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Ahna Sep 2018
He is my poison, my purple flower
So sweet and intoxicating
Yet so lethal I burn and die
My Wolfsbane that puts me to sleep
My dear and peaceful nightmare
One that I crave day and night
One that makes me fly off in to the sky
One that lets me taste a bit of heaven
And I come back down again to see,
Non other than my poison flower
Blooming under the moonlight
So beautiful, so ethereal yet so dangerous
My breath hitches and my lungs ache
My heart burns and tears escape
As I have a taste of my Wolfsbane.
I scream, cry and I hollor against the sky
Staring into his dark orbs, glistening
No trace of sin, so heavenly I crave
And my craving becomes my sin,
And he is not other than just,
My beautiful purple Wolfsbane, so pure.
His essence dripping from my soul
And as I close my eyes he takes me to heaven
Tasting my poisonous wolfsbane
Pauline Morris Apr 2016
I feed you wolfsbane for lunch
I know you ate it I heard the crunch

Now your sitting there ashen-faced
Your mind starting to embrace
That death will soon be your fate
You'll soon be at deaths creaking gate

You look at me in disbelief
But I just wanted some relief
I couldn't take your yammering on
But soon now you'll be gone

And my ears will no longer bleed
I only have to endure your dying plea
Your last breath to me is pure art
I never claimed to have a heart
Amberlyn Walsh Aug 2015
Deadliest flower
Taking life but giving death
To all who come near

You did that to me
Both of you caused me such pain
And you don't know it

You were both so drunk
I doubt you remember it
Oh but I sure do

So many questions
Do you even know my name
Did you hear my 'No's

I was lucky right
Because it wasn't extreme
Not like in movies

Tell that to my mind
Explain that to my conscience
But I won't listen

I know what happened
Everyday it's on my mind
I have been poisoned
Ben Apr 2013
why why?
comes the
world-weary cry,
of a
solitary wolf
with pain
in it's
eyes

as the
cold wind
blows, to
herald the
snows and
carrion crows,
whose rancorous
laughter mock
the alone

without a
pack, the
single wolf
dies, under
grey skies
with none
to bare
witness except
maggots and
flies

and the
carrion crows
chortle in
mirth for
the unforgiving
world, cruel
mother earth
cares naught
for the
wolf who
found no
home
Rahul Luthra Sep 2014
Let me tell you a story about a Boy
Who had a broomstick and a wand as his toy
But alas! Nothing ever goes right
The only thing the Boy remembers from his childhood is a flash of green light
He was orphaned at the age of one
Lily died protecting her son
And his mother's love was a magic he would always carry
His last name was Potter; his first name Harry...
He was the only one to survive the unforgivable curse
No one knew how the spell had fired in reverse
For baby Harry had survived this curse in his cot
The monster who had tried to **** him was Lord Voldemort
The only thing left behind by this curse was what made him special - his scar
But his non magic relatives who took him in lied that it was the result of the crash of a car
Muggles was the name given to these non magic folks
Magic would stare them in the eye and they would still call it a hoax
It was not till his 11th birthday that Harry discovered the truth
When the giant Hagrid broke down the door; a sight that would give nightmares to any youth
While they were all trying to make sense of this human-giant hybrid
'You're a wizard, Harry' revealed Hagrid
Now it all made sense to Harry; the strangeness, the magic
And no his parents did not die in a car; it was way more tragic
So now Harry finally began his seven years at Hogwarts
And it was ensured that the strangeness would multiply now onwards
Harry was surprised to find out that the whole wizarding world knew about him
They were surprised to find out that Harry was not spoiled, but good - natured and slim
So on 1st September Harry Potter boarded the Hogwarts Express
Those who saw him gave him a look of impress
On this train he made his first friends and foe
But that was Harry's new life - with them he would grow
Potions, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts to name a few
Those were their subjects and to Harry they were completely new
Thee year passed by without him knowing
And before he knew it, it was already snowing
He became the youngest seeker in a 100 years
It was not until the end of the year that he faced his worst fears
The monster that had tried to **** him had returned
But Harry cheated death again though he almost burned
In the seven years he had many an adventure
The Forbidden Forest was a place he promised himself he would never again venture
He reunited with his Godfather who had been wrongly framed
Harry was the only one to pass out because of the dementors which made him extremely ashamed
The potions master he hated had a history very long
It was only after Snape died Harry realised about him he had been so wrong
Dumbledore's Army finally overthrew Umbridge's reign
The only potion that controlled Lupin was Wolfsbane
This poem has the story in a very haphazard plot
Harry found out how to end Lord Voldemort
For this all the Horcruxes had to be destroyed
This was possible due to Dobby - your argument is void
In these seven years Harry understood friendship and love
Oh and his patronus was a stag; not a rabbit or a dove
To succeed in life you needn't go a great length
Just turn your weakness into your strength
The scar wasn't a curse; it was his gift
This story is about The Boy Who Lived...
Chris Chaffin Jan 2021
I cast the muse into the sea
to wake her from a peaceful sleep.
This poet’s quill is void of ink;
it needs her words to strike the page.

She’ll fight the waves Poseidon sends
til Sirens drive her back to shore
to sip an oleander brew
and hoist the cup of Socrates.

Bring wolfsbane and a death morel!
Bring nightshade and curare too!
We’ll fatten her with woe and pain!
We’ll ready her for war and hate!

She’ll writhe and quiver, seethe and foam
until she spews her putrid verse
upon the blackened sands of time
from which men’s darkest dreams are built.

And when the gods are satisfied,
when Ares’ sword has slashed and burned,
this poisoned pen will rest at last.
Calliope shall sleep once more.
tension is mounting in Egyptian capital Cairo after military staged apparent show of strength during a 6th day of anti-government protests

"judging by the proofs she had before the effect of her beauty upon Caius Caesar and Gnaeus son of Pompey she hopes she will more easily bring Antony to her feet for Caesar and Pompey had known her when she was still a girl inexperienced in affairs but she is going to visit Antony at the very time when women have the most brilliant beauty and are at the acme of intellectual power" – Plutarch

Cleopatra strapped by great debt incurred under the reign of her father thought it imprudent to mint gold coins so only lesser metals were used to commemorate her reign gold would have survived the centuries better than baser metals

sword slashed blood-spattered stomach Antony’s corpse lies motionless across room Cleopatra drinks mixture of ***** hemlock wolfsbane she holds squirming asp between her legs with wary hands around its neck she lifts snake to her naked breast its fangs strike at her arm handmaiden Iras dying at her feet another handmaiden Charmion adjusting Cleopatra’s crown before she herself falls

Egyptian Pyramids Sphinx Pharaohs mummies internet cell phone blackout police stations plundered weapons stolen gangs of armed men attack at least four jails across Egypt before dawn Sunday helping to free hundreds of Muslim militants thousands of other inmates as police vanish from streets of Cairo and other cities

the couple jumping holding hands out of burning World Trade Center building i understand it was defiant gesture of love over death maybe they hardly knew each other the sight of them just tore me up inside

Cleo is out from being in her hair is shorter figure looks too thin the neighborhood changed old ghosts new skins Cleo is out from being in walks same old streets yet does not recognize thinks thoughts never realized sees people she believes she knows but no one is who they seem they talk different tongues glance sideways scheme shaved heads fat wads of cash beautiful young women scattered dreams Cleo is out from being in she orders ice with glass of gin sips drink sits back grins voice from past out of nowhere whispers hey Cleo where you been there’s a debt to be settled truckload of hunger basement full of sin you up for paying your dues again Cleo is out from being in skeleton packed closet ***** dishes in sink she murmurs i just can’t win
Xan Abyss May 2015
****** into a ****** world of death and hopeless grief
No matter what man I become I'll always be a beast
Ripped in two by tragic fate and secrets that I keep
And there is no release from the creature beneath
Asleep in a devil's dream

I am cursed by the moon
And tonight will bring my doom
**** me when the wolfsbane blooms
and lock me in a silver tomb


Pain and death, they follow me wherever I may run
My soul is ****** eternally to a lake of burning blood
My life is void of happiness, I'm terrified to love
I used to thrive at night but now I live to chase the sun
Am I the only one?

I am cursed by the moon
And tonight will bring my doom
**** me when the wolfsbane blooms
and lock me in a silver tomb


----
........
~~~~
----

Transformed by the moon I run through the moors in the mystic fog of the night
If I find you, pray that you don't survive the attack or live through the bite
I need flesh and blood so fresh, and I smell my prey nearby
You can't run and you can't hide from me, it's time to die

This is the Curse
of the Moon
Lycanthropic Lunatic
and worse, it's true
The Wolf of Hell is coming after you


The terror in her eyes, it satisfies, the predatory urge overtakes me
Crimson-stained by his open veins, the light of the moon liberates me
The Hound of Hell escapes its cell, the human shell it's held in
The Dog of War, released once more, Suburbia in Bedlam

*This is the Curse
of the Moon
Lycanthropic Lunatic
and worse, it's true
The Wolves of Hell are coming after you
Lyrics.
Wade Redfearn Jul 2018
the green and waxy confusion is your cape and covering
topaz wings strum and flutter,
branches snap
beast and bug
geranium and dogwood
woodear spore and wolfsbane
flower and firm hedge
all wear goosebumps:
the whole army of generation, the waft and release
ready to conceive, to love and make root
to spill and ****
daylight, moonlight
well-fed and hungry
west and further west

a brush against your thigh flattens you
climbs your spine like a curse
robes you in purpose
to be and be alone

there you are: croucher, scuttler,
position known only to yourself
subclade of womankind
treasure in your soul
(in purses and pouches;
taking in, taking in)

it is private here and musty
you own your hands, your knees,
the dirt under them both,
the roots beneath that,
everything on the wind and below the blue sky
everything dark, and everything light:
kingdom of your own discovery
shroud and mountain and cache of mystery.

A door far away slides open
an echo of busy house, busy bones on the air.
Something in the oven.
Something in the heart.

What is the voice calling?
Who wants you home, child?
And if home is a warm meal, a bed,
a bath, a glass of milk,
a known touch,
then do you own your skin?

Aren't you small and lonely?
You are not.
Rangzeb Hussain Jul 2010
VI

“Hearken, all ye there!”

Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis Seis

It began, as these things tend to do, with a quartz encrusted howl,
Lamenting under the crystalline shadows of Leda’s heartrending growl,
Her ravished moon bled and sank into the vocal cords of guilt coated cowards,
“Come back, come back! Oh, frivolous sanity thou art truly unjust, most unkind!”
Right here in this lonely place did my Darling dear spill devotion onto spiced dust,
She swayed on the rickety ridge surveying her sapphire kingdom’s splintered trust,
There it lay glittering, her city of cities, nothing now but a jeweled corpse.

V

“Know ye not of the oft-told tale of the drinking-well at World’s End?”

Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco Cinco

My Lady who did fire the lyre of Orpheus, she weeps there in the misty chilled cold,
Wild it is, all about her the night wind nibbles at the skin clothing her fractured soul,
Cacophonic waves of regret silently scurry to labyrinths entombed with truths bold,
“Come back, come back! Oh, to my tempestuous ***** hasten with thy canticles!”
The symphonic fingers of fog pluck a requiem upon her autumn flavoured hair,
My Queen is attired for her banquet at tables far beyond Persephone’s desolate tears,
On the precipice her figure rises for the final faithful leap into Styx’s stratosphere.

IV

“Behold now the dread eyes of Hades, see how they hunger blood at the boil!”

Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro Cuatro

Carnivorous tasted memory plagues the betrayed Minotaur’s desired deliriums,
On these haunted shores I clutched her close and eagerly inhaled love’s elusive serum,
Legend has it a suicide was here on this very cliff-top, ‘twas a true Roman centurion,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let us under Demeter’s enchanted orchards lie!”
My obsidian-eyed Beauty gathers her eggs and over the fearful edge she unfurls them,
Closer to the dead of Euphrates she steps, I to madness hurtle as one condemned,
Bind savage Cerberus for the solitary reign of the wolf is fate for all hanged men.

III

“Prometheus thou hast drunk Pandora’s poisons, what sayest now the Titans?”

Tres Tres Tres

Golden fleeced days into the fleshy ground of Morpheus’s realm did seep away,
How well spent they were not even immortal Calypso shall decipher nor say,
Would that mine myopic ears had been shorn and tossed into Pompeii’s crisp clay,
“Come back, come back! Oh, gentle Maid no more, I beg thee stay awhile yet!”
What was it? Was it me? No, no, it could not be me for I was Achilles buried asleep,
How little we then knew, we two did partake of the stinging, you the wasp I the bee,
Mayhap ‘twas this unlocked the plumed towers to thy curled universe tunneled deep?

II

“Therefore did the Serpent spake and pronounce a judgment most nefarious!”

Dos Dos

She thinks back, my Lady fairer than Medea, she remembers a time happier,
Really there was, hear yet my credo, once upon-a-time there was no doubting terror,
But then a thing did into our guarded haven breach and wreathe about my treasure,
“Come back, come back! Oh, let me slake my thirst with thy honeyed spirit!”
My flesh did crawl, my fangs grew sharp, my spittle ran down and my fur stood taut,
The jawbone stiffened and all the while I burnt like an infernal phoenix caught,
Oh, my sweetly crazed fruit, did I for real the horror upon you wrought?

I

“Would that thou didst offer me thy riches upon the hour of the violet twilight...”

Uno

Wolfsbane moon, high above it rose in that final cracking of sacramental bones,
My Lady much wrong did you I, forever for this will the beast in me atone,
Now, at this baleful hour has the wolf left you on the edge of an embryonic cyclone,
“And so to the Elysian Fields where insanity fertilizes the soul do I embark...”
You cross the Rubicon and glide into the obliterating arms of Plutonic eternity,
The wolf, me, is left clawing your hooded red robe with absolutely no certainty,
I see you sailing upon Neptune’s trident, forever adrift on oceans of eternal cruelty.

N

“Seekest thou sanctuary in the hinterlands where the man with one eye is King?”

Cero...

pretium libertas est nex**



©Rangzeb Hussain
dillon leehe Mar 2016
I hope my blood stings your lips
I hope it’s bitter at your tongue’s tip.
And even though I say so,
I know my cruelty will never let me go.
I want to hurt you like you hurt me
but I’m afraid it’ll be worse—
can’t you see?
I’m filled with wolfsbane
and salivate when you puncture my vein.
Lap it up and tell me it’s good
just because you know you could.
I’ll wait and smile at each dead minute.
This’ll be my first victory—
I don’t want to miss it.
It'll be sweet to lay and lie
and even sweeter to watch you die.
Then I remember, I am a hybrid
and you are a wolf.
I'm not a actually killer, okay? I'm not a sadist, either.
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
There was a witch in the woods
No one thought was good
She wore a shirt tie dyed in hippies blood
She smoked lots and lots of bud
She had a pet nightingale
And at night it would not sing but yell

One day she decided to pay homage it mother earth
For nature to her powers had given birth
She thought that a picnic might do
So she went around setting the mood
She gathered the wolfsbane and some food
Lit the candles and the fire
Making it climb higher and higher
She stared her naked dance you could hear her wicked laughter
But there was an important thing she forgot to factor

The villagers really hated her so the tracked her down
And tackled her down to the ground
Tied her up and on one of her wrists was a big bruise
That was the final straw, it lit her fuse
And she sent them all
To the gates of hell for the fall
So no longer could they visit or call
Was challenged to write a poem using the words blod,nightingale, homage,picnic,wolfsbane,naked and bruise. So folks here it is!   ;)
Caitlin Fisher Oct 2015
Confessions of a Poisoner

I
Sweet spirit, have you come to haunt me as I tell stories of deposed kings?
Come, let us sit upon the ground so I can tell you how I have no interests in the trapping of guns or daggers
No, there's nothing fascinating about deaths wrought from metal.
You see, every knight sees it coming, the sword ****** through him or the arrow between his eyes.
It’s never such a surprise.
And it’s far more satisfying to see the king, my uncle, swallow wine, forced down his throat by me, of course, fall choking and writhing and paying for his crimes.
Oh, you look frightened.
Why, sweet spirit, is that so?
I’ll pretend I don’t know,
There is a certain social stigma surrounding poison, you see.
The coward’s weapon
Only used by servants, jealous wives, pitiful begrieved lovers, to name a few
How embarrassing must it be for the powerful and mighty king to be laid low by his housekeeper.
Yet, it is the only weapon that we, the servants, wives, and lovers have to protect ourselves.

II
Imagine this:
You’re twelve years old and your master is calling out to you
“Come along, little one,” and he puts a grimy hand on your shoulder and wraps the other one around your tender wrist.
You were supposed  to-what?
Run, hide, and cry for mommy?
No, not I
And twelve years later hemlock but falls into my hands
Twenty four years of age and revenge well wrought
My ironclad wrists were caught
By prison keepers, no
By justice that flowed with my blood
Why should I live in fear?
My silver tipped tongue was clever enough to save me from even a hangman's noose

III
I know-knew- a man who flogged his sons
Such a sight they were
Dripping in their crimson blood
One night I served his wine
mixed with nightshade, of course
Never mind the other guests
I'm sure they beat their daughters too
The best thing was: they never knew
Justice burned and brightly bloomed

IV
There was a boy who did adore me in my form
But, oh look here, he was such a bore
On and on and on he droned
Fog and mist must fill his bones
Wolfsbane was the only cure
and to see him writhing on the floor
it was the most marvelous of sport
to see his eyes roll and blood mixed with foam at his mouth
I wasn’t bored of him anymore

V
The King, my uncle
What a monster he is
He let my mother and brother be tried in his court
He thought they were guilty
Maybe they were- I don’t know
But bonds of blood he did burn so
Belladonna in Elderberry wine
There was never such a pretty sight
His lips stained purple with such a sweet drought
I was there with and his cries set music in my veins
I stood there with eyes transfixed
Such a symphony I had wrought from his feeble throat
I wish the world could hear my song
And throw roses at my feet as it sung all night long.

VI
Why do you look pale
And tremble at my voice?
I think you hardly have heard such a thing as grand as mine
You don't speak
How so?
You must admit
I am a liberator and an avenger
And wound for red wound I will right these wrongs
But perhaps you are tired
And are wanting of rest
Such things I always think
So tell me, sweet spirit, would you care for a drink?
written during Regional Orchestra Auditions
maybe I was a bit stressed... who can say
Bard Jan 2021
Fifths on the curb filth on my breath
Threats between lock-jawed teeth
Crime pays never follow laws, thief
Weak are prey in the belly of the beast

Cut with a sickle human life is wheat
Thoughts are fickle so you best leave
As wealth trickles my lungs heave
So I'll **** for a nickel long past naive

The living don't sleep at night
Thats a ending in our sight
If alls silent if alls quiet
It's violence It's a riot

Apparitions of our misery like a sister to me
Superstition is hidden history and trickery
Suspicions hysteria lead to be-witchery
Submission to superior forces and misery

Look over your shoulder sleep with one eye open
Never be bolder thats a quick order to a open coffin
Break camcorders, records fill folders in folsom
Blood is water never trust your brothers an cousins
Joanna Oz Aug 2016
I am laced up in black.
Spurs skidding sparks at my heels,
striding up a leaf-smothered hill
during the golden hour.
Sun splayed upon my cheekbones,
holding hands with my long shadow,
grenade-pin heart, and brewing eyebrows.

I am forgetting what it sounds like
to lean into your slinking shoulder,
covering the aroma
of your neck's skin
with coffee grounds and wolfsbane
too ardent to taste like your mouth.

I am humming to myself, juicy and thick,
to slice your silence into fragments
that disintegrate ashen through my fingertips.
Just like the parting look you gave me,
sterile-eyed and hazy.

I am all splinters and sinkholes,
a tragic reminder that things do not remain intact
especially when you chase them.
My lips are glued to the horizon, begging the sun
to watch the dance of the moon,
enchanted and writhing.
ghost queen Sep 2020
vervain and wolfsbane
blood dripping from finger tips
rising moon
red eyes
the last kiss
a final sigh
The X-Rhymes Nov 2021
THE WOLFMAN


'neath full white moon, from wolfsbane bloom
there came a gloomy cry
this haunting tune of doom and tomb
made Tom assume he'd die

at first a growl and then a howl
what prowled beyond his sight?
the noise had fouled the evening's cowl
and scared an owl to flight

as if a hound was gaining ground
somewhere around the trees
these kinds of sounds can make hearts pound
and blood's been found to freeze

and though the thud of feet on mud
said likelihood a dog
still there Tom stood, scared in the wood
in scuds of misty fog

but who'd have guessed, a man, quite stressed
would crest atop the hill
who's vest did wrest, 'til bare of chest
and undressed, fell dead still

then with a moan, a snout was grown
while other bones constricted
just as was shown in films he'd known
or Twilight Zone depicted

like wolfman lore from days of yore
claws tore through finger tips
then paws to floor, down on all fours
teeth poured from jaw through lips

and with fur grew, transition through
it's blue eyes flew Tom's way
to seek a clue, accrue a view
if Tom knew what to say

Tom felt a chill, a deadly thrill
his heart stood still, a while
but soon wolf's will seemed to distill
and was to **** it's style?

it had not leapt or even crept
just kept Tom in it's eye
a slight misstep would be inept
it said "accept or die"

this lycanthrope was out to scope
how modern dopes react
how would Tom cope with this tightrope?
his only hope was tact

and thinking through what best to do
Tom soon came to this sense
where once was due a scream or two
might now construe offence

should Tom address it's differentness
and call it pest or clown?
or treat as guest this man cross dressed
with no thoughtless pronoun?

a quick brainstorm then Tom got warm
how he'd perform it's test
accept the norm that folks transform
to which form suits them best

a gypsy spell or silver shell
could mean death knell incurred
now Tom could tell how to do well
- just yell all the right words

best not hold with thoughts of old
be controlled by the past
forget what's told in books once sold
don't scold it an outcast

Tom did not dare to curse and swear
turn to the air his nose
was well aware it's wrong to stare
at men who wear wolf clothes

he'd tow the line, not undermine
so opined joyously
'if you define yourself lupine
or canine, fine by me'

the tension eased with wolf appeased
so pleased it wagged it's tail
it's test not breezed with expertise
he'd teased a pass from fail

so off Tom skipped (more likely, slipped)
his hat tipped in 'goodnight'
and though equipped with puns and quips
to stay tight lipped felt right.
I liked writing it.
Charlie Rose Aug 2020
Wolfsbane blood and hemlock eyes
No longer bound to your old lies
Watch over your back with pricked keen ears
If you mess with them, they move past fears
Don't melt like a peanut butter cup
One more lie caught, and they'll ******* up
Patrick Kennon Sep 2019
Light strobes across my vision, being shown new patterns
on the perfect shiny paint job
you take such attention
in waxing

Train blowing its horn at one thirty two in the morning
moaning out over
miles of razor
live oak

When it all lets out, and the bars bleed back home
we find where
those without
one go

A tunnel into another **** tunnel, never find surface
The train is screaming now, you can hear her ringing in gathered turmoil
boiling up and off and gone
to some other track in the back of an alleyway of a world

Toes curled around the nose, shift center and reenter lane
Hemlock and wolfsbane
triple sixes rolled
on celoo dice
nothin nice

— The End —