Long Enchanter Poems
Long Enchanter Poems. Below are the most popular long Enchanter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Enchanter poems by poem length and keyword.
(A lone voice whispers by candlelight)
In a dark dream,
Every night
In The Great In-Between,
Whenever I dream
It's always the same
I hear you scream
"I'm here"
In your soft pulsating voice
Just hidden unseen
Not wanting to be seen
Then right out of the darkness and void
Above that darkness's noise emanating such fantastical heat
You appear like a half ghost in my midnight street and as my heart beats faster
You take my hand and lead me deeper in The Hereafter
Hidden still by the shadows,
Bend low and whisper
"Call me Madam Astor
This realm's Pastor"
And as your sharp fingertips play a deep country tune across my skin
As my astral sweat drips faster
Whenever my eyes start to spin and my soul speaks out and pleads to sin
You dig your nails in
Even deeper into my skin and whisper
"Soon
So soon, I'll come to you in that quiet bedroom
For the last time
In two days after the fall of the midnight king, and the rise of the morning spring
I'll return to sing in this realm's unspoken rhymes, to make your spirit and eyes spin
One last time
Then fireworks will announce you're mine"
And then you're gone
Letting go of my hand
Leaving me standing alone at the gateway to The Blue Portal
The way back to the land of living mortals
Gone with that soft pulsating goodbye ringing throughout my mind
Like church bells
But I can feel it's going to be soon you'll return
As time undeniably does fly
When you've been marked by a spell
Somewhere in that places darkness
The Hereafter
For I've got goose pimples on my skin
And tonights the fall of the midnight king and the rise of the morning spring
And deep down I know
You'll soon return
So hear this my call
I'm ready to take one last walk
With you
My dream enchanter from The Great In-Between
Madam Astor
My soul's attractor and captor
The Great In-Between's
Ghostly Pastor
My beloved wife
Who I once loved in the land of the living before Death
Quietly crept up and grabbed her
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
HAVEN INTRO.
*I am a lover of vampire stories and movies. So, I have decided to try it on for size,
and create a free verse series, on my own conjuring Vamp love story…Hope you
enjoy!! ~Miranda~
NOTE: a new chapter will be added once a week, stay tuned!
Aberration defines this creature
He walks among us all
Although he blends quite well
Is only seen at nightfall…
>“Master DeRay, I’ve found doubt in myself,”
Says Tate, in cold confusion
“My eyes beheld a beauty, her blood…
Smelled so luxurious, I WANTED IT,
I YEARNED for it, but some urge against myself
Restricted me from her taste…”
His mind pondered his words- he uttered slowly,
“…as if she was favored against me.”
DeRay alarmed, sifted swiftly toward Tate
Face so filled with hatred
Scornful looks, that could pierce Tate’s granite form.
“So you’ve been consumed by infatuation, eh…”
Words like venom from the tongue
“An ignited flame in the devil him self:
The enchanter has been enchanted.
Have you reached the un-dead senile age?”
DeRay belted a screech of laughter
From the pit of his empty stomach…
“Ah, but the strong finds his weakness…
After 335 long years…
What do you propose I do with you now?”
Tate leans closer, his eyes a twisted noir
“ What do you wish...master…brother?”
A taunt towards DeRay, as he whispers the reply,
“ Leave me Tate, I ban you from this court,
If I see you again, you know I must
Bring your everlasting life to it’s end”
Tate shot a saddened glare
Which brought shivers to DeRay’s spine
“I will not stand below you DeRay,
Your power, Is an equal to mine. Just as you say
We can’t feel, yet I do,
I will show you we can live without
The need to kill.”
DeRay turns to respond,
But, Tate obeyed his will.
A young woman he seeks.
An un-beating heart fulfilled….<
NEXT****Chapter 1: Miss Raliegh Eila Beydritch
Est. submit date: 3/18/2011 6 pm
SCOTLAND
Very big sign on highway A1 going southways
Out of Scotland into England,
Painted with thistles, tartans, bagpipes, says
“Haste ye back to bonnie Scotland”.
The other side of road has a small squat
Stone saying one word - “England” - and that’s that.
I am not Scottish: there’s nobody perfect about.
But I’m the closest thing to I reckon:
I am a Geordie, a Scot with brains knocked out.
But mother often told me I was not born -
But conceived in Scotland - the Trossachs;
But nevertheless, still one of the Sassenachs.
I know Scotland as well as I know my hand:
Have crossed the mighty Forth bridges countless times,
Know the “charms” of Dundee’s sandstone tenement-land,
Breakfasted at the huge dining table with clock chimes
In Carbisdale Castle youth hostel, at ease;
And sawed logs for firewood from its fir trees.
I’ve hitched with Glaswegian drivers on the Campsie Moors
And listened to their pleasant chatter
In heavy dialect for twa hoors
Without understanding a word, for that matter;
And often had a dram and been merry
With the crewmen on the Ballachulish ferry.
The fact is that Scotland is the most
Beautiful part of the world I’ve ever known
And the Scots are a warm generous host
Always pleased to help a stranger on his own.
A pub-reading of Burns’ Tam O’ Shanter
From a soft Scots lilt is a real enchanter.
And when you go south on the A1,
All you find is just England.
That’s probably why they want
You to haste back to their bonnie land.
Kilts and haggis, the list is endless:
And while you’re there you won’t be friendless.
The rolling hill leads to the castle wall
The fresh air and beauty of the landscape brings ache to your soul
The wall leads past the meadow to mountainous pass
Before the traveler there is sea of grass
There is a huge oak on top of the hill
Its energy and spirit traveler can feel
As the traveler sits underneath the towering oak
In his essence divine energy traveler will soak
Traveler has in his hand a tasty fruit
And in the other a flute
He begins to play the flute
The power of his music even Gods cannot dispute
If one listens closely one can hear cheetah chase gazelle on distant shore
One can hear Lion and Tiger Roar
One can hear exploding volcano set the land on fire
Or most beautiful face of a women which fills with wild desire
But the true beauty
Of the symphony
Its true majesty
Only a careful ear can hear and eye see
The music transcends time and space
And puts the listener in dream like place
It lifts him beyond the writing of laws of imagination
Into magical incantation
Beyond entropy beyond time
Into absolutely sublime
It brings forth divine desire
Until your very soul is on fire
But even that is not enough to write one’s own destiny
However if this magic is not enough to design destiny
How powerful would be magic that gives the enchanter the key
To have full control of his destiny
And this ability is found in music of this flute
That can spring to playing constellation of Lute
And all this is a base
To launch spirit with its music to owned by clock master of purple light place
The gray bearded wizard in its night blue cloak,
two ravens and a wolf are his recognition flock.
He has the ability to shape shift from the dead,
into animals speaking the language of same is said.
In midwinter nights he is leading a furious host called Wotan,
occupying ritual haunted burial cemeteries of man.
Legends proclaiming Odin’s procurement and decision.
giving his eyes to the underworld to gain mystical vision.
Laying with giantess and guarding the mead of inspiration,
teaching them the runes rock interpretation.
He paradoxical sacrifices himself suspended in a tree,
grasping from its roots transcendent secrets to see.
The seeds of the world tree itself crystallized,
giving those revelation when health is devitalized.
Wondrous feats of magic from the seat of the chanter,
divinations and prophesies by the runes enchanter.
The runic lore considered as sturdy essence,
pervading the field of divine consciousness .
The invisible soul of the world and its spirit breath,
the deep azure of infinite space and no death.
Embodying prana extended psyche,
divine madness by which magic is the high key.
Odin’s mind in humanity with godly revelation,
bringing fort the wisdom from Woden’s Wain constellation.
The hooded lord and animal whisperer of good right,
mighty Odin reveals the transcendent second sight.
Whisper secrets rune stone tell and knowledge to desire,
timeless runic myths through eternal ice and fire.
Horse
Sixteen point three hands high sparkled with sparkles
with a sparkling bay colour covering his coat
shimmering in even the darkest of the darkles
every part of him had a shimmering mote
a white mane that shines with shinning confidence
shines in the breeze with sparks of shine
scintillating skin which scintillates his somnolence
makes me scintillated on top of his spine.
Gleamed with a gleaming personality that’s bold
stands out through his gleams of gleaming content
glittering playfulness in the sun glitters gold
making glitters express jubilation to no extent
happiness glistens from humans around him
glistening while he glistens his manicured hooves
his glowing blithe glows from every limb
which glows glowing specimens every time he moves.
Twizzles fly when he trots dazzling footprints
as he twizzles smoothly into twizzle-less canter
tactical movements tactically give no hints
when tactics win his magical enchanter
his spotless saddle twinkles the rider
to twinkle them both into twinkling stars
a perfect showjumper tenably a glider
reaching tenable levels spectacularly to mars.
Harriet Louisa Ward
30/07/2021
NEW POEMS ONLY
‘Finding Your Muse’ Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
From Maidum staired beginning
Walk me north to Cairo
But keep your eyes on the pole star
The moon meanders like a whore
From year to year waxing bright
From bed to bed in spans of light
Her cycles wane in short decades
Across the desert of Chaco's memories.
Return to Dashur, Saqqara, and Giza
And mark how each gradual change
Make us more strange.
The more we change the more we differ
So now I understand
The fear of tomorrow
This stranger at the door
Of the comfort zone,
This unknown seducer
This piping enchanter to the precipice
Where the broken pots
Like gullible pilgrims are impaled on faith
Now I understand
Why some would dare appease
The coercion of the sun.
We are mortal,
Something more than mere matter
More than mere Olmec
Toltec, Aztec, Mayan Semites
Change make us strange
The Pueblo came
Wandering from the Euphrates
Driven like sand
Before the rough winds of Gentiles coming
Came with the Nile in their blood
And found the Mississippi
Like a serpent sleeping in the swamps
And from their mound
Made a diagonal across the world
A scatter graph of belongings
We are all the blood of the river
Sperm of the life giver
Obsession of the stalking lover
with unseen bloody fingers she sings a melody but with
purely visual aesthetic and woos even the strictest stoic
& with subtle soft petal bells hanging,
now 2 years old, standing nearly 8 feet tall
you may very well want to reach out and touch,
stroke her texture
drawing your index up the back of her slender stem,
engulfed in the passion of the moment
you may even draw a bell and bite down with eyes closed,
tilting your head back in anticipation of
euphoria,
only to be disappointed (as we are so very often in our short existence),
as instead of a hallucination of poignant pleasure-filled
paradiso,
the digitalis begins the dizziness, the irregular heartbeat & the
all out
bad trip that will take its toll on you
sooner than later,
bring you down low to the level of the
forgotten
as the witch strangles your gasping throat with her gloves &
the
dead man’s bells clang---
another one bites the grounded gilings, grime & granular
grit,
all spinning around
your eyes flickering in a haze
to the broken rhythm of those final heartbeats as the
sun goes down.
To the closest call she responds with her resilient wolf’s howl.
Understanding and realizing the hook for what it is.
An Icarus full of cockiness and bold flair
daring her to draw closer to the sun.
He casts his spell against the natural laws,
trying to entrap her naïve passions.
When running, he chases.
Her only recourse, to turn and face
the predator from within her.
Having escaped the predator’s grasping talion’s,
she has a deeper intuitive drive
to shield her creative fire from destruction.
The young maiden’s well-honed senses and heightened hearing
will forewarn her of his presence in her woods.
His lonely quest for redemption is recognized
for the clever trap it is, set against the way things are.
Her youthful exuberance cannot lead her to danger.
No longer lingering prey to the enchanter will she be.
She has developed a maturity, not the guileless follower
of any pretty jewel that appears.
Instead she tends her fire well,
creating her own palace within the world as it is.
Who can view me behind the fence ferrous!
Those infiltrating eyes bear me desirous!
Unveiling what was previously hidden.
Keeping this same watcher has striven.
I figure you should say, "What's in plain view!"
Penny for your ideas as they decay in a dark row.
Truth is a precursor to the hotly slated freedom.
The spilling from torn gum is giving a storm!
Am I a true enchanter worthy of notice?
I feel you crying, so please, let me focus.
I never set up in front of an audience.
I starve to escape the irritating sequence.
But does it work to retain me from leaving?
This clutter adds to the overall styling.
Do they have any considerable difference?
Do I cave in, or do I dazzle with my openness?
What has me scared! How am I striving to hide?
None, however, can bear reality inside.
After the Inquest, I cast the net vast and bleak.
Induce them all to cave up the skill to peek!
Written: October 3, 2021