Poetry operates by hints and dark suggestions. It is full of secrets and hidden formulae, like a witch's brew.
quote by Anthony Hecht
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strange Brew
By eric clapton, gail collins and felix pappalardi
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Shes a witch of trouble in electric blue,
In her own mad mind shes in love with you.
With you.
Now what you gonna do?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Shes some kind of demon messing in the glue.
If you dont watch out itll stick to you.
To you.
What kind of fool are you?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
On a boat in the middle of a raging sea,
She would make a scene for it all to be
Ignored.
And wouldnt you be bored?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Strange brew, strange brew, strange brew, strange brew.
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strange Brew
By eric clapton, gail collins and felix pappalardi
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Shes a witch of trouble in electric blue,
In her own mad mind shes in love with you.
With you.
Now what you gonna do?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Shes some kind of demon messing in the glue.
If you dont watch out itll stick to you.
To you.
What kind of fool are you?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
On a boat in the middle of a raging sea,
She would make a scene for it all to be
Ignored.
And wouldnt you be bored?
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
Strange brew, strange brew, strange brew, strange brew.
Strange brew -- kill whats inside of you.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Witch in the Copse
I am a Witch, and a kind old Witch,
There's many a one knows that--
Alone I live in my little dark house
With Pillycock, my cat.
A girl came running through the night,
When all the winds blew free:--
'O mother, change a young man's heart
That will not look on me.
O mother, brew a magic mead
To stir his heart so cold.'
'Just as you will, my dear,' said I;
'And I thank you for your gold.'
So here am I in the wattled copse
Where all the twigs are brown,
To find what I need to brew my mead
As the dark of night comes down.
Primroses in my old hands,
Sweet to smell and young,
And violets blue that spring in the grass
Wherever the larks have sung.
With celandines as heavenly crowns
Yellowy-gold and bright; All of these,
O all of these,
Shall bring her Love's delight.
But orchids growing snakey green
Speckled dark with blood,
And fallen leaves that curled and shrank
And rotted in the mud,
With blistering nettles burning harsh
And blinding thorns above;
All of these, O all of these
Shall bring the pains of Love.
Shall bring the pains of Love, my Puss,
That cease not night or day,
The bitter rage, nought can assuage
Till it bleeds the heart away.
Pillycock mine, my hands are full
My pot is on the fire.
Purr, my pet, this fool shall get
Her fool's desire.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Witch in the Copse
I am a Witch, and a kind old Witch,
There's many a one knows that--
Alone I live in my little dark house
With Pillycock, my cat.
A girl came running through the night,
When all the winds blew free:--
"O mother, change a young man's heart
That will not look on me.
O mother, brew a magic mead
To stir his heart so cold."
"Just as you will, my dear," said I;
"And I thank you for your gold."
So here am I in the wattled copse
Where all the twigs are brown,
To find what I need to brew my mead
As the dark of night comes down.
Primroses in my old hands,
Sweet to smell and young,
And violets blue that spring in the grass
Wherever the larks have sung.
With celandines as heavenly crowns
Yellowy-gold and bright; All of these,
O all of these,
Shall bring her Love's delight.
But orchids growing snakey green
Speckled dark with blood,
And fallen leaves that curled and shrank
And rotted in the mud,
With blistering nettles burning harsh
And blinding thorns above;
All of these, O all of these
Shall bring the pains of Love.
Shall bring the pains of Love, my Puss,
That cease not night or day,
The bitter rage, nought can assuage
Till it bleeds the heart away.
Pillycock mine, my hands are full
My pot is on the fire.
Purr, my pet, this fool shall get
Her fool's desire.
poem by Barry Cornwall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cauldron
Beneath the cauldron, the fire crackles
while above it and old witch cackles
as she stirs her brew and popping in ingredients.
Web of spider, eyelash of newt,
wart of toad and little boy blue’s flute.
She looked around and cackled some more
as the bubbles in the cauldron multiplied more.
She added even more ingredients;
toenail of bat, stinger of bee,
skin of snake and droppings of mole.
The old witch continued to stir her stew,
as it must be served piping hot.
She then mumbled incantations over the bubbling brew.
The problem was who would eat it.
She turns and looks my way with a big bow in hand.
Shaking my head, no thank you,
get some other mug to have your stew.
27 January 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ndyukerman
Dutchman, Dutchman, Ndyukerman
Dark like the Earth,
Dark like the Night
Dark like Secrets
Stamping your naked foot on the bare earth
Making the anklets rattle
Help me, help me, help me.
You know the secrets of Earth.
You know what she hides in her belly
You know the contents of her bowels
Tell me, tell me, tell me.
Where is the gold hidden?
Where are the diamonds?
Where did the people of old bury their treasure?
Dutchman, Dutchman, Ndyukerman
Dark like the Earth,
Dark like the Night
Dark like Secrets
You never hauled a punt, never cut the cane
You never felt the lash:
You lived a free man in the forest
Making your own trash hut
Hunting your own meat
Remembering the old Ways, the old Language,
Retaining the old Powers.
Help me now.
Dutchman, Dutchman, Ndyukerman
Dark like the Earth,
Dark like the Night
Dark like Secrets
You have the knowledge.
Share it with me.
Are we not Brothers?
You are the older Brother, I am the younger Brother.
I need your help.
You are happy in your trash hut in the dark forest
Hunting for your own meat
Stamping your naked feet on the bare Earth
Remembering the old Knowledge.
Tell me the Secrets that will set me free.
Sophia
Sophia look like a witch
A beautiful witch is she
Sophia look like a witch
Hidden form in the name of chastity
Sophia wears a crucifix
Christ hung round her neck
Sophia wears a crucifix
Crucifix effect
Sophia lies between black sheets
Between black sheets she rests
Sophia rises while the cock-a-doodle-doos' a calling
And in black robes she's dressed
Sophia look like a witch Sophia look like a witch (repeat)
Sophia rises while the cockerel's mourning
As the sun sets in the West
Sophia is a mother with a child at her breast
Sophia look like a witch Sophia look like a witch (repeat)
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sophia
Sophia look like a witch
A beautiful witch is she
Sophia look like a witch
Hidden form in the name of chastity
Sophia wears a crucifix
Christ hung round her neck
Sophia wears a crucifix
Crucifix effect
Sophia lies between black sheets
Between black sheets she rests
Sophia rises while the cock-a-doodle-doos' a calling
And in black robes she's dressed
Sophia look like a witch Sophia look like a witch (repeat)
Sophia rises while the cockerel's mourning
As the sun sets in the West
Sophia is a mother with a child at her breast
Sophia look like a witch Sophia look like a witch (repeat)
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What does Poetry Mean
What does Poetry Mean
eye stepped outside myself and seen
poetry what does it mean
the smile on peoples face
the frown the deep dark secrets
they reveal to all the readers
be in health
no matter what you do
no matter what you have to eat
be in health
so eye can breathe
I lay down my life
for you
so sweet
this is what the poetry always means
the life
the love
the heart
What does Poetry Mean
poem by Charles Hice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If the grace of God miraculously operates, it probably operates through the subliminal door.
quote by William James
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Poetry
On Poetry
Poetry has its own language and structure, Culture
Poetry has its own craft and method to capture the taste, Art
Poetry has its own medium of inspiration from the spiritual world, Religion
Poetry has its own manner of seeking wisdom both from natural and supernatural, Philosophy
Poetry has its own object to shape both evolution and revolution, History
Poetry has its own laboratory to amend feelings and emotions, Psychology
Poetry has its own system: theory and praxis; facts and fiction to convey a message, Science
Poetry has its own discipline to stimulate the various interests, Way of Life
Finally Poetry is life itself full of stories to share:
secrets to reveal,
mysteries to unfold,
vision to interpret,
mission to fulfill before the Poet enters the door of death
Poetry is ancient and noble craft.
Note:
The "On Poetry" is an inspiration from the articles about poetry in the book "The Successful Writers and Editors Guidebook". And the articles with its respective contributors are as follows: You as a poet by Paul Bechtel; Poetry by Leslie H. Stobbe; The How-to of writing poetry by Jan Franzen.
poem by Jordan Legaspi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Poetry
This poetry is not poetry
This poetry is not poetry as poetry goes
But is as silent as a man in a rollo neck jumper
Almost reading yesterdays news
This poetry is not poetry
As far as poetry goes
It is neither verse
Or poesy prose
This is a debunking of 'The poetry'
Everyone knows
And so they are not amused
This poetry is not poetry
So why poetry?
If not
Prose?
It is as idle as a man picking his nose
Pondering a wonderful muse
Yet some, are not amused
Infact if this poetry is Not poetry
What right have I to use, the word poetry?
It is a lovely panacea for expressing and de stressing
The individual's points of view
And yet if not poetry
Who says Not poetry
And who is qualified to choose?
Give me a pocket full of roses
Or a misty morning cloud
Are you amused?
clammy wynette aka Yvette m smith
march 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gen The Witch
The witch broods
In the middle of her self-centred, self-limiting
Tangled web of lies, half-truths and self-deception;
Ventures forth only to capture and envenom the unwary, the unknowing.
Their minds ingested by the witch,
Her progeny, indulged in baubles, chocolate and late-night television
Are ever by the maternal sac
Imbibing further indoctrination and instruction.
The witch, the witch, the witch.
poem by Mill Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bitchs Brew
I tell ya kinky
You foxy little flirt
I caught you in the biar path
Liftin up your skirt
Well let me tell ya
What you been doin in the firepatch
What you been doin with your little skirt
Got....
Youve been foolin with the bitchs brew
You know the things I told you not to do
You fell into the briar patch
Aint nothing gonna save your ass
Remember the things you said
The saving and the screams for bread
And now you just walked away
So take it away, all the way
Youre fooling with the bitchs brew
That aint the thing you ought to fool with
Now you keep your fingers out of there, honey
You know that aint no there
The way that you really feel
Down the parts on the way you deal
Where the witch is sight
And the things that you fight
(oh God)
Youve been messin with the bitchs brew
Now dont you know who youre talking to
Say youre talking to the bitchs who
Tell me you never really cared
The voodoo man eyes of fire
The hoodoo man most desire
The bitches are out n smooth
Tell from the light of the moon
(yodle-lay-lay-lay, yeah, yeah, yeah, come on)
Ive been thinkin
Had my hands through the sense of time
Yeah, and Ive been drinkin
Just to make this here song rhyme
Youre foolin with the bitchs brew
Now dont you, dont you, dont you, dont you...
Dont go foolin with the bitchs brew...
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry In Motion
When my world is dark, I must only think of you
Your poetry in motion, in everything you do
Like the ocean waves caressing the sand
Fluid and sleek from head to toe
Your poetry in motion
Do you know
The way your eyes sparkle
Celestial
Divine
She’s poetry in motion
Angelic kind
The way the Sun shines thru your dress
Voluptuous hips
Full silhouette
Your poetry in motion
Aphrodite in flesh
poem by Joseph Caraveo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Hidden Place
A place is hidden on the map,
May the paper adjust for the better.
You may cry, you may end this matter,
But adventure has resonance of pain
And colours of the rainbow.
Do we see our people unite with us
About the travels of the stars and planets?
The hidden adventure is about God,
Feelings cut into half are told to substances
Called elements and compounds.
But does God adjust paper of formulae
In the hope of our adventure?
Do we see God as an adventurer of mighty thoughts?
But do we see those men who do prosper?
poem by Naveed Akram
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The sun dosnt shine
No sun ever shines for me.
All I have is deep black clouds.
The sun is hidden somewhere.
Hidden along way not be found.
In the bleakness of deppression.
In my darkest hour.
I can see hell and black.
The sky is always grey.
So miserable and full of gloom.
Every day full of gloom.
Full of gloom and doom.
My sun dont shine its hidden.
Hidden far away.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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The Time Of Poetry Has Come
THE TIME OF POETRY HAS COME
The time of Poetry has come
I feel it within myself
Somehow waiting to be said
Worlds are hidden
And feel ready to come into being-
The time of Poetry is here
And I am writing now easily
Yet somehow within the poetry
And beyond it
Is something that needs to be said
Which my poetry now cannot say-
The Poetry the real Poetry
May be within me
And yet beyond myself
So that what I am writing now
Is not it,
But only an excuse for mentioning that
It can never really be mine.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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