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Gladys P Oct 2014
It was a gloomy Halloween night, misty, dark and cold,
With madness and mysteries that were yet to unfold,
When a pretty and pleasant witch, simmered hot brew,
Preparing to cast a spell, to the young and old.

With a poisonous drink, in scents of sweet potion,
And a fragrance of pure white lilies, only if they knew,
Tasty and hot, similar to a steamy cup of tea,
Placed in a large ***, plenty for everyone, and not leaving a clue.

As ghosts glided through, generating spooky sounds,
Reflecting mysterious whispers, as light as the winds,
And scary black bats flew endlessly, into the darkness,
Sparingly stroking, their generous long wings.

As guest gathered hopelessly and anxiously, drinking her brew,
And became drowsy, falling asleep,
And the witch grew weary and tired, through the night,
Upon her awakening, her invitees managed to escape, and she started to weep.
Lynn MacKinnon Oct 2014
Ghosts, goblins, skeletons, witches, black cats
A quarter moon, cloudy, rainy, dark night, scurrying rats
Spooky houses, gooey hands, sweet candy, people jumping, lights flashing
Screams of terror, evil laughing, smoky smells, lightening, cars crashing
before I can write, I have to stop
and consider the new nail growth
that has pushed nail paint further up
as my tiny talons become more worthy of their name.

earlier, I pointed at the individual students
one by one; they hesitantly mustered words
to match my unclear expectations;
hoping to avoid my sarcastic cackle,
or the full blown eyes gleaming
like the deepest darkest black marbles
wedged in my eye sockets,
their words trailed off, along with their interest.

I don't try to find a broom that fits my grip.
mine has always been the right fit,
and I've had the ability to travel through time,
and somehow connect one vague memory to the next,
adding detail and sharpening what was dull and lifeless,
so the imagery is mechanically pointed and precise.

My face paint is strategic war paint,
but brown, never green.
At once I'm judged as foreigner,
of foreign origin; young (you're THAT old?)

they will never know that I fear my own image
and imaginings
worse than they fear what power my pen wields.
to bear the weight of an expanse of thoughts--
strenuous, burdensome, careful responsibility--
with relief only once words materialize on a page,
on a screen,
that they will never read.

for no witch was born witch;
she was made so once her dreams shriveled
and resembled the lifeless frogs in her hands.
witches witches everywhere
how many do you see
there's witches in the garden
hiding in a tree

there's witches playing football
witches having tea
witches walking down the beach
witches swimming in the sea

all around us witches
some are hidden
some are not
i have discovered lately
of witches....there's a lot

witches drinking coffee
witches at the store
witches at the doctors
witches sitting on the floor

witches flying broomsticks
and witches driving cars
witches riding bicycles
witches hiding in the stars

there's witches having picnics
witches playing in the park
witches lighting fireworks
witches dancing in the dark

witches running races
and witches playing games
witches riding horses
with funny witchy names

on hallowe'en the witches
get together, one and all
and while the kids are trick and treating
they watch movies at the mall

there's witches almost everywhere
you have to look and see
now, count up all the witches
did you get the same as me?
kids picture book with witches all over the place....a counting-coloring book concept
alasia Jul 2014
Brewing a love potion is quite simple to do, a feather of a dove, and something from you.
A dash of sweet sugar, and bubblegum chewed. Yes, making a love potion is quite simple to do.
The voice of an angel must sing the spell and the holder of the heart shaped vial must never tell.
You cannot acheive greatness without these  things, and without your potion you'll have knights - not kings.
Something silly I wrote a couple years ago
Nielsen Mooken Jun 2014
Through darkness, laced in edges of light,
And rain, falling like angels plagued by blight,
Shattering their heavenly bones and wings,
Onto the eyeless dust of their return;
Through paths stranger to the hope of spring,
Where voices of ghosts hang with cries of “Burn!”
And moss mottled trees, like macabre jesters
Dance, limbless, leaves flailing grotesquely
To the secret japes of wind-bourn nesters;
Through corpse-ridden forests of insanity,
To where the rocks dress as the three witches
And chant midst their vainglorious riches
*“All hail, Eremita, bound to the adamah altar,
All hail, Eremita, your blood soma from the mortar,
All hail, Eremita, thou shalt be dead hereafter”...
Searle May 2014
In the coven’s cavern
Dark and dusky
Wart and Weird
A potion are planning

Boiling and bubbling
The cauldron they caress
Eye of emu
Finger of fiend

Mutter and mumble
Hair of hare
Claw of cat
Splash and sparks

With a wicked whisper
A **** and a poke
A whip of a wand
Silent strangling smoke

Covered beneath her cloak
A vile vial full
The murderous magic made
A dead baron as bade
Witches
Witches are eating the toes of a troll with a spoon,
boiling blood in a cauldron, and chanting
mischievous lyrics in the silver moon.

Feel their devilish ways cursing life,
casting ugly spells and cackling at
tormented suffrage and strife.

Watch in horror while witches dance,
stripping away sanity by carrying off
hope with no redeeming chance.

**** this nightmare caused by witches,
hypnotizing minds by changing their
appearances.

Hunting desperate men for affection,
seducing the weak to coerce their
love like a **** infection.
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