Short Caldron Poems

tears salty or sweet
combined with green destiny 
soul stirred in caldron 
...

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And it has been called
For a better day
With a new Reclamation
Where a new foundation
Has been Resurrected
In hopes' that our dreams'
And aspirations' may become
A Caldron'
For the mercy of God!

GF...

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Wiggles

                                               Tenfold dividend
                                     Three witches stirring caldron
                                         Wiggles beef, well done!

By Eve Roper 3/7/2015...

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Poem inspired by C.S. Lewis', "The Chronicles of Narnia"

A noise like everlasting thunder
The waterfall keeps 
Dancing 
Bubbling
Churning
It is lively
The Great Waterfall
Pours down into 
Caldron Pool 
At the western end 
Of Narnia...

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Moon-scented I walk in dark
to put me back in place,
unwithered,
opening the inner casket for a glow.

Pleading not guilty
after killings in bed, of affectionate
kill of lies, a black widow
romps around with a flag of morality.

Was it a systemic swallowing
of a bait put up by a shipwreck ?
The bodies were flowing in a row
in caldron of acrimony. 



Satish Verma...

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The vampire bats go out on strike,
Cats show dislike,
Refusing to ride through the gloom
On a straw broom.

They’d rather not always be stark
Beasts in the dark,
They tire of the witch-work at times,
And its night-crimes.

Myrcalla wrings withered old hands,
Magic wand stands
Next to a stew-pot of toads—
Caldron explodes.

Explodes—and the room is a soup,
Cats`n bats regroup,
Attacking Myrcalla by turns:
Witch woman… learns....

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The vampire bats go out on strike,
Cats show dislike,
Refusing to ride through the gloom
On a straw broom.

They’d rather not always be stark
Beasts in the dark,
They tire of the witch-work at times,
And its night-crimes.

Myrcalla wrings withered old hands,
Magic wand stands
Next to a stew-pot of toads—
Caldron explodes.

Explodes—and the room is a soup,
Cats`n bats regroup,
Attacking Myrcalla by turns:
Witch woman… learns....

Read More

The vampire bats go out on strike,
Cats show dislike,
Refusing to ride through the gloom
On a straw broom.

They’d rather not always be stark
Beasts in the dark,
They tire of the witch-work at times,
And its night-crimes.

Myrcalla wrings withered old hands,
Magic wand stands
Next to a stew-pot of toads—
Caldron explodes.

Explodes—and the room is a soup,
Cats`n bats regroup,
Attacking Myrcalla by turns:
Witch woman… learns....

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savage was the bond of weakness;
we were hiding behind the pain
of decline, abdicating the singed shrine
of nameless opposition, nowhere the roots
were reaching the bottom of  truth, I ran
like river of life amongst the flames, you try to
resuserstate a dozing century by burning
poems, every wen fighting the jinx,
counting the tiny deaths

give me your locked  secrets of fire
let me face  the cold-blooded murder
in caldron of dead lips

SATISH VERMA...

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