Poetry competition CLOSED 1st November 2020 1:38am
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faithmairee (Faith Elizabeth Brigham)
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RUNNERS-UP: wallyroo92 and Thetravelingfairy

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Witches and witchcraft

robert43041
Viking
Tyrant of Words
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Joined 30th July 2020
Forum Posts: 918

Poetry Contest

Must have to do with either one of those aspects
Must be centered around  either Harz  Mountains area (Germany)  or Salem USA) or other historical place (please be specific: town, city, century..) or totally fictional place and choice of your own.
Two poems max per poet.
30 lines max.
 Any style.

NOTE;  AS OF OCTOBER  7 I SHALL BE ABSENT FOR ABOUT A WEEK (NO INTERNET)....BUT I WILL BE BACK NOT TO WORRY.  KEEP THE SUBMISSIONS COMING.  THANK, ROBERT.

Blackwolf
I.M.Blackwolf
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So basically , totally open as to location , just identify ?

(please be specific: town, city, century..)

What if it is not a *town* , yet a mountainous region ?

( that was were many Old School witches lived in Europe )


robert43041
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No problem ...any other mountain area (like Harz) will do.  As long as I can verify the appproximate - or even precisely locate (historically)  the place and era (which century, really).   Good luck with that.  Pleased to answer any other question of course.   Regards, Robert.

Bonzi
Fire of Insight
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Joined 7th Sep 2017
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Hi, just need clarification. When you say...

"As long as I can verify the appproximate - or even precisely locate..."

Doesn't that eliminate the fictional part of the requirements?

robert43041
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Fictional would obviously be the exception to the rule.  It would have to be clearly evident in the text presented that it is fictional.

Jade-Pandora
jade tiger
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A Parting Curse

 

The Lucerne folks had duly made
A worthy build of lumber stacked
At center place of public square,
And be in Pilates‘ presence there.

A woman not of tender years,
But comely handsome in her prime.
Her flowing hair, the crucifix,
Would soon be smold'ring candle wicks.

And as the morning sun arose,
The prisoner escorted thus,
Was jeered at by the jostled crowd
That started chanting, each aloud:

"Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" they said,
"Stoke flames until she's proper dead!"


The woman robed in black did bow
Before her arms and torso tied
To limbless tree trunk, tall & straight
That held her to a burning fate.

The village broke out in a dance
As several men with torches lit
Approached the pyre and bowed their heads,
The dancers stopped, a prayer was said.

'Twas in the silence as they prayed,
The woman they'd judged as a witch
Looked up and o'er the folk en mass,
Threw back to shake her head and laughed.

And just as torches lit the pyre,
The witch went up in clouds of sparks
That caused the folk to hit the ground,
Their screams were heard for miles around.      
        
         
         
       
The epicenter of the witch hunts was Europe’s German-speaking heartland, an area that makes up Germany, Switzerland, and northeastern France.        
         
As competition for religious market share heated up, churches expanded beyond the standard spiritual services and began focusing on salvation from devilry here on earth. Among both Catholics and Protestants, witch-hunting became a prime service for attracting and appeasing the masses by demonstrating their Satan-fighting prowess.        
         
From 1400-1782, between 40,000 and 60,000 people were put to death for witchcraft.
     
     
Pilates = Lucern’s local mountain in Switzerland.
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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robert43041
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Totally well done.  May I say I am impressed.

TimWombles
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Forum Posts: 22

Two Toads

Three boys, in the fort they built in the woods  
Stocked with a radio and a few canned goods  
In the quiet little place called Beech Grove  
A pleasant community that most people love  
After telling jokes and ending up in stitches  
Decided to scare each other with tales of witches  
It was Bradon's turn and he was really on a roll  
Martin was listening closely and it was taking a toll  
Josh had a fire going and in an old pot they found  
He was stirring with a stick round and round  
“Old man Churchman used to walk these woods at night”  
“How would you know? Bradon, your not right  
He died before you were born,” Martin tried to assert  
“Shut up, it's my story. Don't interrupt, you little squirt  
Anyway, he used to curse the people from this very spot”  
Martin weighed his words and was scared by the thought  
“No he didn't. He was just an old rich man,” he yells  
“Shut up! Anyway, that's how he became rich, casting spells”  
“Wasn't he the president of some bank in Indy?”  
“Shut up. He built this really tall tower that collects people's energy  
He made people slaves and they built a road to his bank as his driveway”  
Martin listened and said with shaky certainty, “Nah, his workers got a big payday”  
“Shut up. Rumor has it he's still alive, out here, probably watching us right now.”  
Martin looked around suspiciously, “that's a stupid story,” as he looked around  
“What do you think of my story Josh?” Bradon asked, expecting him to hem and haw  
“I think I need a couple of toads to finish my potion for dear ole Great Grandpa”  
--Poof--  
To anyone watching, they saw an old man walking hand in hand with a child  
Walking through the woods, watching the squirrels and birds in the wild  
But you and I know the truth, a made up story from my youth
Written by TimWombles
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robert43041
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Two Toads.  Lovely.  So entertaining.  Thanks for submitting.

poet Anonymous

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wallyroo92
Tyrant of Words
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Joined 11th July 2012
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Wicked Games

 
Twitch! The little girls would fidget and misbehave at random times,
Consumed by delusions, they started mentioning villager’s names,
Imagining faces and scenarios that appeared in their minds,
Unaware that they started playing some twisted wicked games.

Witch! The little girls would scream in horror, terror and fright,
And so, the Puritans swore they would fight against this blackness,
Creating a panic amidst adults in broad daylight,
As the town of Salem slowly descended into madness.

Afflicted! The little girls would claim they were being tormented,
Dreaming vivid dreams and hallucinating ghastly specters
Naming names playing wicked games like they were demented,
Pointing fingers at unsuspecting people to their protectors.

Confess! Judges and ministers would urge women to profess,
As the little girls would become hysterical in the harangue,
And the courts acting like a lynching mob of demons possessed,
Pardoned falsehoods while those who maintained their innocence would hang.

Guilty! Every trial was a farce creating more upheaval,
As the fever of something dark made them all that much more afraid,
But the men of God were obsessed with proving this old evil,
For they never knew of the wicked games that little girls had played.

Die! The gang of Christians cursed at the accused with ire and wrath,
Watching their necks break when they were hung and swung from the gallows pole,
Confiscating the victims’ belongings but in the aftermath...
They were consumed by recklessness, and it cost them their own souls.

With the imagination of little girls, men became obsessed,
Blinded by faith and rage they lost their sense of humanity,
They had become so heartless, lost in an imaginary quest,
Creating a mass hysteria that begot more insanity.

These wicked games led to villagers being prosecuted,
In the end, twenty innocent people were executed.
Written by wallyroo92
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Salem, Massachusetts 1692

faithmairee
Faith Elizabeth Brigham
Tyrant of Words
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Joined 29th Aug 2012
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Are you accepting stories and articles or just poetry?

faithmairee
Faith Elizabeth Brigham
Tyrant of Words
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Joined 29th Aug 2012
Forum Posts: 183

Removed by author.

Thetravelingfairy
Fire of Insight
United States 14awards
Joined 12th July 2017
Forum Posts: 251

Her Rose Stained Hands

In the bosom of the mountain calling
A foreign spirit forced to crawling
Women swarm the fire of her hand
Burning brighter under cursed command
She sends the northern deserts rain
She spreads her dress to stake her claim
And with a whisper of her breath
The demons rise to answer death
And all her sisters gather around
They talk to trees and trample the holy ground
Sing your songs to her alone
Bow to her terrestrial throne
For in their circle they make a stance
The witches perform their religious dance
The spirits teach the ways of the wood
They are cleansed in the name of sisterhood
Now they abide her desert way
Under her staff never lead astray
But it is here that fate will fall
Unless they break satanic call
She flees into her tent of red
She begs her starving soul be fed
And in her hand she opens the portal
With her sharpened knife water spilled from a mortal
She pled a witch would never waive
Now her allegiance sent to the grave
There's no place her magic stands
She cannot wipe her rose stained hands
Written by Thetravelingfairy
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Description of mountainous cults in my surrounding woods (some dramatized, mostly unadulterated)

Blackwolf
I.M.Blackwolf
Tyrant of Words
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If you are stating witches / wietches are wrong ,
or those who would kill without reason , let alone ,
pursued by those who are mentally incapacitated ,
you would be most definitely not only wrong , yet
incapacitated by your assumptions ...

Would you consider defending your incorrect assumptions ?

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