Caldron Poems | Examples

I'm Hungry

“Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.”
? William Shakespeare  Macbeth  The Witches brew


I’m hungry, sounds good to me~ I sure hope it’s gluten and dairy free

Bewitched

tears salty or sweet
combined with green destiny 
soul stirred in caldron

I Dived Into A Caldron

I dived into the caldron that they said was filled with 
A magic that would show me all the secrets of  the past.
They promised it would make me see such wondrous places  
Of the future and learn from the past . 
Slowly as I stepped down and the  liquid began to cover me .
I realized I needed no potion for the magic was already in me.
To See my future and I had already  lived my past,
My journey was here and now and these are the memories I needed to make last. 
I looked across as the others slowly gathered around me,
I knew that many of them over time I  would sadly no longer see.
I did not need this caldron of magic to show me, 
What I had all along the magic was in me.

Poetry Soup

I've found a Haven, a hidden space to breathe
Where emotion permeates into a mistral breeze
So lofty are her cumulous clouds of inspired thoughts
Leading all who wander in to explore wondrous walks

Inside, lend an ear to whispers of notes and chords
Plunge into the caldron with the welcoming hordes
Now Chant...Bubble...Bubble...Toil...And Trouble
Stir, fold, blend, mash, whisk the undefined puddle

Then, find the round table where soup feeds solace
Let others feed you.  Do not forego this key promise
Most of all, partake wholeheartedly in the collective conscious
Members, all Souls bare, will grace you in satisfying kindness

nomenclatures

amidst a jungle
sloths snuggle ten tree's apart
hung stared glance awry

scout darts afar off
an army of red herrings
plots a lure or lore

after a rainstorm
a hover of trouts stood still
gawks at a rainbow

a finicky cat
a finny of goldfishes
fish bowl or ocean

cave fully loaded
no more bats for the caldron
next up to bat out

they're all gathered there
congregation of egrets
sweet bird earned her wings

longtime without pope
college of cardinals hopes
vows to change its looks

Two centuries into this recipe

Oh so found; here I am two centuries into this recipe; within ironic caldron
The finest ingredients have been bestowed; in every friend found beyond
Based this broth on the deepest marrow of their love; careful memories thought
When it started to simmer they welcomed me; I was no forget me not
It's warmed by a glow from far away; behold this inferno of passion
I had become a vegetable; my thoughts had caused a bad reaction
Cut them on a souls keyboard; just added them into this life's consomme
Supporting; you are all around; found your limerence is beauty to me
Coming together with a spiritual rice, drop in dumplings of great
This PoetrySoup; you've all just been ladled a bowl; please be nourished; you all changed my fate

The Amazing Tale the Old Stone Sphinx Never Told

The Amazing Tale The Old Stone Sphinx Never Told

He walking softly repeating deep silence to the grass
Waterfalls gracefully wore away broken heart and stone
They invaded, full of dead vigor and obstinate mass
And maddening midnight the one- legged king slept alone
Nature held true to course and applauded the dying wheat.

While the tyrannical wind swept across the sad pregnant hills
Chaos and silence roved far and with nothing to eat
Except the panic and red paint the heartland over spills
Never mind the beast with its aggressive dancing about
Nor the bashful ghost that eats away the damn racing time
Therein caldron lies temptations crying with wounded shout
And the false prophet yells out dying here is not a crime.


He walked back to survey the revolution in its start.
He told father time, do not worry, I have her in my heart.

Robert J. Lindley, May 1st, 1976
Sonnet

The Warmth of a Winters Diner

The Warmth of a Winters Dinner
David J Walker 

The blackened cast-iron caldron 
Sat on the stove burner waiting for
The task to begin
the water and the low flame 
taking its time
all day to claim
a winters meal  

It would begin in the morning
with onion joined by 
carrots and celery 
Chopped on the butcher's block
In bite-sized portions
Adding a bag 
of frozen peas
then 
Salt and pepper 
Eight cups of water
And cubed up pieces of 
A frozen round steak, all
Bathed in a tomato paste
For a long-days simmer 



The aroma of the low boiling
Flavors escaping the heave lid
Filling the house with the flush scent of
Each ingredient adding its
Own unique element of perfection for
The winters dinner to come

The smell of cornbread baking
In the oven invited everyone to
The warmth of the 
Heart of the hearth
Where portions of the stew 
would be dished into 
the blue ceramic bowls we
knew well and used 
all of our lives

The cold outside was held
At bey that night
in the warmth of
A winters dinner

The Cost of Freedom

“The Cost of Freedom”



A line has been drawn in the sand…..
Between the haves and the have nots.

What one has toiled 
To enjoy the fruit of his labors -
Another now covets to own…
Without the sweat,
Without the years of effort, 
Without the time expended
To realize their dreams.

The color of their faces, they say,
Must bend the favor to lean in their way.

No energy,
No lessons,
No experience
May tilt the Scales of Fairness,
They say.

Only wants,
And needs,
And force of Will
Should determine their share, 
They say.
As they strive to zealously intimidate
Those who might stand in their way.

We are a nation built 
On a system of Justice;
However, unfairly
It may swing occasionally in its wake.

A world order cannot survive
Without its caldron of conventions.

It cannot stand without its backbone
Melded into its strength of character.

Freedom, at any cost,
Is never free.

Someone always -
Must toil to pay the price
…..for  the treasures we seek.


By:  jb pearce
July 13, 2020

Death of a Fairytale

The witch adds each morsel of magic,
spice to her frothy brew.
Her wailing drifts
fog across the moon,
each fairytale severed and torn.
With tears, overwhelmed with remorse,
she tosses in each page.

She ripped the well-worn fairytales.
Bluebeard’s room
stuffed full of dead wives,
their wild cries no longer warn us.
She whispers, “Hansel and Gretel
will no longer come to play”.


The children around the caldron gather,
drawn by fear and awe;
bound by the vow as silent watchers.
They cannot stop this ignoble act.
We, the watchers, watch and weep;
promising all the stories to keep.

Death of a Fairytale

The witch adds each morsel of magic, spice to her frothy brew.
Her wailing drifts, fog across the moon, 
each fairytale severed and torn.
With tears, overwhelmed with remorse, she tosses each penned page in.

She cut out all the well-worn fairytales (happy dance of glee).
Bluebeard’s room stuffed full of dead wives,
no longer can their wild cries warn us.
She whispers, “Hansel and Gretel will no longer come to play”.


The children around the caldron gather, drawn by fear and awe;
bound by the vow of silent watchers.
They cannot stop this ignoble act.
We, the watchers, watch and weep; promising all the stories to keep.

Hail the Lonely Queen

Hail! The Lonely Queen

My world consumes me, my thoughts turn erratic. 
They fall away into the caldron of boiling confusion, of which there is no return 
Everything I feel returns to me empty
I throw my thoughts toward the future, they return jumbled and unfelt
I am holding onto to cobwebs from the past, dusty, ragged
They bind me, they make me bleed
The past gives no love, it is already consumed
I am living on time  
Time the great wind, takes pieces of my soul as it sweeps by, in great gusts
Tiny pieces like dust fall away, glittering at first, then extinguished and swept away 
Slowly I become a ghost, the web is now my world
I breath the fog and mists which shrouds the future, dense and thick
Sometimes I see light
Sometimes it is only blackness
I let go and step into the after world, sweet death, no pain
Entering, I first stand alone in the world which I created
I am Queen of my death
Hail! The lonely Queen 
She wears a mantle of silvery cobwebs 
Her crown she wears, burnt gold and black diamonds
She stands alone
The Empress of a haunted realm
Hail! The lonely Queen

Rize

2/12/2017

                                             RIZE

Air molecules bursting at the seams with hydrogen
A crafty fish could just about fly…draining a lil’ bit H2o through its gills…flitting from one molecule to another, while delightfully enjoying its very first aerial-panoramic perspective!

Caldron of Sun, heavy trudging through the almost misty air

Pushing, pushing, pushing…slowly forcing the horizon more and more south over the Atlantic Coast…Steaming moisture from the air whilst creating a larger and larger horizon of a grey and pink glow

Other forces of nature…shall not overcome the fiery center of our Universe... no, not this day!  As more and more of the sea’s horizon is unveiled…a marbling of pink and at least three shades of grey

Oh, alas! A blank page is as to a new day, Yay!  Another chance as the East, Atlantic sky widens faster and faster, forcing upward with increasing momentum, as the blue-white hot plasma forever-thirsty, drinks from the Milky Way Galaxy's precious molecules in its' atmosphere 
Once again, I am but a grateful blessed witness

Jill Spagnola

Mount Etna's Dragon

Burping sulfurous fumes
its fiery belly heaves
and gas and ash erupt
knocking me to my knees.

Beneath the pumice beats
a throbbing heart of heat,
and I can feel its pulse
surging below my feet.

Treading on crackling skin
I weigh each step I take
or risk Icarus’s fate
and pay for my mistake.

I approach carefully
knowing that I could die
for beneath its chard brow
I spy the monster’s eye.

Mount Etna's dragon stirs
my imagination
as molten rock boils in
caldron of creation.


(Quatrain)


11/19/2015

Wiggles

Wiggles

                                               Tenfold dividend
                                     Three witches stirring caldron
                                         Wiggles beef, well done!

By Eve Roper 3/7/2015

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