Short Sorcerer Poems
Short Sorcerer Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sorcerer by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sorcerer by length and keyword.
Rasputin
Dark, Evil
Threatening, Deceiving, Plotting
Enemy, Sorcerer, Cambion, Hero
Guiding, Protecting, Reassuring
Good, Bright
Hellboy
Tuesday, January 4, 2022
Power, power is taking over my body, you shall bow down for i am the almighty
sorcerer! Casting spell after spell making you my puppet. Dance for me for i am
stronger than your weak brittle self.
Form:
Oracle
The Wise, Mystical
Blessing, Spellcasting, Foretelling
Black Sorcerer, Divine, Innocent, Questioner
Listening, Ingesting, Participating
Curious, Wonderer
Querent
Tuesday, January 4, 2022
In a crystal ball
I see you fall
With a swoosh of a wand
I see you in a pond
Some evil witch has cast a spell
To make you smell,
But in the end your fate
All falls with your mate
Whether a magician, or
Witch, or sorcerer
“Feeling beyond touch,”
the Sorcerer said…
“Knowledge beyond thought,”
all memory ahead
“Faith beyond healing,”
its mercy divine
“Love beyond giving,”
—a journey sublime
(Las Vegas Nevada: January, 2017)
On a breezy December dawn,
Fog came riding a grey stallion,
Cloaked in shell-white with fleecy hair.
Sorcerer sprinkling milky dust.
He wrapped the trees in ghostly white.
Covered all in gossamer veil.
But as the sun shone on the hill,
Like a coward, ran out of sight.
The witch was magnificent.
A soothsayer, a prophet, a sorcerer.
We watched her from afar.
She transmogrified into a pumpkin.
We watched in amazement.
Her hat was the only clue as to her location.
Shall we touch it? My cousin asked.
He did and promptly disappeared.
I heard a loud cackle.
What necromancy is this sorcerer said.
Realizing his son could conjure up the dead.
No voodoo at all Fred said, his emotions lead.
Embarrassed he was caught, his face was red.
Did you learn this trick from your Grandpa Ned?
No from you, Daddy, little wizard said.
Paternal pride filled the sorcerer’s head.
In chambers lodged
stretch thy hands
...oh sorcerer
wide spread with staff
and golden garments.
Speak thy vowels...
sulfuric spells
in broken language
high-pitched
as thunder.
Silent in corners shadowed
behind thee...rests
initiates
vulnerable in view of
gymnastic magic!
Johnny Sumler
Magic Words
I could use a little magic tonight
some sorcerer to sympathize
and with his kind arcane words
conjure a spark so I may finally
find my way to some lovely land
lucent with Panglossian light
after doleful decades stumbling
solitary and blind in the bitterly
brumal dark fearing with each
step I will fall and fail to rise
T’is not any man’s wish to commit error,
For out of it borne terror and horror.
Every man’s wish is to be a conqueror.
To his seeds, fine-reflectors like the mirror.
To every child, every Dad is a juror.
Sworn to an oath of allegiance as a carer.
T’is every man’s wish to be a conjuror,
Not a staged sorcerer –
But one to lit smile on your face-make you a great scorer.
The sorcerer’s staff
a powerful will…
Energy stored concept
to good or evil
but the sorcerer takes
all the credit.
The staff ignites
a multitude of fire balls…
The sorcerer stands alone
in awe
afraid to take credit
the staff may retaliate.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Third Place Winner ~ "MagicWords” Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Leighann Anderson
July. 10, 2011
When the sunset of our life comes
And the earth swallows us all
Termites will consume the head
And maggots, the liver
The buttocks woman adorn with beads
Will become food for the mother earth
What value does a man have?
When tomorrow he will be no more
A sorcerer I would have honored
If only he would become immortal
The life that men live is perishable
Alas! Why do we have to die!!!
Sorcerer wearies of casting
Spells that nobody can feel,
Ghouls are impatient with fasting,
Death-knells no longer will peal.
Churchyard is grown up with wild weeds,
Marble tombs settle and crack,
Will-o-wisp dies in the marsh reeds,
Leprechauns never come back.
Vampires without an oasis,
Banshees with nothing to moan,
Ghosts who can’t find where their place is,
Skeletons, grave-less, alone.
Sorcerer wearies of casting
Spells that nobody can feel,
Ghouls are impatient with fasting,
Death-knells no longer will peal.
Churchyard is grown up with wild weeds,
Marble tombs settle and crack,
Will-o-wisp dies in the marsh reeds,
Leprechauns never come back.
Vampires without an oasis,
Banshees with nothing to moan,
Ghosts who can’t find where their place is,
Skeletons, grave-less, alone.
Form:
Who is she? Winter asked Autumn, who did not reply.
She has an amazing countenance and commands the sky.
Snow leopard stays by her side, with nary a sigh.
You will learn sometime, said Autumn “by and by”.
Is she a goddess, sorcerer, witch, lady or queen?
She is one of a kind, someone who rarely is seen.
I am curious said Winter. Her eyes are so green.
Easy said Autumn. She is the Snow Leopard Queen.
In the Nelanther Isles a sorcerer Azrael practices his skill.
Fire and water combines at his will.
Bolts of lighting crash to the floor.
Molecular elements studied, bound by truth.
Arcane Magic inborn in youth.
Azrael hidden in the darkest of realms.
Powerful force in the palms of his hands.
He shall master this feat like no other sorcerer can.
''Magic Words'' Poetry Contest
sponsored by...Leighann Anderson
Very strange and unexplorable
is this illusion in our mind.
It is like a glittering pearl
in our darkness inside.
It knits a fine linen with joy and dreams
Decorates the cloth with alluring things.
This sorcerer engulfs and covers us
With it’s dire hypnotism.
Then finally deludes and deceives us
So miserably with blankness.
==================
Amitava (15.7.2015) 7-00am
©ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY AMITAVA SUR
He calls my name now
In sequins
Like a brocade of sounds
pattering from a single mouth
I continue to lick my behind
Showing the absurdity to the sorcerer
He doesn't feed me; he doesn't know me,
Though I slept on his belly on my first Christmas day
No bigger than a baby shoe...
Damn the cat's nostalgia!
We bore it out of our souls
Like machinated shovels
We live for the next kill
Afraid of every God damn moment...
Slowly he crept in the graveyard;
sounds of breaking twigs he heard.
Keeping a brave face was hard;
darkness had its wild card.
Out of the blue a black bird
flew past him, and rested as a guard
on a gravestone of a sorcerer thought to be mad.
“Boo!” the crow screamed with a voice so bad!
Suddenly he woke up, in hand a horror movie ad!
Date of Entry: 17/10/2017
Contest Name: BOO
Contest Sponsor: Alexis Y.
We lay,
Firmly rooted
And reach our pale faces
To the late day sun.
We grow twisted around the rails
And defeat our own purpose…
To catch the late day sun.
We have been ignored.
Our search for water,
Has lead to dusty tears,
After another late day sun.
A little more
And we’ll reach around your room.
We’ll twist around your door and open it…
To the early day sun.
Sincerely,
Twisted Hearts
Form:
Leather-bound books on the sorcerer’s shelf,
Offer a perch for the magical elf,
Watching the chemicals fume:
Vapors of sulfur and alchemist’s brew.
Melting to gold in a mystical stew,
Stinking the cob-webbed room.
Then the mad sorcerer grabs his small friend,
Saying, “An elf will add zest to my blend,”
Plunges him into the vat;
Later the sorcerer’s body is found
Horribly scalded to death with no sound,
Elf-prints all over his hat.
Leather-bound books on the sorcerer’s shelf,
Offer a perch for the magical elf,
Watching the chemicals fume:
Vapors of sulfur and alchemist’s brew.
Melting to gold in a mystical stew,
Stinking the cob-webbed room.
Then the mad sorcerer grabs his small friend,
Saying, “An elf will add zest to my blend,”
Plunges him into the vat;
Later the sorcerer’s body is found
Horribly scalded to death with no sound,
Elf-prints all over his hat.
Leather-bound books on the sorcerer’s shelf,
Offer a perch for the magical elf,
Watching the chemicals fume:
Vapors of sulfur and alchemist’s brew.
Melting to gold in a mystical stew,
Stinking the cob-webbed room.
Then the mad sorcerer grabs his small friend,
Saying, “An elf will add zest to my blend,”
Plunges him into the vat;
Later the sorcerer’s body is found
Horribly scalded to death with no sound,
Elf-prints all over his hat.
A sorcerer moon was rising
amidst grizzly clouds.
A lurid willingness of night
to surrender was evident-
skimming the stars.
A pact was inked between an
antiheroine and a renegade.
An apostate-
will find the refuge in serenades.
The feline grace jars the sexism
by sitting on the fence.
A blue ocean will churn out
the urn of lethal poison.
That flame. Can you kill
the wolf ? The tricks of
child-molesting were
on the big screen.
Satish Verma