The wicked witch of the West
Wanted to be a model on the cover of the
Cosmopolitan.
Her green complexion made her a woman
Of extreme interest.
She should of fired her dress designer who
Manifest
Her as a harridan.
The wicked witch of the West
Filled out the paper work to enter the modeling
Contest.
People were surprised when they found out
She had been her classes valedictorian
Her green complexion made her a woman
Of extreme interest.
The Judges found her some one who was
Willing to invest
Time and money to help her as she began.
The wicked witch of the West
Was also on a quest
To find her superman
Her green complexion made her a woman
Of extreme interest.
She did find him while doing a modeling job
In Key West.
He is a nobleman.
The wicked witch of the West
With her complexion was never second best
She will always be his woman of extreme
Interest.
How hope still clings in the maze of youth,
though a vessel so tender,
not yet cured, apt to blow in the wind
as a ripened daisy,
a fledgling ----
too much a babe for a serpent's wile;
A helping hand awaits in the arms of time,
where moments pass to eternity,
the winds are hushed with reprieve,
always,
there is a friend staring to dawn
From love roars the mightiest wind,
of a warmth most enduring,
The rose sifts most sweet
in youthful shallows,
not deep of a withered old;
ere anger is bred and seasoned,
tamed to mother's ease,
The old man forgets, the harridan scoffs
while the child rides the winds
of rosy-dawns and soft remembrance,
somehow, the ancient are redeemed
Let love speak her tender tongue,
atop mountains too aloft for wicked ears,
Soothe she the weeping wayward,
the broken bone, fevers ungodly;
though she is mysterious to the ignorant,
confounds the tyrant in his self-genius ----
only God could know her name,
whispered infinite
(she is love)
** Excerpt from my epic ' The Blood of the Prophets'
(unfinished as of yet)**
"Qui*, whose harridan are you now?"
this withered crone you see all bone
was once a bloom your sweet coquette
yet, years have not been kind to we.
Each maid becomes a mother
"Qui, whose harridan are you now?"
Men bleed us dry as beaten wheat
upon a dusty floor we lie.
Those maids who lived to birth and nurse
now possess but hairy lipped sighs.
"Qui, whose harridan are you now?
and where is he who loved that youth?"
They have no horrid name for he,
our aged counterparts of limp form
though stud has come and gone, we ask.
"Qui, whose harridan are you now?"
* Qui means WHO in french
* harridan origin 1690–1700; perhaps alteration of French haridelle
thin, worn-out horse, large, gaunt woman (compared with the initial
element of haras stud farm, though derivation is unclear)
** 89 years later Madam Guillotine's reigned perhaps woman don't like
being called names?
Should I slice it length ways or width-ways
Which way will be the best
To give each one a half
So from their arms the child wrest
They claim they are the mother
But each one cannot be
I wish I had the given by god knowledge
To make the decision that needs to be
Solomon must have prayed for
The wisdom needed back then
To give the child to the rightful mother
And not the spiteful hurting harridan
How he knew just what to
Was inspired of god
He knew the real mother would acquiesce
When confronted with the cutting job
How I wish to be like just like him
To make decisions and see the sense
But not only that I’d like
The wisdom to know the difference.
Mandy Tams:entry into the Serenity Response Competition
"Wisdom to know the difference"
Your clothes are flimsy as rags
With dirt’s that stench the air
Your skin are dry and creaky
Like a bread that lost its touch
Your mouth always quick to speak
With a voice sounding like drums
Despised in the land of everywhere
Wanted in the company of no one
Oh harridan avert from thy ways
Your heart is like the moon
borrowing the light of the sun
You feed on the happiness of men
Just because you hunger for war
You thirst for the blood of a child
So the mother will feel the ache
You wonder in the valley called pain
And find rest in the waters of gyp
Oh harridan repel thy doom to come
Your path leads to a destructive end
That smitten the lives of the innocent
Your thoughts are like soured milk
Leaving a tart taste to the soul of a lass
I cry out to you oh deceitful woman
Your end will be as bitter as gall
I bawl out to you oh vicious one
Your pit is as deep as an abyss
Oh harridan deter for your ruin is near
September tries to convince herself,
Making pretend that she is really, truly,
A Summer month, albeit one of dying fire,
Holding at bay the chill of Autumn winds.
October plays temptress with her Duality;
Sun to warm the back of your flannel shirt,
With punkin' frosting nights, crisp and cold.
Air so clear it sears the throat like a glass of cider.
November comes dark, wet and gloomy.
An ancient harridan forced to bridal bed.
Chanting "fools, there's time before winter comes,
Still time enough for love."
December mutters in her sleep........
The story of school starting is here
It began with a bell and a cheer
Bob brought a talking chicken
My, my, what the sickens
Harridan Teacher silenced them with fear
A Hag
A harridan
Scaring Children
Spewing a Hatefulness
That dug a weary road to hell
Cruel
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