Long Deadly nightshade Poems
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The Great Witches Bake Off is here again
Bakes so weird some have no name.
So fierce it was to be the winner,
The prize is fame, on Lucifer's underworld twitter.
Laughing and cackling but alert and suspicious
Each convinced their bake, unique and delicious.
Erin was making a blood drizzle cake
Three pints of pigs blood is what it would take.
Weevils were left in that thrived in the flour
Add three rancid eggs for a flesh rotting aroma.
Sprinkles of gun powder to help make it rise
But don't breath it in for your eyes would triple in size.
Val was attempting bubble and squeak pie
Every mouse could be heard, that is no lie.
A bubble collection of freezed dried frog spawn
Mix in some feathers from a unwilling white swan.
A few bunches of hemlock, carrots, turnips and greens
The poison so hot, you could hear screams from your spleen.
Wilma was busy stuffing a dozen bat heads,
With slivers of blood veins torn into threads.
Bat crumble with a topping of air fried bat legs,
Which gives a harsh crunch and a gross looking sealed edge.
Served with a dollop of deadly nightshade ice-cream
So potent you would hallucinate kindness in dreams.
Fairy cakes were made by cousin Nell,
Who was expelled when she was caught casting a spell.
The wings of dead fairies placed on top of her bakes,
Escaped out the window exposing her cheating mistake.
She cursed, swore revenge as she was escorted out
A witch trial there be, there be no doubt.
Who did win? who claimed the prize?
It was Maggie the cat with her eye-spy-berry surprise.
For Frankie Stein Horner had hid in a dark corner,
As Maggies assistant and back stabbing informer.
Their deal was a lifetime of pies, for that was his dream
As Maggie quietly purred whilst licking her got cream.
18.10.24
Walk along the leafy paths dappled with shade
turn over a rock or two and watch the scurrying
as little insects scatter looking for some covering
finding it underneath some sticks and a grass blade
Sit quietly and just listen to the song birds singing
with music and beauty they fill the forest glade
then walk down to the gurgling stream and wade
cooling feet in its crystal water with lots of splashing
Turn over the leaf of a fern and see the spores clinging
watch the leaves waving in the breeze as they are frayed
then some red deer fawns bucked, frolicked and played
not seeming to care who was there, jumping and springing
Squirrels chattering angrily as they send nuts down in a cascade
bombarding all who pass by, they seem to lie, hidden and waiting
to catch unsuspecting walkers as they explore without disturbing
taking care to preserve the wafts of bluebells and deadly nightshade
Wandering onwards seeing the silky cocoon of a future butterfly cacheted
and mushroom rings surround the tall trees mystical and captivating
some plain, many with multi-coloured spots in sunshine glittering
old oak trees stand in splendour with leafs of emerald, turquoise and jade
Arriving at the banks of the lake surrounded by the forest glade
this place of mystery and tranquillity, no need of further searching
all one could ask for, spread out in glorious array that is so fitting
walking home I am content that into the magical forest today I strayed
written 03/13/2014
contest: The Magical Forest
[written for ‘If I Were’ contest, but not entered because, well, I just couldn’t help myself]
If I were a seagull, I’d sit in a tree
I’d poop on the flower that sits beneath me
(A pretty good shot, I think you’d agree)
While humans decide what to give me for tea
Those humans think I belong close to the sea
And yet they all give me my supper for free
It’s real easy pickings but I have one plea
Don’t keep all the good stuff for your family
Your BLT sarnies inspire in me lust
I let you come near me, I show so much trust
It’s always the same, it’s not fair and not just
For you eat the bacon and I get the crust
I sing my song for you, you cover your ears
As though I awaken your primeval fears
And one tiny poo in your lunch leads to tears
But while you’re distracted, I sample your beers
***
If I were a flower beneath a tree
And some f*cking seagull sh*t upon me
I’d scatter my pollen all over his tea
My name’s Deadly Nightshade, I’m wild and I’m free
***
If I were a tree and my seagull got sick
From eating the pollen from some little pr*ck
That grew in my shade where people picnic
I’d say that somebody was taking the mick
But why should I care, I’m a tree, the name fits
I stand here and get to see so many t*ts
And when a bus comes, it’s a big double decker
For people have heard that I've got a wood pecker
Written on April 13th 2025 for Sara Jama's Prompt The Cold Embrace of Death
Reverberated within the empty chambers of my soul,
As I soak my skin in a clawfoot tub, drowning in my sorrows.
Daring the waves to wash me away,
I lay barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of Merlot.
Dismembered voices and I shared a night of haunting memories,
As suppressed trauma resurfaces,
My life flashes before my very eye,
Murmurs of a soft lament of what could have been.
At that moment, I was drunk with clarity,
As I swashed the bottle swirling, a whirlpool of emotions.
The red-stained taste of tomorrow’s regret coated my lips;
In this state and plane of existence, my ghosts and I find solace
In our shared suffering.
I ask the Lord for respite from the unyielding ache
Of unrequited love,
Lying in stillness, for I am but a cast of your shadow,
Like a wilting deadly nightshade.
Breathless without rays of love to quell me,
Forgotten upon a dusty shelf,
Hexed by Eros’s wayward lovelorn arrow,
Left to wander this plain perplexed.
Pondering if you were both in cahoots,
All the while, the unbearable ache of my burgundy beating chambers
Spills into the tub.
Then slowly,
I sip,
I drip,
I slip,
Into,
The cold embrace of death.
Beauty bows and surrenders at her bare feet,
The gold glitters jealous of her glowing skin,
Her bright eyes light embers of passion within,
Men yield to her will!
Warriors clang their weapons to fight to die,
Flags with horseman fly, write history again,
While sat in emerald throne, she rules their minds,
With potion of love!
Is there a poison more deadly than such love?
A woman to whom the Roman empire bows,
Juice of poison berry* she put in own eyes,
He who loves her - dies!
Mighty Caesar or Anthony were like clay,
Their tirades, history fade in her presence,
They lost in war, lost in her love, end by knife,
She put Asp to breast!
Sapphic stanza Poetry contest
Sponsor Edward Ibez
Date 08/July/2020
Cleopetra used poisonous berries or the deadly nightshade juice( medicinal name Atropa belladonna) that yields Atropine which causes dilatation of the pupils. Was used in her time to make the eyes dreamy, innocent and beautiful! Hence the name “Bella = lady, Donna= beautiful)
Clutched jaw, grinding teeth against pulp,
until ash and blood coat a deadened tongue.
The nightsong quiets—a pulsating silence encapsulates the land
as I walk up to a pyre built of withering dreams and deadly nightshade.
The cold, bitter air brushes against protruding flesh.
Looking toward the skies, faith stripped and shamed,
I climb and take my place among my ancestral spirits.
The silence of the night breaks, with chants of *Burn the witch* filling the void.
Leering eyes and foaming mouths scream obscenities my way.
But even among this fanatic freakshow, I hold on to my dignity.
I do not let them see the fear festering beneath my eyes,
nor does my lip quiver.
With insurmountable strength, I hold my head high
as I watch the torches preparing to set me ablaze.
Closing my eyes one final time, I breathe in everything I have ever held dear.
Memories flood—of loves lost and gained,
of the changing seasons,
of my connection to this glorious earth.
I can feel the flames licking at my feet now.
But I will not scream,
for my resurrection will come soon enough.
And in mortal men
we often find, in the end,
we are our own mortality.
In that we drive the spitfire beast of ambition into the sun
to dance among stars
with the reins in our hands like firey wings
and control lying limp beneath our legs.
In search for the supremacy, of justice and truth,
through mastery of sheilds and inflections
imposed by the perceptions and delusions of a conceived reality,
and the illusions they inspire.
Tantalizing, they breed the bitter coils of regret with the face of such obscenities as lust and pain,
and watch their offspring bloom as the evening primrose and deadly nightshade quick
like a promise.
That time then leaves no room for fathers
or Fathers, nor are their hearts swollen enough for mothers to wrap
their leathery wings around their throats
and kiss them with familiarity cold on her lips.
Just lessons, drunken in through needles and swords and words tipped with poison on the breath,
seep through the heavy condensation of nonsensical speak and falsified craze.
And in this game of thrones,
death is the jester
and all hail the King.
black snakeroot, yew, cocklebur, poison (ivy, oak, parsnip, sumac, ryegrass, hemlock), blister bushes, daffodil, mayapple, lilium, jerusalem cherry, indian licorice, deadly nightshade, christmas rose, bleeding heart, asparagus berries, wolfsbane, tomato leaves, doll’s eyes, the suicide tree, young larkspur, blue-green algae, stinkweed, dumbcane, european spindle, blind-your-eye mangrove, manchineel, laburnum, mother of millions, elderberry root, bacterial pathogens, exotoxins, mycotoxins, grayanotoxins, rhinovirus, chicken pox, sleeping sickness, cholera, yellow fever, typhoid, rotavirus, river blindness, measles, japanese encephalitis, hepatitis (a,b & c), cryptosporidiosis, shigella infection, pneumonia, meningitis, tuberculosis, schistosomiasis, malaria, influenza, herpes (1 & 2), crab louse, scabies, chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, chancroid, trichomoniasis, hpv, hiv/aids, ebola virus, marburg virus, mad cow disease, mudslides, avalanches, blizzards, storms, cyclones, hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes, earthquakes, floods, fires, supervolcanic eruptions: evidence of absence.
Weightlessness
My soul floats "along with the thunder,"
Saturated with impending rain,
Scattered back throughout the earth,
Lost among ancient ruins and countless seas.
I awaken, feeling hollowness within my quivering heart.
Frantically getting dressed,
The front door blows open—
Listening to its siren's call.
Piece by fragile piece, I must absorb it back into my mortal coil.
Hike through deadly nightshade-tangled forests,
Sleep amongst somber bones in graveyards of contrition,
Push through arid, combusting deserts,
Swim through the waters of paranoia—
Riptides of mentholated melancholy.
Watch as the embers of dawn settle into the ashes of dusk.
Build a golden pyre upon the jaded shale,
Lay my weary bones on the cleansing flames,
Until I rise anew from the ashes,
Never again to be confined within corroded psychosocial cages.
I knew
she was poison,
but
as a young man
with jug ears
and pimples
I gladly held out my glass
for more
deadly nightshade.
She said
she liked poetry
but
it was obvious
she had no taste
for mine,
nevertheless
I give it a shot
and when
I had done
I sensed a door
in her
mind
slamming shut
She was a
beauty
and far too
lovely
to be seen
with me
so
we ended up
at her place
a small
apartment
saturated
with the funk
of joss sticks.
She read me
some poetry
of her
own
occasionally
glowering my way
to see if I were
paying attention,
it seemed obvious
that I had failed her test.
No
- no sex
we had
a 1 on 1
counseling session,
I was the hapless client,
and
quickly judged
unfit
to imbibe
her special
shade of
toxin.