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Ahna  Sep 2018
Wolfsbane
Ahna Sep 2018
He is my poison, my purple flower
So sweet and intoxicating
Yet so lethal I burn and die
My Wolfsbane that puts me to sleep
My dear and peaceful nightmare
One that I crave day and night
One that makes me fly off in to the sky
One that lets me taste a bit of heaven
And I come back down again to see,
Non other than my poison flower
Blooming under the moonlight
So beautiful, so ethereal yet so dangerous
My breath hitches and my lungs ache
My heart burns and tears escape
As I have a taste of my Wolfsbane.
I scream, cry and I hollor against the sky
Staring into his dark orbs, glistening
No trace of sin, so heavenly I crave
And my craving becomes my sin,
And he is not other than just,
My beautiful purple Wolfsbane, so pure.
His essence dripping from my soul
And as I close my eyes he takes me to heaven
Tasting my poisonous wolfsbane
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
I feed you wolfsbane for lunch
I know you ate it I heard the crunch

Now your sitting there ashen-faced
Your mind starting to embrace
That death will soon be your fate
You'll soon be at deaths creaking gate

You look at me in disbelief
But I just wanted some relief
I couldn't take your yammering on
But soon now you'll be gone

And my ears will no longer bleed
I only have to endure your dying plea
Your last breath to me is pure art
I never claimed to have a heart
Amberlyn Walsh Aug 2015
Deadliest flower
Taking life but giving death
To all who come near

You did that to me
Both of you caused me such pain
And you don't know it

You were both so drunk
I doubt you remember it
Oh but I sure do

So many questions
Do you even know my name
Did you hear my 'No's

I was lucky right
Because it wasn't extreme
Not like in movies

Tell that to my mind
Explain that to my conscience
But I won't listen

I know what happened
Everyday it's on my mind
I have been poisoned
Ben Apr 2013
why why?
comes the
world-weary cry,
of a
solitary wolf
with pain
in it's
eyes

as the
cold wind
blows, to
herald the
snows and
carrion crows,
whose rancorous
laughter mock
the alone

without a
pack, the
single wolf
dies, under
grey skies
with none
to bare
witness except
maggots and
flies

and the
carrion crows
chortle in
mirth for
the unforgiving
world, cruel
mother earth
cares naught
for the
wolf who
found no
home
Rahul Luthra Sep 2014
Let me tell you a story about a Boy
Who had a broomstick and a wand as his toy
But alas! Nothing ever goes right
The only thing the Boy remembers from his childhood is a flash of green light
He was orphaned at the age of one
Lily died protecting her son
And his mother's love was a magic he would always carry
His last name was Potter; his first name Harry...
He was the only one to survive the unforgivable curse
No one knew how the spell had fired in reverse
For baby Harry had survived this curse in his cot
The monster who had tried to **** him was Lord Voldemort
The only thing left behind by this curse was what made him special - his scar
But his non magic relatives who took him in lied that it was the result of the crash of a car
Muggles was the name given to these non magic folks
Magic would stare them in the eye and they would still call it a hoax
It was not till his 11th birthday that Harry discovered the truth
When the giant Hagrid broke down the door; a sight that would give nightmares to any youth
While they were all trying to make sense of this human-giant hybrid
'You're a wizard, Harry' revealed Hagrid
Now it all made sense to Harry; the strangeness, the magic
And no his parents did not die in a car; it was way more tragic
So now Harry finally began his seven years at Hogwarts
And it was ensured that the strangeness would multiply now onwards
Harry was surprised to find out that the whole wizarding world knew about him
They were surprised to find out that Harry was not spoiled, but good - natured and slim
So on 1st September Harry Potter boarded the Hogwarts Express
Those who saw him gave him a look of impress
On this train he made his first friends and foe
But that was Harry's new life - with them he would grow
Potions, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts to name a few
Those were their subjects and to Harry they were completely new
Thee year passed by without him knowing
And before he knew it, it was already snowing
He became the youngest seeker in a 100 years
It was not until the end of the year that he faced his worst fears
The monster that had tried to **** him had returned
But Harry cheated death again though he almost burned
In the seven years he had many an adventure
The Forbidden Forest was a place he promised himself he would never again venture
He reunited with his Godfather who had been wrongly framed
Harry was the only one to pass out because of the dementors which made him extremely ashamed
The potions master he hated had a history very long
It was only after Snape died Harry realised about him he had been so wrong
Dumbledore's Army finally overthrew Umbridge's reign
The only potion that controlled Lupin was Wolfsbane
This poem has the story in a very haphazard plot
Harry found out how to end Lord Voldemort
For this all the Horcruxes had to be destroyed
This was possible due to Dobby - your argument is void
In these seven years Harry understood friendship and love
Oh and his patronus was a stag; not a rabbit or a dove
To succeed in life you needn't go a great length
Just turn your weakness into your strength
The scar wasn't a curse; it was his gift
This story is about The Boy Who Lived...
Chris Chaffin  Jan 2021
Calliope
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
I cast the muse into the sea
to wake her from a peaceful sleep.
This poet’s quill is void of ink;
it needs her words to strike the page.

She’ll fight the waves Poseidon sends
til Sirens drive her back to shore
to sip an oleander brew
and hoist the cup of Socrates.

Bring wolfsbane and a death morel!
Bring nightshade and curare too!
We’ll fatten her with woe and pain!
We’ll ready her for war and hate!

She’ll writhe and quiver, seethe and foam
until she spews her putrid verse
upon the blackened sands of time
from which men’s darkest dreams are built.

And when the gods are satisfied,
when Ares’ sword has slashed and burned,
this poisoned pen will rest at last.
Calliope shall sleep once more.
tension is mounting in Egyptian capital Cairo after military staged apparent show of strength during a 6th day of anti-government protests

"judging by the proofs she had before the effect of her beauty upon Caius Caesar and Gnaeus son of Pompey she hopes she will more easily bring Antony to her feet for Caesar and Pompey had known her when she was still a girl inexperienced in affairs but she is going to visit Antony at the very time when women have the most brilliant beauty and are at the acme of intellectual power" – Plutarch

Cleopatra strapped by great debt incurred under the reign of her father thought it imprudent to mint gold coins so only lesser metals were used to commemorate her reign gold would have survived the centuries better than baser metals

sword slashed blood-spattered stomach Antony’s corpse lies motionless across room Cleopatra drinks mixture of ***** hemlock wolfsbane she holds squirming asp between her legs with wary hands around its neck she lifts snake to her naked breast its fangs strike at her arm handmaiden Iras dying at her feet another handmaiden Charmion adjusting Cleopatra’s crown before she herself falls

Egyptian Pyramids Sphinx Pharaohs mummies internet cell phone blackout police stations plundered weapons stolen gangs of armed men attack at least four jails across Egypt before dawn Sunday helping to free hundreds of Muslim militants thousands of other inmates as police vanish from streets of Cairo and other cities

the couple jumping holding hands out of burning World Trade Center building i understand it was defiant gesture of love over death maybe they hardly knew each other the sight of them just tore me up inside

Cleo is out from being in her hair is shorter figure looks too thin the neighborhood changed old ghosts new skins Cleo is out from being in walks same old streets yet does not recognize thinks thoughts never realized sees people she believes she knows but no one is who they seem they talk different tongues glance sideways scheme shaved heads fat wads of cash beautiful young women scattered dreams Cleo is out from being in she orders ice with glass of gin sips drink sits back grins voice from past out of nowhere whispers hey Cleo where you been there’s a debt to be settled truckload of hunger basement full of sin you up for paying your dues again Cleo is out from being in skeleton packed closet ***** dishes in sink she murmurs i just can’t win
Xan Abyss May 2015
****** into a ****** world of death and hopeless grief
No matter what man I become I'll always be a beast
Ripped in two by tragic fate and secrets that I keep
And there is no release from the creature beneath
Asleep in a devil's dream

I am cursed by the moon
And tonight will bring my doom
**** me when the wolfsbane blooms
and lock me in a silver tomb


Pain and death, they follow me wherever I may run
My soul is ****** eternally to a lake of burning blood
My life is void of happiness, I'm terrified to love
I used to thrive at night but now I live to chase the sun
Am I the only one?

I am cursed by the moon
And tonight will bring my doom
**** me when the wolfsbane blooms
and lock me in a silver tomb


----
........
~~~~
----

Transformed by the moon I run through the moors in the mystic fog of the night
If I find you, pray that you don't survive the attack or live through the bite
I need flesh and blood so fresh, and I smell my prey nearby
You can't run and you can't hide from me, it's time to die

This is the Curse
of the Moon
Lycanthropic Lunatic
and worse, it's true
The Wolf of Hell is coming after you


The terror in her eyes, it satisfies, the predatory urge overtakes me
Crimson-stained by his open veins, the light of the moon liberates me
The Hound of Hell escapes its cell, the human shell it's held in
The Dog of War, released once more, Suburbia in Bedlam

*This is the Curse
of the Moon
Lycanthropic Lunatic
and worse, it's true
The Wolves of Hell are coming after you
Lyrics.
Wade Redfearn Jul 2018
the green and waxy confusion is your cape and covering
topaz wings strum and flutter,
branches snap
beast and bug
geranium and dogwood
woodear spore and wolfsbane
flower and firm hedge
all wear goosebumps:
the whole army of generation, the waft and release
ready to conceive, to love and make root
to spill and ****
daylight, moonlight
well-fed and hungry
west and further west

a brush against your thigh flattens you
climbs your spine like a curse
robes you in purpose
to be and be alone

there you are: croucher, scuttler,
position known only to yourself
subclade of womankind
treasure in your soul
(in purses and pouches;
taking in, taking in)

it is private here and musty
you own your hands, your knees,
the dirt under them both,
the roots beneath that,
everything on the wind and below the blue sky
everything dark, and everything light:
kingdom of your own discovery
shroud and mountain and cache of mystery.

A door far away slides open
an echo of busy house, busy bones on the air.
Something in the oven.
Something in the heart.

What is the voice calling?
Who wants you home, child?
And if home is a warm meal, a bed,
a bath, a glass of milk,
a known touch,
then do you own your skin?

Aren't you small and lonely?
You are not.
Rangzeb Hussain Jul 2010
VI

“Hearken, all ye there!”

Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis

It began, as these things tend to do, with a quartz encrusted howl,
Lamenting under the crystalline shadows of Leda’s heartrending growl,
Her ravished moon bled and sank into the vocal cords of guilt coated cowards,
“Come back, come back! Oh, frivolous sanity thou art truly unjust, most unkind!”
Right here in this lonely place did my Darling dear spill devotion onto spiced dust,
She swayed on the rickety ridge surveying her sapphire kingdom’s splintered trust,
There it lay glittering, her city of cities, nothing now but a jeweled corpse.

V

“Know ye not of the oft-told tale of the drinking-well at World’s End?”

Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco

My Lady who did fire the lyre of Orpheus, she weeps there in the misty chilled cold,
Wild it is, all about her the night wind nibbles at the skin clothing her fractured soul,
Cacophonic waves of regret silently scurry to labyrinths entombed with truths bold,
“Come back, come back! Oh, to my tempestuous ***** hasten with thy canticles!”
The symphonic fingers of fog pluck a requiem upon her autumn flavoured hair,
My Queen is attired for her banquet at tables far beyond Persephone’s desolate tears,
On the precipice her figure rises for the final faithful leap into Styx’s stratosphere.

IV

“Behold now the dread eyes of Hades, see how they hunger blood at the boil!”

Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro

Carnivorous tasted memory plagues the betrayed Minotaur’s desired deliriums,
On these haunted shores I clutched her close and eagerly inhaled love’s elusive serum,
Legend has it a suicide was here on this very cliff-top, ‘twas a true Roman centurion,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let us under Demeter’s enchanted orchards lie!”
My obsidian-eyed Beauty gathers her eggs and over the fearful edge she unfurls them,
Closer to the dead of Euphrates she steps, I to madness hurtle as one condemned,
Bind savage Cerberus for the solitary reign of the wolf is fate for all hanged men.

III

“Prometheus thou hast drunk Pandora’s poisons, what sayest now the Titans?”

Tres Tres Tres

Golden fleeced days into the fleshy ground of Morpheus’s realm did seep away,
How well spent they were not even immortal Calypso shall decipher nor say,
Would that mine myopic ears had been shorn and tossed into Pompeii’s crisp clay,
“Come back, come back! Oh, gentle Maid no more, I beg thee stay awhile yet!”
What was it? Was it me? No, no, it could not be me for I was Achilles buried asleep,
How little we then knew, we two did partake of the stinging, you the wasp I the bee,
Mayhap ‘twas this unlocked the plumed towers to thy curled universe tunneled deep?

II

“Therefore did the Serpent spake and pronounce a judgment most nefarious!”

Dos Dos

She thinks back, my Lady fairer than Medea, she remembers a time happier,
Really there was, hear yet my credo, once upon-a-time there was no doubting terror,
But then a thing did into our guarded haven breach and wreathe about my treasure,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let me slake my thirst with thy honeyed spirit!”
My flesh did crawl, my fangs grew sharp, my spittle ran down and my fur stood taut,
The jawbone stiffened and all the while I burnt like an infernal phoenix caught,
Oh, my sweetly crazed fruit, did I for real the horror upon you wrought?

I

“Would that thou didst offer me thy riches upon the hour of the violet twilight...”

Uno

Wolfsbane moon, high above it rose in that final cracking of sacramental bones,
My Lady much wrong did you I, forever for this will the beast in me atone,
Now, at this baleful hour has the wolf left you on the edge of an embryonic cyclone,
“And so to the Elysian Fields where insanity fertilizes the soul do I embark...”
You cross the Rubicon and glide into the obliterating arms of Plutonic eternity,
The wolf, me, is left clawing your hooded red robe with absolutely no certainty,
I see you sailing upon Neptune’s trident, forever adrift on oceans of eternal cruelty.

N

“Seekest thou sanctuary in the hinterlands where the man with one eye is King?”

Cero...

pretium libertas est nex**



©Rangzeb Hussain
dillon leehe Mar 2016
I hope my blood stings your lips
I hope it’s bitter at your tongue’s tip.
And even though I say so,
I know my cruelty will never let me go.
I want to hurt you like you hurt me
but I’m afraid it’ll be worse—
can’t you see?
I’m filled with wolfsbane
and salivate when you puncture my vein.
Lap it up and tell me it’s good
just because you know you could.
I’ll wait and smile at each dead minute.
This’ll be my first victory—
I don’t want to miss it.
It'll be sweet to lay and lie
and even sweeter to watch you die.
Then I remember, I am a hybrid
and you are a wolf.
I'm not a actually killer, okay? I'm not a sadist, either.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
There was a witch in the woods
No one thought was good
She wore a shirt tie dyed in hippies blood
She smoked lots and lots of bud
She had a pet nightingale
And at night it would not sing but yell

One day she decided to pay homage it mother earth
For nature to her powers had given birth
She thought that a picnic might do
So she went around setting the mood
She gathered the wolfsbane and some food
Lit the candles and the fire
Making it climb higher and higher
She stared her naked dance you could hear her wicked laughter
But there was an important thing she forgot to factor

The villagers really hated her so the tracked her down
And tackled her down to the ground
Tied her up and on one of her wrists was a big bruise
That was the final straw, it lit her fuse
And she sent them all
To the gates of hell for the fall
So no longer could they visit or call
Was challenged to write a poem using the words blod,nightingale, homage,picnic,wolfsbane,naked and bruise. So folks here it is!   ;)

— The End —