The moon was high, the night was still,
The shadows danced against my will.
A whisper curled beneath the door,
Like something I had known before.
The candles bent, the cold wind sighed,
And something ancient stirred inside.
No spell was cast, no words were spoken,
Yet something old had come unbroken.
For magic lives where fear takes hold,
In whispered tales and secrets told.
It waits beyond what eyes can see,
In dreams that set the spirit free.
But witchcraft ends where truth begins,
Beyond the veil, beyond our sins.
For there are things no spell can bind,
No charm can cage, no curse confine.
And later still, when all is done,
When night gives way to morning sun,
I'll stand where darkness meets the light,
And know that I survived the night.
For what is feared may lose its power,
And what seems lost may bloom a flower.
The deepest magic, fierce and free,
Is finding who you're meant to be.
And if the shadows call my name,
I'll face them without fear or shame.
For even when the stars burn bright,
My soul belongs to more than night.
During a witchcraft ritual
the human brain surreptitiously enters
the surreal states of elevated focus,
lofty emotion, and altered awareness,
as the spell acts as a powerful metaphor
for an internal intention or flustering fear.
People may feel like birds with frozen wings
under the misty sky, swept by the polar winds.
In the congealed hearts lapped by the Arctic sea
petrified emotions congeal, unexpressed.
Warm embrace of empathy they can’t proffer,
for they turn into cold unfeeling people.
People may feel as if their lives have changed
into desolate deserts where the oasis desiccates
in the blaze of their burning minds,
the fallen foliage of ardent passions glows,
doesn’t rustle with the fossil cadence of their hearts,
for they turn into wooden inert people.
Once the ritual concludes,
the cognitive system undergoes a sudden shift
with the intense concentration,
leading to a feeling of poignant emptiness,
excruciating exhaustion, or sudden susceptibility,
epitomizing the impulsive comedown
after a concerted emotional event.
Throughout the ages, women born
To face the wicked woes of scorn
Expectations often vary
With those around remaining wary
Conformity is what is needed
Rules to life that should be heeded
For if you try to break the mould
Your spirit swiftly will be told
To fall in line, to not stand out
To fear a God, stay quiet, don't shout
Differences they will not tolerate
Seeking ways to which eradicate
Dunking those under suspicion
Rumours of their own fruition
Whipping, hanging, burning souls
Celebrating life's own goals
Have we learned our fickle fate
When we continue to berate
Those women who speak aloud
Standing tall within a crowd
Challenging our expectations
Often missed as desperations
A different place to cast aspersions
Quantifying different versions
Of how a woman should behave
Be she timid, be she brave
What have we learned, what have we gained
Of destiny still preordained
For women should fit in a mould
To nurture, care and to behold
The rules that govern in our mind
Ensure we stay a step behind
Later than the Witchcraft's wonder
We still are judged and casted asunder
My first approach to this contest
Was to write an Acrostic Poem.
It was written but not posted. I later
Decided a different more direct form.
Contest: Later Than Witchcraft
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Witchcraft has a distant past;
A strong present;
A doomed future.
Witchcraft, is a 'No No' from God.
The future is in God's head and heart.
Time and space are in His hands.
Our future is in his hands, not in the
Readings of the palms of our hands.
Lustfully seeking earthly fortunes is unwise.
Our fortunes are not known by fortune tellers.
Christ is our hope, our fortune, and our future.
Reading and believing the Bible is reasuring.
It will enable us to avoid deception and false hope, which is the hallmark of witchcraft.
In time, the future will be known by us all.
Weird Witch cunning most sitting with scary ghost
eating rotten mutton toast and burnt butter toast.
Octopus spinning twisting terrifying tentacles
Witty Witch showing black magic, doing miracles.
Ghostly Gibbous Moon peeps through clouds, winks wizard.
Nocturnal owl whirling eyes turns back to attack limping lizard.
Eight eyes of black widow sparkled through wide window.
Moon cast ghostly shadow os shrubs in adjacent meadow.
Vigorous going on scry Halloween Dance.
All are exulted , hated to miss the chance.
Violent Viper always hyper continue shedding tears
' I love you , Dear' to whisper close to my ears.
Wicked Witch danced in guise of Fairy.
Suddenly showed her face weird scary.
Emerald eyed Mini Cat chased macro mouse.
arranging party in dark haunted log house.
Jumper Vampire hugged me swift to inspire.
gifting , a shiny sapphire : Me ! About to expire.
Vultures and Hawks coming in flocks ringing gingle bells.
Me in party at haunted house trembling and heart fails.
we buried witchcraft
but kept old snake oil bottles
lined up on our shelves
hooked up with magic potions
to give hope when logic fails
science displays signs
fate is foretold on the screen
yet we plead for cures
still brewed over smoky fires
hope fixes we can't forgo
hunger stays away
concoctions remove old stains
herbs promise rebirth
purging latter-day poisons
making tomorrow spotless
old curses survive
though no cauldron lights the room
we demand revenge
through hidden spells and curses
that only witchcraft provides
when reason falls short
shadowy figures emerge
in crystal ball veils
to give our nameless fears cause
rather than leave darkness blank
science lights the room
yet something circles in flames
older than knowledge
witchcraft belatedly lives
where reason cannot go
There’s an all girl band called “S1ut Intent.”
They’re real headbangers which I can't take much of
but I LOVE that name - Ok, let’s write THAT poem..
S1ut intent, that’s what it was.
It was shamefully late
and the lights were on
but all else would have been torture
With marriage-like consents
and sharp cloyless appetites
we joined in love’s witchcraft
and bestowed our pleasures
entangling quite forcefully
was an antidote to the daily,
the pared-down and neutral
and once the torch was out
the epilog was stronger
than contentment
.
.
Songs for this:
Kiss by Demi Lovato
The Way I Love You by Jorja Smith
Little Sister by Ellie O'Neill
Fine print
Come to me.
If you have tried traditional methods and they don’t work.
You may enrol and I will help you seek what it is your looking for. Revenge or someone hurt you.
You should have some sort of skills to earn coins. It may take a long time so I won’t expect you to have them. I will help clear your mistakes.
You will do better in everything and learn as I may guide you.
I will give you ideas but expect something back.
I will appear to you as a vision or in a dream if I accept.
How long it may take is an individual case time.
You may sign the contract.
Sire Marcus Barracus.
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
Now I have the money
Time to escape
Before Djinn wakes
Help
I’m running in haste
I think he’s coming
There is no slave of Hecate
it’s sea soft shell saves and covers me
though no bliss unaware
but the pull of her hair
drags her back to reality
though sand soft curves
It limestone hurts
your pink poker hands
on fire they burn
and prick at the skin
of a lizards sin
there is no slave of our Hecate
with twisted nails
filled: grime and mail
brush liquid lines
on cupids cry
find black dog spines
not in her eyes
but wool worn lies
darken the skies
hello to a friend of Hecate.
The witch of the woods watches from the window,
While willows’ webs weave wildly in the wind,
And wicked whiffs of worm-water are wafting
From the whirling well of woe and wallow.
ah Coffeetop Locks
be the witch’s fox
a cunning you pair
in hand on the fringe
of village life wings
but inward at night
for her work
where you light
then quickly on hocks
ah Coffeetop Locks
Agnes Sampson there you say,
As frightened even now as to the strong wind is to a blade of Hay,
But we forget what made her the same,
And what gave the evil fairy Maleficent-her name!
We may accuse Esmeralda of witchcraft-
Just because she loved Phoebus,
But we forget that we too can fall like her from the raft,
And then- get under the Wheels of a running bus.
Maleficent cursed Aurora and made her die,
If that is how they are; then how are we,
We too hide bitterness in our hearts when we do not get the piece of pie,
Then who are we and who is she?
You can hide your face,
But you certainly for long cannot win the race,
Blaming others and saving us is what we do,
Rather than thinking how to change ourselves and wait in the queue.
If I walk with a torn piece of cloth,
Which I wear as I walk like a sloth,
But then I blame a girl walking without it for having no shame,
And who am I to perhaps oppose her for the sake of fame?
Mojito Conjuring
When the bruja in the red dress
sends me out this time,
it is for the taste of
sour oranges and garlic.
Once, when I plied her
with a cigar called Hoyo de Montyerrey,
she coiled the smoke,
said that I was still feral and untamed,
sent me out for sugar so that
I could learn my true name.
Scythe-swinging, field-slave-singing,
I could not return to her coven of one
until I had learned that my “Suarez”
meant that I was the son of sugar itself –
the child of wild ingenious devouring
the rows of cane like a dragon.
Now, red-dress bruja breathes out
clouds of tobacco *****,
turns the cigar round and round,
tells me to gather garlic and aurantium oranges
so that the sour and the sucre may jibe
together in me,
and leave me properly christened
for when it is time for me to work,
time for me to sweat,
time for me to sing.
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