"hoodoo" poems
Sing songs of parsley vivacious ***** jazz.
Dance that moon hoodoo rattlesnake tango.
Play ancient games like enter the mysterious iridescent doorway.
Smoke your poetry books.
Remember to forget your cell phone in the shower drain.
Cauterize your family pictures onto magazines and newspapers.
Sail across the ghost waters of unforgiven memories.
Throw yourself into your heartstrings.
String yourself onto your nirvana sphere.
Lick the soul.
Burn square enclosures.
Paint with your mind's mouth instead of the hands.
Live and ******
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
The flames be flyin' hot tonight,
so the horns be heatin' up just right!
Skeep-deep-do-bop-bee-bop-do-skeetle-scat-woo-woo, hell-bop-ba-ska-da fra-la-la-la-la-la-la-foo-foo, yous,
look-see-dee-wee-boys doin' da voodoo,
look-see-dee-wee-girls playin' wid hoodoo.
Cuz, I'm a scat-man,
it's a fat fact ma'am!
Yeah, I'm a scat-man,
it's a fat fact ma'am.
And I dun gives a ****
if there's no reason to the scat-plan.
If you come across the fancy bowler hat,
dun be afraid to start stuttering the big skat:
Batta-tat-tat looksee-da-flat-uncool-rat
givin' his square-eyed-glare to-the-scat-cats ~meow~
skee-shee-flyin'-the-sillee like a banshee,
singin' sillee-skee-shee-all-fancee-free -
and we putssss on the br(e)ak(e)s
just
like thissssssss (!)
and
in h a l e ....
Go! Go! GO!
Skeep-deep-do-bop -bee- bop-do-skeetle-scat-woo-woo,
hell-bop ba-ska-da fra-la-la-la-la-la-la-foo-foo,
look-see-dee-wee-boys doin' da voodoo,
look-see-dee-wee-girls playin' wid-hoodoo.
Yeah, I'm a scat-man,
it's a fact ma'am! x2
Yeah, I'm a scat-man,
it's a fact ma'am.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
Caught the vampire's failing smile,
cracked by teeth & venom,
wind-walking among the trees,
talking to the vipers
& the rats & the bats & the
men of the old bonetown.
Mr Mann had the right idea,
burn your books & get the hell outta Dodge.
Do not pass go & do not stop,
do NOT make out in the back of a beat-up old auto
parked next to the hypermarket on Dawn & Vine.
Mr Mann up front,
peering through the cracks in the windscreen,
the cracks in reality.
He can see the vampire's slow smile,
the shadows passing across the face of the TV screen,
& hear the old ghost voices,
the old radio voices, the 1949 voices.
Blood on leather,
black roots rising,
saliva on after-effects & after-echoes,
the apocalypse riders chasing the moon up the old dark valley,
the moon chasing the apocalypse riders right back
down the old dark valley to whatever hell they came from.
The vampires! The vampires!
Children beat hasty retreats,
hide under the boxes back of the laundromat,
not daring to peek
as black boots crunch gravel.
Mr Mann has the right surmise,
get outta the books & into guns,
get into heavy metal & iron drag,
get into lead & something magickal,
long forgotten lore & hoodoo voodoo
from years & years ago.
The vampire's smile turns awful yellow,
fades as the stars wheel & that tired old sun begins its ascent,
fades as the dawn breaks over the desert winds & cacti
& the lovers wake in their motel room in the back of beyond
& fumble for their stakes & knives & garlic *****
Easy now for Mr Mann in the sun-kissed big blue.
Hunt it down in the tumbledowns & old desert towns.
Kick off the jams, break open the locks.
Hose it down with oil & strike a match.
Burn the reality right off that face
& that face right off reality
Splat on the sand. Grue on the sand. Black on the sand.
Mr Mann walking back to the autombile, back to happiness,
radio playing a little something from 92,
or was it 93, he really can't remember now.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 3:16 PM UTC
I can hear the Band of Gypsys
When I find her sitar eyes
But I can guess what she sees
With her moist mouth jarring wide
******* clouds from the sky
Hoodoo Voodoo Medicine Girl
In a thunderstorm of dirt stained pearls
Tranquillity is everything
As we all float down to hear her sing
And she knows full well
That she can pollinate anything
Simply without the need to sting
The half mast will be put in place
As your heart's pump gathers in pace
If you're anticipating to catch her near
Don't act surprised if you're left to persevere
When you finally catch a glimpse
Things won't quite be as they appear
She'll be floating in the stratosphere
Soaring high with no fear
Cos if you did not know
The Hoodoo Voodoo Medicine Girl
Burns on the fuel of your fresh tears.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
I ripped my love for you from my heart
With a hoodoo doll
I couldn’t take no more of this
Waiting for a fall
And so I let you go
And so I bid you farewell
You see I can’t trust you
Cause I can’t trust me
Not to fall in love with you
Completely
And so I cut you out of my heart
And set you to the side to view from afar
Now you’re safe and sound inside my guitar
So I can hear your love echo through the stars
And now I will be free
Now your love doesn’t live in me
I ripped my love for you from my heart
With a hoodoo doll
I couldn’t take no more of this
Waiting for a fall
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.
"Trumpery."
Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?
[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]
trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\
Definition of trumpery
1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>
2
archaic : ****** finery
Origin of trumpery
Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive
First Known Use: 15th century
Examples of trumpery
<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>
Related to trumpery
Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or ******** claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, ******* senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle
Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus
Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
Spirits, sages, mystics and wizards
shamans and charmers
voodoo, hoodoo...wanga and juju
and..
old old women- those teller of tales
weavers of dreams....casters of spells
Warnings of darkness and deepness
conjuring clues or readings
from spangled stars on black nights
Guidance on this spiritual journey... this mystical quest
Sunrise into sunset... dark into night
Answers to questions you never asked
Questions to answers
long buried in self shrouded past
There are those who would lead you
to dark alleys astray
Those who would steal your hearts diamonds,
your trust.. and betray
You hear whispers and rumors
strange tongues, and hushed voices... muffled sighs
You search for everything and nothing in the shadowy mist
What are true truths... what are lies?
Keep your eyes open..receive the whole
and know..
That real truth is sometimes
in the unexpected, the untold, the unwritten, the uncharted....
Like..
in the moment of exhale from one true kiss!
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
We crossed into Louisiana
Right about witching hour
The energy there
Invades the aura
Years of compacted sorrow
Combined with the
Old ways of root doctors
And esoteric power
You take the Hoodoo
To the crossroads
We're in the back roads
Of Monroe
They talk to you there
Ya know
I put my bare feet
To the swampy grasses
At the railroad tracks
Illuminated by the waxing moon
Hail Hecate!
We envoke thee
Commit this wax and ash
To the earth
Blessed be )0(
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
***Where is my left?
Where is my right?
What is this mist that eclipses the light?
What are my bearings
And where is the sun?
I cannot go back
And I cannot sail on.
I am lost,
I am lost,
Will I ever be free
Of this fingerlike fog
On this mystery sea.***
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
We've written volumes
In blood and scars and ink
We've told a million stories
Thought a million things
We've lived some hundred lives
Laughed our faces pink
And we did all just because,
Mischievous little minx
Imagine if you'd never spoken
Never showed me who you are
Imagine if you'd been quiet
And never helped me with wolf lore
(I'm grateful, by the way)
Imagine if you hadn't stayed
Then imagine how you did
And then reach out to feel me
Because I'm not leaving
And neither are you
We've got humor and care
(And your pain-sucking hoodoo)
So when we get old
We'll smile and think
And reread the volumes we wrote
In blood and scars and ink
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
There was a frog down in the swamp
Who'd leap a half a mile
I chased that sunday entrée
With all my skill and guile
But when I speared that monster bull
I had a weird hunch
Those bulging eyes were warning me
I sure would hate my lunch
It ain't always a gourmet cook
Who serves the very best
I fried those twitching muscles there
And ate each bite with zest
But a funny feeling took-a-holt
That made me want to jump
Soon I felt me start to crave
A cool place for my ****
I found myself a boggy bank
And did a healthy croak
I bent my legs and leaped a block
And thought my *%$#@X!!# back was broke
I learned my lesson messing with
That cussed hoodoo frog
I sit safe on my pillow now
And don't go near the bog
But I'm still haunted by the hex
That ****** old frog applied
And I'm still getting Blue Cross
For a tender underside
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
~~~=<♡>=~~~
How can you
describe pale blue
if you've never seen the skies?
Don't define LOVE
Lord, above!
Unless you have the eyes!
Is it a hex? Or perhaps ***
that drives us to the brink?
A little thing that makes us sing?
Is it all hearts in pink?
Voodoo hoodoo
what do you do
when you're not that strong?
You may say
it's springing May
and STILL have it WRONG!
Birds on a perch?
A Google search?
Is that how you define?
A little bee?
How can you see?
Where do you draw the line?
Is it a smell?
How can you tell
if someone has the itch?
Look in the eyes.
They can't disguise
They will always snitch!
So what's amour?
What's in store?
Is it a certain glow?
Don't ask me!
Can't you see?
I DON'T EVEN KNOW!
SoulSurvivor
6/15/2015
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
Left with no clues
Broken down into two
But who knew
What's into you
Unless relived what's untrue
Trying to move too
In search of new views
To detach feeling need some new tools
From remote access of Bluetooth
Feelings stuck as glue do
What's this Hoodoo-Voodoo
I don't know you
Or your crew
Who are you??
Fly away back to
Wherever you choose to
Need no helping hand to go through
Just an alter-ego to grow through
Don't let your eyes fool you
The end is near aren't you spooked too??
In search of ubuntu...
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 9:11 AM UTC
My words come out all slurred, blurred, and censored. My heart has a faulty bad juju sensor. My nerves are practicing voodoo, got me all wrapped up in hoodoo. Always asking 'how do you do?' As if you'd ask me too. My world is red, my world is blue. My vision is all kinds of skewed. Skewer me, skewer you. Skewered life 'cause it leaves us ******* Who needs to hear another boohoo? I'll kiss my own **** boo boos. Satan's calling me like 'yoohoo' I'll ignore him like you do me, all passionless and angry. I'm a dead fish in a dead sea just practicing my moaning, for when I'm see-through and lonely. Haunting the world as it's revolving, and it's kind of revolting- knowing life goes on, as you're decomposing. I'm shedding, I'm molting; these feelings of chicken skin and insects. It was really salmonella and pests, and I guess, what the point I'm really trying to get to is nothing, oh and **** you.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC
It’s the sound of peeling wallpaper,
Damp seeping in from the frost bitten windows.
Daytime traffic on Christmas eve,
And misted breath between pages of Pound,
Eliot and Rimbaud.
It’s the sound of mouldy drapes,
Clutched to the rail that clings to the rust.
The hiss and crackle of today,
And the wave of the colonial - of Guthrie,
Williams and Seeger.
It’s the sound of a Tangier typewriter,
Clacking to the chimes of a generation.
The scrawl of freedom
And the echoes of our fathers – of Kerouac,
Ginsberg and Burroughs.
It’s the sound of the swamp,
A hoodoo beat winding through the ruins.
From bayous to boroughs,
Following the march of Washington,
Franklin and Jefferson.
It’s the anthem of a teenage disease,
The force of the Devil’s crossroads.
The returning of a light, obscured
In the ruins of time.
It’s the song of the tambourine,
And the lasting footsteps of a song and dance man.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
Music gives my eyes a tunnel and my mind the universe. This much I know and recite in verse- or, prose, well. However I may carry my words, they will do all frequencies a severe injustice. That is why I feel no need to describe the ether and the fluids that compose a tune. They simply are, anyone can perceive and dissect for themselves. The words, they serve to underline the story that an ear might not obtain from music. I aim to achieve a functional, symbiotic, conversational existence with these two chaps. One day, it’ll be great fun and my mind will sideflip its merry way through scrolls of papyrus and the speeches of lutes. Until then, it’s apparent and essential, necessary, to be trudging my forlorn way through the badlands of my cranium. Who knows? I may occasionally find myself an ardent hoodoo to comport my thoughts on. I will live for that and die for tomorrow. By increments, of course. I must believe that we’re not all imbeciles, here.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
I watched Dad lift
the stunted tree from a highway table,
ceramic *** hot as a skillet in his palms.
Its roots pressed tight
against their shallow prison,
a life made small,
taught to accept it.
He drove through the Mojave
with the bonsai on his lap,
branches trembling
as if already afraid of him.
I whispered secrets to its needles,
pressed my lips to its tiny crown
the way you kiss a sleeping baby.
In the cabin,
rain thickened the air with cedar and promise.
I circled stones around the tree
like friends around a birthday cake
and waited for it to laugh.
When its *** shattered,
he said nothing.
I held its dangling roots in my hands,
mud soaking through my shoes,
syrup cracking on my cheeks.
We buried him-
a little boy, I said,
at the lake’s edge
beside his mother
whose twisted trunk leaned toward water.
Dad said magic would save him,
hoodoo magic,
forest magic,
the kind that never answers back.
On the drive home
I counted hoodoos in silence
and watched the empty bucket
roll on the back seat
like a heart without a cage.
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 2:03 PM UTC
To crystalize butterfly mid flight.
Donning brief shades of sight.
Walk nor way for watching strays.
Toss a coin, it clatters it flays.
Twirling echoing mysticism.
Draw deep rhasping rhythm.
Finding minds which boggle.
Exhaling words gods muddle.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC
Hoodoo, Voodoo
Anything that you do
Think of what it will do
To your friends
Buildings, Guildlings
Masonic or class rings
Remember what the choice brings
When you choose
It's not so simple just to disconnect yourself
It's not about the way that you ***** yourself
There are so many things that go beyond your eyes
And the many things that remain are just disguised
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
Miss hoodoo mother bake me a pecan pie
I’ve been gone for too many Christmases
Blood soaked magnolias splayed before white linens
Smell of a fire just stifled out, stifled out by blood
Cheeks still glistening when I came in the kitchen
“Are you searching for something or running from it?”
Fields crowned in white, soil fertilized with sweat
With heartbreak
You’re fertile, the warmth envelopes me
The birthplace of something blue, something used
I can’t say when I’ll be back again, the road is long
I’ll keep your song with me, chords of pain and comfort
Your scars are visible at the supermarket, whispered about
Billboards of turmoil everyone drives by
Lips ache for a taste of your lemonade nonetheless
I think about my time in that home, in my home
If I should have boarded that casino boat
What number would those dice land on
The one thing that I did wrong
Oct 3, 2024
Oct 3, 2024 at 8:48 AM UTC
Waves of syllables softly drift me into sleep, I want my dreams to be an endless sea of your soothing voice. Let your words wrap themselves around me and hold me tight as I fall from this great height, cushion me with your sighs; Heavily, against my neck- my thighs. You could breathe life, with the way you ignite my dormant nerves and get my lazy heart to work, double time. Electrify, every atom that makes up my existence with persistence and I’ll shrink down to their size, trying to hide from your naked eye. Bare your insecurities and I’d hurriedly grow and share my flaws that haunt me like a ghost disguised by my shadow. Wind blows cold as the sun crawls against the sky slowly shedding light into our separate lives, in different times; You’re in the future while I repeatedly hit rewind. I’d travel the seconds that separate us in miles, if only to see your smile- or rather, to see if I can conjure one. I’m imprisoned by the thought that I’d never be good enough, as if I’m a jester that can only birth a laugh by recorded track (Or dropping dead of heart attack.) I rehearse my jokes and practice magic on every turn of the world on its axis but I always choke when it’s time for the show, typing words that bore. The audience in my head is always snoring; tossing and turning in their eternal graves. Yet when you talk to me they’re born again like slaves to your hoodoo persuasion, erupting out of ***** grey skin; you make the wrinkles in my brain deteriorate. Clean slate, to etch myself a new face. Waiting for this dying sun to become snuffed and **** the day so I can lay myself thin against sheets and pray that you'll recite a bedtime story to me.
-SLuR
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 8:11 PM UTC
Not swearing on my life, bad mojo, Hoodoo, strange Voodoo's
Not suggesting there are people twisting the thumbscrews
Pleasant people, pleasant thoughts, no unwilling Cards playing 3D checkers. Did you know there are byrd's they call, woodpeckers?
That cursing curse taking hard-earned dollars out of my purse.
And what is worse... finally carried off in a Hearse. I best marry a nurse, wait now, I did marry a nurse but she ditched that job.
Stressed-out she followed her heart and took education to work with preschoolers until the course took her off course
Teaching the children not so well, pushing ideas, propagandizing thin-privilege. Children, it's okay to be that... that rhymes with you know what, it rhymes with fat. She left that stuff leaving her student debt and you can bet she'll pay in off in record time.
Cheap rugs all over the place, cheap rugs all over the place
Cheap rugs in time and space... I bought new sneakers, they're the type you lace. Two-faced discovered to me a disgrace only they too are part of he human-race, causing peoples to be displaced.
The Curse, it might be the first, probably not... praying the bad luck is the last. I want to leave this place, leave real fast. Move on through to that other side. Morrison had his faults leaving a lot in the vaults. Now he's free, the tub scene in the Morrison movie I don't buy, I could tell you why but that borders gossip and a lot of people would flip (out). Not 'fly'.
So, what's it all about, it's not the wordsmithing that I flout
Just me avoiding 'the' gout, getting sick, I'm having my doubt
I'll be taking another route, no matter how many people may pout
Reading tea leaves, drinking green tea, the cup holding posies, showing me I'm free, not only to survive, it's to 'I' am that I thrive
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 11:57 AM UTC
You will surely soon become
the sacred animal for sacrifice,
to cleanse the land
and purify the abominable
acts of our people,
instigated by the unreasonable
ignorant elders.
And for those that have died
on account of their ignorance,
have paid with their blood
to cleanse our land.
These sacrifices are
not willingly given.
Will the gods accept such
a waste of human lives
to ameliorate their anger?
Or will another sacrifice
be performed to appease
their already inflated anger
over these ethnic cleansing
by a group seeking for dominance.
These strangers in the land
could not tolerate our differences
in this forced relationship.
Their greediness and overbearing
attitude is frightening.
With hidden intent,
Cunning and Forcefulness,
with intimidation they unleashed
mayhem to our people.
Dazed as if hypnotized,
with voodoo and hoodoo at work.
no one is doing anything about it.
Everyone is watching as our families,
Our friends, youths, children,
women, the elderly,our farms,
barns are destroyed,
properties burnt down by
these strange ones.
You will soon be the next if you
still stand and do nothing.
Do not be an unwilling sacrifice,
do something.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC