Long Voodoo Poems
Long Voodoo Poems. Below are the most popular long Voodoo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Voodoo poems by poem length and keyword.
I think something's lacking!
I travel from place A to B
And what do I see?
A lot of heat and dust
All greenery gone to rust
And cracked landscapes proudly brag
Of wrinkles on a wizened hag!
Yes! Something's definitely lacking!
Sweat-strewn foreheads glisten bright
Sticky shirts and blouses seem that much tight
The only wetness that one gets to see
Is the acrid ooze from you and me.
Again, I feel that something's lacking.
It is the voodoo in the air
A shimmering haze of heat despair.
Like zombies all are beasts and men
Looking skywards, asking "When?"
Oh yes, I know what's lacking -
It is the sweet rain-laden breeze
Which freshen's all and greens the trees
Which smooths the land, breathes life afresh
Oh! The blessed Rain to ease Summer's stress!
Form:
In the heart of the swamp where the shadows creep,
Lives a witch in the mist, secrets buried deep.
With eyes like embers and hair like night,
She conjures her magic by flickering light.
The cypress trees whisper her name with dread,
As she weaves her spells on the souls long dead.
A cauldron bubbling with herbs from the bog,
Summoning spirits through smoke like a fog.
Voodoo dolls stitched with threads of despair,
Pinpricks of vengeance float heavy in air.
With a flick of her wrist and a chant on her lips,
She dances in circles; reality flips.
The moon casts its glow on her altar so bare,
Where offerings linger—bones twisted with care.
Each shadow that passes feels caught in her snare,
For love lost to hatred is never quite fair.
In whispers of wind that entwine through the reeds,
Are tales of betrayal and forgotten deeds.
Yet beneath all the darkness lies sorrow profound,
For even a witch wears chains tightly bound.
So tread lightly now if you wander this way;
Respect what’s been woven; let silence hold sway.
For within every spell there’s a story untold—
Of hearts that were broken and futures bought cold.
In the depths of the swamp where enchantments abound,
A dance with a witch may just turn you around.
Embrace all your fears as they spiral and swirl—
For magic still breathes in this haunted world.
I’m looking for a professional witch doctor right now.
I want him to make me a voodoo doll somehow.
I want that doll to look just like you.
You are going to pay for the things you do.
You looked like a lover, but one that was untrue.
I want to stick pins in that doll and make you feel pain.
This is what I want to do without refrain.
We appeared to be on the right road, but we hit a skid.
I want you to pay dearly for all the bad things you did.
That witch doctor is good. He even has free delivery.
If I buy one doll now, I get a second doll free.
The whole deal comes with a money back guarantee.
All I need is to have my credit card ready.
I’m getting even for all the trouble you gave me.
Just kidding. Please don’t take me seriously.
HE LAUGHED AT MY TEARS
AND CRIED WHEN I WAS HAPPY
HE SMILED WHEN I WAS ANGRY
AND THROW RICE WHEN
SHE REJECTED ME
SHE LIKED HIS STYLE
AND TOOK A LIKING TO HIM
WHAT HAD BEEN BETWEEN US
WAS ALL THEN RUINED
SHE ENJOYED THE LAUGHTER
WHEN OTHERS LAUGHED WITH HIM
THEY TARGETED MY SUFFERING
AND IT WAS PLEASANT FOR THEM
THEN WHEN THE WINDS OF SUMMER CAME
THEY PRAYED I'D SUFFER MORE
THEY NAILED VOODOO DOLLS
ON MY FRONT DOOR
A QUOTE FROM THE EVILEST OF SADIST
WAS PAINTED ON OUR WALL
LIFE IS FOR WINNERS, LOSERS MUST PAY
I KNEW IT WAS HIM,
BUT OTHERS SAID " NO WAY"
BUT THEY SAW HIS WRITING
AND TOLD ME
WHAT HE WROTE
"YOUR WOMAN IS MY WIFE
AND YOUR LIFE IS RUINED"
I STUMBLED AND FELL BREATH-TAKENED
TO BECAUSE WHAT I HAD SAID ALL ALONG
Havoc is when all hell is loose,
This night belongs to all of you...
To the pumpkins slashed into lanterns
“Stingy Jack” his trusty O’ hand returns.
Ne'er-do-wells started carving crude faces,
whose gutted innards a candle replaces.
To the black cats with yellow eyes
Screech and scratch with no alibis.
To the banshees of the ancient Celtic folklore
Wailing at death, deep red eyes, features worn to the core
To the monsters deformed and hunched back
Bolts, nuts, and green skin, lurching and ready to attack!
The night belongs to zombies revived by voodoo.
And by the necromancy practices that you may do
They the living dead who may walk amongst
Pay respect to them in mercy goe with you alongst!
To the goblins that go bump in the night, and ghosts
Wicked fairies and evil spirits their hosts
Grotesque goblettes vengeance they choose,
Invisible underneath white sheets shout boo's
To the witches and warlocks who enchant
Their wands and wide brim pointy hats so gallant
As practitioners evoking spells of black magic
Rootstock and smelly herbs stirred with a stick.
Boiling remnants of bones and lizards
Digesting glands of bird’s gizzards
To candy corn rich red, yellow and white
Kids walking from house to house, smiles so bright,
To the Trick or Treat screams and chants
If your dressed to scare plenty of candy it grants.
Trick or treat we will, without any fright,
Our Halloween night will surely be filled with delight.
Here we come to trick or treat.
Please give us some candy sweets.
*Goblettes - woman goblins
The Lost Bird In The Sky
Somewhere there sits a lone man
at a bar filled with lowlifes
lost in his thoughts
mad at the world
and at her
it's eight in the morning
and dawn is long past
and its eve's seat he'll now nurse
across the bar room
through the blinds, some sun peeks in
over the seedy rug
the sun drying the last cleansing
of a patron's puke
the musky smell the last of his worries
his eyes take in the bar
he intimates a hand gesture to other patrons
and a meaningless nod
indifferent to being friendly
matching the terrain
of the other lowlifes at the bar
all on crutches, it seems
on the wall
hangs pictures of storm clouds
black and ominous as his life
the first of his worries
him and his head always drooping
or were those pictures in his imagination
the music box plays a sad song
smoke gets in your eye
followed by lies
another sad song
stories of his life
accentuated
grabbing at him
his worries
her effect
how poetic, he smiles
him in effigy
through the smoke in his eyes
and more beer
he can clearly see her
with a voodoo doll in hand
sticking needles in him
maybe deservingly
if only he could tell her a story
he thinks better of his thoughts
and a pending epilogue
thirsting for sunshine instead
his eyes glance up at the women bartender
plain, plump, playful, pierced
sunshine for the moment
his lips, and tongue curl
his feet touch earth, seeing if it's still there
as she lumbers back and forth serving drinks
her backside sticking up like a beehive
and for a moment he wants to be a bee
he plays with his beer bottle
running his hands past it's neck
caressing, taking a sip
thinking of his past love
the softness of her neck
erect
her essence
of how pleasing it would be to touch her
her nest
if only he could be a bird for a moment
fly and be in flight with her
together in the sky
making baby birds
their innocence and first tweets
that would have been nice
now ... landed at a hole in a wall
his eyes and thoughts keep soring
he grabs more beer
more beer
pausing to grab some honey with his eyes
he keeps playing with his loose change
spinning a quarter
like watching her pirouette
again and again
she had that effect on him
connie pachecho
11/15/17
PARANORMAL
Zeny
Yokel
Xeno
Wizard, Woolley headed
Voodoo, Vagabond
Unicorn
Tyrant
Stupid, Surreal
Robot
Quirk
Pygmy, Pixy, Polygamy
Oberon
Narcissus, Narcotic, Nancy, Nightmare
Monster, Mermaid, Micky- Minnie
Logy, Loony, Lunatic
Kiekshaws, Kalki, Kibosh
Jack Frost, Jaunty, Jekyll and Hide
Idiot, Insane
Halloween, Hermaphrodite, Hyper, Hell
Ghost, Grumpy, Genome
Fairy, Frankenstein
Eden, El dorando, Electra
Dragon, Drug addict, Dwarf
Cupid, Club footed, Crazy
Belial, Bi sexual,
Abracadabra, Albino, Angel, Anima, Animus
12/27/21
' PARANORMAL
Contest by Robert James Ligouri
New Orleans is for night walkers
Ghost watchers, voodoo challengers
Sleep walkers carrying wine bottles
inside crumpled brown paper bags
Bourbon Street is ready for you.
I am here on a whim, finding my real self
My soul self that has been dead for two years
The one I left in Detroit one summer eve.
I linger in a white bed with fluffy pillows,
more than I deserve but less than I expected.
I am alone, for finding myself is encumbered enough
Without an audience or company. Smirk Smirk.
I have signed up for a midnight ghost walk but my age is calling.
I want a nap and it is only eight thirty.
I am pathetic now.
I used to be fun loving and creative and daring.
Now I am sluggish, sloth-like, a turtle walker.
I would slow them down; I reach for the phone to call
But it is up high and I am down here.
Holding a sign that says drink me, but the magic potion is up there too.
Higher than I can reach.
I try to scream but nothing comes out.
What kind of a dream is this anyway?
A pink rabbit wearing a red fez sashays past me.
Is this a rabbit hole then?
This world has become so depressing
cutting to the soul removing the rights of prayer
everyday listening to a gestapo styled media that tells nothing but lies
morning noon and night it speaks of nothing but misery
Under martial law pushing restriction after restriction
pandemic is the new scamdemic that poisons minds
turning neighbour against neighbour removing peaceful living
Chaos you are the virus silencing the truth from speaking
war is declared on those whom choose to live life in faith
this new age has put their beliefs squarely on a piece of fabric
God be merciful to us all as many characters have become judgemental
they talk like the voodoo doctors that support the culture of death
twisted science has no place in society attacking our personal choice
the past repeats itself only under different tactics
Liberals are not Holy
they are wolves dressed up as sheep pretending to care
this is just another exercise in abusing human rights
~
Flour on her hands, and centuries on her elbow
Fingers balance a 'hand-me-down' dish,
Roosting deftly on finger-tips, high in mid-air
Lovingly she spins it, magician's hands twirling
Trimming the edges with flourish and flair
A bit like Da Vinci' ,…a small tool in hand
Skillfully carving, as a blade skims the rim
Pieces of pie dough, will soon drop away
She is shearing the excess, and trimming the dough
That turn into ribbons…wouldn't you know?
You must use every scrap,…meaning just that!..
Waste not, want not…each morsel a prize
Rolling them flat to large walnut size
~
Spread thick the butter…nothing is better
A sprinkle goes here, a sprinkle goes there
Cinnamon sugar, please don’t be spare
Baking till golden, toasting next to the pie
A preview of magic, a taste of delight
How does she know it, ... this magic voodoo?
Lessons in chemistry, from so long ago
She had watched this drama unfold in her dreams
Unfolding and playing on her memory's screen
This silent black magic, will play once again
Although the old soundtrack, worn of it's skill
The warmth of old memories, will never be stilled…
Don't bother to ask, for recipe pages
It is magic at best....., so priceless the task
So sprinkled with love, and has passed through the ages