Witchcraft Poems - Poems about Witchcraft

Spirits spell

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

Belly Dancer - Part 3

Now I have the money
Time to escape
Before Djinn wakes
Help
I’m running in haste
I think he’s coming

There exists no slave of Hecate

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

Weird Weeds - Mar 2

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.

Coffeetop Locks

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

ALL ABOUT WITCHCRAFT OF THE MEDIEVAL TIMES

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-

Mojito Conjuring

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,

Stolen childhood

Did I get dropped out the sky or floated to the surface
Was I sent up in a elevator from the underground 
I have never seen pictures of myself as a newborn or infant
No baby stories about baby milestones dislikes or like
Told, my cry sounded as if I had a bell on my tongue
No baby stories

Pumpkin Head

La bruja hechicera, 
with an impious hex,
from the marshlands 
beneath a foul swampy 
grave, she indeed 
summon Pumpkin Head.

Rage is how his master 
wheels revenge; For the
harsh reckless fatal end
of some young spirit slain.
His Abyss fiend ghastly nights
of vengeance spreads.

'Tis best, no wise,
to kneel in silent prayer.
Repent for it's the only tool
that might soothe
the impinging

Spellcaster

A cabin sees a creature cool from night of crawl and hunt in all
of gravely stone and street in tone of light diffused by wane of moon 
a toothless gum with tutting tongue clicks her way like bats among
the trees with hair of oaken leaves that perk each morn’ upon the sun
but she with book

Revenge is Sweet

The bullying and bruising
Went on and on for years,
'Til the time had come 
They'd atone for her tears

Aimed at those people
The cruel and the two-faced,
For revenge is sweet ...
And she wanted a taste

If only they'd befriended her
And if only they knew,
The humble, homely girl
Practiced a little voodoo 

All mouths sealed shut
And all eyes went blind,
The

Witchcraft

go cast some spells,
ride a broom,
eat someone's guts,
and don't give a ,
life is short,
days are numbered,
matematic we are all dead,
practic, we still breath,
more y days will come,
so what!
lets make a pile,
i wonder,
how many  do we need,
to reach the sky?

Confabulation

Confabulation 

My precious reminiscences 
that open the magic doors,
you are sweet-speaking witches, 
who hold bell-lamps with a tricky smile.
The spring comes back 
when you chant with your crimson lips.
My charming prince is waking up 
when you do rituals with your wand.
Your spells change my drops of sweat 
into fragrant flowers!
Influence of your mystic witch-ball 
making

By Grace Or By Witchcraft

All of us without exception laughed:
On the Pacific Ocean a raft!
Why would one big waters dare with craft
And hope to make it without witchcraft?

All the big lips in the small room laughed:
One saw a snake's fangs and cold beer quaffed!
A nice tale but the teller just daft,
My cash not leaving my pocket's baft.

Witchcraft

Hocus
Pocus



~11/30/22
~Contest: A Brian Strand Choice
Hiku, Footle, Tanka, Clerihew

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