Long Witchy Poems
Long Witchy Poems. Below are the most popular long Witchy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Witchy poems by poem length and keyword.
The plants screamed, ‘HELP!
HELP!
HELP!
Then they changed into skeletons:
sad skeletons,
happy skeletons,
calm skeletons,
nervous skeletons,
and pregnant skeletons.
Witchy could tell the sad
skeletons were pretending to be sad.
The happy were pretending.
The calm were pretending.
The nervous were pretending.
The pregnant were pretending.
The door cracked loudly.
Her head whipped to the door.
‘THE DOOR!’ she realised in her mind not loudly.
She had to get to the door.
‘The door
might be the way out the frame I don’t adore!’
She scrambled, swerved, past skeletons,
past chomping joint-clicking skeletons.
Some bit her, some missed.
Their breathe—she was used to—smelt like cauldron mist.
She made it to the beat-up drawers
full of chores.
The calm skeletons fired ribs at her—not
one hit her—and she in great panic ran to the door, and out into the hallway of black rot.
Emotionlessly, the skeletons chanted: ‘BRAIN. BRAIN.
EAT HER BRAIN.
BRAIN. BRAIN. EAT HER BRAIN.’
Witchy, in great panic, searched
and searched.
No doors to go through
to take her back, and no picture frames to go through
to take her back. ‘Oh what do I do!’
She had to hide.
She stepped on loose boards.
‘Ah, under those I can hide!’
She fast buried herself out
of sight as the skeletons soldiered out.
She tried not to breathe as they with shout,
great shout,
trod over her on their way out.
A week slothed by...
She was so so angry with herself for she’d
missed, she'd
missed the Halloween party. She’d
had to lie in the
filth (she needed a shower!) under the
boards for a week (the skeletons
the horrible skeletons,
kept coming in and out of the
hallway) until an early-morning The
Magic Picture Frame knocked on the
boards. At least she could go home,
home
to see Noom. She was so relieved
(though very dirty-sleeved!).
Her pale, porcelain skin, a bright contrast to her raven hair
That fell about her shoulders, in a curly flair
Her bright eyes, that ensnared me so
Were they hazel, or emerald green, I do not know
Her ruby smile, those wicked lips, that kissed my heart
The turned down look, and the adventure did start
Her shoulder exposed, the neckline leading down
I remember so clearly now, her eyes were a golden brown
She had a curvaceous waist, that made me sway
I tried to see more, but at her belly, my gaze did stay
I forced my unwilling eyes, to embrace her shapely legs
They started at the rump, and led all the way to sex
My mind a haze, my world a daze
I remember now her wicked ways
Her arms encased me, while my world collapsed
Falling ever more, till my heart was trapped
Our love would last forever, it would seem
I remember so clearly now, her eyes were brilliant green
Her tender touch, was a cutting knife
Digging in her nails, she gave me life
And in a flash, our everlasting love was gone
After a year and a day, our precious time was done
Her soft and tender glow, was turned so soon from me
I remember so clearly now, her eyes were blue as the bluest sea
Forever until eternity, my heart lies entombed
Within the walls of a love, that is sadly doomed
Will it rise once more I ask, like the fiery phoenix
Oh I hope and pray, to my lady, the Goddess Nyx
Return to me, my raven haired girl
With the witchy eyes, and skin of pearl
Return to me, my angel of light
I pray, my Goddess of the night
Yes, you're one sexy witch, dear love, but now it's Halloween,
And I've a witchy tale to share, so keep your broom between ...
Five decades hence I knew the thrills of flesh, and did imbibe,
Yet there's but one that's apt to still pop up, let me describe:
It starts with just a tickled tip that twitches toward my toes,
As oft' can be a grandeur glitch, until what's grander, grows.
In dermal terms, my skin can squirm to feel infirmed and wet,
What fairer sexes call 'the glow', (we lesser-fair's call 'sweat').
Now when that glow has burst, I'm first immersed in finding you,
For you've the spunky junk to free the monkey from his zoo.
I'm damned if I can speak, my cheeks just bubble up with suds,
The things that hang or dangle, cursed to tangle with my duds.
I'm apt to find my fingers filled with zippers, buttons, snaps ...
And spouting things like "I love you", to fill the awkward gaps.
Those tickles turn to tingles and they mingle through an urge,
That brings our things together 'midst a single clinging merge.
Its fever gives new meaning to the old phrase come-and-gone,
And your sexy pose, (and fewer clothes), will always bring it on.
Now please don't fear, my vixen dear, when tickling has begun,
No stopping what is popping up, there's lots of hopping fun ...
The barrel of my kitschy gun has schemes it needs to hatch,
And when my love-lust itches, hon, it's you I aim to scratch!
Written and submitted on October 21, 2019
For the "Itch, Witch, Glitch, Or Twitch" Poetry Contest
Nina Parmenter, Sponsor.
all you write about is them happy old days
before hair wore thin turned white from grey
rumour has it bad mouthing my name
wise men stay away while you complain.
what is it you don’t like
how I talk of real life
downhill sights
how life bites,
am I not herpy cherpy enough
wear a smile on my face
hurt me hardly not even fazed,
clearly I'm a vile taste
tough tea teas
at least I'm honest not slander committees
out to harm whilst hidden weak and witchy.
see you write of love and nice
but slag me off like a poltergeist,
behind my back throwing dice
shut your face my only advice.
cus me and you are different ages
I’m the internet you’re paper pages
in my prime you’re about to go crazy
spend all day spaced out and dazy
whoops the daisy
looks like you got a raise out me now rose
I'll bash thee rashly
head to toe bask then dash free feeding woes.
picking out a poet with less experience not close
all those your age make you appear dense in pose
so got to go low
shooting like a bozo
but you should know though
I’m a rascal make you dizzie in slowmo
you should never pull my lever
growing up you wrote with feather
mister cotton wool I'm the leather bull
you spread the word make your message fly
cus I’ll live for sixty years after you die
that's it conflict over
leave you old slumped over
nice to know ya
not really coward bye now
all automatic alligators arrive arrogantly
barely behave beautifully but brazenly
carousing with creepy cruddy crocodiles
desperately denying despicable wiles
effectively expediting expediency
forever forsaking fruit flies who flee
glaring at grazing gritty grouses
hijacking horrific herbivore’s handy houses
igniting ingenious iguanas in I-o-Way
jubilantly joining jerky jaguars along the way
kibitzing kinesthetic killers from Zion
lollygagging like lively luxurious mountain lions
marvelously marking multitude of mini monkeys
notoriously noting nefarious nodules of displease
ostentatiously opening overt outages in Oregon
providing panda putrid prey Paul just spit on
quarrelsome quicksand quail
rapidly reading registered mail
saying sassing sentences swiftly
turning terrific tarantulas toenails thickly
utilizing underwater undercurrents down under
verifying valid villans' voluptuous plunder
with wild willingness and witchy wonder
‘xacting ‘xactly ‘xtreme ‘xestentialism supreme
yelling youngster’s yips on front of the queen
zinging zealous zealots into zebras galore
end of this abcedarian poem, there is no more.
I'm tired of crying, I'm tired of burning
Tired of this illuisionist way of learning
Tired of struggling & tired of churning
I'm tired of being & doing what everyone says
I'm tired of all the games people play
I'm tired of being the last one taken care of
I'm tired of not being shown everyone else's love
I wanna be alone by myself - & free for me
'Cause I can do it 4 them, but nobody sets me free
I know what I want & I know how to get it
All I gotta do is crack the mothering whip
To ultimately show everyone I'm done with the
I'm liking the look of being on my own
So I can rely on myself to make a house a home
I wanna make my life how I want to
I don't need you, you, or you, & you
While everyone's first - I'm always last
In my life - I need to take out the ing trash
If I can see my worth & nobody else does
Then nobody else is worthy of my love
If everyone else can't handle the concept of me
Secluded in my witchy treehouse is where I'll be
Rollercoaster days & rollercoaster nights
I fight for everyone else - but for me nobody fights
Do you see me? What you see is what you get
Once you've tasted me - you'll never forget it
The sheer disrespect I've currently endured today
No more chances & there's no more fixin' it anyway
Be Yourself (1984 )
Be yourself, just be yourself said my councillor
My analytical mind raced in every direction
Attempting to discover what was that supposed to mean
I'd never really understood what or who I am
Nor do I understand the who and what I've been
For which self, I wondered should I choose to be
IF I ever did figure out which self is the real me
Should I be the Lady, polite and so refined
Or the child playing most of the time
The witchy woman, winking fearlessly at sin
Or Saint Joan and God's approval win
All night long I tossed and turned
Struggling to figure out
What this Be Yourself, Just Be Yourself was all about
When suddenly the answer rushed through my mind's exhausted door
Just think how intriguing if you choose to be all four
The witch ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ (the withered hag)
¦¦¦ wash ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ with pail and rag,
Was once the beauty Abishag,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ pride of Hollywood.
¦¦¦ many fall from great and good
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ doubt the likelihood.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ avoid the fate.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ die late,
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ die in state.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ stock exchange your own!
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ occupy a throne,
¦¦¦¦¦ nobody ¦¦¦ call you crone.
Some ¦¦¦¦ relied ¦¦¦ what they knew;
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ simply being true.
¦¦¦¦ worked for them ¦¦¦¦¦ work for you.
No memory ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ starred
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ later disregard,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ the end from being hard.
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ go down dignified
With ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide!
(Blackout of Provide Provide by Robert Frost)
These people I safely know
who like to healthy grow
fail to distinguish
between cooperative housing
and cooperative households,
cooperative countries
and communities
Which
as we all seem to know
although textbooks often fail to show
include cooperative gardening
and cooperative farming
and possibly cooperative
organic management
of a polytheistic living planet
without monotheistic competitive
monopolistic cultural intent.
In each interdependent case
we explore something together,
some primal trinitarian relationship
between healthy resilience
and safe transitions
and beautifully balanced
resonant energy
Synergy produces
co-arising fruits of sexual
sensual
and sacred exotic
erotic regenerate sensations
Further witchy wonder which,
like resonantly tasty
and fragrant,
richly brown and black
white and green
orange and yellow
red textured
robust stews
Cooperatively touch
and feel
and show
and thereby know
a primally sublime
healthy
safe
and beautiful homebrew.
If the witch was any witchier she would be witchy indeed!
Her face is the face of a seasoned spell-maker, I must concede.
I watch her picnic with a troll as they devour an enormous feed.
There is sweat on her brow that is too crazy-acting to bead.
I will meet you later, she tells the troll, I am heading to Leed.
She wraps up the rest of the lunch, showing her greed.
I decide to hightail it out of there and jump on my steed.
the witch jumps on too, and thanks us for our “good deed”.
So that is how we ended up giving a witch a ride to Leed.
It was not my idea, and certainly not the thought of my steed.
But she shared a bit of her turkey, so we also could feed.
That is why I felt okay about this volun-told “good deed”.