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Nickols Oct 2012
Red is for the blood split.
Three drops; no more, no less.
Plucked upon a roses thorny edge.

Down

Drop

They

Drop

Tumbled.

Drop

­A stark contrast against the blanket of the whitest snow.
A wish was all it took,
For a spell had been woven through true loves magic.

The Queen belly, twas ripe with babe--
A princess-
skin white as snow,
lips red as glittering ruby's
and hair black as nights coal.

Her name:
Well Snow White, of course.
Or so the legend has told.

For what comes next is quite tragic.
For all magic comes with a toll;
An equivalent exchange:
a life, for a soul.

The babe was born on the morning rays, as for told.

With skin white as snow,
lips red as glittering ruby's
and hair black as nights coal--
For the Queen's last wish held true.

But for the King,
He grieved his sorrow for his lost beloved.
His happily ever-after crumbled throughout his kingdom-
like a wicked plague itself.

A Witching Queen rising in the true Queens place.
A evil stepmother-
for sweet innocent Snow White.

This vain diabolist, weaved her dark spell.
A magical looking glass-
appeared in front of her face.

"Magic mirror on my wall
Who is the fairest of them all"


The enchanted piece of glass
swirled and looped and then spoke.

"My Queen,
you are full of fair,
it is true,
but on this day
Snow White is fairer than you"


With a mighty jealous roar-
this Evil Queen called for her Huntsman.
To **** the one that might dare, to be fairer, then she--

Snow White's heart in a box
was the bounty!
because in the end the child needed to die.
For no one was fairer then the vainest of the Queens.

But you see:
The Huntsman of this Baneful Queen,
could not **** one such as sweet and fair as
the one know as:
Snow White.

A deer's heart,
is what is sent back in the Queens box;
But what became of dearest Snow White, you say?

Well: She went to live in the woods,
A small tiny cottage,
with seven little dwarfs.

What are their names, you ask?
Lets see:
There is--

Blick
&
then there is,
Flick
don't forget,
Glick
or then,
Plick,
wait a second.
Don't forget about,
Snick,
&
Whick,
and most important,
Quee.

And if you do not know them by these names,
what about:
*****,
Then Grumpy
Doc,
&
Happy
Sleepy and
Sneezy,
don't forget about,
Bashful.

They protected their fair Snow White,
from the Hideous Queen.
And for two year-
they kept her safe.

Until:
The Evil Queen conjured her magic,
and when the enchanted mirror gleamed back at her,
she queried--

"Magic mirror on my wall
Who is the fairest of them all"


The enchanted piece of glass
swirled and looped and then spoke once more.

"My Queen,
you are full of fair,
it is true,
but still too this day,
the young Queen,
is a thousand times fairer than you"


The Queen knew she had been tricked--
A wicked plan had been struck.
A old hag hid the Queens' face well.

Red is the color of ripened apple,
disguising the greenest of deadliest poison.
One bite: was all it took.
Snow White, asleep for all times.

But you see,
All magic comes with a toll.
And a true loves kiss, broke the spell.

This is a story about over coming the greatest of evil.
A reminder:
the light will always prevail.
© Victoria
Autumn Whipple Feb 2015
click
click click
the letters
mix
and stir
and whick
my thoughts
onto the glowing white page
the qwerty keyboards
calling my name
write me
it screams
and begs
and pleads
it tells me the clicks
will wash away
the feelings of another lost day
the clicks whisper of hidden things
that time will pass
that mindless thing
as i sit clicking and whicking
and stirring up thought
and laughing
and crying
all inside
as
my family lives their
lives
that i forget to take interest in
as they all respond to their clicks
technology sometimes.
Jack Singer Dec 2011
When I go insane
It will be that creeping
brand of madness,
sneaking over my brain
like a cloudy veil.

A whick-whacking creature,
trudging with sticky feet,
forward, forward, into my mind,
a pesky itch just behind
my right
eye socket.

La la la la!

I’ll pace around
grinning and singing.
I’m going to get lost in my head,
and you can too.

didn’t they tell you?
The infinite universe
is inside your head
too—
Devin Ortiz Dec 2018
I am all the magic I have ever needed.
I am this thinking, valid creature.
And while not every verse beckons
Itself to be the grestest.
It does desire to be sang.

Magic is poetry, it is the nature of the craft.
Words are cantations whick evoke emotion.
By my bedside, is my own spellbook.
I write whatever I wish to be and it is so.

That truth is as real as you believe it to be.
I bleed my own words, I suffer in their truth.
I become ecstatic, and at peace.
That is my serenity, my sleight of hand.
My magic, my fortune.
Rebecca Rose Jan 2018
The dancer on the candle whick
Has long since faded out
And the orange glowing flames
Have long since been stomped out
Extinguish the warmth
Let kerosene dreams be killed
But the wax has cooled
And is now frozen still
And by cool, I mean bitter cold
Silence is not scary;
It does not beat around bushes
or hobble on stumps.

Silence has a potent vulnerability.

It lives in rainbow
Configurations at the bottom
Of a bubble, in the moment before
Its life bursts.

When the whick in the moonlight
Scented candle whispers
That it is burnt out, silence escapes
In the spiral columns of smoke.

A whisper, a whimper, a whine.

But where does this whimsical
Figure hide when the trumpets
Of activity and evidence of
Vitality roar down through
Grey clouds and spill
Across valleys?

Silence goes wherever it is welcomed.

Behind closed bedroom doors,
In the shared air of two people
Enjoying each other's absence
Of thought.

Between lines of prose,
In the spaces you leave behind
As you continue
Moving forward.

When the worst is assumed
About this or that,
Like the horror of silence
and its clumsy ways,

Moments are lost to
Marching bands and
Irrelevant chatter.
T R S Feb 2019
Splattered on grounded gravel
was all about lava labor
a little more that flavor savior
the saber that'll build
a little field
of golden grit
lit with lampblack
and litwicked slacked made
lackadaisical magick
whick will have woven tragic
old fashioned words
built in passions
and up on stewards
hoarding all of our
new world copper
and proper human presents.

— The End —