The Witch's Life
When I was a child
there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch.
All day she peered from her second story
window
from behind the wrinkled curtains
and sometimes she would open the window
and yell: Get out of my life!
She had hair like kelp
and a voice like a boulder.
I think of her sometimes now
and wonder if I am becoming her.
My shoes turn up like a jester's.
Clumps of my hair, as I write this,
curl up individually like toes.
I am shoveling the children out,
scoop after scoop.
Only my books anoint me,
and a few friends,
those who reach into my veins.
Maybe I am becoming a hermit,
opening the door for only
a few special animals?
Maybe my skull is too crowded
and it has no opening through which
to feed it soup?
Maybe I have plugged up my sockets
to keep the gods in?
Maybe, although my heart
is a kitten of butter,
I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
Yes. It is the witch's life,
climbing the primordial climb,
a dream within a dream,
then sitting here
holding a basket of fire.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Opening A New Window
come to my room
let us open a new window
that opens to another window
look at my face
and hold the side of my body
i will caress your hair with my hands
hold your body softly as a wind holds a feather
my fingers shall travel from the tips of your hair
down to the last tips of the toes of your feet
let us be happy, let us try opening another window
let us see the other windows hidden from our eyes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Buddhist Lesson # 2
enlightment,
the act of opening,
like a rosebud,
like a mother,
opening the door...
like a child
opening a present,
like a woman
opening to a man....
opening...
all the hidden chambers,
every door to every
secret kingdom of the soul.....
opening the box that holds
your secret thoughts, desires....
opening...
the door of the cage,
letting the winged breath fly....
opening....
your heart to itself,
and to all hearts beating....
opening....
the vault of conceptions,
the entrance to the tomb
of past lives and memories....
opening...
your hands to the world
as if it were your neighbor,
and you, it's home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Rapunzel
A woman
who loves a woman
is forever young.
The mentor
and the student
feed off each other.
Many a girl
had an old aunt
who locked her in the study
to keep the boys away.
They would play rummy
or lie on the couch
and touch and touch.
Old breast against young breast…
Let your dress fall down your shoulder,
come touch a copy of you
for I am at the mercy of rain,
for I have left the three Christs of Ypsilanti
for I have left the long naps of Ann Arbor
and the church spires have turned to stumps.
The sea bangs into my cloister
for the politicians are dying,
and dying so hold me, my young dear,
hold me…
The yellow rose will turn to cinder
and New York City will fall in
before we are done so hold me,
my young dear, hold me.
Put your pale arms around my neck.
Let me hold your heart like a flower
lest it bloom and collapse.
Give me your skin
as sheer as a cobweb,
let me open it up
and listen in and scoop out the dark.
Give me your nether lips
all puffy with their art
and I will give you angel fire in return.
We are two clouds
glistening in the bottle glass.
We are two birds
washing in the same mirror.
We were fair game
but we have kept out of the cesspool.
We are strong.
We are the good ones.
Do not discover us
for we lie together all in green
like pond weeds.
Hold me, my young dear, hold me.
They touch their delicate watches
one at a time.
They dance to the lute
two at a time.
They are as tender as bog moss.
They play mother-me-do
all day.
A woman
who loves a woman
is forever young.
Once there was a witch's garden
more beautiful than Eve's
with carrots growing like little fish,
with many tomatoes rich as frogs,
onions as ingrown as hearts,
the squash singing like a dolphin
and one patch given over wholly to magic -
rampion, a kind of salad root
a kind of harebell more potent than penicillin,
growing leaf by leaf, skin by skin.
as rapt and as fluid as Isadoran Duncan.
However the witch's garden was kept locked
and each day a woman who was with child
looked upon the rampion wildly,
fancying that she would die
if she could not have it.
Her husband feared for her welfare
and thus climbed into the garden
to fetch the life-giving tubers.
Ah ha, cried the witch,
whose proper name was Mother Gothel,
you are a thief and now you will die.
However they made a trade,
typical enough in those times.
He promised his child to Mother Gothel
so of course when it was born
she took the child away with her.
She gave the child the name Rapunzel,
another name for the life-giving rampion.
Because Rapunzel was a beautiful girl
Mother Gothel treasured her beyond all things.
As she grew older Mother Gothel thought:
None but I will ever see her or touch her.
She locked her in a tow without a door
or a staircase. It had only a high window.
When the witch wanted to enter she cried'
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.
Rapunzel's hair fell to the ground like a rainbow.
It was as strong as a dandelion
and as strong as a dog leash.
Hand over hand she shinnied up
the hair like a sailor
and there in the stone-cold room,
as cold as a museum,
Mother Gothel cried:
Hold me, my young dear, hold me,
and thus they played mother-me-do.
Years later a prince came by
and heard Rapunzel singing her loneliness.
That song pierced his heart like a valentine
but he could find no way to get to her.
Like a chameleon he hid himself among the trees
and watched the witch ascend the swinging hair.
The next day he himself called out:
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,
and thus they met and he declared his love.
What is this beast, she thought,
with muscles on his arms
like a bag of snakes?
What is this moss on his legs?
What prickly plant grows on his cheeks?
What is this voice as deep as a dog?
Yet he dazzled her with his answers.
Yet he dazzled her with his dancing stick.
They lay together upon the yellowy threads,
swimming through them
like minnows through kelp
and they sang out benedictions like the Pope.
Each day he brought her a skein of silk
to fashion a ladder so they could both escape.
But Mother Gothel discovered the plot
and cut off Rapunzel's hair to her ears
and took her into the forest to repent.
When the prince came the witch fastened
the hair to a hook and let it down.
When he saw Rapunzel had been banished
he flung himself out of the tower, a side of beef.
He was blinded by thorns that prickled him like tacks.
As blind as Oedipus he wandered for years
until he heard a song that pierced his heart
like that long-ago valentine.
As he kissed Rapunzel her tears fell on his eyes
and in the manner of such cure-alls
his sight was suddenly restored.
They lived happily as you might expect
proving that mother-me-do
can be outgrown,
just as the fish on Friday,
just as a tricycle.
The world, some say,
is made up of couples.
A rose must have a stem.
As for Mother Gothel,
her heart shrank to the size of a pin,
never again to say: Hold me, my young dear,
hold me,
and only as she dreamed of the yellow hair
did moonlight sift into her mouth.
poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Story
The woman came home to find her husband and children sitting around the table
as they'd done so many nights, the lamp on the sideboard casting its usual glow
over the rough wood, some flowers the children had picked in a blue vase,
the youngest daughter's drawing of a horse tacked beside the window
with its burlap drape. They sat around the table with their severed heads set before them
on the woven placemats, and each one's arms had been lifted so the hands
rested on top of the hair, thick hair of her husband she'd wrapped around
her fingers, fine hair of her two daughters, and the baby's soft, barely visible wisps
over the small skull the baby's hands were tiny, they'd had to nail them in place,
and this is where I begin to hate the man who told the story, who made me see
not just their deaths but the soldiers standing around afterwards, the arc
of the hammer as it comes down and drives in what I now can't forget;
the best I can do is to think of Christ, so I can somehow bear the nails,
so I can carry them to you, and maybe I'm no better than the soldiers to do that.
I'm asking you to walk into your own house, to see a child's head
bent over her homework as she scissors pictures from a magazine,
the bright or dark hair she brushes impatiently out of her eyes.
I don't know why I need to say this, or what good or evil it does. I want
the old, acceptable story of suffering, the cross become icon, holy blood
in the chalice. I want not to know what I know as I turn back to my life,
my friends who love me, as I set the table with candles and glasses for wine
and later put my hands in my lover's hair; he enters me, we fall together
onto the bed, he bites my nipples as hard as I can stand it and then harder,
and still it's pleasure I feel, we are given this, too; I tell it to myself over
and over as we make love like animals deep in the forest, far from any village,
caring nothing for the world, ravenous for each other, crying out
while workmen slowly hack a road toward us, while the machines come on.
poem by Kim Addonizio
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That Unhappy Woman
that is the window
a woman is unhappy and she is always
closing and opening
that window and people keep on looking
figuring out why that window
is unhappy
and they are all happy about the
proclaimed unhappiness of the other
that woman that window
not this woman not this window
not my woman not my window
always looking out somewhere
except this writer
this piece
this one not this one
that one over there not me but her
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Dream Territory Of A Woman
In the dream territory of a woman
light and darkness
merge and unite
In the dream territory of a woman
all things ensue
except for man
In the dream territory of a woman
through the open window
rain enters, and
the breeze teases the curtains
In the dream territory of a woman
night passes on
but never rises the sun; and
there is an endless wait for the morning
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Daytime
In the daytime time for celebration
No use looking down if its over here
Its a world a new creation
And the golden light of the morning
Makes it easy to comb your hair
And the love of a child
Its the time of the year
In the daytime you can move a mountain
With a blink of your eye
Now its over here now its over there
Its a world with no complications
And the curtains on the window
Start blowing like your hair
And the love that I feel
Cause its the time of the year
Mysterious moon found me crying in the dark
Heard my footsteps on the stairs
Mysterious moon found me crying
But the sun dried my tears
Showed he cares
In the daytime time for celebration
No use looking down children open your eyes
Its a world a whole nation
Now the white boats have landed
And the innocent are here
So dream for the child
Cause its the time of the year
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hope Is An Open Window
(christopher ward/tim tickner/diana ross)
Are we not more than hunger and music
Are we not more than harlequins and horns
Are we not more than color and drums
Are we not more than anger and dance
Give me courage so I can spread it over my face and mouth
Give me courage, give me courage
Give me courage, give me courage
I walk these city streets see the people there
Look into the eyes of quiet despair
And the faces tell a story that words never can
And it falls to everyone of us to try and understand
Out of kindness
One act of grace makes the world we walk a better place
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
We build walls of suspicion with bars of fears
Tell ourselves well be safe in here
I know more brings us together
Than keeps up apart
First we got to tear down these walls within our hearts
We might be strangers, we can be friends
You and I we both need to let somebody in
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
Give me courage so I can spread over my face and mouth
We are secret rivers with shaking hips and crests
Come awake in our thunder so that our eyes can see behind trees
Give me courage so I can spread over my face and mouth
Give me courage, give me courage
Give me courage, give me courage
Hope is an open window
Loves an open door
To reach out for each other
Is what we came here for
Through an open window
We can see the way
If we hold on to each other, every day
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
Gotta be there for each other
Is what we sent here for
Through an open window
We can find a way
To love one another
Hope is an open window
Love an open door
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Window
She looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world
she leans out of the window
and this is what she sees
a wet rose singing to the sun
with a chorus of red bees
she leans out of the window
and laughs for the window is high
she is in it like a bird on a perch
and they scoop the blue sky
she and the window scooping
the morning as if it were air
scooping a green wave of leaves
above a stone stair
and an urn hung with leaden garlands
and girls holding hands in a ring
and raindrops on an iron railing
shining like a harp string
an old man draws with his ferrule
in wet sand a map of Spain
the marble soldier on his pedestal
draws a stiff diagram of pain
but the walls around her tremble
with the speed of the earth the floor
curves to the terrestrial center
and behind her the door
opens darkly down to the beginning
far down to the first simple cry
and the animal waking in water
and the opening of the eye
she looks out in the blue morning
and sees a whole wonderful world
she looks out in the morning
and sees a whole world.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Someone Like You
i peered through window, watched life go by
dream of tomorrow and wonder why
the past is holding me, keeping life at bay
i wandered lost in yesterday
wanting to fly, but scared to try
but if...someone like you
found someone like me
then suddenly nothing would ever be the same
my heart would take reign, and i feel so alive
if someone like you found me.
so many secrets ive longed to share
all i have needed is someone there
to help me see a world i never see before
allow to open every door
to set me free, so i can soar
if someone like you, found someone like me
then suddenly nothing would ever be the same
with you waiting here, a new way to love
if someone like you found me
but if someone like you, found someone like me
then suddenly nothing would ever be the same
my heart would take reign, and i feel so alive...
if someone like you...loves me.
song performed by by Lea Salonga
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream Somehow
Come to the rescue now
Come to the rescue and stay for a little while
Come to the burning house
All of the ladybugs children are screaming fire
Come to the rescue now
Chorus
Tomorrow may change--tomorrow may change
Or it may never come
Tomorrow may change--tomorrow may change
But it may never come
Turn around--turn around--turn around--what do you see
Come to the rescue now
Come to the rescue before all our worlds collide
Life is a dream somehow
Life is speck of dust lodged in gods eye
Life is a dream somehow
Come to the rescue now
Come with a mission and come with a broken heart
Life is a dream somehow
Life is a dream and our lives are a world apart
Come to the rescue now
Chorus
Come to the rescue
Life is a dream somehow
Life is a nightmare and life is a bitter pill
(life is a dream somehow)
Life is a disneyland ride which is better still
Come to the rescue now
Life is a drowning pool
Life is a circus for fools just like you and me
Life is a mortal coil
Wrapped in cheap tin foil on a kitchen sink
Come to the rescue now
Chorus
Dreams somehow, come to the rescue now . . .
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Hum
Take me, share me if you can
my heart goes to my sun,
my feet will go to my moon.
O, little home
my dream was bigger than you
in the melody of sorrow.
Will I walk again on the
wrinkled sands? what can you
visualize, which I have never seen?
Praying in the scoop
of fingers I feel, gold nuggets
in the throes of doubts –
neatly dug out from the frozen
past, birds, smelling sex, souls
suspended in air.
Was it beginning of hate,
on the yellow mountains
where I am climbing with wooden legs?
poem by Satish Verma
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Climbing Up The Walls (Zero 7 Mix)
I am the key to the lock in your house
that keeps your toys in the basement,
and if you get too far inside
you'll only see my reflection.
See her face when she sleeps tonight,
I am the pick in the ice,
do not cry out or hit the alarm,
we are we're friends till we die.
And either way you turn I'll be there,
open up your skull, I'll be there
climbing up the walls.
It's always best when the light is off,
it's always better on the outside,
in the crack of your wanting smile,
fifteen blows to the skull.
So tuck the kids in safe tonight,
and shut the eyes in the cupboard.
do not cry out or hit the alarm,
you'll get the loneliest feeling
that either way you turn I'll be there,
open up your skull, I'll be there
climbing up the walls.
Climbing up the walls.
Climbing up the walls
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lock the Door
Lock the door; the day's arrived-
What demons lurk here, just outside,
And little pumpkins, with their sacks;
You never know what might attack.
There's a ghost and witch; they're friends,
Here come some pea pods, full of grins,
And there's scarecrow, and mummy too-
Someone's bound, to yell out 'boo'.
I hope I don't see any kooks;
It's bad enough, just finding spooks.
A bowl of candy's by the door;
My witch hat there, upon the floor.
Must be ready, when it rings;
When they make my doorbell sing,
And give them candy, instead of sticks-
So they won't do any tricks.
poem by Patti Masterman
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Nobody Loves Me
Nobody loves me any more,
Nobody needs me any more,
As I look on down below,
I see the couples come and go.
They make me think back to the time,
When all my life was well and fine,
And I gaze on down the street,
See the young hearts come and meet.
From my window of my flat,
You know I dream of my loving past.
But now there's nothing I can do,
I just sit and wait for you,
My next lover...
But being lonely ain't that bad,
I can meet friends, have a laugh,
I can do what I wanna do,
With no commitments to be abused.
Then the penny starts to drop,
You realise that you're on top,
When your hair is feeling free,
Lonely times won't bother me.
Well from my window of my flat,
You know I dream of my loving past.
But now there's nothing I can do,
I just sit and wait for you,
My next lover...
From my window of my flat,
You know I dream of my loving past.
But now there's nothing I can do,
I just sit and wait for you,
My next lover...
My next lover...
My next lover...
My next lover...
Oh my next lover...
song performed by by Zutons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Room of My Life
Here,
in the room of my life
the objects keep changing.
Ashtrays to cry into,
the suffering brother of the wood walls,
the forty-eight keys of the typewriter
each an eyeball that is never shut,
the books, each a contestant in a beauty contest,
the black chair, a dog coffin made of Naugahyde,
the sockets on the wall
waiting like a cave of bees,
the gold rug
a conversation of heels and toes,
the fireplace
a knife waiting for someone to pick it up,
the sofa, exhausted with the exertion of a whore,
the phone
two flowers taking root in its crotch,
the doors
opening and closing like sea clams,
the lights
poking at me,
lighting up both the soil and the laugh.
The windows,
the starving windows
that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
Each day I feed the world out there
although birds explode
right and left.
I feed the world in here too,
offering the desk puppy biscuits.
However, nothing is just what it seems to be.
My objects dream and wear new costumes,
compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands
and the sea that bangs in my throat.
poem by Anne Sexton
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A Candle In The Window
Written by susan longacre, walt aldridge, and gary baker
Theres a road that I remember leading to a special place
Where the door was always open to a smiling face
Theres a picture on the mantle of a boy that looks like me
Its always the same, theres a stocking with my name
And a candle in the window, a flame against the night
Theres a candle in the window, its like gods perfect light
It dont take a lot of money to know what riches are
Just a candle in the window
Maybe its just wishful thiking I can hear the sleigh bells ring
Almost taste teh pie shes baking, its christmas eve
And theres a candle in the window, a flame against the night
The candle in the window, its like gods perfect light
It dont take a lot of money to know what riches are
Just a candle in the window and christmas in your heart
Wherever the years may take me no matter how far I go
Theres going to be a candle burning, its always nice to know
It dont take a lot of money to know what riches are
Just a candle in the window and christmas in your heart
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Colette
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.
I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.
I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.
I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
& make it melt.
I want to tell you
simply that I love you--
though you are "dead"
& I am still "alive."
Suicides & spinsters--
all our kind!
Even decorous Jane Austen
never marrying,
& Sappho leaping,
& Sylvia in the oven,
& Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale,
& pale Virginia floating like Ophelia,
& Emily alone, alone, alone. . . .
But you endure & marry,
go on writing,
lose a husband, gain a husband,
go on writing,
sing & tap dance
& you go on writing,
have a child & still
you go on writing,
love a woman, love a man
& go on writing.
You endure your writing
& your life.
Dear Colette,
I only want to thank you:
for your eyes ringed
with bluest paint like bruises,
for your hair gathering sparks
like brush fire,
for your hands which never willingly
let go,
for your years, your child, your lovers,
all your books. . . .
Dear Colette,
you hold me
to this life.
poem by Erica Jong
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A Window Of Opportunity
In every life occasionally
a window opens before us,
a window of opportunity.
It may not be a window to money,
but a window to more friends.
When we pass through it could lead us
to friends in many lands.
So the next time a window opens
just walk on through
you’ll never know
what lies beyond it there.
It could open
to the greatest treasure there,
love and friendship
just for you.
poem by David Harris
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Here In My Heart
I keep on thinkin' I should be free
This time just leave it alone
With 17 reasons not to believe
Nothin' goes everybody knows like you always want it to be
But, here in my heart
There's a dream that's unbroken
And it get's in my way
But it won't be denied
Here in my heart the door is still open
Waiting for you to walk into my life (oohh oo-oo-ooh)
What I've been feelin' I can't explain
Lost in the muse of your eyes
An' I'm fallin' so hard
Just like the rain
Comes a time when ya cross the line and you know you got to believe
'Cos here in my heart
There's a dream that's unbroken
An' it gets in my way
But it won't be denied
Here in my heart the door is still open
Waiting for you to walk into my life
I know!
(That) I may never sleep again
'Till I see you (ooh oo-oo-ooh)
Oh, baby, I know (I know!)
Life is too short and I can't pretend
It's not about you (not about you)
Can't do without you
wooo oo-oo-ooh
Here in my heart
There's a dream that's unbroken
And it get's in my way (gets in my way)
But it won't be denied
Here in my heart (here in my heart)
The door is still open
Waiting for you to walk into my life
There's a dream that's unbroken
It gets in my way
But it won't be denied
Here in my heart (here in my heart)
The door is still open
Waiting for you to walk into my life
In my life (in my life)
In my life (in my life
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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