In deep purple flame
Stapled to the cross
While the peasants yell below
Demon demon demon
Black flags rise
Hearts fail to beat
Humanity has lost this score
The axe swings in the air
Freedom at last
From Islam’s beasts
My head tumbles into the dust
I am now an icon of the history I so loved
I am Khalid al-Asaad
Your humble servant of antiquity
Aug 19, 2015
In memory of Khalid al-Assad murdered by Islamic cowards.
Islamic State militants beheaded a renowned antiquities scholar in the ancient Syrian city of Palmyra and hung his mutilated body on a column in a main square of the historic site because he apparently refused to reveal where valuable artefacts had been moved for safekeeping.
According to Syrian state news agency Sana and the UK-based Syrian Observatory for Human Rights, Asaad was beheaded in front of dozens of people on Tuesday in a square outside the town’s museum. His body was then taken to Palmyra’s archaeological site and hung from one of the Roman columns.
“Al-Asaad was a treasure for Syria and the world,” his son-in-law, Khalil Hariri, told the Associated Press. “Why did they kill him? Their systematic campaign seeks to take us back into pre-history. But they will not succeed.”
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
Her nickname "'sunshine" where she worked,
She's always smiling, some confide.
She has a certain lilting perk
Of hidden beauty deep inside.
Her journey home was twenty miles
Of mostly dark, forbidding streets,
Of tenements and garbage piles
And people none would seek to greet.
In such a spot her tire blew out.
She stopped beside a littered curb.
Abandoned cars and distant shouts,
Of breaking glass and cursing words.
The twilight turned a sooty grey,
As five approached, all wearing hoods.
She kicked the tire and yelled "No way".
They bared their heads, they understood.
She had the gift to win a heart.
The group joined in to change her flat.
She tried to pay the five their part.
They "high fived" hands and that was that.
She lived alone, her little home.
Her driveway was a welcome sight.
A long weekend she earned and owned
To sleep or surf the net all night.
Her drapes inched down and met the window sill.
The hand with dirty fingernails grew still.
She made a hurried circle to the Vet.
They told her "Bud" had been a nervous chore.
She told of his uncanny sense of threat.
Her Rottweiler was first one through the door.
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014
you silly old dog
when they thought of the name,
they'd probably had thought of a creature like you-well then right on the dot
for a pig with a stick in his eye and a stye for a leg could have begged his way faster to freedom
and found more to eat in a day then you eat in a week-but you stay?
And i wonder and ponder by ponds full of water collecting my thoughts in a vase now discolored
what marvelous mischief might happen if beast were no sanction and all things with thoughts were judged solely on actions
morality then would weigh heavy with sanction and perhaps no man dines at the right of the lord
only a creature, deemed fit to absorb his observance
for now, it is begining to get very hot in this furnace
Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013
Something’s lurking in the shadows. Something’s hiding in the dark.
Something’s out there by my window, so why doesn’t Fido bark?
Something out there wants to get me! I am losing my sang-froid.
Something wants to disappear me. I’m not being paranoid!
I used to have a neighbor woman--We cannot find her anywhere.
When I called for some patrolmen. They did not show ‘cause they don’t dare!
Something outside isn’t human-- or at least not anymore.
A cannibal or psycho axeman, or just a clown covered with gore.
I’ve got the willies something fierce. Those shivers just won’t go away.
I’m not ready for the hearse. Too scared to run…too scared to stay.
Someone’s walked over my tomb, or given me the evil eye.
Something’s out there in costume--Trick or treat, it’s time to die!
Something’s out there by my window, so why doesn’t Fido bark?
Something’s lurking in the shadows. Something’s waiting in the dark.
Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014
Eating bowls of dying meat
sucking poison which taste sweet.
Gas filled bodies that retain their juice
a dead little dog that took abuse.
The death song plays for a mutilated boy
insane parents who receive no joy.
Black dogs bark at the funeral fires
death looks down and picks his desires.
The decapitated body of an unknown man
no one cried which was part of the plan.
A shot in the dark took the poor man down
crazy children laugh as they hear the sound.
'Blood in the gutter' whispered the man
slay your neighbor as fast as you can
No one hears this , no one understands
'Blood in the gutter' whispered the man.
A slash of the knife brought grandma down
the young boys laughed at the blood on the ground.
The blood stained clothes of a forgotten child
the man with the knife is running wild.
The meat in the gutter might be your own
for you are left for dead
and to the dogs you were thrown !
© By Larry Hays
Copyright © Larry Hays | Year Posted 2013
I am sitting in my light brown leather reclining chair
after a strenuous day at my office glad to be home
no more stress no wife just my dog Bandit at my side
I'm holding in my right hand my favorite relaxing drink
a single malt scotch on cracked ice with a twist of lemon
as I was about to close my eyes just a little past seven
counting the blessings in my life from heaven
then out of the unexpected blue everything changed
never I mean never to be the same again
or maybe I was just going insane
out of the corner of my right eye
what I saw oh God what I saw was something that really
scared the hell out of me
as the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up
and my flesh turned cold
a man dressed all in black and red
with a haunting evil look in his coal black eyes
I believed he was from the dead
stepped right through a solid wall made of brick an stone
and stood there looking around the room
then looked right through me as though I wasn't there
my dog bandit backed up in fright and hid behind the chair
making noises like I never heard him make before
as my goose bumbled flesh turned cold as ice
I sat paralyzed could not move from my light brown leather reclining chair
then he smiled a shark like pointed toothy grin
as he placed his gaze my way
and pointed a long gray boney finger right at me
the only sound that I could hear was the beating of my own heart
as though it was going to tare my chest apart
then he spoke in a low evil raspy voice and said
I'll be awaiting you on the other side
then he turned to leave the room
the way he entered by stepping right through a solid wall
made of brick an stone
now I sit here all alone wondering and shaking
what the hell just happend to me
is there something in my life that I must change
my life do I have to rearrange
I do not want to meet that messenger from hell on the other side
this is not a tale I tell
for you may think I'm crazy as hell
but I believe in what I saw
I was visited by a messenger from hell
if there is a lesson to be learned from my story
look into your life and change what will make it right
to travel into the light
to heaven not hell
when your time ends upon this earth
Copyright © Dennis Davis | Year Posted 2011
Snoopy is a crazy dog
His heads always in a fog
Thinking of some fun new ways
To steal a blanket each day
That Linus loves very much
But its like an evil rush
That turns Snoopy really "mad"
He wants this blanket really bad
Hiding in trees way up high
He'll pounce Linus walking by
With an evil scary look
Becoming a blanket crook
Not giving up he will succeed
Something in him really needs
To win this blanket tug of war
It is deep in Snoopy's core
To find a cooky silly plan
And pull it out of this boys hand
A request from my daughter which I
Copyright © robin davis | Year Posted 2014
On a halcyon stroll on a crepuscular street
My jealousy got flowing for my hound in retreat
His visceral powers and sonorous bark
Alerted by penumbras half in the dark
On an opulent lawn, a close neighbor of mine
The desultory moon making shadow puppets with vines
I laughed at my hound in a cynical laugh
While quieting his exuberant loud aftermath
Rewarded his vigilance in spite of retrieval
Fortunately for us, he did see no evil.
Jan 27 2016 10 word challenge : halcyon, crepuscular, jealousy
visceral, sonorous, penumbra, opulent, desultory, cynical, exuberant
Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016
about who does or not does in literature
we meet so many dogs
all kinds of dogs
some with pedigree and those collars
with shiny medallions
or stray dogs for which
leash is their salvation
and their freedom has the effect of a yelping…
for whom saw Hitchhiker's Guide intergalactic
rezistance is useless!
for others it can be a mouse literature.
sitting quietly in the closet
and nibbling on paper shelves.
what's behind the paper does not matter
it could be a trap
and literature not possibly be a rat
I do not know what is about with all the literature lately
But sure it's not the girl in the fourth grade
that girl who runs and
her panties always fall
or her teacher's fault?
rezistance is useless
could be hell on earth
Copyright © marinescu victor | Year Posted 2013
In China they have a Summer Solstice festival where they eat dogs. There's not a peace loving animal stroking pagan in sight. Instead its dog munchers. Lots of them. They're very busy, killing and eating.
Over 10,000 dogs are killed and eaten on ONE DAY.
Kept in cages. Condemned to die. No love here except for hungry Chinese. They adore their exotic delicacy. Some people even say the festival is for foreign tourists. Money is made on them.
We cry out in horror!
200,000 people signed a petition to stop it. Will it do any good? ENOUGH! Stop this awful act. It's not acceptable in a 21st Century world. Your Yulin festival is from the Dark Ages.
Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2015
Little burnt bodies,
loud tortured screams.
These little souls are now paraded – skewered on beams.
They have no voice to speak,
their tormented, painful cries are disregarded.
And after the soulless bastards have torn flesh from bones – like trash, they are discarded.
Mothers mourn their starved-to-death babies,
some of their cellmates are riddled with rabies.
When the executer comes to collect his daily, raw merchandise –
they cower in corners, wishing to live another day not being butchered and eaten…with a side of rice.
You’d think that a humane slaughter would suffice?
Think again, their hearts and souls are colder than ice!
They laugh with pleasure at the agonising screams
of these innocent little souls - still alive – advertised in streets.
From electrocution - not enough to kill,
to being hacked up by blunt machetes – still alive, and gravely ill,
to being boiled alive – just for the thrill,
to the final seconds of scourging…pleading for the passing of a Bill,
with lifeless bodies and fading lighted eyes,
for a shameless government to sacrifice
a maltreating tradition, a decision unwise.
Remember – a world remembers what they see,
and this cruel exhibition will eventually turn upon thee!
Copyright © Sinead Terblanche | Year Posted 2016