no magic mumbling…

 

 

Repeat

 

Here, in the back of the cave,

it’s not called magic,

nor potion, nor spell,

there is no careful brew…

 

The ensorcelling fire burns,

but no spell is called up

   to right grave wrongs,

no magic mumbling

   slips from the witch’s lip.

 

The crone intent on sharing

   ere her lamp goes dim,

the novice, come to learn,

seeks a charm that ends all pain…

The witch sits down

   and wipes her eye,

and teaches, again,

that the spell to make

   possible what is good

      is not magic,

but she names it

with one strong word:

“hope”

 

December 8, 2020

 

Inspired by “Spell for Ending Well” by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, posted December 7, 2020, on her website:   A Hundred Falling Veils

Excerpt:

 

“…Any spell

for ending well

knows…

that anyone who would look up

a spell for ending well

already has exactly what they need.”

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My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2023 All rights reserved.

 

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As with another eye: Poems of exactitude with 55 free verse and haiku poems,
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and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

Your comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

*   *   *   *   *   *

© 2023, Richard Subber. All rights reserved.

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