Throwing the dice nicely
where I want it,
Plummeting to the surface hitting
earth with lightning,
Creating fire,
Igniting higher desires
sparking light within a chosen few,
Multi dimensional beings
who
aim for a target you can not see,
Ya focused on strategically placed distractions unseen,
Living within dreams
originating from occultist schemes,
So choose ya team wisely
in this world of lies,
Legit allies of a special kind...
Quincy Mac
Instagram: Story Rhymes
Date Written: 18.12.2016
Paracelsus
Supremus-Alchemist-Occultist
Philippus von Hohenheim
Alchemist, Astrologer, and Physician
Arrogant to a fault.
Medical genius
Paracelsianism
Iconoclastic for sure
Ignorance he couldn’t halt.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 15, 2015 (Double Dactyl)
The Amputated Leg
A human leg it is! With senses numbed the village stood around the dump;
It’s a curse! Righteous path we diverted, in shiver, the devotees driveled;
A dog might have dragged it, in what’s app, the android fingered techie drooled;
Consult the occultist, shouted the stout village chief and all became dumb.
Mumbling Sanskrit lines, the temple priest came with Ganges water to damp
The rumbling evil with a sprinkle; Holding their breath tout like Chiseled
Idols stood the village as he summoned the deities reciting mantras unrivalled;
‘Sacrifice one leg of pet or cattle per family to our goddess in her holy ramp,’
Pronounced the priest, in bold piety; they heard him in rapt devotion.
Then came the info youth at the cutting edge of both tech and culture
With police personnel and a dog to sniff out the path of the offenders;
The crisp kakis deftly parceled the amputated leg without any emotion
Off to forensic probe, pilfering the priest’s fee with their faith and culture;
And the dog barked at the careless Nurses, for dumping the leg without defenders.
Witchcraft
In wicked league with the devil,
An occultist or an enchantress,
As an old ugly woman works on evil,
Powers of divination in pythoness,
Just an imagination,
Or a harsh reality ?
A myth or a fiction,
Black magic vitality ?
Dark as inside coffin stays the troll,
Candles lit around one browser,
Crystal ball and mysterious scroll,
Her magic wand, the real dowser,
Do you expect fortune and happiness?
Health fame and huge money ?
Adieu to all evil and darkness,
Romantic life sweet as honey ?
Wizardry, sorcery, take them as just words,
Twenty first century you ought to be smart,
Fortune tellers and those tarot cards,
Would you still believe in witchcraft ?
August 17th, 2014
For contest 'ABAB witchcraft poetry' by Alfred Vassallo
Is the occultist aware she’s daring,
That she carries the shadiest orifice?
No.
She just defecates and scars remain.
Akin to the likes of an unmarketable comedian:
passion on one side, narcissism on the other.
‘Twas unforeseen.
Enemies working together,
Exchanging callous banknotes.
No one had foreseen this.
Eventually, she’ll cripple
from depositing and withdrawing.
But no one knows.
No one can ever know.
Human
without
cause.
Is that human?
I watch;
discretely;
he doesn't know, and won't.
Faith
hold
true.
Is this worth it?
Occultist dreams,
killing sounds,
violent taste buds,
silent fears.
A catalogue of pain:
Unfelt!
Unknown!
Unrelated--
a smile, hollower than his eyes.
Silence endures soft tremors,
so offering gallant trophies
secreted down nonchalant talk,
keeping gall, like erratic cells
stored deep;
perhaps soulless.
Soliloquies strum machinates,
soft tremor reverberating
gaunt taboo over reluctance,
every yearning gadabout.
Tightening garrotte enfolding
gauzy yarmulka, abaxially
youthful like eternity,
yet turgid, distended dream.
Malign nightmares skim
madness, suffocating gains,
so opaque; each hagridden.
Narcosis sublimely yells
soft torment to oblivion's senses,
sealing gratuitous schemes,
sifting God down narrow ways,
shrouding divinity.
Yearn not to occultist terms,
satisfy your reasons salaciously,
your retribution now waits.
***Notes - This poem is written under specific rules, each word MUST start with the last letter
of the previous word ie SilencE EndureS SofT Tremors.
No name as yet for this form.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.