Poems to Cast a Spell
Happy Halloweeeeeeeeeeeen!
(First published in 2019)
In earlier blogs, I’ve talked about writing late at night. I love the witching hour when I channel my inner Poe. I’ve written poems about dancing with death and waking in the morgue. I even admitted to being asked the slightly embarrassing question, “Who are you mentoring in the dark poetic arts?” I blamed that question on this photo: my Halloween profile picture on Facebook.
Not afraid of a little apple, are you?
Anyone experiencing deja vu? A version of this blog first appeared in 2019, but I didn’t want to darken your holiday spirits last year when my new blog came out. Now you’ll have several spooky treats to enjoy and share with friends (please).
Go ahead and grab a mug of hot cider, some chocolate, or a slice of pumpkin bread. Curl up in a cozy chair, and I’ll try to bewitch you.
Witch trials were society’s way to vent their misogyny by murdering women who were innocent of anything other than inspiring jealousy and vengeance. They were only guilty of knowing more than their accusers about herbal medicine and midwifery. One of my favorite spooky poems is “Half-Hanged Mary” by Margaret Atwood. If you’ve read her novel The Handmaid’s Tale, you know she can cast a spell of terror with her words.
Here’s a link to that poem. https://genius.com/Margaret-atwood-half-hanged-mary-annotated
In my witch poem, I imagined how satisfying it would have been if the poor accused witches and all victimized women had real magic power. Any man stalking them would live to regret it.
The Witch Turns
Go back! You think I can’t hear you swishing through the grass for the fierce wind – the very wind
I conjured from screams of women left broken by your kind. Sarah Good, Rebecca Nurse, Susannah Martin –
those poor innocents proved by death they were not witches. Never will I stand trial. Never.
Your stench stalks me like a shadow. So be it. Even without trees or ravines for cover, we’re secluded. I, too,
am counting on that. Closer, closer, closer you come, never guessing this very ground is under my spell.
Nothing can touch me here. Nothing. You’ll learn soon enough. I half turn, cast my one-eyed curse.
You smirk just like the others. I say nothing, for your kind cannot hear. One step closer – a shriek of wind your last memory.
Alarie Tennille © 2018
First published in Night Garden Journal
I have no explanation for where this next poem came from except to say it was late at night and near Halloween. My cats were likely sitting at the window, staring at the moon, reminding me that they see things I don’t see…
A Vampire Takes My Bus
I sit on one of those side-facing seats just behind the driver – good feng shui for a woman who works nights. I catch the 57 at 6:12 p.m. heading downtown. Vlad, well okay, I don’t actually know
his name, gets on two blocks later – only in winter. He works on sunset’s schedule. I’m curious what seasonal job supports him all year. I’d like to apply.
I wouldn’t call him handsome, but charismatic, mesmerizing. You should see that black cashmere coat worthy of Cirque du Soleil. He sweeps past me in a one-man cold front. Sits near the rear. His eyes shoot gold flares from passing headlights.
Know what really creeps me out? The nights he rides, no one else gets on.
Alarie Tennille © 2016
First published in I-70 Review