Long Witchcraft Poems
Long Witchcraft Poems. Below are the most popular long Witchcraft by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Witchcraft poems by poem length and keyword.
Book I: The Summons of the Muse
O Muse, descend from lofty starry sphere,
And lend thine aid to sing what men hold dear:
Not wars of kings, nor blood on Pharsal’s plain,
But forks and spoons that strove for sovereign reign.
When knives did rule the board with iron hand,
And lentils leapt like rebels through the land,
There came a wight from future’s secret shore,
Who brought strange engines ne’er beheld before.
“Behold,” quoth he, “these prongs of tempered might,
Shall pierce thy meats and set thy board aright!
No more shall broth upon thy toga stray,
Nor figs escape like traitors in dismay.”
The Senate stared: “What witchcraft dost thou bring?
A trident small? Is that Neptune’s petty thing?”
Book II: The War of Utensilia
Then spoons advanced with bowls of rounded grace,
And forks with prongs did storm the festive place.
The knives, aghast, their empire rent in twain,
Cried, “Shall these toys our sovereignty disdain?”
As Mars himself, with crimson helm and shield,
Beheld the fray upon the banquet field,
He cried to Jove: “What madness dost thou see?
Shall mortals war for broth and fricassee?”
Then Jove, with laughter shaking heaven’s dome,
Declared: “Let forks and spoons have place in Rome!
For knives alone breed chaos, stains, and strife—
Give order now to Caesar’s dinner life!”
So thunder rolled, and lightning flashed on high,
While spoons sang hymns and forks let prongs fly.
The knives fell back, their edges dulled with shame,
And cursed the hour that forks to Rome first came.
Book III: The Feast and the Folly
The traveler laughed: “My work is near complete—
Rome shall not fall to stew upon the seat!”
He dreamt of fame, of statues carved in gold,
Of Cicero declaiming, grave and bold:
“Behold the man who civil order wrought,
And tamed the chaos of the Roman pot!”
Yet Fate, that jester, played a cruel device:
He spilled his wine and paid the final price.
The toga stained, the Senate roared with mirth,
And Nero sang: “A fork hath slain his worth!”
So sing we now of him whose fork did reign,
While Nero sung an ode to spoons in vain.
~Bells of Saint Mary's~
Oh, the joy of being young!
When those phenomenal bells
so joyfully rung!
And I, in patent leather Mary
Janes,
Ate Tootsie Rolls as if in a now
forgotten dream.
Staring at the mosaic, stunning
tall window panes.
How we loved playing games so
divinely innocent!
But now, by His Majesty,
"Political Correctness",
To the bin of "Forbidden" have
all been sent.
Do I think the world is better
today?
Not from me, will you ever hear
a boisterous, "Hurray!"
Most joyfully we buried God and
His commands.
Instead, we fall on our knees to
adore sparrows and men?
We cheer for all manner of
witchcraft!
As to how to live, besieged
online like moral sieves.
Not realizing it is we destroying
this world, with godless incantations.
This demon's footprints show
up in our poetry, alas!
When we adore the most foolish
things.
As for us, no time for the Creator
do we have.
And in our Poetry, we are careful
of His name, not to sing.
Some do not know this world
has an end date, just as we.
They think there is no Judgement
Day coming!
So they worry about things they
cannot control!
When it is their very soul at stake.
We are free spirits who deride
any God connection,
Most don't want it, as they
made themselves gods.
The mirror and their works,
their morality, is never in
question.
They have with pomposity
Hung God out to dry.
And honor only a moon and the
twinkling sky?
I'd love to hear the Bells of
Saint Mary's again.
When God s words were valued
far more.
Than those that come from my
mere mortal poet's pen!
August 24, 2019
Form:
Restless is the ghostly inky night,
whilst the full moon hangs in possession,
drenching the encompassing
fields of living with blood lunar light.
Enthralling hour of All Hallow's Eve
in frenzy clangor.
A shrill whistle in the distance
of alien presence, stalking with trickery,
abduction, and murder,
behest by spirits through the night.
Witchcraft and diabolical possession
demon, lantern-bearers guardians
of the great gate of Halloween.
Take heed those that are brave enough
to be out in the dark,
lanterns in the hands
of trembling fingers, and stumbling steps.
Take any beyond dire cautionary
warnings of dangers of shadows
and ghost that linger.
Don't stare paralyzed
at yellow eyes that shine
luminously in the dark,
with fear or killed by the bite
of the charismatic vampires.
Muffled and raspy breathing
of the grotesque lycanthrope
heartbeat pulse, steady and strong
fighting and feasting
on debris of flesh that were not human.
11/4/2020
Halloween Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
had to make a couple of corrections
alien, blood, cautionary, vampires, trickery, abduction,* paralyzed , Halloween,*feasting,*diabolical
He plays the chords with his blue depression
still searching for true loves heart expression
Though there is praise for this worlds celebrity
true satisfaction from there will never be
There those extol the merits of your voice
or the fantasy of ones visionary choice
ones merit to run with company so grand
or be courtesan to the leader of the band
Can such a person ever truly see
be freed from the snares of this society
reject philosophy and understanding realize
seek for all the truth and for its prize
The concept of purity can he ever hold
reject the hype that these teachings sold
escape the prison of pride and vanity
the pursuits of the world and its insanity
All of these issues we have had to face
the system is designed for humanities disgrace
liquids full of poison forced ingestion sup
the table of corruption with its broken cup
Oh how the gold of vanity has shined
and its thought adulterated and unrefined
the glitter of those lies have truth polluted
with the leaven of the religions instituted
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Gal 5
19 The works of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; 20idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions 21 and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.
22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. 24 Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. 25 Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.
Rev 22
12 “Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done. 13 I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.
14 “Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may have the right to the tree of life and may go through the gates into the city. 15 Outside are the dogs, those who practice magic arts, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.
Virgin
A young lady is dainty in disguise
Reading a book of love with that blank look
Nothing is prettier than a girl who giggles
Underwear lost between a passage of a line
Somewhere between puberty and a smile
She remains the same unblemished, undefiled
And just as simple
Like aspirin in a bottle with no pills in it
Vacant as the vessel that she is
Empty as a bed with no pillow
No one around to testify
No need to swallow any lies
Being void of pleasures
There is no shame
Vacuous and estranged
With the same effect remains
Engaged in her perfection
Behind mysterious eyes of youth
Lust lies, burns inside, untouched
Behold the beauty in her red dress
Lights go off and so does it
No secrets left inside the heart
There is nothing left to see of worth
Or sacred between the sheets and mattress
Or more delicious than a mistress in a sin
Soft skin and innocence
Little Miss is wrapped in her virginity
Wears a red badge of courage on display
A mystery worth having if just for pleasure
She knows her way around a man
Avoids kisses at every twist and turn
Into old age where hope evaporates
Purity clings on to every pore of her sweet nature
Fades, broken, a spell of imperfection cast
But still she keeps her socks on in the dark
When sleeping
Dreaming of extra layers of silk to comfort her
To keep her warm, insulated, never penetrated, violated
As she pretends to celebrate celibacy like woman might
Beauty and body, an image that runs dry
A reflection on a lovely vision twisted
The young virgin does not exist in every picture
According to the people she was with
Those who assist her in protecting the perception
A celebration, a witchcraft of celibacy
A practice of which is just imagined for one day
If you are in Dire and Dare 3
After signing the contract
I met Marcus in a vision he gave me one truth:
Rather than ask me three of my family made a pass to me on the quiet. I started to suffer; my whole life went down the drain. I only found out much later in life as I grew older and did some research. When I went to see my mother before she died, she handed me some gold jewellery with that she made a pass to pay of her debt in the dark, so did my dad and sister. They were in contact with a Marcus who told them I had gold. They wanted it and I was debt free. They never liked me in the first place kicked me out of their home and disowned me. Yet they sneakily wanted me to pay their debt. They dabbled in the dark and had debts. My mother only said look after your brothers and handed me the gold it wasn’t much about a thousand-pound worth. They owed Hell much more about 9000 each but that wasn’t enough as it has to be rich gold earned through life. Then all those years I was made to suffer as I knew all this darkness around me was Hell. But of course, I was approached by Marcus who told me to pay my debt of which I did but was not going to pay theirs. Its time all debts are recovered, there time is up and Hell is reversing back to them.
Now I feel better and avoid anything to do with them. Now I know Marcus is there and how to approach him.
#I_am_an_African
I am an African elephant grazing far away, the colors are the complex birds of the west. Don't look at my disabilities, or my skills and elegance. Scientists say it's a heartbreaker, like heroes and heroines.
Africa is a world of nature and culture, a mixture of waterfalls and tribes. The sentences are rhymes, only the tongue twisters and accents are heard. Even in the old black land, the master with proverbs and sayings, confused the scientists saying I knew.
I looked intently, then in birth bowela kalana, Africa, in my eyes and ears are baskets and bowls full of heritage and traditions and rhythms, I am pepedipedi penapena tails, thangkga thangkgela boys and scholars
It is Africa the capital of heroes, the worlds are thedi, clapping when it comes to you. He fought a battle with spears and ammunition. You went before the lion with a scythe, you made a mathadinthako, the lion of the tarakana, you invaded the bloody forests, the British say it is witchcraft.
O Africa! You are the greatest! The old saying goes " a wolf with two tails breaks a river" and you are torn by two seas, they doubt to come back, to change this proverb. They say you flood the platform rivers and wells, mix nations and worlds. You multiply the black baby, the bright color of wealth, the symbol of strength,nature and what Africa is. I am African, of breeding horns not attached ones, trumpets that sound from the depths, from nature.
#Poetic_Ink
Rocks and stones and broken bones,
Hold stories all hidden away,
Stories of dead, who never forget,
Lit in the yearly display,
Where crystals of fluorite, fixed in the rock,
Stand once a year for a show,
Dance with the sun on the summer solstice,
Creating a colourful glow,
And spirits wake up, sharing their tales,
Waltzing with lights on the wall,
Waltzing and spinning with twirling red shades,
With a ghostly, colourful shawl,
And these rocks protect all of the love,
Of broken bones some say is witchcraft,
Some say it’s horror, but here they are wrong,
It’s dead folks celebrating the past.
A lady was kept in a bottle, a glass bottle, for being so beautiful. She was kept for a long time as a prisoner because the witch did it to her.
Anybody at the present time may not believe in witchcraft anymore. Not even in werewolves or transformation of any kind. But who can tell which is which if we only base everything on what human eyes can see?
The witch was jealous of the lady's beauty and so envious of her angelic voice. How the witch was able to lure the beautiful lady is by befriending her, then deceived her that her voice can sound more interesting by inserting a string in her pharynx. The witch insisted that through the throat, the voice box (larynx) can be smoothened to bring out the best in singing. The lady lost her voice and cannot speak to anyone anymore. She was embarrassed and got angry to herself for being fooled. She ran away from home and was so irate for what the witch has done to her. The worst of all, the glass bottle is the place where the beautiful lady ran to -- to escape her sadness and regret. All of these transpired because of the witch's selfishness and unkindness.
The memory of the beautiful lady with an angelic voice is now felt and represented by a pink flower in a glass bottle.
#Earth_has_swallowed_blackwoman's_pure_seed_of_life
Hopes and wishes, dreams and expectations, observed as they derail, watched as they grew thorns, losing their shape, changing into pain and nightmares, tormenting and devastating, turning bitter and sour, daily. Like a cancer virus, festering
Watched as a blackwoman, shook her head in disbilief, braking down into tears. Diagnosed with medical conditions, she never had, brought to life in her body, her mind and blood level fuming, cardiac arrest and suicidal thoughts invanssion. Her lil innocent ones, denied the blessing, gift of having to grow with someone to call 'mom'. The curse of blessing gift, of bearing life
Men, introduced health endangering substances, drugs and intoxicating beverages. Genesis to short life span. Inhumanity and canibalism. Fornication, nephews and heirs which were once sacred in a healthy and normal ovaries, now in shortage, scarce. Distinction of blackwoman's pride and honour. This is worse than death, the emotional burden of having to carry dead soul cross with you everywhere, for as long long as you still alive
Nyaope, placing blood chasing thought to what reality is, well homoured, smart, innocent, dark,light, thin, big, small, rich,poor, sons and daughters of blackwoman, walking out of their senses, sanity and purity, held hand by this drug, Quickfix, quick death.
Stress and confusion, complexities of life, trials and tribulations, hunger and desparation, circumstances and denials, faillure and hopeless. not to ignore jealous and witchcraft.
Ooh! Human! Earth has swallowed blackwoman's pure seed of life.
#Poetic_Ink