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Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
A gift wrapped prose
of undraped words
to confabulate or obfuscate
An incantation in every metre

It conjures a spell
on those that dwell
by their torpid state
in somnolent walls of each stanza

Never counts its lines
nor vocalize what rhymes, openly
'cause you won't ever tell
that you're in hell with the Devil's poetry.
Conjurer of spells,
I stir phrases
in a witch's cauldron.....
wizard's breath to
tint the potion
Let it boil over
Reduce the excess
add emotion
and a four leaf clover

Temperature at serving time defines the tone and
type of incantation
Cold spells work
as heartless breaths
Warm ones jubilation
Hotter brew brings swift results
Careful even death

My sorcery is well disguised
as poetry and song.  
I'll have you laugh,
yank a tear or
make a day
feel twice as long.

I'll look you in the eye
as I feed you all
my truths and lies
None can break the grip
of words I wield,
won't know to even try

Warlock...my voice enchants
let me whisper in your ear
You'll result bewitched....
but if I hold you high .....
there's never need to fear
Inspired by Jamahdi Verse's Spells collection
Hollow Steve Oct 2014
I can feel you from here. I can sense sadness, anger, lust, and fear. Sensing the atmosphere. Do we all share one consciousness? Like the internet exchanging information? Where has all the magic gone? These modern times are killing us all. Or is it just me?
Trust me, it's out there...
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
what is more gentle,
than this pillow of the light?
a life narrowing,
in a bright feather dance
that sweeps across the sea
or covers our faces in shadows.
where do you go when you leave me?
now I am nocturnal,
a bliss bandit,
cooing at stars
one thousand miles high.
shaking like a tea kettle,
I am the black *** black,
shaking,
shivering.
Swallowing pieces of your light,
in the back-room jungle where I sew,
tears to the bottoms of my eyes,
where no one ever goes.


I know days,
hours,
one minute
where I gambled time
and stood behind you
with my fingers
on your shoulders
and my mouth on your neck.
What it takes to be apart,
split in half,
shucked from birth;
it takes every thing I
ever owned,
every note I ever sang,
each breath that I will make-
some thought I stand up on,
my knees quivering below me.
five kinds of drugs
just to see straight, to hold
my hands steady or
sleep at night.
your lavender flavor
is still in me.
you in me.
one.
two.
soaking in this forgotten city,
Earth's heroes drifting away.
I could never eat again, or
cast a spell, or touch the same.
while burning I may never
stand
on these same two feet again.


four years,
a photograph.
one voice,
softening into my skin,
that I never may forget.
that this beard is of
an old man, should I never
count again
blessings or songs.
I dive into the flame
and study this journey backwards.
so I should never forget,
everything so serious
as this
as you, in me.
In Response to a Poem by Leila R.

— The End —