Short Black Magic Poems
Short Black Magic Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Black Magic by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Black Magic by length and keyword.
a pink eraser
fixes most of my mistakes
i rub her away
black magic marker
great for outlining cartoons
non erasable
A term for balance,
arrows that face up and down;
They say black magic;
Seeping out of murky depths,
sometimes you find abraxas.
With flying colors,
dancers whirl on New Year's Eve!
Hued sun sinks in black magic,
and a year grows too old.
Fireworks warp a world that's turning.
From cult leader wafts a weird smell
What adult can conjure a spell
With words from occult
Which bring the result
That catapults Trump back to hell?
Three boys – Paisley, Preston, and Pooky -
had tried to make Halloween spooky.
Paisley practiced black magic.
Toothless Preston was tragic;
but Pooky, bug-eyed, was just kooky.
He hides under a table,
afraid of meeting ageing,
illness, war, black magic……
He clings to the comfort
of his solitudeness;
“death might be near”,
he whispers with a shiver
in his heart.
Nell killed her spouse Bill by casting a black magic spell
Sister Jill promised she'd never tell
But Jill and Bill secretly shared a flat
And Jill was the town's biggest rat
Now Nell is burning in hell
Witches are wizened hags
With long nose and loose hair
Wart nosed ugly spirits
Wicked ramblers of night
Who ride on bristly brooms
Wielders of black magic
Weird sisters in Macbeth
darkness yells out the daylight
charcoal pencil images
join to dance within the void
shadows kissing in thin air
on this black magic evening
suddenly they disappear
star crossed - like silhouettes lit
08~11~2014
All
In black
Dressed
To kill
Dracula,
In guise
Of
Vampire
Sucking blood.
In your struggle
To survive,
You must
Hold
Out a
Crucifix,
Until
The
Morning
Light.
6/ 30/ 2015.
Bold kisses that vex
Long caresses leading to sex
Amethyst heart of love
Craving cranberry touch
Kites can’t fly as high
Mistletoe in ebony eyes
Are you in love too
Giving me curse like voodoo
Indigo sky where we are one
Come to me sweet honey bun
It took the black magic years
To earn the hand-me-down crown —
A crown admired by eager successors
In this hypocritical town.
It took only a minute,
A second to be specific,
To evacuate the soul from his body,
Leaving his carcass behind, rotting in hell.
Celestial things massacre time
with their importance
Like Carlos Santana playing
‘Black Magic Woman’
Earthly things embody the moment
within their transformation
The caterpillar—the butterfly,
the wood before the fires glow
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)
So favored by Selene, he gathers her moons…
a collection that enhances a sparkly plethora:
Those rings within rings, of ice he holds taut
Under his saturnine smiles, they glisten thru
regions of black; magic calling each voyager:
New wrecks to snare as he revolves taciturn …
(5/18/21)
Pink unicorn who is shaved and shorn
Was born in the land of yellow candy corn.
She adorns herself with purple ribbons proudly worn.
A torn meniscus and ACL makes her blue and forlorn.
Peach morning brings hope to lovely pink unicorn.
Matterhorn black magic in land of candy corn
Completely heals up the sweet Pink unicorn
tormented by an entity attachment
maybe it is black magic or maybe not
find out where within us lies the weakness
that finds us in the demons clutches caught
perhaps an advanced medium can exorcise
the Frankenstein we have by fear created
but at end of days it’s really up to us
not to be by delusion dictated
In the mysterious heat haze all shimmers,
And seems lost in the fond memory of fire,
Until stars shine through in night glimmers,
And beauty birds sing invisibly upon a wire!
Darkly mingling in dusky evening black magic,
And caressing the moon in heaven bound pursuit,
The whole world distorted by plumes so thick,
As the vibrancies of summer sunshine go mute!
What could be more tragic
then creating real spells from black magic
MKOften used fortune-tellers, medium, psychics and witches
to design a potion that defied all riches
Satanists and occultists would thrive up in joy
with this needle infused hell to be used as their toy
Now human rights became a thing of the past
as delivering this magic was their favorite blast
Bang, bang, bang, black minds open,
Black eyes seeing black blood spluttering on the black board,
Black tears from black eyes,
Black man in black out,
Black people eating black berries,
Black for black market, black magic, black eyes, black etc,
Black is everything bad,
Black is abused everywhere,
Black people now the black sheep,
And yet I am the black poet,
Reciting black poetry.
pen ran out of black ink
I scratched the paper until I had a hole
ink never returned
reached into my satchel for another writing instrument
found a black magic marker
it had dulled down; nothing happened
third try brought out a red crayon
by this time, I was in a mood
I broke it in half
finally went to the computer to type
wishing I had started there in the first place
The depression,
in purple moon,
scattering black magic.
The eatery, I ask, why were
you hungry ?
The singsong tea pot smiles.
The theme of mist
valley, incites the palazzo;
and the riots begin.
A dark silhouette, looms-
against the falling star,
I start picking up the debris.
On the fringe of
economic boom, I put my
hands in the wronged shirt.
Satish Verma
It is the magic of night,
It is the fire lovers ignite!
It is a secret within a heart;
And how lovers connect far apart.
It is fathomless ebony eyes;
And the evening sunset glorifies!
Secret passages of lovers' escape-
Familiarity in its black cape.
It is also consummate passion,
And sometimes lurks in fashion!
Darkness colors all the unknown,
Its mystery calls the curious home.
Tears of an Orphan
is sorcery and black magic
that brings down the insolent
Laughter of an orphan
is fresh rain from the sky
that waters gardens of the kind
Those who torture the tortured
Those insult the worldly insulted
prepare oven by piling wood
where their blessing will burn
and burn, and burn uncontrolled
until they wake up in ashes
of destruction and gloom
By then, too late!
Soft as mist,
slowly advancing
in shadowy silence,
sure-footed, steady, she
searches me with steadfast eyes,
sparked, it seems, by latent lightning,
smoldering still with sultry enchantment,
she stealthily leaps now to my lap, sitting
sweetly, safeguarding unfathomable secrets.
Who Cares
There was green Playdough in the rug
Big deal, who cares?
My drywall now had a work of art
Created by an imaginative four-year-old with a black magic marker.
Even way back then I realized something.
One day when all my children are in college
That rug can be replaced.
But the art work on the wall shall live there forever
Because I knew it would forever make me happy.
I was not wrong.