The Sorcerer's Song
Oh! my name is JOHN WELLINGTON WELLS -
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses,
And ever-filled purses,
In prophecies, witches, and knells!
If you want a proud foe to "make tracks" -
If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax -
You've but to look in
On our resident Djinn,
Number seventy, Simmery Axe.
We've a first-class assortment of magic;
And for raising a posthumous shade
With effects that are comic or tragic,
There's no cheaper house in the trade.
Love-philtre - we've quantities of it;
And for knowledge if any one burns,
We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet
Who brings us unbounded returns:
For he can prophesy
With a wink OF his eye,
Peep with security
Into futurity,
Sum up your history,
Clear up a mystery,
Humour proclivity
For a nativity.
With mirrors so magical,
Tetrapods tragical,
Bogies spectacular,
Answers oracular,
Facts astronomical,
Solemn or comical,
And, if you want it, he
Makes a reduction on taking a quantity!
Oh!
If any one anything lacks,
He'll find it all ready in stacks,
If he'll only look in
On the resident Djinn,
Number seventy, Simmery Axe!
He can raise you hosts,
Of ghosts,
And that without reflectors;
And creepy things
With wings,
And gaunt and grisly spectres!
He can fill you crowds
Of shrouds,
And horrify you vastly;
He can rack your brains
With chains,
And gibberings grim and ghastly.
Then, if you plan it, he
Changes organity
With an urbanity,
Full of Satanity,
Vexes humanity
With an inanity
Fatal to vanity -
Driving your foes to the verge of insanity.
Barring tautology,
In demonology,
'Lectro biology,
Mystic nosology,
Spirit philology,
High class astrology,
Such is his knowledge, he
Isn't the man to require an apology
Oh!
My name is JOHN WELLINGTON WELLS,
I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
In blessings and curses,
And ever-filled purses -
In prophecies, witches, and knells.
If any one anything lacks,
He'll find it all ready in stacks,
If he'll only look in
On the resident Djinn,
Number seventy, Simmery Axe!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Related quotes
Do You Believe In Magic?
What do you think is magic?
A first kiss?
Your first child?
Or the unbelievable.
Fairies and demons,
Or witches and spells.
It’s entirely up to you what you believe.
Or you could not believe in anything like it.
So this is my question to you,
Do you believe in magic?
Is it the music you hear?
Or the extraordinary people you meet?
To me,
All of these things are magical,
They all bless us,
And give us something amazing.
Something we can believe in.
That is true magic.
So, do you believe in magic?
poem by Rachel Brewer
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Wicked Witch
See the wicked witch ride her broomstick,
As she rides with the moon,
Her pointy hat her distinguished feature,
For it is a full moon tonight,
For magic will reign until the morning light,
For many spells are being cast,
And who will win the magic stakes,
No one knows,
For many a cauldron is being stirred,
The supernatural in nature being brought alive,
And love spells bring love into the wide open,
And treasure good fortune and luck,
For there are many facets in nature,
And spells can be cast, so you'll never be stuck,
Many good luck charms and wishing dust reawaken the spirit,
And throwing salt over your shoulder,
Not walking under ladders,
Knocking on wood,
And keeping a black cat for good luck,
Will keep things swinging your way,
And the phases of the moon will keep the spirits at rest,
At least until the break of day,
For traditions say witches practice their craft through black magic,
But this is not true,
For the way of the witches will never be tragic,
For love spells are also their forte,
And a beautiful prince or princess will greet you,
For you are magic itself,
You have those magical eyes,
That will reveal a pleasant surprise,
The night opening up your unbelieving eyes,
To all of nature and its magic powers,
That keep balance and proprtion in all things,
And give life to those beautiful and colourful spring flowers,
That only heaven itself, with all its magic,
Could create and nurture with the changing seasons.
poem by Paula Glynn
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Stuck Between Two Worlds
Stuck between worlds,
one is of magic,
the other of human,
searching for escapem
back to my world,
the world of magic,
hogwarts my school,
a world of dragons,
a world of magic-folk,
casting spells and curses alike,
no dieases to catch us like fools.
poem by Nicholas Spandrel
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One Day I'll Make You Proud, Dad......! ! ! ! !
Dad, I'm flunked,
said me.....
Son, never worry,
I'm happy you tried.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm ditched,
said me, wailing.....
Son, never weep,
I'm happy someone made you realise the pain.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm expeled,
said me, embarrassed of copying in finals......
son, never shame of mistakes,
I'm happy you admit the wrongdoing......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm sloshed,
said me, apologizing for being like that.....
Son, I'll help you to bed,
I'm happy you learned to apologize.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm paid,
said me, surrendering first salary....
Son, It's yours, keep it safe,
I'm happy you earned them legitimately.....
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm in love,
said me, shivering in fear.....
Son, choose the best, you deserve best,
I'm happy you don't miss mommy's love anymore......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, I'm married,
said me, Kneeling for his blessings....
Son, blessings always on you since your birth,
I'm happy I dont have to sleep with you anymore......
ONE DAY I'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, DAD.....! ! ! ! ! ! !
YOU'LL SON, I RECKON.....
Dad, eventually I'm a dad,
exclaimed me, an infant in my hands.....
Son, I'm old, cant talk more,
I'm happy You're a perfect man.... He coughed....
ONE DAY HE'LL MAKE YOU PROUD, SON...! ! ! ! ! !
AS YOU MADE ME PROUD.....
poem by shinej K.P
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Magic Words
In the land of the lost
They dug up a book of magic spells today
No one had seen spells like this before
Some of them were extremely weird
The cover of the book said:
PO-etry
And the people wondered if PO-etry was a black or white magic. The book was sent to an expert in magic and his assistant for examining.
Look at page 82
'Mumps on the breast
sleepless rest
Eastless west
I didn't have to study for my urine test.'
or
page 97
'Crazy insane
painless pain
evaporating rain
nothing changes perception
quite like the brain.'
or how about
page 115
'Vision blurred
brain is slurred
this is what happens
when I think like the herd.'
The expert in magic confirmed it was white magic and shared the spells with everyone. The spells brought wonder and joy to the people in the land of the lost. And perhaps that is magic in itself.
poem by Joseph DeMarco
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Lead "me" to "me
What is this place?
Where have I reached?
I stand infront
The mirror,
As a stranger
Stares back at me.
Do I know her?
Have we met before?
Why do I see in her traces of' me'?
Or is this…
The new ‘me"?
Do I like her?
Brazen she stands…
Her hair wind swept,
Her eyes, wild
No longer windows
To the divinity of her soul.
But her smile has
Traces of "me".
That strange
Devil in "me".
As I shudder in peril,
Where have I reached?
Its miles and miles of mist,
Paths untread,
Lonely beings.
But…
Its this mysterious "me"
Which terrifies my soul.
Did I ever want to be
"her"?
Do I have a choice?
Is it too late to decide,
Revert, run back?
Where did I lose the "me"
I was so proud about?
Pray, give me your magic hand
Do lead "me to"me"…
For without "you" holding "me"
I remain not even "me"
Daddy…
your little 'ai'is all lost
Please lead "me" to "me"….
poem by Anjali Kakati
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Ad Martialem
GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we two could be
To enjoy our days set wholly free;
To the true life together bend our mind,
And take a furlough from the falser kind.
No rich saloon, nor palace of the great,
Nor suit at law should trouble our estate;
On no vainglorious statues should we look,
But of a walk, a talk, a little book,
Baths, wells and meads, and the veranda shade,
Let all our travels and our toils be made.
Now neither lives unto himself, alas!
And the good suns we see, that flash and pass
And perish; and the bell that knells them cries:
"Another gone: O when will ye arise?"
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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While History's Muse
While History's Muse the memorial was keeping
Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves,
Beside her the Genius of Erin stood weeping,
For hers was the story that blotted the leaves.
But oh! how the tear in her eyelids grew bright,
When, after whole pages of sorrow and shame,
She saw History write,
With a pencil of light
That illumed the whole volume, her Wellington's name.
"Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
The grandest, the purest, even thou hast yet known;
Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining,
Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own.
At the foot of that throne, for whose weal thou hast stood,
Go, plead for the land that first cradled thy fame,
And, bright o'er the flood
Of her tears, and her blood,
Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington's name."
poem by Thomas Moore
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Michael Furey
That night was cold,
The wind was biting.
All over Ireland
the snow was falling
"I was packing
my trousseau,
To Dublin town
I was to go."
"I heard a pebble
strike my pane.
A moment passed,
then, there, again."
"I looked out
On the snow filled lane.
That's when I saw him,
Saw my Michael.
His pale face raised
toward my light.
Like an angel
lost in contemplation."
"Michael's health was not the best.
His lungs were weak
and fluid filled."
"Soon after I had left the West,
I heard that he had fallen ill."
"He's buried now near Sligo town,
between Ben Bulben and the sea.
'May my Michael rest in peace,
I think he died for love of me.'
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Ill Oil Wells Love You
I met a man in texas
And oh, he was so fine
And I said to myself
Self, Im gonna make him mine
He owned a lot of oil wells and his bank roll sure was healthy
And I new if I married him Id suddenly be wealthy
Oh Ill oil wells love you
Ill oil wells care
Ill oil wells need you
I want you oil wells dear
Well I never had no money
Not a penny to my name
And I said Id find a rich man
And Id love my way to fame
So he took mt in his arms
And I cuddled up real near
The money bug then bit me and I wispered in his ear
Oh, Ill oil wells love you
Ill oil wells care
Ill oil wells need you
I want you oil wells dear
He looked in to my eyes and thought he saw a love light shine
Nearly did he know that that light was dollar signs
Now that we are married there aint nothin left to tell
Well live happily ever after because all is well that ends well
Oh, Ill oil wells love you
Ill oil wells care
Ill oil wells need you
I want you oil wells dear
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
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Buried Alive
I speak in verses prophecies and curses
I speak in verses prophecies and curses
I hate my life
The miracle is coming its just a hole
Nothings wrong with you, just maintain control
Everyones asking questions, your place is safe
Ill forfeit resurrection to escape the pain
I hate my life
I hate my life
I HATE MY LIFE
(I hate my life)
I HATE MY LIFE
(I hate my life)
I HATE MY LIFE
(I hate my life)
I speak in verses prophecies and curses
The storm of thorns is growing
There is no end in sight
Chaos claws my jaw
Thank Metal riot
Im in the mouth of madness with this tongue of poetry
I ate the spine of atlas, now the world is crushing me
I hate my life
I hate my life
I HATE MY LIFE
(I hate my life)
I HATE MY LIFE
(I hate my life)
I HATE MY LIFE
(I hate my life)
Buried behind enemy lines
Surrogate child for the sins of all mankind
Buried alive behind enemy lines (Buried Alive Buried Alive)
Buried alive behind enemy lines (Buried Alive Buried Alive)
Buried alive behind enemy lines (Buried Alive Buried Alive)
For the sins of all mankind
song performed by by Otep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hymn 50
The song of Zacharias.
Lk. 1:68ff; John 1:29,32.
Now be the God of Isr'el blessed,
Who makes his truth appear;
His mighty hand fulfils his word,
And all the oaths he sware.
Now he bedews old David's root
With blessings from the skies;
He makes the Branch of Promise grow,
The promised Horn arise.
[John was the prophet of the Lord,
To go before his face;
The herald which our Savior God
Sent to prepare his ways.
He makes the great salvation known,
He speaks of pardoned sins;
While grace divine, and heav'nly love,
In its own glory shines.
"Behold the Lamb of God," he cries.
"That takes our guilt away;
I saw the Spirit o'er his head,
On his baptizing day.]
"Be every vale exalted high,
Sink every mountain low;
The proud must stoop, and humble souls
Shall his salvation know.
"The heathen realms with Isr'el's land
Shall join in sweet accord
And all that's born of man shall see
The glory of the Lord.
"Behold the Morning Star arise,
Ye that in darkness sit;
He marks the path that leads to peace,
And guides our doubtful feet."
poem by Isaac Watts
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I Know That Its Magic
Im amazed at things you, you do it all with ease
I smile while everything you do, drives me to my knees
cos I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
Yes, I know that its magic, in everything you try to do
Many times I see ahead, Ill have to make a stand
Maybe I can call on you, I know youd understand
cos I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
Yes, I know that its magic, in everything you try to do
cos I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
Yes, I know that its magic, in everything you try to do
cos I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
Yes, I know that its magic, and I know that its magic
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If this is "fading"
120
If this is "fading"
Oh let me immediately "fade"!
If this is "dying"
Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
If this is "sleep,"
On such a night
How proud to shut the eye!
Good Evening, gentle Fellow men!
Peacock presumes to die!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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I know where Wells grow—Droughtless Wells
460
I know where Wells grow—Droughtless Wells—
Deep dug—for Summer days—
Where Mosses go no more away—
And Pebble—safely plays—
It's made of Fathoms—and a Belt—
A Belt of jagged Stone—
Inlaid with Emerald—half way down—
And Diamonds—jumbled on—
It has no Bucket—Were I rich
A Bucket I would buy—
I'm often thirsty—but my lips
Are so high up—You see—
I read in an Old fashioned Book
That People "thirst no more"—
The Wells have Buckets to them there—
It must mean that—I'm sure—
Shall We remember Parching—then?
Those Waters sound so grand—
I think a little Well—like Mine—
Dearer to understand—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
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The Day Magic Died
I sat down and cried, wondered why, magic died
Do you know of its demise,
Now I fear and dare not dream of miracles
And how we came about, and fables full of doubt
How could God let magic die and pass away
Now who will believe in Him who made the world in 6 days
All the devils sinners and dragons have gone to hell
All the martyrs, god's men and goodmen in heaven to dwell
Magic died, no more gimmicks tricks, miracles of wonderland
All the king's witches and wizards can't bring magic back again
Though I cry at the shores of reason, they're brushed away
By winds of logic and real, mathematics and steel
Come out and play with me, I would see the magic of your glee
but you say magic has died, I cannot play till we find to where he went
and why, magic come back, make us free to dream and hope for more
poem by Shimon Weinroth
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Everything will be fine
Everything will be okay for the women
They don't let the sadness to come out
She comforts others and says
"Everything will be fine".
They are faithful to their promises
Makes call to hear special one voice
They are with energy, every time
To make up other necessity.
They are filled with magic love
Carrying lighted candle with their might
The fear of love makes them unknown
And walks alone on the track of life.
poem by Swetha Reddy
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Smoke
Smoke, it is all smoke
in the throat of eternity. . . .
For centuries, the air was full of witches
Whistling up chimneys
on their spiky brooms
cackling or singing more sweetly than Circe,
as they flew over rooftops
blessing & cursing their
kind.
We banished & burned them
making them smoke in the throat of god;
we declared ourselves
"enlightened."
"The dark age of horrors is past,"
said my mother to me in 1952,
seven years after our people went up in smoke,
leaving a few teeth, a pile of bones.
The smoke curls and beckons.
It is blue & lavender
& green as the undersea world.
It will take us, too.
O let us not go sheepishly
clinging to our nakedness.
But let us go like witches sucked heavenward
by the Goddess' powerful breath
& whistling, whistling, whistling
on our beautiful brooms.
poem by Erica Jong
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