Witchy Woman Blues

Here’s the call and response blues poems I promised. One is called Magic Man Blues and the other is called the Witchy Woman Blues. These poems were composed by me, of course, and my bestest friend, the Mysterious Poet ;-).

Witchy Woman Blues

She sings in a smoky blues joint
every Friday night. At a little after ten,
a hush settles over the crowd when she
walks through the door.
The lights are low, but the stage is brightly lit
and out walks a woman with a witchy accent.
She says, “I am the witchy woman” and
she shimmies out onto the stage. Her dance
is so seductive it leaves all the people spent.
Spent with desire so strong even the women are
left moaning. The men, they stop and stare
and the women steady complainin’, “It ain’t fair.”

The witchy woman she dips down low as her
throaty and melodious voice gives the people
more than they can handle. She don’t stop when
she givin’ too much tho, no, not the witchy woman.
She says, “When I get down on the floor, your man
will have the scent of the witchy woman all over his hands
and it’ll be the taste of his lips. And the sound that
escaped her cherry red lips pulled the people back in
so they could watch that witchy woman do her famous dip.
And oh how she dipped, barely touching the floor, then
that witchy woman walked slowly across the stage ignoring
those people who were so caught up in the witchy woman’s
spell that they were waving money toward her face.
Willing to pay, just to have a little taste.

Those people, they waved money that the witchy woman
didn’t take because the witchy woman was not an easy lay.
She beat them down with her words, left the men wanting
more. And she wanted the men to know about the power in
her hips, not the honey words dripping from their lips.
To get this treasure, you will have to empty those
egos at the door cause I need you, but you need me more.
And that beguiling smile curled those witchy woman lips
and she wiggled some more, danced all across the stage.
By the time she walked away, the people were in a daze.
Even the women were left pantin’ and sweatin’, wishing
they could carry the scent of that witchy woman. Wishing
they could touch her inner core, wishing they could see
the witchy woman gyrate and shimmy some more.

The witchy woman will always have people knocking down
her door, trying to get just a little more of those witchy woman
blues. Blues so seductive they leave a man wanting more
and a woman wanting to touch her inner core. Just a little
taste, that’s what they’ll say. But a little will never be
enough cuz once you get a taste of the witchy woman blues
you’ll always know that she satisfies your every need. And
why settle for just any ole woman when you done had a taste
of the witchy woman blues, cause after tasting and eating
the witchy woman, no other woman will ever do.


Magic Man Blues

I fell in love with a man
who’s pure magic. He’s
got magic all in his hands. He’s
got magic lurking in the dark
shadows of his smile. He’s
got magic clogging up his veins.
He’s my magic man.

That magic man of mine knows
exactly how to place the light of
the stars in my eyes. And he makes
those stars shine while magically
taking me to places divine. That
magic man of mine lit a flame
that lights up every single chamber
of my breaking heart. Yes, that’s
the power of that magic man of mine.

People say we never take time anymore
just to gaze up at the stars, but when you’re
surrounded by magic it’s easy to get
distracted by the stars shining in your eyes.
So, don’t think I take it lightly, this is
a serious matter to me. That the magic
man of mine shined the stars in my eyes
and the glare almost blinded me. Somehow
I just couldn’t see that that magic man
was leading me by the strings of my heart
and taking me to a place where hearts
are easily broken and the tattered pieces
left in a shattered heap that made it
impossible for me to move my feet so
I could walk away from that
magic man and run back to me.

Peace & Love,
Rosalind (and the Mysterious Poet)


About Rosalind Guy

I'm broken & my soul is weary/ my weary soul rebels, fights/ anything & anyone who tries to heal me/I beat my head against a wall of memories/ trying hard to break free from the chain of memories/ I can only be free by saying it so/ i weave a necklace from words and finally/ I find freedom/ free free free. As you can see, words are powerful to me. As Maya Angelou said, words are wallpaper of the soul. I have lots of nightmarish memories that threaten to break me, but I learned a long time ago about the power of words. They can be used to heal and destroy anything that threatens to destroy the person. Words coupled with love have the power to save and heal. I am author of three books: Skinny Dipping in the Pool of Womanhood, Tattered Butterfly Wings, and Blues of a Love Junkie. I am a high school English teacher. I am a former reporter. I am a mother. I am a woman. I am a fierce advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, those who's voices go unheard. Check out my Amazon author page at the following link: http://www.amazon.com/Rosalind-Guy/e/B00BGH5F88/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1432491754&sr=8-1.
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