
And the seedlings dance in burgeoning spring
As dressed little joys of green;
And the pollen puffs given soft pearly tuffs
Are tossed from this Field Fairy queen.
Puff, puff, wand of the fairy
That fell from a single rose;
Brilliant in light and conjuring flight,
Constructed from giggles and bowes.
Then the tree top knows as it rocks to-and-fro
To drop a warm breeze from the south,
So the dolphin doubles, can be sent foamy bubbles
That she blows from a straw through her mouth.
And the Forrest Fairies dance as April arrives
And the days grow emerald and new;
The Field Fairy touches lacy cobwebs
With the wet morning mist’s sticky dew.
Butterflies know when springtime is late
And the poppies sleep snuggled and proud,
The Field Fairy blows a honey gold mist
Over flowers that bud in a crowd.
Puff, puff, a pollen puff
That blows from a single rose;
Her wand splashing stardust with magical gust
Constructed from giggles and bowes.
And butterflies know she dreams of her field
With wildflowers waving hello;
Then wielding her magic for three baby chicks
That fell from her wand, plumed in yellow.
And the butterflies know when ice starts to melt
And the jubilant snow goes away,
The Field Fairy brings lanky spring colts
To buck and frisk in the hay.
Butterflies know when springtime is late
She’ll sail colors brilliant and loud;
The Field Fairy blows a honey gold mist
Over flowers that bud in a crowd.
By Edlynn Nau
© December 5, 2018
(For Lilah Hanlan on her first birthday)
Who took the M out of magic
The A followed close behind
G didnt want to be left alone
I and C says, please be kind
Can we not stick together
Why have we drifted away
Why aren't we enjoying christmas
Who said humbug to this festive day
I know we have lost loved ones
Very close to our heart
Did they remove the magic wand
Or did the retailers do their part
Commercial christmas it is now
That should be its new name
Gone is the feeling of a family show
Its a crying shame
So as we sit down to eat lunch
Spare a thought for people with less
Especially the word Magic
Who wants to spread happiness
So come on smiles on faces
Light the candles say a prayer.
Cos its christmas day
We have magic here
Poor Cinderella was supposed to be transformed
But her Fairy Godmother couldn't grant her wish,
She broke her wand, when she sat upon it
Now, she stomps around acting rather childish.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
Aug.26/2005
His vision seemed struggling
To leave the fleshy flaps,
As the destination was beyond
The gloomy dusk of generations.
Having known and forgotten
Everything around, within
And beyond his intellect
His scepter slipped off for ever.
Hercules dared not to trace,
Neither Oracle whispered the fate,
Nor could Socrates define,
Only caused foreheads to bleed.
The wand glorious might have found
It's eternal abode in deepness infinite.
Shake, spell and feel it
Supernaturally lit
See the world unfold