Poems about witches

In the middle of another
Eight hour shift.

The factory roars
As it always has,
As it always does.

Yet, there are poems
To be written,
Cigarettes to be smoked,
And other thoughts,
Perhaps thoughts of a
Rosebush, planted in a soldier's
Helmet, or maybe daydreams
Of
A black-cherry
Sundae
To be dreamed.

So, the poet will think,
Will smoke,
Will dream,
Will write.

What will they do?

The factory will roar
As it always has,
As it always does.

The memory
Of a whole house
Locked inside a single
Room floods the mind.

This rooming-house;
A chopped-up duplex.

The poet lived
In the kitchen.

The ashtray overflowed;
The carpet was grey,
Dusty with spilled ash,
The evening's embers
Gone cold.

The lock on the apartment
Door;
It can barely hold back
A strong breeze.

The poet feels
Safe enough.

When the landlady
Comes for the rent,
He answers the door
In his underpants.

She is so persistent
In her quest for payment
That she comes by at ungodly
Hours.

These are the times of day
That a writer, a poet
Might best be
Left to sleeping,
But the landlady fails
To realize this truth,
So underpants it is.

The room has been remodeled,
The poet has moved out,
Gotten married,
Is raising a family,
But he is still a poet.

Smoking a cigarette,
A welcomed pause
In the midst of
An eight hour shift.

The factory roars
As it always has,
As it always does.

The poet's thoughts
Will wander
To witches and how
The weight of these women,
Dancing topless in the middle
Of a moonlit forest,
Might have their weight
Somehow correspond
With that of a duck.

And, then suddenly,
As if awakened from
A trance,
The poet will realize that
None of this shit
Really matters anyway;
And that nobody ever
Really gives a fuck,
Except the witches
And the ducks.

The factory roars
As it always has,
As it always does.

The poet remains a poet.

Because.


*
-JBClaywell
©P& ZPublications 2018

I went fishing with two witches
Out in my new boat
There was me, the witches
Two black cats, and a little pygmy goat

We sat out on the water
The small odd group and me
And in the first few hours
Not one fish did we see

The witches looked on skyward
Grabbed hands to cast a spell
They said that this worked wonders
And then they both did yell

Icarus, thickarus, giraffes and wild dogs
Lizards, and giant gnu
Bippity, Boppity, snakes and we wish
An airborne callipoe stew

Suddenly the water around the boat
Started to steam, and then it did boil
The sun disappeared, the sky went all black
And the clouds went the colour of oil

The witches both gathered the nets on the boat
As the fish came on up from the deep
They were out of the water and up in the air
And through this the goat went to sleep

Icarus, thickarus, giraffes and wild dogs
Lizards, and giant gnu
Bippity, Boppity, snakes and we wish
An airborne callipoe stew

Fish were around us, high in the air
The witches waved nets as if mad
The cats didn't move nor did the goat
It was the best catch that I'd ever had

After a while the sky turned to blue
The witches sat back with a look
We'd netted hundred of fish from the lake
Now, they would have to be cooked

Icarus, thickarus, giraffes and wild dogs
Lizards, and giant gnu
Bippity, Boppity, snakes and we wish
An airborne callipoe stew

I took the boat in, and docked on the shore
With our fish all strung up just for show
Everyone there asked what bait did we use?
I just smiled, for they weren't set to know

I go fishing with witches at least once a week
My freezer is full and then some
Their spell is amazing, it works every time
They say it loud, and fish come

Icarus, thickarus, giraffes and wild dogs
Lizards, and giant gnu
Bippity, Boppity, snakes and we wish
An airborne callipoe stew

Witches are eating the toes of a troll with a spoon,
Boiling blood in a cauldron, and chanting
Mischievous lyrics in the silver moon.

Feel their devilish ways cursing life,
Casting ugly spells and cackling at
Tormented suffrage and strife.

Watch in horror while witches dance,
Stripping away sanity by carrying off
Hope with no redeeming chance.

Damn this nightmare caused by witches,
Hypnotizing minds by changing their
Appearances.

Hunting desperate men for affection,
Seducing the weak to coerce their
Love like a damn infection.

Seeking the Enchanted Wood
Beyond the Gate of Dreams
Again another night
Naked but for my Silver Key
That heavy antique carved
With undecipherable
Arabesque
Symbols
Stolen from the Messenger
Of the Faceless One
Hung from a chain around my neck
The Key to the Dreaming
A comfortable weight against my chest

I descend those too-familiar
Seventy Steps of Light Slumber
Ancient worn stone cold under my bare feet
Climbing down through the dusky emptiness of Pre-Dreaming
One-by-one
Until they suddenly end
At Nothing at all

Without hesitation
(I've been here so many many times before)
I take the leap
And step off into emptiness
And enter the hidden Cavern of Flame

In the far corner of that inky darkness I can almost see
The shadowed forms
Of Nasht
And Kaman-Thah
The Gatekeepers
Whose temple this is
Those towering black figures
Bare-chested with carved, curved beards
And elaborate head-dress
Stand stone-still but all-aware
Waiting to judge my worthiness
Again
I perform for them
A different routine every night
To demonstrate my power
My understanding
My worthiness to traverse The Dreamlands beyond

Tonight
As most nights
I begin by conjuring myself a robe
A simple black thawb with cleric's collar
Hemmed just below the knee
Black linen gi pants
In the Thai style
And comfortable black tabi boots for my feet

Now dressed appropriately
I begin the ritual proper
So They may see
My mastery of The Dream

I rise myself up to float in the center of the cavern
In lotus-posture
And expand out from my center
A dodecahedral lattice-work of blue plasma
Until it fills the space
And I float serenely in its center
From each pentagonal face of this construct
I then project white-hot jets of flame
Offensive defense
Effective ward against
The many horrors that await a Dreamer
But here in this realm of un-real
This is but simple hedge-magick
Unimpressive
Amateurish

They require better of me

I reach out
And project myself
To the far end of the cavern
And instantly I am there
And then again
And then again
Teleporting myself around the cavern
Disappearing and re-appearing at random points
To demonstrate my control of Self
And reality here

They continue to stare down at me
Black and stone-faced

I draw my perception down into the center of my form
And push Out
Against my flesh
Against my skin
Until I feel it begin to tear
Down my back
And I keep pushing
Out
And Out
Screaming
Until it all comes free in one blood-soaked blur of agony
And I am left standing as
Naked muscle sinew bone and nerve
From the scraps of my skin I fashion
A new robe to wear
To show them
My immunity to the horrors I will face beyond

Finally
They consent

From the center of the cavern erupts
The Pillar of Flame
Floor to ceiling
I step into it
And my flesh-robe self-sacrifice burns away to ash in an instant
The price paid for passage
But I am left unsinged
And after a moment I step free from the flame
With a new skin
And again re-robed, as before
Black thawb and gi and tabi
But now also something new
Something never experienced before
(every night
Something never experienced before)
Something not of my own crafting
A blue turban
Electric royal blue
Adorned with an onyx jewel
I do not understand this gift
Or who
Or what
Might be the giver
But I accept
With gratitude

An open door appears in the cavern wall in front of me
And I step through
And begin my descent
Of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber
Gleaming black stone staircase
Descending into darkness
Through an empty night
I know that at the bottom of these stairs lies
The Enchanted Wood
And further beyond the rest of The Dreamlands
Ulthar and Dylath-Leen
Oriab and CelephaГЇs
Leng and unknown Kadath
And as I descend further and further
And closer to the Dream
I can feel my Self coming apart
As if dissolving into mist
And I try to hold my Self together
And focus on those far-away lands
And their cities of Dreaming
And remember how much I long to see them
How every night I long to see them
And I try
And I try harder
And I take another step
And I am gone



And then I am awake

I will try again tonight
As I try every night
And I will make my way to the Cavern of Flame
And I will perform my tricks for the Gatekeepers
And I will begin my descent of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber
And one night
Maybe tonight
I will make it all the way
To the bottom
To the Enchanted Wood
And to the Dream beyond
And I won't ever
Have to return

I only care about the sandwiches I get to eat!

If you have money you work
And if you work you have money
And the cycle continues
Especially in a place like New York
That do the same thing over and over again

But there is a difference between workers
I am a worker
I look at the tall buildings in New York
Like a medieval anarchy

The top full of kings and queens, dukes and knights
The bottom full of peasants and slaves
And at the bottom full of witches burning in hell

Those witches burning in greed and sin that they did not commit
There feet burning in ashes from their work from surrendering to the higher ups
Crying to be release to the surface
But knowing they will always be chain to their hell.

So while I was sweeping the floor for greedy saints
I look up, took my broom and fly
Fly just like a witch
Breaking my ties with eternal hell
Forever severing the bonds of surrendering and greed
Of work and money

Never have I known three humans
That believe as deeply as I
Until one day I stepped inside
And found a world anew.

These three women are strong within their faith
And can push me along the lines
Between life, death, and treading upon
The other world and beyond

On my journey to the center of the world
Of phantoms dreams, I find all my thoughts with
Mysteries. The moon is shining bright and there
Must be a werewolf out tonight. In the dark I see
Ten people in white-a group of preachers, cursing the
Zombies, and I can also tell the vampires around
Every corner must be down below. Every night it's the
Same, the sanity of reason never seems to be
In anyone's brain... the full moon comes I hear
The wolfman call, this seems like a normal night
In fall, but then I can tell you it's just filled
With witches calls. They cook their roasts and cast
Bolts and hail, and I can hear them chant while I'm
On the speeding city Light Rail.