Long Covens Poems
Long Covens Poems. Below are the most popular long Covens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Covens poems by poem length and keyword.
Profits push political power,
As they gather to make plans.
Like witches in their covens each hour,
The power of black masses spans.
Increases industries interest, no Wall Street crashes,
Evil leaders plot devastations
Wizards cause frightening fire flashes,
War has struck all nations.
That of outrageous oblivion, they led.
Soldiers sacrificed so senseless.
Dutiful dying, deluded dead.
Sent them into war defenseless
Observed obscene onslaught,
The war pigs fail to surrender
Home in safe cozy houses they retort,
Get reports of ashes ascend to ember.
Soul’s senses smoldering, frustrated fiery feeling.
Anger at all atrocities, fire following fast.
Splinters spear so silently, no chance of healing.
How long will it last?
Do they think it's a game? War pigs started this war,
Remnants of where scared soldier's bodies lay.
Do we know the horrors they saw?
Soldiers, like brainwashed pawns didn't really want to play.
Is it to extend borders?
Day of reckoning will come to the pigs in charge.
Onward obeying orders.
Dutiful soldiers, their pride is large.
No contrition to comfort them.
The pigs on knees begging mercy for their sins, .
Verdict, Condemn!
The devil finds it amusing, when their pleading begins.
To see these cowards squirm
No reports of their punishment were ever in store.
When the time comes, but it will be firm.
War pigs, please tell me what is it we are fighting for?
This family I was born in was assigned to destroyed my life
I presently can't rent an apartment, be sheltered or work
So many lies has been told to keep me from prospering
Identity theft, fraud, forgery, false reports, and statements
PPP loan was collected, purchase of a Dodge Durango
I was involuntary and falsely institutionalized 10-31-20
Crimes committed in my name by strangers and family
A specific doctor was injecting me with poison
Attempts of murder on my life in many forms ie..
Motor accidents, hitmen, poisons, prescriptions, and
False diagnoses of Cancer twice; got me to cut off my breasts
Staged funeral to collect a false life insurance claim
Members of law enforcement, judicial, insurance agents
Bank and medical institutions, funeral directors, utility, military
United States Postal Services, masonic and eastern star cults
International criminals exploited women through HA programs
Catholic Non-Profit Humanitarians used homeless drug addicts and
prostitutes to gang stalk me hacked and traced all my devices
I have been followed and tracked my whole life. Fallen Angel System
I have been homeless since August 2023; no criminal records
No drug use, no affiliation to criminal social circles/ covens
No one will rent to me; the system or the narrative of my reputation
This system has came up against me all my life as I recollect
It has used vessels to ruin my character and my reputation
Those living with illusion of scarcity will do anything for money
AI/CGI was used to put me in places with people I never been
Strangers took pictures of me as they stalked me
They run me off jobs or can't get hire for any corporation
I'm not able to promote my art(paintings) to make a living
It's not appreciated that I was born to see through the illusions
People(Vessels), places, and things of a system that is leading
and deceiving this world of humanity down a history repeating
path of destruction of this Earth.
I am still surviving despite of everything that is happening!
I am innocent.
Flame-featured twilight, illuminate fast!
Young are the dreams of humanity vast!
Age is a mystery museums kept.
Poets and prophets in agony wept...
Core of the harpsichord, pyramid-shaped.
Moorlands and moonlight black lined and blue taped.
Volcanic spark flowing downward like wine.
Howl at the moon for a woman divine...
Thunderbolt, jolt! Once Red Hare was a colt!
Genius is golden? Deliver high volt!
Soar, O ye war-birds! O raptors, set out!
Whisper about what you're wanting to shout...
Hunting means compromise? Yes, I suppose.
Failure on such tour means feeding the crows.
Prey of tyrannosaurs, horror can lurk!
Hard work means shirking for average jerk...
Flickering foxfire, fan out on the fen.
Aim with thy arrows? Yes, but, then again;
Deadly are darts and stakes, to vampire hearts.
Flavors of arts and crafts, ticklish tarts.
Warrior, wild are the winter winds. Why?
Death by design, dragon! Dynamite, chide!
Werewolf, thy stride. Complied? Shiver inside!
Poisonous pride tends toward lion's pace plied...
Ergo, ye adept, respect roundabout.
Foxes in boxes where phlox grows en route.
Tyrants and archons in common sense stick!
Wicker man, nicker mare, ichor, thy chick...
Snail, leave thy trail glistening every morn.
Hatchet handle, glow with blood. O slughorn;
Send home a sign that the battle is won?
Call out their champion and it's begun...
Blossoming honeysuckle and ivy?
Castles obscured by the shine of the sea.
Mountains are dinosaurs? Some think so, yes.
Hell and Heaven just might bless what we guess.
Breaker point setting up warnings to tell?
Much like covens mean witch casting spell.
Gaslight, point elsewhere! Sharp rocks in the reef!
Heading to nowhere, O fabled belief...
Bubbling babbling burbling banter from the bar..
Sup hush….memory lane trip...Proustian rush..pleasingly tickled.
Plushly ebbed…spidery beer swirls webbed…lace whirls..grace dimpled dappled jar..
Perch...parched pagans besmirch..sip...druid fluid drip..Iris’s secular church..
Venerate yesteryear dips…commemorate Faustian fillips....teasingly pickled..
Smug treacle toned thatch rugs hugs sturdy slabs.. shrugs..
Tugs tussling tree torn trusses and trestles....
Trumpets tradition.. crisp crumpets in flames..sedition flickering..
Like sassy strumpets calling each other names…playfully bickering..
Remember the surreal cast….gayfully ethereal echoes..
Beacons blush in the embers of the past..
Classy pubs dripping with polished pewter.. parochial paraphernalia…ballsy brass...
Crepuscular charms. splinters splicing smokey shadows..
Wafting whispers.. across tobacco tinted tainted times..
Whistles whetted..quaffing…quenching ...cavorting with crannies..
Carousing with nooks naked in timber flannelled panels..
Canoodling on fecund bulbous bales farm foraged.. freshly fashioned...
Flirtatious follicle flicks....gurgling guffaws, raffish rascals' whisky whimsy..
Courting curious covens..sporting prosecco cackle cacophonies.
As sons become dad..in turn perched with their lad..
Lady lawyer betwixt a pimpled tyro…local employer, bumpkin on the giro..
Museums of marvels.. hoodwink misplaced metaphors..
Laced with a house pour of moreish memories of before..
That without impunity the nub of a pub..
The bar.. a community hubbub hub..
Gracious Landladies…loquacious Landlords..
Sagacious stars...near and far..
We raise our jar.
For our home from home..
A public house..
Ta..
Amnesia
... or impaired memory?
Jezebel stood firm before my eyes!
Behold Her Imperial Ruthlessness!
And her bosom, harbouring bile,
Was bleached like lightning.
Arachnid fingernails mock the efforts
Of talons from revelling vultures.
Eyes pierced my brows with lasciviousness
So atrocious like the willpower of romantic gales.
And I saw her bathing in full nakedness
Upon rocks of blood,
Naked with the accoutrements of raw power.
And she bathed with inebriation.
Power is like alcohol which intoxicates only
Those who have tasted it.
A panting rill rustled like vagrant, charred leaves
Around her cold, naked feet.
Jezebel.
Whiter than horrid death!
Night,
And she sequesters.
Sublime, the existence,
Merging with night, with
Mirrored glances atop arid waters.
Her flesh reeked of baked blood;
Subcutaneous imprints live on her.
Jezebel,
Mother of termagants,
Rector of covens,
Ancillary to Devil’s cantonment
Hater of suffragans,
Hasten upon these hills
Before the break of dawn...
It’s dawn.
Day of Jezebel’s atonement
And blood cluttered upon solemn boulders
And upon harmless pebbles,
Upon sapphire and onyx,
And upon flaming gold and eerie silver.
Mad moments of pulsations!
Tremors and heat of hanging day,
Eruptions on Pompeii’s rage,
Adrenalin aerated beyond
Flirting clouds dancing with the greed of
Sorrow.
In the dead of night veils uplift on Mid Summer's Eve,
still a time for a few live sacrifices, so tread warily.
A time when briefly the gates of hell can open
and unworldly things spew forth intent on evil.
Mid Summer Night dreams can come to pass
most oft to those who's hearts are true and pure.
A night of extremes, of evil versus good, and
of the fires of covens and black magic.
A night where Pan himself comes forth
playing his Pipes with gleeful skirls.
Tempting and enticing the unwary souls
with false promises and exciting dreams.
Goddesses of Light dance around in circles
their task to push back the evils of hell
to allow departed lovers to hold their beloved
for a fleeting moment to love once more.
The Long Last Summer’s Past
By David J Walker
The shrilled ring of the
School bell
Was the first call of
The last days of another
departed summer
The boys laced on new
Tennis shoes
The girls tried on
New dresses
The sleepy heads of those
Who could not sleep , who could not
Keep their eyes closed in
Anticipation of the first day of classes
The farm like crop-rows of kids
In school yards
Forming lines of covens of
Familiar faces
It was all a tradition of
The next Fall
And the comfort of
A needed belonging
And now,
So far away from that place
In a distant time
And space
There is a longing
To again line up by class
And nervously giggle
In the voices of children
Singing the anthem
Pledging allegiance
Proclaiming AMEN to
A prayer
That begins another
Day of learning
The yesterdays of
Schoolboys and schoolgirls
And daydreams of
Natural yearnings
Of the long last
Summers past
The mine drowned the holler,
many reallocated
to trailer parks along the Interstate.
The school dwindled,
ran out of children
became a garage for dead trucks,
then a beer barn, then a Meth lab,
bubbling feuds resurfaced -
shotguns aimed at open secrets.
Oxycontin mules crisscrossed cricks.
After the sheriff left with a bag of money
the missing went unreported.
The ‘Craft’
(a legend as ancient as flint arrowheads),
emerged from clapboard covens
ginseng and moonshine were sacrificed
for white powder.
Glocks flourished among the Hummel’s.
Traditions persisted
like red paint on wooden signs.
An outbreak of opaque cottage industries,
led to skins inked with blood oaths.
Old women retreated into the mountains
with their recipes.
Spirals of distant smoke
rose from iron cooking pots,
no one spoke of the children.
Under the brittle bright cold moon, ice
cold skies far above clouds fly
the metallic worms bore deeply into my side
they are made by no one but
me and only me alone
there on the street under the shadows
a loaded gun
smoking from my deed
the worms turn to burrow deep, they have won
turning burning deeper into my side
my mind tries to realize
but it is too late
there in the street in shades of ink
a loaded gun
smoking spent shells from deeds done
deep and alone something lies there in a heap
as a sky grows cold under
the rise of crystal dawn, a coming sun
as dark thunderheads loom
then it begins is to sleet
A bitter icy rain
under a tyrannical eye
of a dying silver silence
sliding sideways to horizon
secret crows in covens gather
a murder of my thoughts
That started to fade
my eyes blur blue
images turn
as worms begin to burn
as the piercing dawn grows
The metallic worms bore deeply
deeper into my side, the pain
they are made by no one but one
and that is me and only me alone
watching the shadows run from
a cooling gun
Deeper under a raw rising son
as the clouds tumble away
under the brittle bright cold, risen son
Warmth coming (to none)
clearing skies far above clouds lingering…
Watching my soul drift away!
Trouble, trouble stirs the wind
ghastly ghosts rise and ascend
warty toads croak
vile spells are spoke
witches’ covens evil intend
Burbling, gurgling cauldron hot
with purple vein, red blood clot
virgins hopeful eyes
fear and dread belies
throw them in and stir the pot
Screeching, screaming banshee songs
garish ghouls with pointy prongs
mulish mummies
reeking rummies
to evil spirits the night belongs
Trembling, tremoring witches fear
townsfolk are coming too near
sticks and stones
fire bemoans
the end becoming too clear
Freaking, shrieking their cry drums
slicing the air with its thrums
unwilling to face
they cut to the chase
quickly flee to save their bums