"harridan" poems
He looked on down from the higher ground
At the village he held in thrall,
A gaggle of bowers, of steeples and towers
And he ruled them, overall.
They went their way each enchanted day
Unknowingly bound in his spell,
Not able to leave, to fret or to grieve
While he ruled their wishing well.
The wishing well in the village square
That had been since ancient days,
Nobody knew who put it there
Some sage with enchanted ways,
Its spirit was always known for good
Till they dragged her from a ditch,
That haggard harridan, Elsie Hood,
Known as the village witch.
They’d ducked her once in the village pond
To see if the crone would float,
Pricked her skin with many a pin
So the Witch Finder could gloat,
The sentence passed was the first and last
For a witch, in that village dell,
While some were stern, said a witch should burn,
She was tossed, head first down the well.
The well grew an ugly, creeping moss
That gave off an evil smell,
And everything good from it was lost
Some said, ‘It’s the witches spell!’
Then he had come to the village square
And tossed in a coin or two,
Said, ‘I command, let me rule the land
And the village surrounding you.’
And from that day they were cut away
From the villages all around,
Each road would twist with an evil mist
They were lost, and not to be found,
While he looked down from the higher ground
To gloat on each church and bower,
For then by stealth he had taxed their wealth
Though all that he had was power.
A maiden sat in the village square
Selling her flowers and blooms,
Each day, enchanting the people there
By night, in the Tavern’s rooms,
She caught his eye, and he breathed a sigh
When she smiled, so innocently,
So he went to tell the wishing well
‘That’s who I want, for me!’
The spirit flew from the wishing well,
The spirit of Elsie Hood,
‘I’ve done the thing that you want me to,
But now you want her, for good!’
It dragged him screaming across the square,
And tore at his eyes and skin,
His blood was spread almost everywhere
By the time that she dropped him in.
The mist has gone, it has moved along
The roads in and out are clear,
The moss dried up on the wishing well
And the girl, well she’s still here.
They filled the well to the top with sand
So no-one conjures a spell,
They’d rather be part of the greater land
Than wish in a wishing well.
David Lewis Paget
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
Is there any more vile villain
Than one that starves children
Or one who leads his men
Unarmed into the lion’s den?
Is there any more wretched soul
Who destroys his people’s goals
And befouls his neighbor’s sod
Then hides behind the name of god?
Is there any more heinous criminal
That those hiding in a high citadel
And ordering the total destruction
The implementation of a weapon
That murders women and children
That have done nothing to them
And hides the truth behind lies
Then points to the flag that flies.
Can anyone ever be worse than
The screeching ugly harridan
Who mouths deceits of her man
And brags she is his greatest fan?
Can she not see what she does
How she besmirches her own cause
By siding with this misogynist.
She condemns herself with her own fist?
Sometimes the villains that surround
Do their work with the least sound.
They undermine their very own fate
By siding with some nefarious mate.
Maybe someday the people will awake.
And make it stop before the **** breaks.
Or maybe we are doomed to forever be
The mindless victims of national apathy.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
So frightful beautiful harridan
your extended & startling tongue
red rapturous rolling eyes
dark, dark skin,
sword, sickle & trident
already stained,
dripping ...
& lapped by the dogs
at your Divine feet.
Around your neck
glazed eyed
silent,
threaded, beaded
blank faced,
your victims skulls,
surprised no doubt,
at your swiftness,
caught in mid-flight
in activities bold
& terrible.
Lieutenant William Calley,
Captain Ernest Medina,
Lieutenant Frank Barker,
So, so many from Charlie Company
guilty on that fateful day
in My Lai 4
South Vietnam
March 16
1968.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 9:57 PM UTC
Or Why I Left Medium.com
Sing, Muse, the futile war betwixt genders.
Hate, stupidity, intolerance, PC ********
Femmes Afeared of contradiction. Shout.
Their castrato sycophants. Here, *****
Nannie and her harridan hyenas. Attack.
On Medium you will be well done. Fried.
Hordes of Harpies hurling lightening.
Petulant little girls. Stamp feet. Pull hair.
Free to agree; otherwise, shut up.
Hidden behind PC barriers, they snipe.
All men are potential rapists. Factoid.
All women are helpless victims. Fact.
Millennial milquetoasts. Everywhere.
Do exactly as you are told
or take your evil ***** and fold.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
Mothers' Night
cascading
shards uneasy
echoes
falling
"It's our calling."
**** of Earth, hot spurts of words
savage knives
Abiding
Mothers, sacred and mundane
twist into harridan
cold stars
wailing, hurtling waves
Sad, old, crust of ages sliced,
******* carved up for profit
"It's not the color of the skin,
the culture of the smile"
the scent of danger,
the inborn stranger -- all excuses for
Us (superior) and Them (inferior)
"They are not like we;
but lower curs."
we may harm with unfettered glee
Cursed to be cut
to our requirement. Borders clear
"Here, fear fences in
our livelihood and wives."
Leave THEM to
putrid pits
cunning jabs, our pleasure.
Thus all treasure that might
regale, heal, reveal true worth,
of man and Earth
sold for pittance of potash
to dance a weary jig
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 6:58 PM UTC
How low lies the line, the thin
Separation of Earth and Sky, far, far,
Beyond the bending ambles, the
Solitary gables, where descending pylons,
Unroll their cables, deep into the womb
Of distant cities.
Bellicose clouds in league with
The sea wind, wrest samphire fragments
From a sentinel peace, while folding
The hamlet in pitying glamours
Of harridan water on slate.
In Spartan gardens, Bu-gloss leans
Bruised petals hard, by rusted stanchions,
as bind-weed , knots the flaking perch
Of tumbled gantries, in a throttled
Slew of searching.
Melancholy anthems, quiver and hail
In the breeze-plucked tune of loose
Slung wire. Pleas of long gone mariners
Mutter and choir through salted gorse,..
..
Hurry inland to rattle at doors of
Norman churches, as if seeking
Some last sanctuary.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
*
World calls me crazy,
They all even call me
****** evil, witch
Sorceress and harridan
- Why?
Because I LOVE YOU and
"It is inappropriate"- the world says...
I know & I'm aware of all the
Insults and abuse hurled at me
I cried silent tears of sorrow
For my longing of YOU...
Worse come to worst
I'll die... I think like that
Does all this really disturb me?
It used to bother me earlier
But now I realize that it was
Simply a test of my TRUE LOVE
With the trial of time
Thousand days and still LOVING YOU
More than ever before has proved that
I am in deep eternal LOVE with YOU
And NOW none of this really bothers me
I don't want to disturb the peace
Of being in your LOVE day and night
Every breathe and every micro-second
So NO worries at all about
The world's "name-callings"
I can live with it
I can even DIE with it
*
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 11:19 PM UTC
And so you reach your final scene
Will someone know that you have been
Did you enjoy a fulfilled life
Or was it filled with pain and strife
And did you ever stop and find
Enough surprise to blow your mind
Did music lift your spirits high
And books so thrill you by and by
Or were perhaps these not for you
You found more sporty things to do.
Did you find someone to love
Who made your heart soar high above
And was your faith a boring drone
That made you feel the need to moan
Or did it lift your spiritual tone
And let you know you weren’t alone.
Have you made a difference
Of complex times have you made sense
And have you done the best you can
Or been a swine or harridan
Is your humbleness well known
Or is your call a megaphone?
We are so many, we differ so
How others feel we sometimes know
But if we’re generous in our hearts
Friendships grow from gentle starts
And you can love just who you choose
The loveless are the ones to lose
As those who love care for the land
Embracing nature, no demand
And making way to journey’s end
When sometimes death seems like a friend
Perhaps reflect and leave this hint
We all should leave a small footprint.
©Joe Wilson – A small footprint to signify ones life…2015
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC
i told the person I loved
the most not to read my
poetry, but I have given
this link to two other people
and they never bothered to
read any of it.
what does that say
about me?
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
Lives inside me fierce fire *****
Which for most days, I do quell
Yet, for way I feel this day
I am about to release her spell
Yell and holler, release this collar
Blazing banshee is free to roam
When she begins that vile trial
Safe is no house or home
Intrinsic flame inside her brain
Igniting ****** compunction
Singeing fever about to leave her
Detonation now her function
Causing alarm, great ****** harm
This harridan does seek justice
For when this witch is released
Corrosive is she as rust is
Mincing mind, heeding to find
Unequivocal violent answer
Obey all fearing, all leering
Her eyes burn into you cancer
Armies can’t keep her
Dance with her Devil, I dare
Her powers cut deeper
Without ever giving a care
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC