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“A curse!” my fist upraised in spiteful pain.
Departing country of my birth, upturned
By war, disease. This England, inhumane,
Where all my past and aspirations burned.

West Indies bound, with brothers, to fulfill
Indentured servitude on Nevis land.
Eight years I worked and toiled there until
Emancipation from contract’s command.

But all the while in service to my debt,
I learned of herbs and healing charms and rites,
From African descendants that I met,
Who gave me knowledge under moonlit nights.  

The practices and skills I mastered there -
Twas Voodoo that I learned and brought to bear.  

Twas Voodoo that I learned and brought to bear,
And practiced healing methods as my trade,
As blowing winds of change were in the air,
When plans to sail to lands anew were made.

St. Mary’s County, Maryland would be
The place where I would strive to build a life
Of quiet service in community
Where tolerance and peace supplanted strife.

I worked the fertile fields with grit and pride
That all my efforts lifted those in need
Through persevering work that dignified
My efforts for the village to succeed.

Despite my earnest struggle to upraise,
Suspicion always seemed to stalk my days.

Suspicion always seemed to stalk my days,
By whispered words or cautious, wary glance.
Though healing practice often won me praise,
My dealings often seemed to feel askance.

The Puritanic disposition here
Would view outsiders with uneasiness.
The nonconformists lived with modest fear
Of retribution for unseemliness.

A delicate relationship maintained
A peace between the members of the church,
And denizens who lived there unconstrained
By dogma, doctrine, or of Christian smirch.

This tenuous existence would unbind
In Sixteen Ninety Seven’s wintertime.

In Sixteen Ninety Seven’s wintertime,
Calamities unfolded in the town.
The first, a death, was thought to be a crime,
A charge of mine would accidentally drown.

Another came of unexpected cold
That set just after Samhain of that year.
It stayed beyond what almanac foretold,
And racked the hearts of men with mortal fear.

An illness plagued the homes of old and young,
Consistently defying scripture’s laws.
As bells of solemn funerary rung,
Their beasts of burden died without a cause.

An icy grip of fear would tribulate,
As anxious Christians sought to obviate.

As anxious Christians sought to obviate
The pestilence that hereupon was set,
They sought official seal to perpetrate
The persecution of suspected threat.

The Council met to hear complaints of those
Affected by suspicious tragedies.
The governor declared a writ to discompose,
Evict the ‘witch’ - the source of maladies.  

Expressing reservations, some of them
Suggested much more civil remedy.
But hateful brutes moved swiftly to condemn
What they had judged to be their enemy.

As howling wind and snow befell the night
The mob set out to remedy the blight.

The mob set out to remedy the blight,
That they suspected had to come from me.
A ‘witch’ they claimed, had surely caused their plight,
And only death could end her blaspheme.

No trial, judge or jury sealed my fate
Just superstitious Christians and their fear,
With burning torches lit to conflagrate,
My home, my peace, and make me disappear.

They came for me, encircling my house,
They came for me, when I was warm in bed,
They came for me, as silent as a mouse.
They came for me, in hopes to see me dead.

The flames engulfed my cottage straightaway,
I had but seconds to escape the fray.

I had but seconds to escape the fray,
With nothing but the clothes upon my back,
There into blinding blizzard cast away,
Absconding from unmerciful attack.

I trudged through blinding snows with  helplessness,
And found no sheltered harbor to protect
My body, from the tempest’s dreadfulness,
Or soul, that God would surely soon collect.

Exposure quickly forced a quivered breath,
With freezing force that I could not suppress.
Before my body fin’lly froze to death,
I screamed with all my might and forcefulness:

“My wrathful spell, on thee, I appertain!”
“A curse!” my fist upraised in spiteful pain.
Copyright ©2025 by D B Sullivan. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Coop Lee Oct 2020
hand me down stories
an indian burial ground
figures in the woods
three piles of rocks
the same log
bundle of blood


               i am so, so sorry
Broadsky Aug 2019
Adding honey to my tea and grabbing a stirrer, I see you out of the corner of my eye, baseball cap on, nose buried deep in a book.

Walking on these downtown streets today I thought to myself “I’m happy, and I’m happy without him”


See, the pain of our love crashing and burning doesn’t matter until I see you.


My stomach drops, my veins seize up, I’m stopped dead in my tracks.


I wish I could’ve said hello, I wish I could’ve asked “reading something interesting?”

But this is our reality, pretending we’re strangers and forcing the nights we spent under the moon out, out, out of our heads.


I don’t think I could look you in the eyes, I think it would immediately tug my heart down to my feet


The idea of us being friends is bittersweet like lemon drops, but no one talks about the bitter aftertaste.


I wish you well, I wish you happiness, and I hope you enjoy your cup of coffee with your read.
Saw you sitting in a coffee shop.
Broadsky Feb 2019
"So tell me how you're so confident." You say with a glimmer of seduction in your half shut eyes, your head leaned back- I want you. I want to watch you melt in my hands. I'm slipping on snow on the patio but your glance keeps me steady, I want your hands on me already. You're 10 years older but I've caught your eye, I make you want to say "she'll have another" on your dime. We're standing outside, you'll never see me again therefore I'll sink my teeth in. You move a little closer, I'll hate when this is over. I bite your lip- you breathe deeply and put your hand on my hip. I feel the soft ****** of your 5 o'clock shadow, you're hardly callow. I force myself to pull away- this is casual I say- I turn on my toes, my hair sways, and I toss one last hedonistic gaze to the man responsible for my daze.
I kissed a stranger in a bar, he had light hair and light colored eyes, he was a man and I'll never be the same again.
Cardboard-Jones Jun 2018
When I found you on the rooftop
Crumbling at the knees,
You confessed to me the air
Made it hard to breathe.
You felt complacent
But knew you had somewhere you had to be,
Just getting harder to leave.

We found some solace
In the undergrounds of Charm City.
You said “These basement shows relieve the angst inside of me.”
I said “It’s gonna get better, love, just wait and see.”
It’s getting hard to believe.

Wandering hearts.
We were lost in the Art Space, the soul of the city.
Looking for answers
All we found were strangers and bands bonding over riffs.

She’s still waiting for the air to be breathable again.

There we were, sardine packed,
Shouting out for the band.
Vibes of Old Bay Punk echoed off the walls.
Jimmy’s worried the neighbors might call a noise complaint.
Tommy’s laughing as he turns up the stereo.

After the show
We stumbled out of the basement
Off balanced and content.
Smelling like sweat and Natty Boh.
The high wore off and we were back to where we began,
Wandering the streets with shattered lungs and dreams.

On Charm City rooftops
You broke down all around me
Along with the railings in the basement of Art Space.
By one or two we wandered into the Ale House.
We were just in time before they had last call.

Somewhere on Pratt street
We ran into Remy.
He was looking for Megan and a taco truck.
Found our way, unwinding on a bench by the harbor.
I swear there was magic in your midnight eyes.
You held my hand, and breathed a bit lighter.

The air is not so bad...
He said to me
I'm gonna get outta here
Check out a different sphere
Of reality
Unless I meet
One of those county girls
Who wants to stay in this county world
And raise a family

Well that got me thinkin'
About all of the small town life
Everywhere there just seems to be a fight
To not get stuck.
You know I've been thinkin'
Bout all of these choices
Bout all of these voices asking me
Where I'll end up

The more I stay
The more I find
My piece of peace of mind
Comes and goes like waves
In this
Tidal Town.

|b.g.|
A song lyric I began over the summer, that lingered through the fall, and has been buzzin in my brain ever since. A friend yesterday said something that inspired the first few lines and it fit so perfectly.
Here's to small towns.
This one is for St. Mary's County.
Little white sails
Skimming the horizon
Little white clouds
Whisped throughout the sky
Little sandy pebbles
Tumbling through my toes
Little loudening thoughts
Of life just passing by.
|b.g.|
Just a MoCo girl living in  SMCo world.
Andrew T Apr 2017
We walked through the woods,
when it was growing thick with shadows, the way smoke funnels
out a chimney. She wore a hoodie and yoga pants,
attire to match her mood: relaxed and comfortable.
Her eyes reminded me of what lies beneath puddles,
after a rainstorm had passed through
the small hometown, which disowned you.
We wrote songs while sitting on tree stumps,
chewing tobacco and drinking gin.
Because, we wanted people to write movies about us,
like the ones they played before the explosion
took out a half of Paris, DC, and Sydney.
Test me again, and I will never talk to you,
you said those words and you meant it.
I regret ever running
into you at the house,
and falling for you,
like how I'm falling
over on my ***.
And now we will never text,
have a conversation,
or hold each other in bed.
Kiss me goodnight,
but don't say
that you ever cared about me,
because I don't believe
in the lyrics,
your favorite musician sings.
maggie W Feb 2017
It was winter of 16'
I met a boy in the land of Mary,
We went on our first date in the diner,
With my boy, boy from Detroit.

We shared an omelette, he put on extra ketchup
A scene I'll keep reminiscing.
We talked and laughed, as if no one's there
Suddenly I felt something so familiar
On the way to his car, I asked if he's cold
He said, No I'm fine, I am from Detroit.

In his car to the movie, in downtown Washington, D.C.
The movie is  called Manchester by the sea
I looked at him while he talked about how his parents met in Annapolis.
My first blue eyed boy, oh Michael from Detroit.

He said that he would leave, in the month of February
To China, to pursuit his dreams.
I said ,it's fine, it's not like I am looking for a relationship.
Little did I know, I will fall for this boy from Detroit.

It was winter of 16', we always liked to have some ice cream
Wandering in the city of the district
Sometimes we didn't, sometimes we did
Know where the street is taking us to
We may stand in the cold, try to figure out which way to go
But with him I'd never get lost.

My boy from Detroit, it was never a fling
but why are there so many" what we could have been"?
Before you left, you asked my when do I know,
When do I know that I have feelings for you?
Well I guess it was the moment I unexpectedly agreed
to go to a movie with you after dinner
In your black Ford on a late Friday night

It was winter of 16'
We are both at the crossroad,not knowing where life
Would take us to
But we will be fine, after some time
We will meet again without tears in my eyes.
This is for you, Mike
Oh my boy from Detroit

When the day come,I would gladly
Change my last name to Olevnik.
New attempt on writing lyrics like John Prine did.
Tim S Aug 2016
For the smallest of stature,
She was the biggest in the room.
It lit up whenever she entered,
And I did all that I could to not make a fool of myself.

It only took a weekend for me to fall hard.
She was quirky, but serious,
She was cute, but beautiful,
And I tried everything that I could to not get reeled in.

Less than seventy two hours...
That's all it took for me to feel like I had fallen seventy two stories.
And just like that,
I had to leave her and Ellicot City behind.

It was the longest three hour drive.
Back to New York City I went,
Leaving her and the weekend in my rear view mirror.
Heaven only knows when I'll see her again.
Sometimes you meet someone at the most inopportune time. This a story of one of those times. Here's to you, Alice.
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