"bewitchment" poems
I wished for you
excessively.
greedily.
immeasurably.
I craved you for days on end
and finally,
finally.
I got to see the way
your lips form around the precipice
of my name;
I felt your hand on my waist
as your touch provokes every minute nerve
in my body;
I drowned myself in the
depth of your eyes
that glisten with wonder as you
decipher
the spell you've cast upon me
and how it speaks volumes of every
fairytale ever made;
and I have had a taste of all of this
I've had you
right within my breadth,
just until the warmth
of the rising sun
kissed my eyelids awake,
like the tender whisper of the
cosmos
or the discordant bellowing
of the void
as it reminds me:
You are unattainable.
Right then again I was able to
comprehend
that you will remain an illusion to me
until our paths cross once more
and in that moment,
nothing will be capable of surpassing
the bewitchment
the resplendence
the luminance
of the mere reality that is you
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
Nothing intimidates me more,
Than a woman’s inviting smile,
It pierces right down to the core;
Appealing to everything I adore;
This subtle, suggestive, wile:
Whetting the sense of anticipation,
Igniting fires of the imagination.
Nothing possesses more power,
Than a woman’s determined will;
Disguised as a delicate flower,
Sweetness smothering the sour,
Regardless of the pyrrhic thrill;
Bewitchment in everything but name,
Savouring the illicitness of the game.
No ordinary man has a prayer,
When a woman stakes her claim;
She’ll welcome you into her lair,
Reject her desires if you dare,
Her revenge has legendary fame;
Travelling incognito: deadly intentions,
From this wrath, there are no preventions.
Do not ever, ever, underestimate.
That which cannot be understood:
Avoid the temptation to speculate,
Categorize, classify or evaluate,
The secret mysteries of womanhood;
Whenever tempted by an inviting smile;
Nod politely then turn, and run a mile.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
hymn to Apollo
by Michael R. Burch
something of sunshine attracted my i
as it lazed on the afternoon sky,
golden, splashed on the easel of god;
what, i thought,
could this elfin stuff be,
to, phantomlike, flit
through tall trees
on fall days, such as these?
and the breeze
whispered a dirge
to the vanishing light;
enchoired with the evening, it sang;
its voice enchantedly rang
chanting “Night!” . . .
till all the bright light
retired,
expired.
This poem appeared in my high school literary journal, the Lantern, so it was written by age 18, but probably around age 16 or 17. That was my "cummings" period. Keywords/Tags: sun, god, sunshine, Apollo, elfin, phantom, ghostly, magical, enchanted, bright, light, brilliant, sky, golden
Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?
Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, during my “Romantic Period.”
Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Go down to the valley
where mockingbirds cry,
alone, ever lonely . . .
yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
you never shall wake.
Go down to the valley;
go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
of souls such as yours —
mad souls without meaning,
frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
reserved for the dead.
They lie in her shallows
and sleep in her bed.
I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. In addition to having similar titles, they had similar "staircase" indention styles. According to my notes, I modified "Moon Lake" two years later in 1978, at which time the poem was substantially finished. I then modified "Tomb Lake" in 1981, but must have forgotten about it, because I don't show that I ever submitted the poem for publication or did anything with it for more than 40 years. Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Lakes, Water, Reflection, Reflections, Image, Imagery, Mirror, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Spells, Enchantment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC
Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?
Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, during my “Romantic Period.”
Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Go down to the valley
where mockingbirds cry,
alone, ever lonely . . .
yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
you never shall wake.
Go down to the valley;
go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
of souls such as yours —
mad souls without meaning,
frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
reserved for the dead.
They lie in her shallows
and sleep in her bed.
I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. In addition to having similar titles, they had similar "staircase" indention styles. According to my notes, I modified "Moon Lake" two years later in 1978, at which time the poem was substantially finished. I then modified "Tomb Lake" in 1981, but must have forgotten about it, because I don't show that I ever submitted the poem for publication or did anything with it for more than 40 years. Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Lakes, Water, Reflection, Reflections, Image, Imagery, Mirror, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Spells, Enchanted, Enchantment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion, Romance, First Love, Dark, Dreams
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 12:31 AM UTC
Circe
by Michael R. Burch
She spoke
and her words
were like a ringing echo dying
or like smoke
rising and drifting
while the earth below is spinning.
She awoke
with a cry
from a dream that had no ending,
without hope
or strength to rise,
into hopelessness descending.
And an ache
in her heart
toward that dream, retreating,
left a wake
of small waves
in circles never completing.
Originally published by Romantics Quarterly
Keywords/Tags: Circe, enigma, enigmatic, enchantress, siren, enchanted, witch, goddess, magic, Ulysses, pigs, sty
Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?
Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?
Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, during my “Romantic Period.”
Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch
Go down to the valley
where mockingbirds cry,
alone, ever lonely . . .
yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
you never shall wake.
Go down to the valley;
go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
of souls such as yours —
mad souls without meaning,
frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
reserved for the dead.
They lie in her shallows
and sleep in her bed.
I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. In addition to having similar titles, they had similar "staircase" indention styles. According to my notes, I modified "Moon Lake" two years later in 1978, at which time the poem was substantially finished. I then modified "Tomb Lake" in 1981, but must have forgotten about it, because I don't show that I ever submitted the poem for publication or did anything with it for more than 40 years. Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Lakes, Water, Reflection, Reflections, Image, Imagery, Mirror, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Spells, Enchantment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion
Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 4:47 AM UTC
*It all started in the town Warwickshire,
within Stratford-upon-Avon
a magician invented a spell
a thaumaturgy from Ovid's
magnum opus and Holinshed Chronicles
that whispered an image
of kings and battles
which turned into a game of bewitchment!
Hail the Globe Theatre
where the throng gathered
and witness the sorcery
ensorcelled by the conjurer
though spell cast into ashes
and turn dreams
into a nightmare
Yet, 'Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.'*
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
Pull the curtain from over your eyes
See beyond the constructed lies
Stop your judging and demented cries
Of those whose point of view you deny
Feign ignorance to the truth you will not see
Watch the tide rise as common sense recedes
Hunker down in your dogmatic cocoon
Only to emerge and naive buffoon
Logic and science are trickery and bewitchment
Such are the thoughts of the ignorant
Stick to your beliefs and fears like glue
For you read it in a sacred book so it must be true
Ask no questions and deny no absolutes
See where that takes you if you are so resolute
Watch the world crumble around you and blame the devil
For hes the creator of all ills and evil revel
Watch the powers that be consume and destroy
As they take away all living things health and joy
Pretend I offend your moral code
But deep down inside you fester with hypocritical mold
To NOT ask questions and seek new ways
Is to annihilate the future of all earthly days
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 7:10 PM UTC
while you were sleeping,
stars stepped out to dance,
trees whistled a tune with the wind,
river shimmered a firefly glow,
sheet of grass blades spread cool,
street mongrels howled a love ballad,
cat clawed a tune on the guitar,
the late Ravi Shankar plucked
divine on his ghostly sitar...
while you were sleeping,
world made a blanket of clouds,
crown of a dozen sunflowers
ii
while you were sleeping
I delved out of this dream
and finally opened my eyes,
saw illusions on angel wings,
mermaids celestially sing of
beauty's imprisoning knots,
dazed world of impossibilities,
eternal bewitchment, disparities,
all afire in new unbiased light,
it is the puzzle that binds you,
not its swab drab culmination,
a loop threading in forever land,
iii
while you were sleeping
I fled the valley, the valley
of hatred, fear, the blind,
while you were sleeping
while you were sleeping
while you were sleeping
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 8:41 AM UTC
There is a girl who goes here
who looks just like you
i'm so sorry i didn't come to watch you go
are you now back to watch me through school?
oh hecate, have mercy upon me
and shield me from this bewitchment!
or at least lend her kindness
like she had in this last life
i was too weak to go!
and you too kind to deserve me!
oh please, forgive me
i'm begging you
forgive me
forgive me
forgive me
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
I could tell them that you're dead.
Pretend you're not around, watch your ghost jump
billboards, flying out of town.
Keep the night behind you,
Keep your hands over your head.
Don't tell me to miss you,
don't repeat what I said.
Bewitchment and trials,
or whispering in bed.
Keep the ocean moving,
hope that the river remains calm.
Tell me everything that you hope happens,
and again, remind me why you're gone?
Messages in bottles,
paper stitched in the center, written in a song,
your words make me feel better.
I don't blame you for not liking anything you see.
Worms of disgust, hate, and deceit
crawling inside of me.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
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.
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 8:13 PM UTC
Dear daughter,
Let me introduce myself.
Whether you call me your friend, your confidante
Or you call me a **** and crazy,
I am your mother,
Your Ma, your mom, your momma, your mommy,
Your Mother.
I will be your faithful guide, friend, companion.
I Will be your first teacher and your last.
Sometimes I will be in front of your saying “Nice try! But try again.”
Or I may be beside you unsure of the same answer as you.
But sometimes I will follow behind you, learning from you along the way.
Remember the good times
And the bad, and be scared of your feelings
Because fear is an emotion too.
When you become lost, never let the wonders leave your eyes,
Even though you may wander.
But in your wandering, your small hands could touch nations,
If only you would let them.
Just believe the world has magic in it,
Because the moments of small silence give way
To their own kind of bewitchment.
Sing loud and proud like no one is watching…
And if you can’t, Happy Birthday works just as well.
Look for the glow worms, my child,
The baby fireflies,
Because they are a rare creature indeed
And can only be seen at the darkest of times,
Just like the stars.
Let your eyes be like fireflies and your steps like a prance
Because nothing attracts men like a bright girl who can dance.
So move your way closer to me
Because there is a pigtailed shaped hole in my heart
For the little girl that you will always be to me.
Live as many lives as possible and explore several worlds,
But always follow the banana bread crumbs back home by nightfall
Because nothing good ever happens after eleven…
Unless you are making a wish.
And if you are, load every 11:11 wish with a prayer
And aim it towards the sky.
Send a letter to the stars to make room for one more
Because someday you will shine,
But on your way to the top,
Tread lightly, my child,
And don’t wake the beasts
Because they exist
Trust me, I know.
Even when you are grown and have daughters of your own
Think back to me and remember.
Love,
Your Mother
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
there's a sense of peace
that wends its way through
the folds of my diastoles
elicited by the dreamy murmurs
of your voice when it sings my name
and I cling to that lullaby like
marsupial infant
till our souls stand melded
in adoration's fire…
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 9:14 PM UTC
To encounter you felt like a tragedy
felt like a bewitchment
To know you was luck itself
To love you was a benediction
You were passion, artistry and fire
To everyone but yourself
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 12:37 AM UTC
She brushed her veil aside and tilted her head upward,
Not seeking comfort or benediction,
Only to confirm what she **** well knew was happening,
That the skies, full of gray and grim portent if not outright malice,
Had picked this very time to begin steadily dripping,
Signaling what was sure to be a sodden downpour
(The weekend already chock-a-block with disasters:
The chocolate fountain a testament to dysfunction,
The rehearsal dinner poached salmon overdone and dry
The limousine company downsizing them at the last minute,
Having realized their top-line models
Could never handle the grade or narrow figure-eight drive
Up to the mansion’s precarious hilltop locale.)
The photographer, who’d lived around here all his days
And had developed a sixth sense
Concerning the vagaries of the weather
As well as those of combustible brides,
Had done his best to border-collie the proceedings along,
But as the droplets increased in size and intensity
Recriminations were hurled and doors slammed
As the bridal party sulked off
Toward what promised to be a most interesting reception.
We’d witnessed the goings on,
(Bride fulminating, groom supplicating
The location for the pictures apparently his idea,
Thus proving there are places
Where angels and husbands should fear to tread)
From a safe distance, under the overhang of the great porch
Overlooking the broad, ostensibly placid Hudson below,
Having come here in spite of the clouds,
As the odd rumble of thunder,
And occasional spate of rain being part and parcel of things,
As we’d mucked through these parts long enough to know
That they were fleeting,
And not without compensations of their own
If one was of a mind to seek them out
(We knew full well of the bewitchment
Of seeing the clouds descend slowly,
Covering the sleeping silhouette of old Rip Van Winkle
Slumbering in the knobby Catskill foothills just to the southeast)
And no more than fifteen minutes
After the newly minted man and wife left,
The sun broke through, glorious and unfiltered,
And we ducked into the great room of the house,
Reveling in the magic of unaugmented light.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
Every time I wrote
Poetry about him
It was forever magical
Stacked with spectacular stanzas
Rare rhymes, divine lines
Beamy diction interweaved
In dreamy feelings
He could never be duplicated
His radiant dreadhead bewitchment
Was so breathtaking
I seeped in his luscious supreme sweetness
Riveted by his hyperexcitable masculinity
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 3:42 PM UTC
I think I want to be with you.
I want to cherish the moments we have
Not that I already don't.
If I could allow myself one thing,
It'd be to fall into the deepest abyss of you.
I wouldn't be scared.
Even if that's some type of reassurance for my self conscious,
I wouldn't be scared.
This isn't a fairy tail,
But more like a brothers grim.
I'll get tangled in the captivating woods of your soul.
I'll be devoured by the bewitchment of our love.
If there is such a thing.
I'll let myself only be guided by the light of your sorrows.
Not because I hurt you,
But because I want to find what has hurt you and learn from it.
I can promise I'll always abide by your side.
And reside by your pride.
I'll never be caught dead in some type of disguise.
Because you don't deserve that type of lie.
And you never have.
So let me fall into your depths of hell,
And I shall crawl out with you.
Let me sink to the icy depths of your frigid ocean.
And I will emerge breathe taken,
Not by the lack of oxygen I was unable to inhale,
But by the breathe taking opportunity I was forsaken with to prevail.
To emerge victorious with the beauty,
You call hell.
Its really heaven to me.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
Unexpected chinks of sunlight drip through the barriers
Cradling me and enveloping me
In a loving embrace
My darling you mean so much.
Intricate fabricated stories and deceits are shared
Secrets leave scars in our hides
Thorns of roses forever imprinted
But they make you who you are
That's why I gravitate towards you
Because we share heartbreak, dreams and hopes
Yet still keep drifting on the brisk bittersweet breeze
Ever forwards to our future
Fragments of memories and actions
The candied sap willing to shield me
From the dripping tears of sadness
That's why I cherish you
Because you learn to grow with me
Palms outstretched
We endeavour as an antagonistic pair
Seperate entities entwined
With a golden burning lustre on the surface
Learning how to function as one
Even though so incompatibly perfect for one another
Because nothing else matters when it's us -
No judgment or propaganda
It's undiluted love and yearning
Laughter ripples underneath the exterior
It works like bewitchment
Smoothly and all at once
Whispering through the woods and engulfing us
In the burning sunlight rays of fervour
My darling you mean so much.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
BEAUTIFUL “ S” CURVES, TANTALIZING LEGS AND A SENSUAL SWINGING WALK DO NOT DEFINE A WOMAN’S BEAUTY. NOR IS IT JUST ABOUT APPETIZING BREAST AND A VOLUPTUOUS BEHIND. HER DEEPER BEAUTY IS MUCH MORE DISCREET TO EVOKE.
SHE MOVES IN RHYTHM AND GRACE AT THE SAME TIME CAN BE FAST IN HER EFFICACY, SHE WILL PERFORM ALMOST ANY TASK LIKE AN ACE.
HER VOICE HAS A MINOR ROMANTIC QUALITY TO IT THAT IS SEDUCTIVE EVEN WHEN SHE USES AUTHORITY.
HER BEAUTY IS A MIRROR OF EVERYTHING SHE LOVES.
SHE CAN BE ONE WITH NATURE AND PLANTS AND HAS ALWAYS KNOWN HOW TO HEAL NATURALLY.
SHE CAN CREATE AND GIVE LIFE TO ANOTHER HUMAN BEING AND SHE CAN TAKE LIFE IF NEED BE TO PROTECT HER PROGENY.
SHE IS THE TENDER AND GENTLE LOVER WHO CAN UNLEASH WILD PASSION AND POSSESS YOU BODY AND SOUL WITH HER BEWITCHMENT.
A WOMAN'S BEAUTY IS.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
Out on the tollroad
I see signage everywhere
Saying, “I knew you before I formed you in the womb.”
And then I knew of the concept
Before it was formed into words:
To know of one’s pain,
To be aware of pain.
I saw this drawn all over the rings
You imagined painted both our fingers.
Did you know me
Before you formed me into words?
Before I heard the words come from your mouth
I knew God, I knew gnosis, I knew the gospel
I knew bewitchment
From a grimoire, etched with hearts
And symbolology.
From there, we look for the perfect philosophy,
A biological philosophy deep latent
In the passion in the sweat on your upper arms
And leveraging all that came long before,
A generational memory
Recollected when I’m ******* on your mammaries
Realizing the good in that which
Makes my life hell
And my parents proud.
In passion, I notice the double standard,
Feeling drowned in water and this,
This is the sense of
Understanding the world
With the perfect syllabicality.
The kind where
The tokens we carry in our pockets
The ones we talk with,
Flash before love
Is ever a factor.
Too easily, do we speak about love.
How could a fetish for the perfect
Distract us enough to forget
The imperfect,
Something fear perverts far beyond utility
Something that’s far more a safer bet before
The perfect is good but not good enough
And you’ve lost your stomach to draining bottle after bowl
Seeking dopamine desperately.
You’ve been the cat in my lap
And the histamine storm
Assaulting the roof of my mouth
A reminder we can’t get too close
To the things we love,
And I’m not into you
Being so into me,
Being so bereft of the thing
Neither of us expected to happen.
The way you say you love me
Seems off balance,
Your love seems like a self-reassurance
Quietly nestled behind the greatest desire
For your worst insecurity, it is with that
I know what about yourself you love the most
It is outside the flow we promised one another
As though we’re held to the same ground
By a different gravity, said different words
That we nodded to.
It’s been said before,
I’m sorry, it was something, upon which
I thought we agreed,
There’d be no tears when we would leave.
So much wisdom is in the idiom,
“Follow your heart.”
Follow where it flows if even into the dark
If even along many streams
If even it strays, follow your sense of pain
And where it may teach you
Never to fear what you were
Meant to have
Even if it means the unfaithful
Path along the straight and narrow.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
He is an extraordinarily gorgeous and sparkling portrait
Brilliant, rich, vivid, and intriguing
Fiery, virile, insightful, and poetically intense dreaminess
Ardent, evocative, and heartachingly enthralling
Lurid four-star heart-throb
His strikingness is fixed in my mind
His magical swagtastic attraction is
A smashing high-fashion gallery
Bursting at the seams
With unequivocal irresistible bewitchment
I am tremendously transfixed on his freshalicious majestic thugness
Jul 26, 2022
Jul 26, 2022 at 9:31 AM UTC