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WITCHES IN THE LITTLE SMALL TOWN

Dark Angel lurks around the old wet grounds, soon alerted him to the witches,
where they all do hold in their souls bleeding lies to give words of true deceptive capabilities, where they give wary predictions to come. There would be poets writing out their famous lines of witches scaring the small little town. Casting spells all over the place. Since Dark Angel, is part of their evil darkness, He couldn't be misled by them. But he wanted them to help him win people's confidence.
So they started telling stories of little truth, in order to mislead who all believes the words they speak even in darken dreams. Betrayal is the head game the key of many things, that truly cause so many pains. You can see how they would stand out late at night while the blood moon shines.
Oh, how they love to trick innocent people, with their gentle language or phrases. But late at night, they are crying out in riddles of true agony. The little town has grown weary. Oh, how the witches looked so scary. If only they had listened closely to the words they were saying, It may have saved them from all the blindness of what is soon to come, In their language are that they speak seriously.
Oh, the consequences will be hard, that is when true reality kicks on in. But so many ignore the signs while they rest in their bed. How ironic are the masterminds? They walk around with smiles on their faces like they're ‘'innocent flowers, ''that can charm a very big crowd. But what they really hold in their hearts, true darkness, where ‘'serpents''play all the time on their minds.
Their method is to use charm and somewhat little truth to feed on innocent souls. It would be impossible for them to be set free once they are under the witches spells. Just like what the words of ‘'Shakespeare, '' ‘'Where our desire is got without content; 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.''
"Here we stand! ", the witches cried out among themselves, saying to the stars that are shinning in the heavens. "Let all eyes not see what lies within, Let them only see what we ask of them to see. And that would be our outward appearance. where the smile can charm those innocent hearts."
"Let them hear with their ears the words that we speak, let each word dig deep. Where imagination plays the game upon their minds. That cast out true emotions of all times. Imagery and appearance conceal what is of truth."Sometimes the witches use those nice little skills even upon themselves.
Oh, don't they know by the looks in their eyes, that they're not nice? They even ask the stars to extinguish their light so they couldn't see the ***** deeds they were doing.

Dark Angel walks around in hunger saying out loud, ''Oh, this little small town doesn't know what is truly out to get them.''

Poetic Judy Emery © 1980.
Copyright © Judy Emery| Year Posted 1980.
patty m May 2018
Easy rider,
looking like a fighter,
someone put a foot in his face.
Small town Susie,
flirting like a ******,
dying to get out of this place.

In duo spin
two sheets to the wind,
ships that pass in the night,
they held on together,
dressed in jeans and leather
trying to make it all right.

They did Dallas
the pleasure palace,
slept out in a barn,
do-rag daddy's red-hot mama
going round the horn.

She got drunk and he got wasted
as they rode to New Orleans.
The food they bought, still untasted
as they danced like Cajun queens.

Hot jazz funnels,
the darkness tunnels,
white limbs twist in flight.
Hot sin city, cool lick ditty,
eighteen bars in sight

Blues at night,
fried notes on white,
hash browned and over easy,
grind and grit, wind and spit,
slide down the sax so greasy.

He rolled the throttle
she emptied her bottle
then did her beauty queen wave

they leapt the highway
and carved the canyon
spent the night inside a cave.

Big bear growling
wolves out howling
till morning lit the pass
they hopped the bike
and coasted downhill,
their hog was out of gas.

Now they''re hikin'
no more bikin'
the whiskey drank, now fumes

if they can't hitch
then life's a *****
and this ditch could be their tomb.

Red hot momma
always ready for a drama
sheds her clothes with certain flair,

the first truck passing
almost crashin'
as the driver slowed to stare.

Ring-a- Round Sally,
lollin' in an alley
two flyin' over the moon
they toured the world
until their long hair curled
and they came home
crazy as loons.

Patty M
Khoi-San Aug 2018
Filled to the brim
Pizza Huts
Burning rubber
Dj''s club'n pub
Dancing duel
Free spirits and
**** riddled
Irie cast Bob's Inn
The beat go's on
Bright lights
Stripped trousers
Men on bikes
Ladies sell flowers
Restaurant's cappuccino
Long street lives
Cosmopolitan heaven
Twenty four seven
Beneath Table Mountain Long Street
A must do for tourists
CK Baker Feb 2017
There’s an assembly in the making
and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event
making their way to the front row seats
****** in nose  
hanky in hand  
and all colorfully draped  
in those cuffed pin stripes
and Jerry Garcia ties

now what would the Grateful Dead
or any of their fine entourage
have to say about this foul routine?


Apropos of that
they’re talking in the 3rd person
with tight syllables
and wavy hands
and all taking a run
at the state of the union
there’s Valentino
and Freddie
and good old Sal
"look....their fiddling with their nuts!"
cries a layman from the balcony seats
the Yin and the Yang
have got even the most liberal minded
scratching their heads
as questions fly in from the field:

don’t you know the way it used to be?
have you no morals?
which way to the exit!?


These front row fanatics
have surely been scrimmaging
in the corn fields
all down in that classic 3 point
watching their weight
with sample selections from the
Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar
members of the congregation look on with (concerned) envy

pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!

Union heads are running rogue
loading up on grievances
and lines
passing files at a make shift pew
jumping the bunkers
and stepping on clams
while the orderlies move in  
for governance

It’s a bewildered state  
and only for the mind of the rigorous
Jimmy D would say:
“it’s nothing you *****...to the victor goes the spoils!
everyone has a bit of good you know...
you just have to find it!"

Unrest is growing in the ranks
and the masses are unstable
Time to hammer down
with a formidable brace
and two tick play
thejohnags Aug 2018
you're no trouble, no goner,
you're just playing the wrong beat.
you're no elephant in the room,
you're just dancing the wrong move.  

they got your photo for display
they must've mistaken your face.
if you think you're dead today,
it's just the start of the race.  

so get up, get up, get up
no broken bones must stop you now.
heads up, heads up, heads up
it's time to press play again.  

go and wear your crown,
go and see the crowd,
let them know that you're around,
make them kneel to the ground,
you're the king of this town.

do they know the pearly whites hide underneath the yellow stains?
do they know that every villain is the star of his own **** play? 
do they even realize you fought your battles for them?
even realize they just sit when you stand up for them?
but they get the glory,
not even feeling sorry.  

it's funny how your story is getting out of control.
you think that you are winning, but then you lost your throne.
you congratulate them on your big, fake smile,
and then you comfort yourself when you sleep at night.

'*** for a second you thought you have everything:
got a pocket full of money, got the man of your dreams,
got a blanket for a cold, hard night, got the stars,
got the job that you want, got a seat in the park  

but then everything's gone when you wake up the next day
you're looking for a bed, but you have slept on the floor, hey,  
where are your clothes? why does your face wear blue?
there ain't no writings on the wall, but if there's one, it came true.  

there's a special place for the non-believers
i didn't say in ****, but you get the picture.
how are you gonna pull yourself together when the world pushes you down all the time?
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Should we invite the neighbors over for dinner?
Their politics so different from ours.
All the more reason. Combat anomie!
He's worried the town's losing population
but opposes immigration. I like immigrants
but hate passing people on my morning walk.

The whole mountainous western region of the state
is losing population at a rate of 1% per annum.
The young move out, the old stay put but
young artists priced out of big cities move in
looking for affordable studio space. How low
can the population go as long as rents stay low?

We did agree about the fire department expansion
being premature (him) or unnecessary (me).
He argued we should renovate the high school first
the roof is caving in and walls crumbling.
But you can teach under a spreading chestnut tree
or baobab and science needs the world for a laboratory.

I teach at the old 2nd St. jail in Pittsfield
a town that doesn't know if it's coming up or going down.
A few shootings last month, no deaths.
They're holding their breath but also trying to attract life
science businesses to the industrial park. The local bank's
expanding, buying smaller banks in neighboring civilizations.

Eventually our fire department got the vote they wanted,
just called another meeting and packed the auditorium.
The final winning argument was we can do the school,
the fire house and the police station all at once.
Don't accept defeat, limitations. Defeat anomie!
Anomie means lawlessness and purposeless in Greek

so that's not exactly what we're trying to defeat.
It's the mismatch between our aspirations and resources,
no, the dissonance between our tribe and nation,
no, the individual as ****** animal and intellectual,
no, the farmer and the banker, the loved one and the litter,
no, whatever happens to you after you die and belief in reincarnation.

For me, it always boils down to mortality
every conversation, which is why no one comes to dinner.
Whether the fire department buys an exorbitant parcel
at the expense of a future school renovation
in a town slightly losing population but still viable
with a college, bank, artists and a few working farms

is everything and nothing, as Borges says.
Deutsch says death ought to be curable.
The new high school or fire station, conditions like anomie
v. democracy, new life forms, self-conscious species
from the laboratory or the biome. How de body?
Today ok. Tomorrow I don't know. Potential

energy, lover, killer, anomie. Karl Popper
had such faith in the rational whereas Niebuhr
acknowledged man's ego is uncontrollable except
by force. Conflict is inevitable. But at dinner
we agree it doesn't always have to be violent or terminal.
We can do the fire department, police station, the school and anomie.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
em Jun 2015
I know the face
inside every car that
passes my bedroom window.

Why do I feel so ****



lonely?





I'm surrounded by these faces
of people who I have known since
pre-school.
Yet I don't think they have ever met me.

I am a piece of shrapnel,
pulled from the angry fist of an angel,
who spent a lot of her time watching cars crash.
Wondering what we've made of creation.
but the metalworker feel asleep.
before he could finish making
me into something,
beautiful.

And when he woke up it was too late.
I can't change.
I hardened perfectly into that mold
the one that society said would look good on me.
So those people took one look at me and then
cut out their eyes.
No longer able to see what else
I might have inside.



So I live in the dark.
The girl who I am when I am alone
is not ready to be seen from the road.

She's not strong.
She's not ready,
not ready to explain the light
streaming from the windows
of the big white house around the corner from
school and the ice cream place.

Maybe she's to afraid that her light,
isn't really there, just something made up,
to give her hope that she has something,
to help her escape this
town.

But maybe she's afraid that her light...
will be too much of a surprise for those
drivers drunk on dreams.
Because being herself,
shouldn't end with
angry angles.
gn, just some things that needed to be written down before i hit the hay. Its still a little rough so feel free to leave feedback :) AHHHHHH I HAVE MY POETRY SLAM TOMORROW AND **** AM I SCARED
Andrew Maitland Oct 2018
I watched the water rise. Creeping down the muddy street. As if a divine force was attempting a stealthy act of insurrection. I didn't have the heart to fight it. Had I only known.

I watched ****'s Half Acre silently succumb to the whimsical (however so pleasantly devastating) path of Gaea. Through this empowering incident I felt redemption like I never had before.

I jumped down from the platform of the livestock pen to personally welcome the satisfying force of nature's purification. The water lashed out and grabbed my leg. At that moment my jubilate spirit spoiled to uncontaminated terror. It was not a redemptive Spirit winding its way through the rail tracks but the serpent Lucifer. Had I only known.

And so in the West Bottoms Tavern I found myself under the ***** shoe of The Machine. A wayward phantom rising from our precarious Kansas River. It drifts through the sweet Midwest like the coal black locomotive smoke that paints a suffocating thick haze above the Stockyards.

A welcome slate of provision. A shelter covering us from the racial tension and poverty smothering the outside world. To those in the Bottoms with unruly desires, a saviour. To those at City Hall with loose morals, the messiah.

And it was at 1908, I nervously pulled the covers over my vulnerable body and sealed Satan's foul kiss with a diabolical red scrawl. We skipped hand in hand through the freshly paved streets of our "wide open" town. I always tried my best to look the other way but I knew full well that I travelled with a gang of thieves.

Nonetheless, everyone votes in our town. A brutal party whip keeps the Jackson County Democrats in line and "Charlie the ***" prevents any Rabbits from multiplying.

But I've been working from within the belly of a "whale" for years and I fear we've now run out of ocean. Our arranged marriage has robbed my capacity for faithful navigation. I'm seeking a radical divorce from The Beast, the cost has become inconsequential to me.

So I found genuine redemption. Finally. I closed the driver side door to my sedan and walked out to the edge of the bridge. The water below seemed whimsical (and so pleasantly devastating) in nature, much the same as it had 36 years ago. I pinned this note to the window, and with a Ready-Mixed Concrete block tied around my waist I watched the water rise.
Sharon Talbot Sep 2018
At first the air seems too dry;
Then you see the mist --
A small town on the horizon;
You decide to ride on,
And give Father's headstone a last kiss.

You find yourself wondering why
Anyone would stay here.
Some of those who passed before
Left their mark on rotten doors
Memories strangely dear.

Love's a gamble in a ghostly town;
It could move you, swift or slow.
You unholster your heart,
Wonder when the shooting will start,
But you already know.

Dozens to go and only one down,
Riding through a town of slaughter,
You're both alive and dead,
Mute bullets whistle by your head:
Are you a killer or a daughter?

He was here once, before you knew
About the emptiness outside.
Still you followed him.
His face was harsh and grim.
And he told you to leave or hide.

Love that's cold, deadly and true
Is the easiest and hardest kind.
You can **** him or just love him;
You'll never know much else of him,
But he’ll never leave your mind.

Dawn bursts over the sharpest peak
And the town streets fill with gold;
It’s the only kind this place will ever see.
You know that soon, you and he
Will shoot each other or fold.

Yet, love in a ghost town always dies,
Killed before it can start.
Spanish ladies even now wear mourning veils
And the lovesick couples' faces pale
When you shoot each other through the heart.
Partly inspired by The Lady or Ellen of “The Quick and the Dead” and the violence of passion--especially that which happens internally.
Marigolds Fever Sep 2018
A Town
Short journey
To blue bird oasis
Sky and earth kiss
Whiskey distilled
Tasty brewed concoctions
Groovin' on a flip side
Village life resides
Divine estates
Pillars of beauty
Garden stroll
Delicate flowers seen
Fragrant herbs of green
Historic hall
Blue light
Glowing every night
Sunsets glimmer on water ways
They walk a trail
Near a bridge of history
And watch a step on a track
Paddle the moonlight
They come back
Tranquility or venture
Life’s thirst quencher
History in a town
Signs observed
To be found
All part of
Dynamic and preserved
James Floss Oct 2018
We'd bound around
For golf downtown
Frisbees always in hand

"The students are coming!!”
Was a seasonal refrain
As we’d goofily gallivant

Mother’s Day shows
We‘re free, mother-suckers
For your kids, a show we grant

A CLOWN SHOW!
A DOWNTOWN SHOW!
THERE IS NOTHING WE CAN’T!

Rock their world with juggling
See the Doctor for what ails
Rudi and O in laundromat land

Jeanie, Splash, Allison, Donna,
Silly girls astonishing with
Leaps, jokes and handstands

Chewey, Steamboat and Grog
"Yeah-yeah! Yeah-yeah!”
Silly boys grandstanding

All hail Papa Gale! We
Funned with Cpt. Plunge
Leader of the band!

Sweet Georgia!
**** croquet!
It was grand!



(**** croquet was the official lawn game of the Sweet Georgia Brown Clowns during the summer 198x Trinity Country tour [wherein we masqueraded as a Norwegian Salmon Kissing team at a Moose Lodge Talent Show in Lewiston, CA* {true!}]: “Don’t forget your hat!”)

*(we won)
Jamie Jan 5
I am being scratched from the inside out
My ribcage bares nail marks
Wings are pushing underneath my back

And before I know it,
Black feathers are falling to my feet

A blanket made of night swallows me whole
And I'm free
Jordan Rowan Apr 2016
I took apart the clock and set it on the floor
Where I'll be going I won't need it anymore
I'm going out
I'm going down
You'll find me in the sun with no one else around

I sang a little tune and tried to write it down
Doesn't matter if it slips it'll find its way around
I'm going out
I'm going down
You'll find me where only nature makes a sound

I've got a ringing telephone in the palm of my hand
I threw it in the water so I could truly breathe again
I'm going out
I'm going down
You'll find me with a smile somewhere out of town
Osiria Melody Mar 16
I. The Neighbor
Eyes, two immaculate, circular egg-whites
Donning uncanny egg yolks,
Captures a commotion like a camera from afar

II. The Parents
Indecipherable words blurred with alcohol’s embrace
Battered, ****** knuckles striking “I hate you”
against her–helpless
She strikes him back like a match set ablaze
Bird-like screeches pierce the air from the depths
of his cruelty

III. The Parents’ Child
Tomato-red ball bounces like a rabbit, gliding across
the grainy pavement
Young child, innocent and carefree, bolts toward the
ball with thunderous feet
Suddenly, a shock of lightning, blinding like the sun,
Obscures the child's vision (a car)
Ear-splitting burst of impact interrupts the neighborhood
Time took off from the ground, sending the child
forward like an airplane, limbs airborne
Not an emergency landing, but an imminent one
Her severed head rolls down the road like a bowling ball
Body splatters across the neighbor's yard, sprinkler watery
guts

IV. The Father
His mash potato knuckles, battered, raises into the air as if
in protest
A visage ridden with contrition, contorts
Tears stream down his face like missiles (his daughter just died)
An explosion of resentment overcomes him (shock, pure shock)

V. The Mother
She, bloodied by his knuckles
Yelps in determination (she blames her daughter’s death on him)
She slams him with all of her will, ensuring his impending
death (he’s a goner for sure)

IV. The Father
Now in supine position, mutters an inaudible “sorry” to his wife
with an imploring gaze, asking forgiveness
As she watches him expire, grotesquely smiles (he deserved this)

V. The Mother
Sprinting from the scene, red and blue sirens, whirl and whistle
endlessly, audible torture
She loses touch with balance, falling head-first to the selfish ground,
forcefully embracing her
Crown splits open like a watermelon, its juicy contents ingratiate
itself onto the neighbor's yard (the grass looks green and red like
a watermelon now)

I. The Neighbor
Processing this ghastly ghastly scene, succumbs to Death’s embrace
from shock

VI. The Family
A fatal and unforeseen tragedy
Broke the silence in this town of tranquility



Melody
3/16/19
I drew my inspiration from witnessing a happy family taking a stroll in a park.
elaine Jul 2018
empty houses and car-less streets,
this town holds beauty without residence.

people move into this town of beauty and run up and down the streets damaging little by little slowly.

the people take away the beauty and throw it all away for their selfish needs,
they build tall tall buildings and put gas into the lovely clean air.

leaving this town a horrible disease.
Tanya Feb 11
She had returned from her journey,
radiating bright, vivid
light.

Feeling better than ever.
Blooming.

Small minds
couldn’t handle
her flowers.
but the sun garden was hers to handle anyways .
Bohemian Feb 17
The epicentre of my pain ,indeed
Lives kilometres apart ,in plains
While my energy does not coherent to his
He denies as well
I wonder if he needs much of it or lesser a bit
Do I love much fiercer
Forever he jilts
Until the day I would to him
For no more would I resonate
I promise still,
I am going to miss the bond ,saturated
zz Feb 9
Loving you is the purest act
I' ve done in my life

Even if you don't care
I won't change a thing
Leo Dubson Aug 2018
I wanna go to a small town in Colorado, to a place where nobody knows my name.

Because when no one knows your name, and life is just a silly game, there's no reason to feel remorse or shame.

And every day I would sing and dance while every night I would sit and glance at an empty bottle of champagne.

And I would drink and I would sink and I would lay and I would think about the stars until I forget the pain.

I wanna go to a small town in Colorado, to a place where nobody knows my name.

And I will admit, that I might never be complete, but you know what, to me, it's all the same.

I would skip from town to town, I wouldn't stop, I wouldn't frown, only me and my heart free of all sore.

And never again would I look back, to the connections I now lack, because if I remember, I would be free no more.
Tanay Sengupta Sep 2018
Welcome to the dystopian town.
No sign of life anymore
The houses are red and the air is brown.

No monarch to rule with a crown.
You will find bodies lying near every door
Welcome to the dystopian town.

You are allowed to frown.
But there is no one alive to blame anymore
The houses are red and the air is brown.

You can try making your way to downtown.
But, there is nothing left worth going there for
Welcome to the dystopian town.

You will see more bodies with their faces down.
While inside you will feel broken, numb and sore
The houses are red and the air is brown.

The sky is dark grey and brown.
Hope is not an option anymore
Welcome to the dystopian town.
The houses are red and the air is brown.










Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved
What do you think this poem is about? I leave this one to you. Happy reading!
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