Pleasure enflame through my entire being
This man, entices my lips to breathe,
Every moment we are touching.
His spell, his gaze, “they have enraptured me.”
And all I want is to give him a never ending kiss
For I have never experienced real love like this
Plus whenever he looks into my brown eyes
I always feel like I’m sitting on top of the skies
He's glued to my mind
And I crave him all the time
This man constantly put a smile on my face
And makes my heart beat fast
Like I’m running a race
I’m convinced that he had cast
A strong love spell on me
For I’m not the way I used to be
However; I love the new me now
Though he may have cast a spell on me somehow.
beguiling was her charismatic smile
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
monsoon cloud kiss forehead
of the mountains and melt down
magic spell of rain
I focus on the image
of a stunning woman’s pose
against a hue-tinged skyline
canvas so mesmerising
in its otherworldly scope
that dream mirror brochure lure
dashed by thunderstorms and rain
When I'm with you on the phone
I finally feel I'm not alone
If you could ever sit with me
I'd take that opportunity
To tell you all about my life
So that if you became my wife
You'd know me, nothing I would hide
We'd take our days and wèeks in stride
And as the years stretched very long
And after we'd made lots of song
I'd share with you this sentiment
My time with you was time well spent
want to hear from you
not with you laying it out
but in clangs and chimes
that evoke my own response ~
easier to write that way
Written: June 26, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
**************
lilac w h i s p e r s f
a
l
l
beneath the h of your g
u s a z ~
h e
l
o v casts its s
e o
f
t s-p-e-l-l
When appears the winged goddess Nix
to cast her noctilucent spell
on every creature of the night,
in a sudden hush, fall on the land
a sweet shield of calm and timelessness.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Calling the spirit to tell me a spell
I need to seek revenge
A spell for me
Take a piece wood
Carve a face
A silver chain
Wrap chain round and pull side to side
Cursing the one you hate
They called him the dosser.
A blessed man with a crooked,
bent and wobbly wishbone of wire,
held tight in clenched fist.
He fossicks spellbound
for water hiding deep below
in the groundwater.
His fingers compel the water
sleeping fifty feet down
to hear his call,
and echo a reply forthwith,
with a signal on the wire tap.
On some hot dry afternoon,
dumb with drought.
If he lets you watch him,
you'll see the wire tremble
ever so slightly,
and swing to one side.
Often he'll backtrack,
reset the grip,
cover the same ground,
to see if the quiver,
and swing repeats.
Then, 'X' marks the spot
for the farmer to dig.
The water diviner knows not why
he has this insight to feel
the presence of water beneath his feet.
It was pure happenstance that
he learned he had the gift when
a true believer gave him a try.
Perchance, you too
may have the diviner's gift.
To conger the wellsprings
of water deep within.
To reveal its
secret whereabouts,
with a wiggle of wire,
held tight in a believer's fist.
To make a spell to cast on your enemy
Without strings and things
For doing something nasty to you
Take their photo
Write what they did on photo
Curse their photo
Take it to the graveyard
Dig hole and bury near entrance in soil
Curse something nasty happen to them
Repeat what they did
At home
Take a small cauldron
Fill with water light a fire
Let the water evaporate
If only got candle do same.
the sun went down over the serenity of our lake
sinking into the far depths of the beyond
leaving a kaleidoscopic trail of colours behind it
and for a long breathless moment
a masterpiece was suspended in mid air
a magical spell being cast
as if peace might reign over the world
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
We clap and cheer
when they speak well
phrases that please
that cast a spell.
But behind the brilliance
are borrowed lines
they read poets
study the rhymes.
Our leaders rhyme
not truth but lies
with practiced timing
and careful guise.
They stir the crowd
with crafted speech
not to uplift
but to mislead.
And yet
if words can sway
the hearts of men
then write your truth
and write again.
This world illudes us
Like a mirage enticing;
Still, we cling to it.
The woods are never as kind
as the stories make them seem.
Little Red does not skip,
her feet heavy with the weight
of the basket,
its contents a secret darker than the night.
The wolves aren’t just hungry,
they’re desperate.
Their teeth are sharp,
their hunger endless.
And the huntsman?
His axe is too slow,
his conscience too soft
for the forest that devours
the innocent.
The glass slipper is not a gift
but a trap—
shattered on a floor slick
with blood and cinders,
and the prince’s kiss?
It’s poison in disguise.
She wakes,
but the dream has already unraveled—
her skin is no longer soft,
but bruised,
marked with the touch of something
darker than desire.
The stepmother’s mirror cracks
under the weight of truth,
reflecting not beauty,
but the hollowed-out faces of those
who thought they could bargain with fate.
The walls of the castle are paper thin,
and behind them,
the forest waits,
its branches clawing at the gates.
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