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Down in the bayou where the mangroves grow
There's talk of black voodoo, like Marie Leveau
The Swamp Witch, is legend, she has magic so black
That those who have seen her, have never come back
There;s tales of the noises that come from the dark
Of werewolves and zombies as rough as the bark
The mangroves are sentinels, to where the magic resides
Where even a longboat has no room to glide
Bodies go missing from the graveyards most nights
And there's always a fog shading the fireflies lights
The Swamp Witch is ruler and Queen of this world
Where souls are all taken and spines can be curled
They say that she came here from Canadian lands
She was a metis they say, from the Western Tar Sands
A mystic by nature, a dark witch by blood
She lives deep in the swamp, protected by gators and mud
The gators respect her, they do as she bids
They keep watch on the waters, they're her reptillian kids
She keeps zombies as gendarmes, collecting bodies to turn
Just how black is her magic, no one can discern
The Swamp Witch is legend, she is as old as all time
The air in the bayou is as thick as the slime
The cajuns say voodoo is the core of her heart
They avoid fishing where the mangrove trees start
The Swamp Witch, a legend ? or is she truly the Queen
She's the Louisiana Witch, no one survives once she's seen.....
Tryst Apr 2016
In pressing times truth oft' lies so oppressed
And falsehoods rouse to speak in joyed debate
That burdens brought to bear upon the breast
Might anchor nought but will of one testate

What courage leant upon a graven guest
Not thrift of fear in bearing of his fate
But silent as all untruths so expressed,
Except to cry with cursed tongue, "More weight!"
Giles Corey was executed via "Pressing" during the Salem Witch Trials on September 19th 1692 at the age of 81.  He refused to enter any plea against the charges of witchcraft, as was his legal right.
Entering a plea meant he could be tried in court and if found guilty, all of his estate would be forfeit to the crown.
By not entering a plea his assets could be passed to his children.  To prevent people from using this legal loophole, the law allowed a person to be "Pressed".  This involved the person being stripped, having a large plank placed upon their chest, and then large rocks piled on top of the plank to slowly crush the chest, until a plea is entered or until death occurs.  Giles endured his torture for two days before succumbing, only ever crying out "More weight!" when asked for his plea.
K Balachandran Apr 2016
Was with  a salacious witch
      with amazing quick silver tongue,
Confidence personified
   she challenged me to chase her,
If I so wish, not in words.
 Her liquid eyes and gestures,
made me mad with pleasure
by the time we reached the peacock hill.
Peacocks, big  blue eyes painted on feathers,
   each, was in love with her, it seemed.
Danced vying with each other,
 to please her, while she winked at me.
As if to say"They'll **** each other
  to get my glad eye"wouldn't I feel jealous?


Helpless, I did surrender to her spell,
 like others in the line, in my front and back.
When just one touch of her index finger,
  would evoke magic, I'll get
Transformed to a young peacock
 of  exquisite beauty, with blue green plumes
none have ever seen before,to flaunt at
others of the ilk, on seeing it they'd back out.


Such a witch is one of a kind,my mind
    whispers, it's she who assures me this,
On the full moon night, due in a week
    we'll fly to the far away  hill where
She'll be with me helping to build a nest,
turning to a peafowl herself,
She'll lay a dozen eggs,
yes, in  to my ear, she says, this is only later,
h
When, she with index finger will
   gently touche me and proclaim, thus:
"This is the peacock I enticed and  
   with my witchcraft ,bound  for life"
In the middle ages overt sexuality of women sorcerers caused the fear that witches steal, penises from males and keep in boxes.as souvenirs.Such fear is rampant even in present day Africa.
What a chance trek with a mercurial witch who offered to be the  guide to a  peacock hill, would evoke?
I am the eclectic witch
There are no gods to tell me how to live
But the wind howls my fate
Where the rain falls I will dance
Because I prefer sandalwood to perfume
I am the eclectic witch I have no coven
Only the flora and fauna
And the tip of a blade
Where grass grows I will prance
Because I prefer metaphysics to religion
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!   ;)
Peter J Thomas Mar 2016
Tick tock it is the witching hour,

I fear they're all around,

They creep and sneak and then appear,

Without the slightest sound.
Xan Abyss Feb 2016
Tonight, the Witch Awakens
Tonight, the Witch Returns
Tonight, the Souls Forsaken
Come back around to watch us burn

The morning air is warm, but today's wind brings a chill
I can sense the coming storm of vengeance and evil
Black leaves on the breeze, a crow ****** in flight
And a sanguine shimmer to the gold in the glistening sunrise

Tonight, the Witch Awakens
Tonight, the Witch Returns
Tonight, the Souls Forsaken
Come back around to watch us burn

The afternoon Infernal, it seems they've all gone mad
To chaos doomed eternal, could it be we've all been had?
This town is somehow different, a plague across the land
You can hear it in the trees, you can feel it in the sand

Tonight, the Witch Awakens
Tonight, the Witch Returns
Tonight, the Souls Forsaken
Come back around to watch us burn

At Dusk, in desperation, the sun gives up the ghost
The spirit of the sorceress descends upon the coast
The Wicked and the Innocent - both paralyzed in fear
Children of her enemies, your judgment day is here!
Lyrics.
Bianca Reyes Feb 2016
My heart was found guilty
Of witchcraft by my brain
He dragged her and beat her
Spewed his hatred for her
Tied her to a wooden stake

My brain couldn't comprehend
The magic of my heart
Why she never wavered
How she always loved
He started this persecution
Because he couldn't understand

I always felt her growing
Beautifully and powerfully
With every beat she won me over
All I did was want to protect her
But my brain called it heresy

My punishment was to watch
As he burned her alive
I heard the shrieks of hope die
The smell of her love stung
My nostrils and it haunts me still

I walk around pretending
As if nothing had ever happened
My brain condemned me to live
This life without my heart
Without the love and only
With the memory of that night

Every day I burn like she did
As every day I hate like he did
I was unable to convince him
That she just wanted to love
But my brain was too afraid
Of the powers of my heart
Shared on Hello Poetry on February 1, 2016
Copywrite under Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved

Blah blah blah
Enjoy!
ellie danes Nov 2015
Do you see the moon?
It’s full again.
The time is passing so quickly.
It’s full again.
She hands me a glass of warm milk.
It’s full again.
Something catches my eye.
It’s full again.
The door closes by itself.

Did a ghost do that?
It’s hardly a ghost.
I sit on the washed out sofa.
It’s hardly a ghost.
My heart screams and my bones ache.
It’s hardly a ghost.
The way she speaks is so soft, so sweet.
It’s hardly a ghost.
She hands me the telephone.
It’s hardly a ghost.
Suddenly, she’s vanished.
Mahdiya Patel Oct 2015
You are like a spell book

With hidden messages

In exotic languages

And faded font

But I will continue practicing this witchcraft for the enchantment of your love to flow through my fingertips
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