Best Witchcraft Poems
Love Spell.
By Pippa Gray
He's the soul for which I wait.
I'll feed him darkest sabre grapes
and lead him to a bed of moss,
with velvet spread and moonstained cloths.
His sweet and salty skin I'll bathe
in goats milk and black forest oats.
His will shall loose with every sip
of rose leaf tea with calamus.
Not king, nor prince, or knight or knave,
I chant his name just all the same.
And long I’ve gazed and fed the flames
and twisted grasses to his shape. Oh,
I could reel him in like cheated fish,
hooked on twisted lines of fibs
and dragged to heel to suffocate,
a'feared to meet his father’s fate.
But that’s for others, darker still,
who wield their wallets, pockets filled
with hypnotising sparkly bait and
wicked lures of titles gained.
No, I need only breathe and sing
into sad willows round his home,
a perfumed mist of liquorice,
the musk of me, and cinnamon.
Now here’s a tale spun with rattlesnakes
Stung into the eyes of motherless guilt
Now turn the head! Open the mouth!
For all to see, and so, too, that more shall fit!
The tainted vapors from our brew!
Breathe them, breathe them in!
And live like the hellhounds in our minds!
And then
In the morning you shall wake
Returned, confused and dull
With nothing but a final sharp memory,
Like the wavering buoy in a black sea,
Of the world bubbling and spilling from below.
Mojito Conjuring
When the bruja in the red dress
sends me out this time,
it is for the taste of
sour oranges and garlic.
Once, when I plied her
with a cigar called Hoyo de Montyerrey,
she coiled the smoke,
said that I was still feral and untamed,
sent me out for sugar so that
I could learn my true name.
Scythe-swinging, field-slave-singing,
I could not return to her coven of one
until I had learned that my “Suarez”
meant that I was the son of sugar itself –
the child of wild ingenious devouring
the rows of cane like a dragon.
Now, red-dress bruja breathes out
clouds of tobacco *****,
turns the cigar round and round,
tells me to gather garlic and aurantium oranges
so that the sour and the sucre may jibe
together in me,
and leave me properly christened
for when it is time for me to work,
time for me to sweat,
time for me to sing.
Hairy Mary, really scary
Hairs grow from her nose
Some sprout from her pointy ears
And in between her toes
She's got hair on her fingers
and her one remaining thumb
I can't confirm the rumour
That she's got a hairy bum
A hair grows from the mole
That is sprouting from her chin
Her wicked eyes are purple
And her nose is bent and thin
She said some funny words to me
when I was just a boy
And waved a knobbly stick
Like it was some magician's toy
She said that she was turning me
Into a slimy frog
I told her she was bonkers
And I'd rather be a dog
For witches live in fiction
But my theory has a glitch
I called her lots of names
And then my skin began to itch
I said she was a daft old bat
She didn't get the joke
And now I find it hard to speak
But easier to...
CROAK!!!
Black –
darkness pitches, naked witches, almond moon of hallowed season
crossing stitches, dogs and bitches dance entranced for wicked reason
powdered sulphur matting hair, licking dirt and twitching praises
sanctify the night in pain, evil stirs and sickness raises
magic black and legion spawned, circling stars of salt and mud
cries that die against the night, sacrifice of blade and blood
candles cursed to stain the light, pluck the feathers from a dove
base desires of craven need, souls forsaking all above
black, malignant eyes intent, leaking malice, wearing skin
wearing bags of festered hate, fevered hags with open sin
coming, clacking fingernails, children bent in pleading prayer
nightmares twisting locks of hair, children cornered by the air
White –
nurtured itches, silver witches, Mother Moon who guides the season
mending stitches, bringing riches, singing rites, enlightened reason
tiger eye and poppy seed, woodland altars flush with praises
dancing airy flights of joy, tendered smoke of incense raises
magic white and ancient born gently stirs in mystic mud
giving gifts from life within, finger pricked and drop of blood
earth and wind and three by three, witches cooing to the dove
secrets cast and never told waken to Her will above
witches’ oil to scent the air, purifying nature's skin
breezes drawing circled puffs, papers burn to counter sin
lilac, sage and sandalwood honor Mother Moon in prayer
holding fast as children dream sylvan scents on glamoured air
If milk could kill
We would all be dead
But Luis Pasteur
Hit the nail on the head:
"Witchcraft may kill
By subtle disguise
But I have the cure:
Its just passed your eyes!"
Witchcraft....
Some champion this idea
As they sell this notion....Sold!
Novel though, it is definately not
A twist of lime perhaps
To contemporize its design
Unto the times....
Always, evolving and adapting
This ancient one!
Although his days as of late
Have been somewhat frantic
Chaotic, to say the very least
Desperation....
As the sands of his millenniums
Quickly, disappear from within his vile!
Schreechingly he shouts
While the bells of his sorrow
They begin to toll....
Taking hold, of all that he may, receive?
Clinging, to his very own hopelessness
Which he himself, long ago, misconceived
Trapped in this crustic bottle
Wailing and gnashing
These crumbling teeth
Slinging his far away dust
Fading....
Upon the wake, of his worthless broomstick
Worthless, to the eyes, that can truly see!?
Beyond all of these his lotions
That have chained so many
To the concepts....
The longings....And the beliefs....
The potions, that made him, their king!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....Witchcraft....
Day to day robbery
a desire to get wealth in
Quick and simple way
creative is invention witchcraft
is like when you dream
what's in your drain to dream its magic power or God power
but dream its just series of events
witchcraft refresh your drain of dreams
to develop the feelings of witch doctor
to remind you of alcohol , alcoholic which is human desire
to get wealth out of it
nothing to fear off cause its a feeling and thoughts
respect human but don't fear them
you believe in them you make them strong
ignore them they became worthless
witchcraft its nothing but its just an idea
of getting wealth
A cabin sees a creature cool from night of crawl and hunt in all
of gravely stone and street in tone of light diffused by wane of moon
a toothless gum with tutting tongue clicks her way like bats among
the trees with hair of oaken leaves that perk each morn’ upon the sun
but she with book to under-arm, her book of chanting, her grimoire
be carried lo and carried far and braced for spell when suiting her
this creature crone of caustic mouth who oft’ alone with cackled laugh
does shriek and scorn a charm or more,
did witch, the spell
did witch, she cast
The bullying and bruising
Went on and on for years,
'Til the time had come
They'd atone for her tears
Aimed at those people
The cruel and the two-faced,
For revenge is sweet ...
And she wanted a taste
If only they'd befriended her
And if only they knew,
The humble, homely girl
Practiced a little voodoo
All mouths sealed shut
And all eyes went blind,
The more they judged
The more her spell bind
No one stared as if
All eyelids were sewn shut,
No one whispered as if
All throats had been cut
Confused and in pain
They clawed with each hand,
As a power took over them
Greater than any could understand
With expanding waistlines
To match their hips,
As they ate the words
That escaped their lips
Satisfied and smiling
She had reached her goal,
They could never again
Hurt another soft soul.
She'll use their hunger, innocence performed
And pour hemlock in heart's chalice, who care
Kiss with poisoned lips from a witch transformed
Weaving honeyed gifts freely used, she'll snare
With scents and silks, hiding her hate's desire
Revenge for pain, by words sweetly spoken
Sinister plot spun, for men who aspire
Vessels of love , to be disposed when broken
A devils heart with sweet fruit as her ploy
Talons strike deep with their sharpened shaft
Appears an Angel, a cold trap so coy
Boiling men up, completes her witchcraft
Contest ABAB Poetry contest
8/4/14
Sometime in October, I walked into Emmanuel
feeling
perhaps a little bolder in judgement, but led on
by melancholy, bad idea, some sort of sober trip
had me
like an echo returning back to absorb
overly exaggerated visions of love
and poor choices,
a guilt trip, or... I started to believe
that something was different then, maybe nostalgia
for this ugly plot of land, or those grey seeds
you'd never planned
to grow into a grave, who the **** wants that..
my love, or that guy on stage reading
disappearing, the ghost
seeping quietly into a classroom
and leaving before you have the chance
to close the door.
Witchcraft
In wicked league with the devil,
An occultist or an enchantress,
As an old ugly woman works on evil,
Powers of divination in pythoness,
Just an imagination,
Or a harsh reality ?
A myth or a fiction,
Black magic vitality ?
Dark as inside coffin stays the troll,
Candles lit around one browser,
Crystal ball and mysterious scroll,
Her magic wand, the real dowser,
Do you expect fortune and happiness?
Health fame and huge money ?
Adieu to all evil and darkness,
Romantic life sweet as honey ?
Wizardry, sorcery, take them as just words,
Twenty first century you ought to be smart,
Fortune tellers and those tarot cards,
Would you still believe in witchcraft ?
August 17th, 2014
For contest 'ABAB witchcraft poetry' by Alfred Vassallo
When she was twelve,
she discovered a spell
to keep her christian mother
from walking in her room,
catching her reciting a spell,
and beating the crap out of her.
[on pollution]
I breathe smoke,
sleep in slum
hunt flesh;
over my hideous ribs
play glossy blossoms
sprinkling perfume of sweat.
Hey! Handsome!!
I greet you;
Sweat’s sweeter than wine,
Skin thirstier than spine,
Smoke thicker than blood,
Hunting ’s life.
Drive fast swirling smoke;
Come, cuddle and kiss ,
my silky bob!
Who says I’m ugly witch?
Under your glistening arms
I’m the fairest.