Into the cauldron, bits of bat,
I'll brew me up a witch’s cat.

No lazy barking dog for me,
A cat will fill this witch with glee!
A cat that catches tasty frogs,
That hop and splash around in bogs.

Into the cauldron little gnat,
I'll brew me up a witch’s cat.

On my broomstick, he will lie, 
As we go flying through the sky.
Holding tight with sharpened claws, 
He'll snap at insects with his jaws

Into the cauldron, tail of rat,
I'll brew me up a witch’s cat.

We'll stay up late into the night,
Casting spells that cause a fright.  
And when you've tired of all of that,
You can sleep in my old hat.

In the cauldron, something's funny,
Should my potion be this runny?

Forgot to add a mongoose hair, 
Thick green smoke now fills the air.
It’s a cat-astrophic flop,
I’ve created gooey slop!

Poem © 2014 Katherine Lynas
Illustration © Heather Dickinson

The Witches’ Cookbook, out today,
Is causing quite a stir,
Among the witchy cooks and chefs,
Who all at once concur,
That spellbound recipes like these
Not seen by human eyes
Will make these books fly off the shelves.
Because this cookbook flies!
Delia Dastardly is quoted,
“Love those witchy spells!”
Nigella Nevermore said how
Enchantingly it smells.
Hugh Furnace Whitingtoad wrote,
“Glad the potions are organic.”
And Jamie All-Over declared,
“The puddings are titanic!”
But he witchy supreme challenge
For a chef of magic arts,
Is the Cauldron Blue of cooking
Tangy Tarantula Tarts
They’re delicious and they’re deadly
As they crawl across the cover.
A combination bound to interest
Any witch food lover.
The Hairy Wizard Bikers
Stroked their beards and said together
“They are Arachnid heaven.
Pastry’s lighter than a feather.”
“But there’s quite a risk to eating them.
You really need the knack.
The reason they’re so good is
They’re a pudding that bites back.”

Poem ©2013 Mo O'Hara
Illustrations ©2013 Paul Morton

A fuzzy caterpillar
stopped to have a chat,
with an ancient wizard
in a big magic hat.

The wizard bent down
to better hear his mate,
but when he went to stand up
his legs would not go straight.

Stories say he's still there
squatting on the rocks,
wishing he had asked his friend
to stand upon a box.



Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi 
Poem ©2012 Meagan Munroe