The Witch I Fear:
No ill-reputed mortal woman she will be!
No ambitious Wiccan copycat of Crowley,
No fulfilling of Gerald Gardner’s scheme.
The Witch I Fear:
Is certainly not a stranger to treachery & betrayal.
Is not fleeing from big-city-trauma into the woods.
Is not busy juggling occult & science along her way.
The Witch I Fear:
Won’t ride a broomstick, nor cackle aloud at night.
Won’t ever be incautious, blatant, dumb, or sloppy.
Won’t care that lesser mortals even may shun her.
The Witch I Fear:
Will not be undone by a cosmic horror creature.
Will not be shot dead by a dutiful County Sheriff.
Will not be forgiving on those trying to thwart her.
The Witch I Fear:
Has crossed that threshold of mortality many years ago.
Has negotiated with Good & Evil on her terms of conduct.
Has progressed farther than any occult book could reveal!
The Witch I Fear:
Is a phenomenon, no longer just a nightmare expressed.
Is powerful beyond what mortal science considers possible.
Is aware she will still be here, when mankind has perished.
The Witch I Fear:
Won’t be your loony gardener turned drug dealer or poisoner.
Won’t be that psychologist building her criminal sect minions.
Won’t be caught by police, whenever I am too lazy, or too weak.
The Witch I Fear:
That is the witch, who swallowed her pride, on whatever side.
That is the witch living, not dabbling about, her witching path.
That is the witch, who I can certainly NOT survive once more!
Note:
Origin Source: http://archive.org/details/@amp1972
[Now schreiber-netzwerk.eu]
Gifting money to the author: http://paypal.me/AMPietroschek
Beschreibung des Autors zu "The Witch I Fear! (Experimental Free Verse, remake 2023)"
While vaguely using the same idea (structure, concept) as in `Standing Up Again!´ & `Beyond That Point Of No Return´, back then I did not yet intent to consider establishing a form of poetry, albeit I repeatedly extended my basic approach. This is more about the folly of RL occultism than folklore or horror movies.
Zauber der Weihnacht?
Ich glaub' es noch nicht,
wenn man hört, darüber spricht:
Krisen, Kriege, Judenhass;
sagt mir, macht es dann noch Spaß,
einfach vom Zauber der Weihnacht zu [ ... ]
Vor seinem Häuschen sitzt der Alte wieder.
Fast neunzig schon, der Arbeit müde.
Genug im Leben hat er sich geplagt;
der Arbeit hat er längst „Ade“ gesagt.
Die Jahre verflogen ,
einfach hinweg gezogen
Wo sind die wilden Nächte geblieben?
An Allem und Jedem sich aufgerieben!
Von heißen Tagen
bleibt nur noch das Sagen.