Short Witchy Poems

Witchy wind
       Haunted world. 





      (Written for Halloween poetry contest)...

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I'm a witchy poet
witch and poet in one shot
shaping and healing
America's thought of soul
poetess rots not-- lives on!...

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World wide wonder webs, watch thread
She spins in the dead of the night.
Fright in the bite of the witchy head
Woman black widow on the couch. Ouch!...

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Three rather out-of-date witches 	 
Faced small unexpected glitches	
	Cursed the night they were burned
	Eternally they yearned
For youthful beauty and riches...

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Andrea Marcovicci was never witchy
Even though she would get pretty itchy
To finish her breakfast fast
So she could coach all the cast
Then nobody would get too twitchy...

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Wild wily witchy cat sat on a spell book, looking phat.
We gave him a wide berth for he is a professional pitter pat.
And you don’t want to rile up a Halloween cat like that!...

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Yes, blame the chick,
Rocker or hick,
Burning here,
Hands appear!
Witchy fire, 
Doomed desire,
Blasted, didn't care,
She's a don't care bear,
Guess she felt good,
Blasted the whole 'hood!...

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Written: October 22, 2023, 
                     ______________________________
 
Slight-shaped stygian sign swung in fiendish award
Witchy mage threw itchy gunpowder and abhorred...

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Are witches real, I mean those that cast spells
Only referring to those that in dark castles dwell
Not talking silly witchcraft
About those in movies cast
But real witchy-poos that remind us of hell...

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Witch in Salem, you see,
Needs spelling, tee hee,
Wizard held another,
Toad was his mother,
Witchy cast charms,
Warts on his arms,
Bald was his head,
Maidens did dread,
Pustules appeared, 
Grinning, witch feared!...

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There are bottles of honor
In my hands
Making me withstand
This foreign land!

I am a witchy brand
So this is what 
The world must understand!

There is fire in my mind
Which keeps on 
Rewinding on and on
Taking me off course!...

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Hey Witchy
You want hair of the dog
Tongue of frog
Eye of newt
Or an old army boot

Hey Witchy
Toil and trouble
Boil and bubble
Throw all you got
In your black pot

Hey Witchy
What's your notion
In your potion
Can I see
Is it magic or just laundry...

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Written by Gail DeBole 
on March 12, 2020


The witch loved to fly on her broom.
It fit like a cozy old shoe.
Magic led her the way
As she flew in the day
And zoomed on her broom to the moon.

No electric transport for her.
Her broom hid her in a blur.
So fast did she fly
In the blink of an eye
All you heard was a magical whrrrr....

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Stinking, gassy
Lady of the night
Flinging your hate
Sharing your plight

Succubus of want
Soft and perfumed
Angel from the depths
How close you have loomed

Syrupy kiss
Dripping with pleasure
A pleasant subpoena
To a fertile treasure

Black double helix
Dressed for the ball
Come on, Witchy!
Give me a call!

Yoked and complete
Drowning in my shame
Dark and lonely son
He knows who to blame...

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I know I am being witchy
My glare is strong angry even
But do I stop?
No.

I am not ready
To get over this bad mood
Holding on to it
For silly reasons

My husband asks if I want anything in the store
Just to be able to stay in the car I reply
The second he gets in I ask "Did you get any potatoes?"

He looks at me for about half a second
Before we both start laughing
End of bad mood...

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The frost on the pumpkin has yet to appear
     In the forecast no 'partly witchy' tonight
   Though goblins and ghosts decorate lawns
     Thoughts of Halloween (still) seem to be yawns

   Yet today a jet-black cat crossed my path
     And a crack in the sidewalk caused me to stumble
   But it's just too darn hot for this stuff... Do the math
     At 85 degrees angry bees can still bumble...

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That blackie cat sat fattened 'neath the ol' pumpkin moon,

While the yummies in his tummy sang a hummy little tune,

No more twitchy, glitchy, witchy tails or mousey little feets,

For he'd gobbled all those goblins up as trick-or-treat eats!






~ 1st Place ~  in the "Good Luck Halloween" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.

( I used photograph number two )...

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Eerie
Witches

Ugly 
Creepy

Freaky
Sneaky

Floating
Chanting

Cackling
Laughing

Broom sticks
Flying

Moonlight
Passing

Shadows
Waving

Witchcraft
Praying

Evil 
Lethal

Hexing
People 

Wilful
Wanton

Values
Rotten

Cats and
Magic

Crazy
Manic

Fear and
Panic

Wicked
Antic

Spell cast
Spoken

Lotion
Potion

Hocus
Pocus

Witchy
Slogan
      
    17.10.23...

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Creepy
Oozing
Pimply
Witchy
Ominously lit by bonfire
Grabs me to throw on hot coal pyre

I run
I jump
I yell
I scream
They drag me back kicking and hitting
I refuse to stop, never quitting

Drug her
Mug her
Smack her
Crack her
Alert, I refuse to go easy
They let me go, my stomach queasy


Owlish
Foul-ish
Smelly
Bad stuff
I feel quite grateful, big and rough
Glad Mommy taught when to be tough....

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I surge my steadfast search thru all headlines
                to seize enriching keys for peace of mind
                         but views infused with clues are hard to find.

Seems schemes could bloom some better designs
                for my soft tranquil dreams to seed cloud nines.

I want to live as peace not witchy blind -
       did stress mash dreams inside its heavy grind?





... CayCay
October 19, 2019...

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The bleak sky
begins its heavenly cry
as loose leaves burrow
in the marsh. 

Pour another cup,
fill it with my lust for
choosing rain. 

Sunken branches sway, 
the wind breaks their trust. 
The longing for despair, 
the longing for disdain. 

Promise me, a fool,
a tool in your game,
that your falling ivy
won’t bury me with dust. 

Cradle me with fear,
cradle me with touch.
The chore of keeping
our core together through the pain...

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Witchy, with a big fat wart
so horrid not a man would court.

She could have shed it with a spell,
so handsome men would ring her bell.

But Witchy's not the sharpest tool.
In conjuring, she was the fool.

A spell to be craved and adored.
She giggled as her magic poured.

Now she sits upon a log.
Just a big old slimy frog.

Toads adore her big fat wart.
Droves of them hop by to court.

Handsome men, her legs do crave;
fried in a pan or microwaved!...

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damn
back on the street again
the dime bag copping
ego dropping
dampened dope dreams street again
a street in a burg called the blues baby
where wicked witchy women are on the stroll
bopping to rock and roll
as i light upon the utterly wanton wishes of woeful whores
where even the sages are bores 
and destitution oozes from the pores of us junkies
johns 
and drunken few
and what are we all trying to do'
just pay our due baby, 
JUST PAY OUR DUE
  2012...free cee  PHREEPOETREE...

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