#apprentice
The old sorcerer was teaching his apprentice a lesson about the moon, but as usual the subject drifted, this time, to witches. “How would I know a witch if I saw one?” The apprentice asked.
“It’s not easy,” the old man began, scratching his beard. “There are three possible ways to spot a succubus who wishes to remain unknown—they’re quite different than the rest of us.” The old man began filling his pipe. “They draw great power from water, you know (the apprentice didn’t know). An enchantress with one foot in a stream could hold off an army—for days.” A spark popped from the pipe scarring the old man’s robe, but he healed it with a twitch of his ring finger.
“Then all armies should have witches!” the boy announced.
“They’d’ never get involved in a war,” the old necromancer chortled scornfully, before resuming the lesson.
“Witches have eyes black and whiteless under a moon full—those are easily hidden.” He waved his hand dismissively, then he recited: “In moonlight’s grace, a witches face will glow with a cold granite cast.” He smiled like a child, adding “You’d throw up if you heard one laugh, and grow weak if you cross one’s path.” He became sidetracked and began fumbling with a pile of stacked books.
You said three ways,” the apprentice reminded him, “the moonlight glow,” he said, raising a thumb, “the eyes that black show,” he added his pointer finger to indicate two, “what else?”
“Hmm, let’s see,” the sorcerer cleared his throat, “they don’t all wear black, or have crooked backs, but they smell sweet, like mixed calendula and eucalyptus.” He fished around a collection of herb jars, drawing out two. “Here, smell these, together, and don’t forget them. As the apprentice inhaled the sweet combination, the old sorcerer continued. “Of course, once you smell a witch, you’re in a world of adversity—if she wants you.”
“Oh, yes.” he said, as if jolted by memory. “Witches love unnatural things, like drinking venomous hemlock. So never kiss a beautiful witch, for those dark lips are moistened with poison.” He chuckled to himself “Learned that verse as a boy.”
“A witch would **** us then?” the youngster asked, wide eyed.
“No, no, no!” The old man waved that idea away like a fly, “If a witch kills someone, they experience an ecstasy so intense, it’s debilitating. Then they’d be easy prey for other hags who want their secrets.” He raised a finger which he shook, “But they could blind us, ******* us, bind us, make us forget ourselves or turn us into toads.” He laughed himself into a coughing fit. “That happened to me once,” he confided, chagrined, “but spells wear off.”
“Are witches more powerful than sorcerers?”
“Well yes, and no,” he said, his look seeming to focus on some faraway point. “A witch and a wizard are a fair match but if witches form a coven of eight, they’re unbeatable, really.”
"Though they'd be as likely to **** each other as anything else," he added.
Absorbed in their lessons, time had gotten away from them. Robins, thrushes and dunnocks, from hidden perches, began their "evening chorus," owls and nightjars began sounding their sunset warnings and cricket, katydids, and cicadas sounds became prominent. It was time to hang the wards, light the candles and spread the garlic.
“Hurry, boy,” the old man encouraged as he began to twirl and chant.
“Rest oh, spirits, there are no evil-ones here, no souls close to death and no sweet blood to taste.. rest restless Jinns, or wander elsewhere this peaceful night, no plot is afoot, no muder in plan..”
.
.
Songs for this:
Abracadabra by Steve Miller Band
Abracadabra by Lady Gaga
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 11:17 AM UTC
We're all disciples here
We're all disciple makers
We're all apprentices
We're all apprentice takers
Whether you know it or not
There're those who look to you
Give them something worth seeing
Something honest and true
All of us carry our scars
Some costly, all hard earned
Don't waste the sweat and tears
Share the lessons you've learned.
We've all got younger brothers
We've all got younger sisters
Take some time to walk with them
Shake off the doubt that hinders
We're all disciples here
We're all disciple makers
We're all apprentices
We're all apprentice takers
May 29, 2022
May 29, 2022 at 2:30 AM UTC
The poetic apprentice constantly
ponders and plans.
He dreams up wondrous writings that through critisms can stand.
He imagines mystical miracles he elaborates with his hand
Unending possibilities his vast
Mind demands
He scoures the depths and peruses vast heights.
He indulges crisp, cool mornings and envelops the nights.
He listens for lyrical lullabies and observes majestical sights.
He journeys throughout space
as he embarks on jaw-dropping flights.
The poetic apprentice searches
The depths of his heart
He dissects it and reads it
And tears it apart.
Then divulges it's secrets
And crafts them into his art
He wishes so dearly that his
Work becomes no disaster
He keeps his senses in tune
In hopes he'll one day be a master
As more work pours out the
Pressure grows faster and faster
But he'll slow down and humble himself
As his work evolves and becomes vaster
Now the poetic apprentice sighs
A great sigh of relief
He wipes off his brow
As he mumbles "good grief!"
His work is now over his
work is complete.
He knows they will like it.
Its his faith, his belief
The poetic poet now bows
To you, his work is bequeathed
Oct 23, 2020
Oct 23, 2020 at 11:39 PM UTC
The sheathing of this bulb
has broken, filled with scratches
Although it still shines bright
Hub of its joy: serving me
It has seen all of my doodles
but gave away nothing
My infant poems often think
that its light is their mother
My sweat, my tears, my nightmares
are its insignia, its tatoo
It imputes its capability
of breathing to me
but I am the apprentice here
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
Black ink thrown onto a canvas
Art is a betrayal of the senses.
The thoughts you think only leave you senseless.
Like an apprentice, endless, defenceless and depressed.
A hole inside a whole mind of a complete mess.
An image of emptiness can never be painted,
But painstaking hearts are willing to try this,
For they have waited for this long,
For you to write their wrongs in songs
And cure the curse of verse, chorus, verse.
Release the words or remain entrapped,
Hidden in the dark beneath the mask.
True remorse I lack,
Because of a reminder to self:
Don’t look at the sword in your back.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
I think I'm in love with Alan Sugar,
And it isn't for his magnificent beard.
Nor for the way he fixes the boardroom
With a steely gaze that must be feared.
I think I'm in love with Alan Sugar,
And it's not due to the cut of his tailored suit,
Nor to the way he points his finger
Or how he has *** loads of loot.
I think I'm in love with Alan Sugar,
And it's not for the 'banter' with Karen & Claude,
I gaze at the screen on Tuesday evening,
I wonder if Alan knows how he's adored?
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
under the table
where the wood shavings grow
where I eat my cold meals
on the cold cobbled stone
under the table
where the knowledge flows down
from callous-studded hands
to the human-shaped Noun
under the table
where no one can see
who carves the cabinets
who'd know that it's me
under the table
where the years pass me by
where I wait for that one day
the woodworker dies
the woodworker dies
the woodworker dies
THE WOODWORKER DIES
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 5:08 PM UTC
Oh Donny and Arnie got into a battle,
begun by The Donald who started to prattle
on something so urgent... important... momentous,
which is: Arnie's ratings on this year's "Apprentice".
So Arnie said, "Trump - What's your priority,
a show you produce or the presidency?"
Then Donny said, "I'll show you how much I care"
as he made a dog's breakfast by hijacking prayer.
So Arnie said, "Donny, you ignorant *****
when it comes to careers, perhaps we should switch.
You take on the ratings as job number one,
while I sit in the Oval and get something done!"
Of course, this whole thing's a ridiculous act
on the part of The Donald, so he can distract
all of us and the press and the whole internet
from the seemingly fascist agenda he's set.
So let's make a vow not to speak of this stuff,
and let us not heed this celebrity fluff.
Let's not make muckraking the thing that we do...
But now I have realized... I've just done it too!
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
*If I had a dollar
For every opportunity I ever missed,
I would be in a position
To tell Donald Trump..."You're fired!"
By Lady R.F ©2016*
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
My Master died some time ago
But he left me 'The Ways of White Folks'
And he taught me about 'Democracy'
I recall the 'Dreams' and the 'Dreams Deferred'
And how he sang 'I, Too'
With less than a hundred years between us
His lessons are the same
America for him was brutal
America for me hasn't changed
So with the words he left me,
I craft my trade in his name
With artful thought, I pay my dues
Studying my master, Langston Hughes
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
Trusting her with a book of spells,
With all the knowledge of destruction for yourself,
Teaching her each and every incantation,
Letting her be to practice it all.
Even if there's no certainty that she won't use it on you,
But you are willing to bear the pain if that is what she wants,
Because you know you are willing to give your entire soul to her.
Now that's a great sacrifice for someone.
To be able to give your all to the person you truly care.
-HIY
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC