Long Bewitched Poems
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Love bewitches
While certainty is almost not real,
what is the allure of love and its deal.
The trembling stories filling many books,
the playground of temptation and its looks.
The chemistry in moon light haunted,
irrational thoughts unbounded.
The secret in more than anything else,
and being the observing intense myself.
When all is nothing beside it thinks,
and stupid melodies nonstop sings.
Dreaming doors just open wide,
filling every texture with you beside.
Touching eyes graving sensation,
bodily frictions as salvation.
When worlds collide and gently intricate,
nothing but delightful incident.
Is this the complex firmament all felt,
constant twilight motions as loving imitation dwelt.
Fragile symbols meeting rocks to engrave,
for centuries to be saved.
When lips that touch not meaning much,
having the magic endurance as such.
When I was little, toddler size,
A magic world bewitched my eyes.
Each dewy drop adorning grass,
Resembled Alice's looking glass!
Then I grew to maybe three,
Decided fairies dwelt in trees.
Each greeny bough must surely hold,
An elfkin with his pot of gold!
A more sophisticated ten,
Searched for bluebells in the glen.
Darting one suspicious glance,
To see if fairies really dance,
Leaving their mark for all to see,
In grassy rings around a tree!
When I grew to teen age size,
The magic moved to some boy's eyes.
A few years passed and on my hand,
Appeared a shining golden band!
In later years two daughters came,
And now they play my magic game!
Written by my wife Vera Selena Hinshaw
© All Rights Reserved
NOTE: This poem won First Place in the 2008
Security Public Library Contest, Security, CO
We poets have a coven where we write our sins. Bewitched by the entirety and stringing words in beautiful threads of our own possibilities and what-ifs of the future, we fret, singularly, on a piece of paper. We hide our words between another few words that make everything seem hollow when in reality we are mellow and broken by the ghosts of our past. And the blurry waves of hope pass by our shore so we hang a little tight, even when everything gets hazed. We slip through cracks of our own imagination when the 'light at the end of the tunnel' is only an idea for the fools, we know the truth. There was never a light we broke the walls ourselves.
We love a soul and trade ours for theirs. The pages of our deepest fears are stuck with the ink made from our blood and tears. As ghastly as it sounds, it becomes our reality. Whether on paper, on a Microsoft Word file, or in the secret of Notes app- a writer always bleeds. A poet with no one to pay heed, to their words. Only understood my the gravest hearts. A single piece of parchment hidden beneath the deepest corners, lurking in the shadows of our broken bones and hurt that burnt us whole. Breathing is a sin to a tainted soul. Will it ever be okay?.. How would we know? So we form a coven where we write our worsts- the transcripts and the manuscripts sealed shut, only to be opened by fools who know what's what.
The poet in me has run out of blood
My veins are dry and full of dust, from my ashes
The weight of this stone-hearted world crushes my soul
Like an inch to death, the flowers don't have a root
There isn't a home, for my words and my wars
I wait restlessly
For fate, to do its magic
In reality.
"INDEED"
It is MAGIC indeed
When the dove disappears
The thin black cloth
Banished what was revealed.
It is SORCERY indeed
When you're caught by a spell
You believe every sound
Of the mage's bell.
It is UNFORTUNATE indeed
When you're bewitched by words
Blinded by tales
You treat stone as gold.
It is DANGEROUS indeed
When its veiled by tears
Your soul will be confined
In darkness for years.
It is FUNNY indeed
When you got fooled by a clown
He's cheering you up
While bringing you down
It's magic , sorcery,
Unfortunate, dangerous and funny.
For you have the keenest eyes
Yet you fail to see.
Halloween Tale
Hear my “cautionary” “Halloween” “tale”!
Beware of tricks by costumed “vampires,"
“Feasting” on boo berry tarts or goblin treats;
(:o
Take heed of “alien” threats for treat “abduction”
Cautious when pumpkin faces freeze –“paralyzed” -
Possessed by “blood” curdling screams.
(:o
Be wary of “diabolical” plans behind smiling masks,
Ghostly toilet paper ghosts cascading
From creepy branches like claws bewitched.
(:o
Think twice of triumphant “trickery”
Turned upside down like little houses
With crescents carved out from their doors.
(:o
Look out when legends ride in silhouette on a magic moon!
Be careful apple bobbing in spellbound cauldrons - haunted houses -
When mischief scampers through Halloween parades.
(:o
Watch out! “Noches de los muertos” lives again! (:o (:o (:o
Sixteen lines
10-20-20
Contest: Halloween Challenge
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Anthropology studies human societies,
human culture, humankind, human us.
You were the anthropologist that sifted through
the baubles of life I mired in the fissures
of the way I spoke impedimented English.
But you were my diction that weaved between
the w’s I mispronounced and the ph’s I forgot to shape.
I reached for the dove's excalibur to accept that you, my love,
have bewitched the melody against the carnage that consumed
all my adoration for you, only to be transfixed
by the Black Excalibur in your virgin hands.
And I had to relearn how to survive, how to stand,
resurrected from being a cold, dead man.
I am the Romeo that breathed first.
In the doomed book I refused the poison.
And you married Count Paris.
Our doom painted blue and red on human society.
Now the anthropologist observes purple remains
stained on the ink of dirty historical papers.
Regardless of the ever slow and piercing passage of more than two centuries, her sapphire eyes still remain encrusted in my memory, like precious gems on an ancient fallen crown.
Only fractures and scars remain of the come-and-go parades of fabricated love, which served only as the ground to sow the seeds of my own desolation.
Like a hand grasping thorns, is the stigma of knowing the punishment of her absence has not yet ended, and that I again, will not have in this life her guidance, her light and presence.
Images flecked with dust twirl in my mind, to the rhythm of the arrhythmia of my eternally consternated heart.
As if conspiring, time managed to abrogate all its forgiving powers and magical healing, although I admit that the constant remembering of her love, like a refreshing ever flowing brook, has always been the very best of every day in each life, briefly relieving my withered and shattered spirit.
Losing myself in the memory of the thousand details of her Venus like beauty, gives me life, flares up my senses and wafts me through the swirling smoke of hours burnt.
Clinging on passionately and frantically to the memory of the essence of her loving way, I am momentarily able to perceive this empty world, as paradise.
I miss the way her soul breathed, and how every time it gently approached mine, I´d be engulfed by the violet halo of her auric light, taking me to heaven here on earth.
I remember the glory embodied in her poised grin, as she realized how I became bewitched when she described with her mellifluous voice, details of the impossible love she felt for me.
I miss her intriguing yearning for the science of the pneuma, and the amazing knowledge she possessed about the laws that rule the merging of souls. She taught me that love conceived thus, is the only force that governs and transcends the infinite, inheriting the power to enrich life wherever it may be.
I miss her intense urge to make me a better person, despite knowing just how difficult it would be.
An unforgivable mistake from my part, left her without option, forcing her to remove me from the magnificence of her life, leaving me adrift between the jaws of the three mysteries of time, and into the hands of living death.
my friend,
beacon, bright ...
how you have bewitched my years,
dancing on the wall of my room since my first memory,
a warm sweep of security and steadiness,
never failing - ever true ...
blinking me to sleep each night like a prayer -
"I'm here! - I watch! - You're safe!"
I wonder ...
are you really a warning?
Or do you wink your sparkling eye
only to taunt the unwary prey at sea?
Schooners, barques, cutters, and frigates,
wagging their masts like bony fingers,
admonishing you for your questionable intent.
How many have fallen for your treachery in ages past,
turned to driftwood and terror by your crimped and craggy skirt?
Not even Neptune's raging ire can affect your flicker,
for you have stood, steadfast and bold,
through the wickedest of gales ...
splitting the beastly billows with dire disregard,
and turning the tempest's tides
to naught but foam and spray.
But your days are numbered, old friend,
the world spins far too fast these days for your kind ...
your lights being snuffed by digits and dials,
and the indifference of technology.
But I shall remember you ...
your pulse will live on in my mind,
and in the hearts of all those who knew you -
all those who survived for your sake ...
and numbered your glinting gaze.
As the last petal falls
upon trembling twigs,
and the heart withers,
like nocturnal stars
weeping in a casket~
of ice-laced sepals,
soaked in searing silence,
cloaked in thistles of nothingness,
let Cleopatra’s amulets
dress your blurred horizon,
embroidered with
empty promises.
I wear our forbidden love
like a bleeding epitaph,
inscribed with
gusts of grief
and twisted tendrils,
emanating memories of us~
a mystical reflection of
how once we danced
like daffodils sipping
spiced gold magic
while the satanic sun
burned the flickering
flames of felicity within twin souls,
weaving poetic pansies
across the symphonic sky,
brushed with Sahara crystals,
unfolding a canopy of unbreakable
c o m p a s s i o n ...
O beloved black dahlia,
if I could, I would
fetch you the moon on a spoon,
steal the galaxies~
wrap them in
supernova serenity.
I’ll paint lakes of longing
with opalescent silver,
sculpt Swarovski swans
glazed in iridescent bliss,
tempting the alluring twilight
to drizzle aurora threads
across mysterious silhouettes,
engrossed in
an ethereal orchestra.
But if tomorrow
these words weigh little
less than the dreams
we’ve dreamed in stillness,
remember my soul is tied
to your rain-kissed metaphors,
and even if rhymes cannot
fix what’s undone,
these verses ache
to cleanse every stain
left within lifeless leaflets.
For no shift in season
could veil the vibrancy of vermilion
still rushing through these veins,
singing your name
in scarred cadence,
resting my quivering quill on
the cusp of the cursed springs,
as I embrace darkness before
the dawning of dulcet wings,
to lure you back
to the land of timeless trinkets,
a lachrymose lament~
romanticized as the requiem
for bewitched orchards...
Struggling over guilt-inflicted angst
persistent along spontaneous languishing
tangible through prevailing vexatious misery…
…my destitute soul, in carnality’s chain
succumbed to materialism’s glittering offer
defying fervent commitment
to patronize pursuits of eternal worth…
Bewildered midst lurking skepticism
upon doubts of intrigue lure…
my mind besought for marvelous revelation
from truth’s divine portal to grip my perspective
and navigate my heart earnestly
exposing its fixation to virtuous ascent
in the guise of sacrifice, yet when gauged
according to hallowed righteousness
was vainly ephemeral.
Woe was I… beguiled, wavering in my faith
bewitched by fleshly desires
bound to perilous defeat...
---yet God, graciously rich in compassion*
reached out to me along His wondrous pardon…
…Now, my spirit that ceaselessly yields to Him with earnest repentance
enjoys His serene revival, propelling triumphant grateful worship
enabled toward blissful stewardship service ---
--- languishing never!
*Psalm 145:8 The LORD is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy.
January 30, 2020
2nd place, "Eight word challenge 1 2020" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton; judged on 1/31/2020.