Witching(A) Poems - Poems about Witching(A)

26-4-2025

Another oath I’ve sworn, 
Another spoken lie. 
Any way to home, 
Court me into a door open wide. 
Another totem born, 
Another standing so high. 
Another day,
Another poem, 
Thoughts come in the form of rhyme.

Rows of corn, 
Pleased to be born,
Taught to stand in line. 
Thoughts worn and dry, 
Fields seem forlorn, 
Ought to stand

Witching Hour

In the witching hour's eerie embrace,
On All Hallows' Eve, when spirits brace, 
I find myself in a darkened wood, 
Where whispers of ancient evil stood.

The clock strikes twelve, the night's black heart beats, 
A chorus of leaves dance in the streets, 
The moon, a ghostly silent watcher, 
Hides behind the clouds, the night grower.

A lyric

Witching

In a dark and shadowy forest, witches dwell,
Casting magic spells and brewing potions old,
Their cauldrons bubble with a ghostly hue,
Fiendish creatures roam the woods, bewitched,
By the power of these eerie enchantresses,
Who weave their sorcery through the night.

The moon shines bright upon this eerie night,
As the witches gather in their secret dell,
With cackling laughs, they work

The Witching Hour

Death, 
you're freed;
With one taste 
define nightlife;
Now I will take you,
 drip for me as I taste
and then erase your anguish;
Give yourself to the Witching hour;
Strawberries decadent in moonlight,
it was not the apple that Eve wanted.

What Of The Witching Hour

They project at night in the wee hours looking
to see what they can harvest
Be still so that you can grow to know peace or else
the lessons reaped will be the hardest
They don't know your reach travels farthest
way past any body in the system
These rites practiced are the wrong way to go as
they're lacking insight &

Witching Hour Minstrel Part Two

Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they face whirlwind snowfall, freezing ice,
while others brazenly squirm,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
of this genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
velvet moon worlds sidereal captured,
crescendo of

Witching Hour Minstrel

Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal  venturesome brushstroke sort,
they paint sound and city pastel,
never at a loss for inspiration,
weather neither bar nor barrier,
in the face of whirlwind snowfall,
freezing ice, torrential downpour,
within themselves, he, she, they plod on,
hardship is adopted, never cast aside,
while others brazenly squirm,
wallow in uproarious denial,
wilt before the slightest storm,
taking

Witching Hour

midnight came and went
witching hour cast no ripples~
slumber undisturbed 


Pixabay image by Orlandow

Witching Hour

If it truly be the Witching Hour
  from witch’s brew we need not cower

Only where’s the timepiece so precise 
  it rejects fresh hemlock for garden spice

The Witching Hour

The hands on the clock face read the time as 3:01
Which means the witching hour has begun

Its a time when witches and warlocks unite
Casting spells under the full moons bright light

Casting a circle to protect all those within
Using the power from the veil being thin

Calling and conjuring up helpful souls
Spirits that will help them reach

The Witching Hour

3:00am; The hour of old souls & deep thinkers.
Dreamers though we're wide awake.
Loud hearts & silent eyes, our every thought the night to take.
Bewitching ours, the Witching hour, what mystery awaits.


~ 2020

A Witching Winters Kiss-

 witching winter kiss 
so public intense house haunts
 in spite a ghost host


1/24/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr  2021

The Witching Hour

It is the witching hour.
There are no breezes in a windowless house.
There are no shadows in a cave devoid of light.
There are no dreams in a sleepless night.

It is the witching hour.
When our endangered psyche roams.
When we are captured by pernicious spells.
When we are easy prey for rogue chieftains.

It is the witching hour.
When warlords game

The Witching Hour

I wake up at three every morning
The witching hour
Is it the cat?
Or something else?

Maybe it is so I can have some thinking time
Before the others get up.
I hear a voice smirk.
You live alone silly!

If you think I can go back to sleep now
You are as crazy as I am.

Witching Hour

Your memory...
like hands around my neck,
taking my breath away.
Your name on my lips,
as if I had nothing else to say.
My final moment, my last prayer:
Please! Lord!
Make his arms my resting place.

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