“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.

The Beloved Souls of Salem - by D. B. Sullivan


Woe for the souls who in Salem did suffer as charges were levied
Onto their innocent lives. Accusations of witchcraft had come from
Neighbors and townsfolk who claimed to be Christian but lacking in virtue.
Shame to the church and the christians within it for harming innocents.

“Witches!” they cried with the pointing of fingers that surely would threaten
Liberty, life and the standing of members devoted to their kin.
Scant was the evidence offered as proof of offenses before God.
Nevertheless were the parties subjected to needless suffering.

Fantasies spreading like rats of the plague wherein feeble minded folk
Bought into lies and horrific dishonesty. Feeding on their own
Citizens, family, kindred and brethren, accusers provided
Names to be targeted, lives to be shattered and souls to be condemned.  

Where was compassion or doubt of the charges? The magistrates seemed to
Judge the defendants as guilty without hesitation before a
Series of hollow, facetious, nay “trials” determined the “truth” of
What had transpired or who was a victim or who was free of guilt.  

Month after month in the year of our Lord Sixteen Ninety Two and Three,
Women and men were subjected to torturous treatment and terror.
Humans betrayed by the church and the state and the village they so loved.  
Sent to the gallows to die for the sins of the Puritan christians.

Even the ones who were spared execution were brutalized, broken.
Many imprisoned were tortured and beaten and died awaiting trial.
Infants of mothers accused were then born in the prison, dark, cold and
Died in conditions where no one would help them, out cast just as refuse.

Such was the state of the village that dozens of innocent people
Suffered and died on the words of accusers, and no one attempted
Merciful pleading for grace or for clemency. Innocent were these
“Witches”, these humans courageously standing as beacons of true strength.

Truly, the only affliction was having no courage, no honor.  
Baseless were claims of consorting with Satan or supernatural
Dealings with devils and demons. The “Witches” were peaceful, upstanding
Citizens, living their truth and in balance with nature and God’s Earth.

None of the liars were punished or banished for needlessly causing
Suffering, pain and unwarranted carnage, here upon the village.
Puritans acting as nothing had happened here, sweeping the affair
Under the rug and ignoring their actions that shattered all those lives.

Long ago, names of the townsfolk forgotten like mud in the river.
Ah! But the “Witches” are vaunted and hailed as beloved souls of yore.  
They did not flinch upon seeing the noose, did not cower before men.  
History shows that not death or destruction can vanish the Witches.

Centuries later the pattern continues and “Men of God” inflict
Pain and oppression on innocent victims while pounding the bible.
Lest they forget it is they who will suffer the wrath that they have earned.
Fires of Hell for the “righteous” and “holy” that prey upon the meek.

See now! Not fire, not gallows, not torture will silence the spirit.
None can extinguish the light of the Witches who tend to Earth’s children.
Caretakers, healers and makers of magic, protectors of wounded
Creatures and people, the coven is sacred, eternal and cherished.

Self-righteous factions have always been keen on the prospect of power.
Try as they might to suppress and subdue in the name of God’s command,
We will still be here.

May peace and truth beguide my wounded soul
That tends and treats the sick with caring hands.  
Compassioned heart for mothers new, and ole,
And infants brought to bear within these lands.  

With bone and herb, and balm and flame, my trade
Is healing, birthing, mending. Berwick North
At Nether Keith I dwelt. No accolade
I sought, but honed my skills and blossomed forth.

Though widowed, I, with help of kith and kin,
Provided care and nourishment to those
Whom surgeons spurned or medics cast chagrin.
This tough but noble calling here, I chose.

These humble skills in time became revered,
Until the cold distrust of church appeared.

Until the cold distrust of church appeared,
Content was I, to toil through my days.
My truthful testimony volunteered,
When called upon to answer for my ways.

At Haddington I stood and spoke my truth,
That ne’er was dev’lish force about my dwell,
Nor thoughts nor will of evil. Nay, forsooth!
Tis virtue that beguides this mortal shell.

“A godly, humble, simple maid am I,
That tends the sick and lame with loving touch.
The wanton work of evil I decry,
And guard myself from Satan’s icy clutch”.

But far from calming fears of devil’s coup,
The Presbet’ry’s suspicion only grew.  

The Presbet’ry’s suspicion only grew
As I continued practicing my craft.
My prayerful, solemn words they’d misconstrue,
And scribe them as an evil, carnal draft.

“All kinds of ills that ever be, be gone!
Both more and less and all the mass - and stone!
And right the blood that reeked o’er truthful rood
Of forth and flesh and of the Earth and bone!”

By name of God and Christ, I conjure thee!
That binds and heals the sinew and the vein
That sin shall have no vex of malady
And cast away the putrid and profane.

As sabbats turn, and seasons changing tide,
Contrary winds would surely soon collide.

Contrary winds would surely soon collide
As James the Sixth’s ambition sought to claim
Dominion over witch or devil’s bride
Who’d threaten order o’er his vast domain.

On Hallows Eve the coven met, they say,
At Auld Kirk Green with witches dancing free.
Consorting with the devil fore the day
And sacrificed a cat to sink at sea.

By this I was arrested for the crime
Of witchcraft and a plot to sink the king
While sailing home with bride on seas sublime
Where ghastly winds and danger forth did bring.

Imprisoned now, in chains, awaiting fate
With torture’s looming fear yond prison gate.

With torture’s looming fear yond prison’s gate,
I steel myself for what may lie ahead.
With nerves alight, in silence here, I wait,
Consumed with ever growing sense of dread.

To dungeon cast where instruments of pain
Would tear my flesh and stab unto the bone.
Deprived of sleep, my thoughts became insane.
My will began to fade, my spirit flown.

Despite the searing pain and agony,
My innocence of evil, I maintained.
The torture did not break my sanity,
Until their searching left me unconstrained.  

When privy mark of devil came to view,
Confessed, I did, declaring charges true.  

Confessed, I did, declaring charges true,
And brought to trial swiftly on the morn.
I never would be spared from death, I knew,
When guilty I did plead, confession sworn.

At Holyrood the trial did commence
With charges read and evidence amassed.  
No counsel did I keep, nor recompense
In predetermined manner, judgement passed.

Convicting witches demonstrates the might
Of King, despite perpetuating lies,
Regardless of the sin of claiming “right”
While wrongfully convicted person dies.

But such is true of Christian powerlust
That soon I’ll be returning to the dust.

That soon I’ll be returning to the dust
Is fear and anguish, tormenting my soul.
To die by execution as I must,
I pray that God will soon receive me whole.

The rope ‘round neck was drawn for bringing death,
Constricted, strangled, held to agonize
And suffocated wind and air and breath.
Asphyxiating into my demise.

With final, fading vision seeing flames,  
My body, limp and hanging from the stake,
As fire consumes my flesh and fin’lly claims,
My life, my name, my truth, let none forsake.

A casualty of Christian wrathful toll,
May peace and truth beguide my wounded soul.

I'm floating on mists,

without legs: the Witch Mountain --


early at daybreak.

I may mistake the modern day for Salem.
We seem to be mirroring the crazy then verbatim.
Back then, the hysterical banter was of witchcraft and bewitchment.
Now it’s plotless allegations with no plausible way to prove it.

Someone accuses another of a devious deed,
No trial, no proof, I guess that’s no longer a need.
Just escort them, with haste, to the center of the stage,
Light the fire and burn them alive,
Leaving the liar to tell another lie.
The only witchcraft that I see,
Is how people, so thoughtlessly,
Get so passionate about events so petty,
That they become a mob, a stormy sea.
It has nothing to do with their lives,
But they see a cause and sharpen their knives.
A primitive desire to antagonize,
What we believe to be bad, but based on lies.

Truth has become subjective,
Despite its definition, objective.
I can spur a web of lies,
Witchcraft in disguise.
No need for evidence, it doesn’t have to be airtight,
Just enough to incite the urge to fight.
Isn’t that a sorry sight?

“Burn the witches!” They’d scream in Salem.
“Cancel them!” Is the modern verbatim.
They don’t deserve to tell their side,
Just shut them down and ostracize.
Guilty until proven innocent,
Dripping with bitterness and discontentment.
It’s a lose-lose for the accused,
At least they don’t meet their end at the end of a noose.

Perhaps the witches we need to burn,
Are the ones who accuse without evidence to confirm.
Why is the burden of proof on the accused,
And not the ones who defame and misuse,
Justice for a few moments in the news?
Burn naivety, which says that people always tell the truth,
And understand that, sometimes, people are just cruel.
Send the liars out into the center of the stage,
State their case, their proof, and who’s to blame.
Due process, not this foolish nonsense,
Based on feelings used against us.
Before we’re all bewitched by passion,
Which overcomes our reason.

i was called a witch
more than once
for wanting to craft potions,
to erase the wounds
love left behind.

i burned its letters,
willed the wind
to carry off the pain,
lit candles
to hush the tears
that fell like rain.

i never prayed to the devil —
only for myself
to grow stronger,
composed,
untamed.

the spell took hold,
i can entertain
your idea of a witch.
maybe i am.
but if you plan to burn me,
you’d better do it
while you can.

The shortest day throughout the year
Should leave us with but little cheer
Yet as the day turns into night
A hope lies with its dimming light

A hope unbroke through eons past
Tho doubt it often would amass
In hearts and spirits of long last
Ancestors who witnessed it's glow

For they, who didn't truly know
The secrets of the star that hides
That, as the light that shines in thee
The sun lives on, eternally

No longer will the Gods arise
For what's eternal never dies
We leave behind all fear and fright
In that long, cold, dark winter's night

And all that's left for use to do
Is wait for day, to break on through
And turn our faces to the sun
Knowing one day we'll all be one

subtracting voices
chandeliers hung by dead feathers
cannon ***** of years when time hated fairly
left over promises i'm not friends with

getting lept out
hanging death
to find a friend
running away
marrying the wash out
battling for empty
filling up the old crimes
inside my healing head
to destroy their evidence
useless when its good
too ugly for views

prisons too important
for me, the left overs

i was the addiction
now another contraception
hailing ghosts
tangled in timecards
under hung
and still voting
to take my spots

My dear one,

May you walk new paths optimistically when you are the Fool.
May you create your universe when you draw the Magician.
May you trust your intuition when you draw the High Priestess.
May you be grounded in family when you draw the Empress.
May you lead with authority when you draw the Emperor.
May you listen and learn when you draw the Hierophant.
May you open your heart to love when you draw the Lovers.
May you speed towards success when you draw the Chariot.
May you see the power you contain when you draw Strength.
May you sit back and reflect when you draw the Hermit.
May you recognize your karmic cycles when you draw the Wheel.
May you balance truth with wisdom when you draw Justice.
May you surrender yourself when you draw the Hanged Man.
May you transition smoothly when you draw Death and Rebirth.
May you balance your energies when you draw Temperance.
May you face your inner demons when you draw the Devil.
May you see the truth clearly when you draw the Tower.
May you wish for a better tomorrow when you draw the Star.
May you see into the depths of yourself when you draw the Moon.
May you ignite with joy and inspiration when you draw the Sun.
May you truly know your motivations when you draw Judgement.
May you be spiritually reborn when you reach the World.