Coven

girl with red hair

 

“Go and get the girl.”

At the sight of her, the women shouted their cries and catcalls.

“She makes men fall to their feet!” cried one.

“She sings the songs of the wicked!” shrieked another.

“She does the black magic!” still another persisted.

“It’s true because she has the red hair of the devil’s wife!”  This from someone on the girl’s left.

“Yes, the devil’s wife!”  This echoed from someone on the girl’s right.

“His filthy bride—a red-haired demon she is!”

They dragged her to the chair and then flocked around.  The flames from the torches lurched and pitched, their crackling lights lengthening the shadows of the gathered into grotesque shapes. The oldest among them, Prudence, separated herself from the group.  “We are all in agreement then?”

The women nodded, and then kneeled.

“Our red-haired sister, we are at your service.”

Behind the drape of her long red hair, the girl looked up and smiled.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.  © ELIZABETH MICHAUD JOHN

The Naming of Her

The night begins with darkest spell

She calls forth demons from deepest hell

She sends them out to do her will

They venture off into night’s chill

 

They set about in secret search

Upon the shadows they hunch, they lurch

But their mistress’s wish they do fulfill

And bring to her much treasured ills:

 

A pint of blood, a pound of flesh

A heart ripped from a tender chest;

Screams of innocents bottled tight

And eyes bereft of all their sight…

 

With incantation now complete

While black cat purrs at her feet

The evil bidding stirs her soul

Intent as dark and black as coal

 

She chants her words for all to hear

And one by one, they fall in fear

Her whispered words consume them all

She stands, she laughs, she lets them fall

 

With her curse her victims writhe

Her spell a scourge by which they’ll die

The night is pierced by screams and pleas

But their wretched souls are hers to seize

 

And with her bounty of skin and bone

With withered souls that moan and groan

She steals her way into the night

And cackles oft with all her might—

 

To her dark prince of down below

These bloody gifts she does bestow;

For evil’s trouble he grants a wish:

He calls her hag, trickster and

Witch.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © ELIZABETH MICHAUD JOHN

Let the Sounds Be a Warning

 

Listen, children, to this night

It bears a warning of great fright

The boom of thunder is fanfare

To night’s terror:  Hark! Beware!

Hear not you the demons stroll?

With menace creep, with menace roam

Lightening cracks—oh children see!

Horrid things will come for thee!

Sounds abound and pierce the dark

Creatures come to leave their mark

Phantoms wail and monsters too

A wolfhound howls—

It honors moon

Tombs do open:

Hear scratch and scrape!

Untold horrors make quick escape

Groans emit from these undead

It brings forth fear

It brings forth dread—

The witch’s cackle is oft heard

And black crows caw

Their sound absurd;

Death is inferred—

Ghouls and goblins swear and hiss

Evil’s night is their sweet bliss

But behold this night song’s end

Do take heed of word I send

The final sound we’ve yet to hear:

A scream of death

A scream of fear

Run, run children! Flee and hide!

Before the sounds do you they find.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © ELIZABETH MICHAUD JOHN

And because I wanted to have some fun, here’s the “video” version of my poem.

It’s poetry in motion.

Sort of.

Mwah hahahahahaha….