Witchdoctors!
The poor child groaned
while his mother moaned
''Ah, he's possessed,
ah, he's been bewitched'',
she finally bemoaned.
To the witchdoctor she sped
and was back with murky potions
such yucky stinky lotions
those mythical concoctions
The woman obeyed the wily witchdoctor
Placed belief in that traditional healer
and the poor child still groaned
but his mama no longer moaned
After two days of treatment
and no lessening of predicament
she thought he needed
something more potent
When all it turned out to be
was a toothache!
But she would hear of no dentist
like all quacks her witchdoctor
had fooled her five senses
for his spells and his chants
held her too in a trance
Quite a weird weirdo is he
Beware the medicine-man!
poem by S.zaynub Kamoonpuri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I'm Your Witch Doctor
I'm your witchdoctor, got the evil eye,
Got the power of the devil, I'm the conjuror guy.
Gonna teach you love at the midnight hour,
Gonna feel you burning like a passion flower.
Hey hey, hey hey hey, hey. Hey hey, hey hey hey, hey.
Your witchdoctor, your witchdoctor, got my eyes on you.
I was born in the country and I lived in the trees.
I got my voodoo from the birds and the bees.
Gonna teach you love at the midnight hour,
Gonna feel you burning, little passion flower.
Hey hey, hey hey hey, hey. Hey hey, hey hey hey, hey.
Your witchdoctor, your witchdoctor, got my eyes on you.
I'm your witchdoctor, got the evil eye,
Got the power of the devil, I'm the conjuror guy.
Gonna teach you love at the midnight hour,
Gonna feel you burning like a passion flower.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Witchdoctor Woman
(copyright nazareth,tiflis tunes,inc.- ascap)
Ill make the stars fall out of the sky
Make the seas and the rivers run dry
There is nothing I cant do
Lord Ill put my spell on you
Praise the mountains down to the ground
Make the clouds and the rain fall down
There is nothing I cant do
Lord Ill put my spell on you
Chorus:
Im your witchdoctor woman
And Im gonna put my spell on you
Im your witchdoctor woman
Lord I got my mind on you
Repeat 1
Chorus
Lead
Repeat 2
Chorus
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Main Squeeze
Written by: teena marie and doug grigsby
Hey you, where are you going with that suitcase
Naw, put that down, you ain't going nowhere
Just reflecting on the way it was - it is irrelevant
The fact we're still together baby doll - is so significant
I love you child i always will this will never change
I sign myself to you baby every time i speak your name
Back in the days when i was young and blind
Hanging with the sista's we was fine as wine
Checking you out on a regular basis
I even let you touch me in all my secret places
And i gave in when you held me
And we move and we groove and you wanted me
And you loved me and you wanted me
And you moaned and you groaned so don't you be
Crazy i'm your baby hold me tighter baby ahh
I'm your main squeeze - come on and squeeze me baby
Don't erase me i'm your baby
Kiss me one time and it's over
I'm your main squeeze - squeeze me - tease me
Round and round we go
In and out and up and over
Give me your love - ooh i need your love - i want your love
I couldn't see the forest for the trees
And every guy that tried to turn my head
Could not obstruct my view
You love me child you always will
In this you have no choice
You sign yourself to me every time you hear my voice
Back in the day when you was leading the pack
Honey you're my man - young gifted and black
Riding around in an old '64
I even let you touch me, even let you score
And i gave in when you held me
And we moved and we grooved and you wanted me
And you loved me and you wanted me
And you moaned and you groaned so don't be crazy
Couldn't see the forest baby, through the trees
All i saw was you - ooh baby
And we moved, and we grooved
And we moved and we grooved and you wanted me
(my thanks to andy broome for these lyrics)
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sweet kittens
My sweet kittens
So young in heart
They cried for milk
So poor and feeble
Eyes filled with jerking tears
Mama cat left tnem alone in sphere
There eyes so red
Whole day they cried
A month ago
So young they are
In cruel world they were born
Mama cat them left with scorn
Papa cat has run away
Under the apple tree
Lying helplessly yelling
In heavy storm and rain
Looking frail lying miserably
Mama cat deserted them improperly
Looking for warm lap
Mama cat fed them
The days passed by
Sun and heat they cried so loud
All Pain i feel and grim i see
Mama cat obscured them in unfathomable sea
They moaned and moaned
The days gone by
Since their mama cat left
And now they sleep there
Wait to see their mama cat badly
Mama cat disposed them of severly
By
Shamim Ali
poem by Dr Shamim ali
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Mary Of Magdala
Mary of Magdala came to bed;
There were no soft curtains round her head;
She had no mother to hold of worth
The little baby she brought to birth.
Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed:
'O God, I am very much afraid;
For out of my body, by sin defiled,
Thou biddest me make a little child.
'O God, I have turned my face from Thee
To that which the angels may not see;
How can I make, from my deep disgrace,
A child whose angel shall see Thy face?
'O God, I have sinned, and I know well
That the pains I bear are the pains of hell;
But the thought of the child that sin has given
Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven.'
Mary of Magdala held her breath
In the clutch of pain like the pains of Death,
And through her heart, like the mortal knife,
Went the pang of joy and the pang of life.
'We two are two alone,' said she,
'And we are two who should be three;
Now who will clothe my baby fair
In the little garments that babies wear?'
There came two angels with quiet wings
And hands that were full of baby things;
And the new-born child was bathed and dressed
And laid again on his mother's breast.
'Now who will sign on his brow the mark
To keep him safe from the Powers of the Dark?
Who will my baby's sponsor be?'
'I, the Lord God, who died for thee.'
'Now who will comfort him if he cry;
And who will suckle him by and bye?
For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry,
And I think that my time has come to die.'
'I will dandle thy son as a mother may;
And his lips shall lie where my own Son's lay.
Come, dear little one, come to me;
The Mother of God shall suckle thee.'
Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed;
'I never deserved a child,' she cried.
'Dear God, I am ready to go to hell,
Since with my little one all is well.'
Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean.
'Poor mother, thy tears have washed thee clean.
Thy last poor pains, they will soon be done,
And My Mother shall give thee back thy son.'
Frozen grass for a bearing bed,
A halo of frost round a woman's head,
And pious folks who looked and said:
'A drab and her brat that are better dead.'
poem by Edith Nesbit
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If I were dead
'IF I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child!'
The dear lips quiver'd as they spake,
And the tears brake
From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled.
Poor Child, poor Child!
I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song.
It is not true that Love will do no wrong.
Poor Child!
And did you think, when you so cried and smiled,
How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake,
And of those words your full avengers make?
Poor Child, poor Child!
And now, unless it be
That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee,
O God, have Thou no mercy upon me!
Poor Child!
poem by Coventry Patmore
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Psychiatry or is it not? (parody)
(with apologies to Johan Steyn)
The smiling tribal witchdoctor
with his bitter cure has got me under control,
everything does not begin and end with me:
with something he says he will fix my small thing
and I become aware, that I am different
but near to being unhappy
and aimless I walk back home.
The balance I can tell you
and now I do not walk the straight way.
My friends come to steal my things!
my wife is passable and during the day
when I whisper to Tristene and Isolde
and wake up they glare at me like wide mouth dragons
and scream that they do not “alls wille.” (do not want “to do everything.”)
I shiver when I can,
suddenly feel strange,
are unreliable for the slightest thing.
If it goes on longer I will probably cry,
make a confession to the elder
and with my conscience and face clean
I might reaffirm my vows.
This is a bad situation,
everything I am striving for, are moving to,
is unsafe against my young pen
and I have suspicions about every thing
(remember I do not talk the language
of that witchdoctor fellow)
everything does not begin and end with me:
and I live without peace and I am loose.
My life is now playing off in parts with fun,
without the absence of this and that girlfriend
and their demands in winter stir me
and I am not able to page through Chausson or Thomas.
I get time to read Rilke though
and in silence with nuances I lie and slobber.
Only taking notice of the wind blowing each day.
I whistle, after days walk straight past every rubbish bin,
know the taste of water from a urinal
and in a big jam
I am begging to get back my anguish
of cleanliness and God fearing virtue.
Let every angel that can
late at night call me in vain.
[Reference: Psigiatrie (Psychiatry) by Johan Steyn.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sunnyside, Pretoria revisited (in answer to I.L. de Villiers)
On the street corners, in the dark back alleys
whores cackle,
some black women glance lusting at me,
poor children are watching me in hunger,
without pants form behind trellis fences,
deeply moved I notice here,
how my country is falling into disrepair,
doctor Mamba's advertisement is pressed into my hand.
[Reference: "Distrik ses herbesoek" (District six revisited) by I.L. de Villiers. Doctor Mamba refers here to a witchdoctor]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Frame II
The frame was best supporting act,
and held the ego high and proud.
He never moaned or groaned or spat,
just hung there, all chilled out.
Of course he would have liked acclaim,
a little lime light and a name,
although a painting with no frame
would look a little dull and tame.
The painting lapped up all attention,
with its enigmatic grin,
often feeling quite ecstatic
to be held with such esteem.
and so the frame in show biz style
put a brave face on and a smiled,
stoical in holding back
ambitions to be the star act.
The frame all low and down at heel
resigned himself as second bill
for after all it wouldn't do
if he were narcissistic too.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Child
Child. Old child,
No longer wild;
No longer speaking,
No longer beguiled;
I have become
A quiet old child.
Child. Old child,
No longer cold;
Never an old man,
Always too old;
I have become
An old child tenfold.
Child. Old child,
Forever a child;
Always rethinking,
Always exiled.
I should become
A happy old child.
Child. Old child.
Always soft-spoken;
No longer breaking,
Still being broken;
I have become
An old child, unspoken.
Child. Old child,
No longer bold;
By thinking, rethinking
Of stories untold,
All through my childhood,
I've become... old.
poem by Mihai Cosmescu
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A Mother
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is conceived nine months in the womb
the child that is cradled at daytime,
night time until dawn?
How can a mother forget her child?
How can a mother forget her child
the child who after the flow of months
has learned to stand and run?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child whose mouth imitates her mother`s tongue,
the child who after a year or two can say,
'Mama, I love you'?
How can a mother forget her child,
the child who is so dear in her own heart and mind,
the child that reveals the mystery of creation,
the beauty of growth and human interaction.
the infinity of our own universe
within its finite linear time?
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Song: XI
Mother, mother, do you not hear?
Mother, they come; there is news to tell!
– Give me your hands, my daughter dear:
'Tis but a ship that saileth well.
Mother dear, have a care, give heed!
–They go, my daughter, away they speed.
Mother, the danger is sore, alas!
– Child, my child, it will quickly pass.
Mother, mother, She draweth near!
– It is down in the harbour, daughter dear.
Mother, mother, She opens the door!
– Child, they go, to return no more.
Mother, She enters! I am afraid!
– Child, they now have the anchor weighed.
Mother, I hear Her speaking low.
– Child, my child, it is they that go.
Mother, She makes the stars go dark!
– Child, 'tis the sails of a shadowy bark.
Mother, She knocks at the casement still!
– Child, maybe it is fastened ill. . . .
Mother, mother, my sight grows dim. . . .
– Child, they sail for the open sea.
On every hand I can hear but Him. . . .
– O child, what is it, and who is He?
poem by Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck
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The Blind Slave Boy
Come back to me, mother! why linger away
From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day!
I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,
And wonder my mother should leave me alone!
But there’s no one to joy or to sorrow with me;
For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share,
And none for the poor little blind boy will care.
My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast
Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed;
Once more let me feel they warm breath on my cheek,
And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak!
O mother! I’ve no one to love me – no heart
Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part;
No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind,
O! none like a mother can cherish the blind!
Poor blind one! No mother thy wailing can hear,
No mother can hasten to banish thy fear;
And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child!
Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal
The anguish that none but a mother can feel,
When man is his vile lust of mammon hath trod
On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God!
Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone,
She hears in her anguish his piteous moan,
As he eagerly listens—but listens in vain,
To catch the loved tones of his mother again!
The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall
On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall,
And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy,
Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Good Samaritan
How kind the good Samaritan
To him who fell among the thieves!
Thus Jesus pities fallen man,
And heals the wounds the soul receives.
O! I remember well the day,
When sorely wounded, nearly slain;
Like that poor man I bleeding lay,
And groaned for help, but groaned in vain.
Men saw me in this helpless case,
And passed without compassion by;
Each neighbor turned away his face,
Unmoved by my mournful cry.
But he whose name had been my scorn,
As Jews Samaritans despise
Came, when he saw me thus forlorn,
With love and pity in his eyes.
Gently he raised me from the ground,
Pressed me to lean upon his arm;
And into every gaping wound
He poured his own all-healing balm.
Unto his church my steps he led,
The house prepared for sinners lost;
Gave charge I should be clothed and fed;
And took upon him all the cost.
Thus saved from death, from want secured,
I wait till he again shall come,
When I shall be completely cured
And take me to his heav'nly home.
There through eternal boundless days,
When nature's wheel no longer rolls,
How shall I love, adore, and praise,
This good Samaritan to souls!
poem by John Newton
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Please wait
Please wait
‘O’ Moon,
‘O’ Moon uncle,
Plz give us money and medicine for my mother.
She is ill and on the bed.
Our mama (Maternal uncle) ,
Who is very kind and of helping nature is away from us.
Mother says that you are also our CHANDA Mama (Moon uncle)
So plz give us what ever we need.
The little child was praying to the moon
Who was blooming in the sky?
Her mother told him
‘O’ my child
This Moon uncle is also very kind and generous
And has only coolness and brightness.
He is giving all these things not only to us
also all those who are living on this Earth.
So, plz wait to your Mama (Maternal uncle) .
He will sure come and will give us money and medicine.
poem by Vijay Gupta
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Healer
My child, I had a visitation in my sleep last night
Something was calling to me from a blinding light
And told me not to fear it, hear it
It said, its time to make the world a little wiser.
There are enough destroyers and criticizers.
The world needs a healer, healer.
And I awoke, my heart was pounding
cause it was not like me to have such dreams
But I could not fall asleep for wondering
Why the messenger had come to me
My child, I am too old and I am set in my ways
But now I realize just what the voice conveyed
You will be a healer, healer
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice
Because the healer comes
The healer comes
Your destiny I lay before you
But then the choice was never yours nor mine
When its time to take this burden on you
Then I will take the one you leave behind
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Child Woman, Woman Child
Orbison/dees
Coo coo, thats you, wonder why I love you, you do voodoo, thunder clouds above you
Crazy, kooky, lazy spooky, oh what a clown, always around
And I have found youre a woman. child woman. woman child
Long legged woman when I see you walking you look good
Hey little woman when I hear you talking you sound good
Child woman, woman child youre driving me wild child woman woman child
Youre into my mind then youre out of my mind child woman
You wind and unwind my mind, time after time child woman ooh child woman, yeah child woman
Flying uptight, dont know where youre going, trying your kite when the wind is blowing
Funny lady, sunny, shady off to the fair, sun in your hair
Oh, youre aware youre a woman child woman, woman child
Strong minded woman when you start groovin you look fine
My kind of woman when you start movin you look fine
Child woman, woman child youre driving me wild child woman woman child
I dont see you there, I see you everywhere child woman
I dont even care -yes, I really do care child woman, ooh child woman,
Hey child woman child woman, woman child
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Laugh
'Oh! Jesus Christ! I'm hit,' he said; and died.
Whether he vainly cursed or prayed indeed,
The Bullets chirped-In vain, vain, vain!
Machine-guns chuckled,-Tut-tut! Tut-tut!
And the Big Gun guffawed.
Another sighed,-'O Mother, -Mother, - Dad!'
Then smiled at nothing, childlike, being dead.
And the lofty Shrapnel-cloud
Leisurely gestured,-Fool!
And the splinters spat, and tittered.
'My Love!' one moaned. Love-languid seemed his mood,
Till slowly lowered, his whole faced kissed the mud.
And the Bayonets' long teeth grinned;
Rabbles of Shells hooted and groaned;
And the Gas hissed.
poem by Wilfred Owen
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A Poem of Thoughts as the Evening Faded: I
Last night
Have you seen
The red roses
Dancing in riot
In your garden?
They turned redder
When the thorns
Raised a revolt
Did you know
How the garden-night
Moaned and moaned?
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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