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Evil Philosophy Poems | Evil Poems About Philosophy

These Evil Philosophy poems are examples of Evil poems about Philosophy. These are the best examples of Evil Philosophy poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme | |

The Root Of All Evil

To find the root of all evil,
One hasn't far to look.
It's not some shrouded mystery,
Concealed within a book.

The truth is right before your eyes,
It hasn't been concealed.
Eliminate the branches first,
And the root is revealed.

Let's look at money, first of all;
Could it be evil's source?
It makes us do the vilest things,
Without guilt or remorse.

More blood was spilled pursuing wealth,
Than any other goal.
And for the life money provides,
Some even sell their soul.

But if it were to be removed,
Along with earthly gain,
Erased from human history,
Evil would still remain.

The same is true of war and hate,
Of vanity and pride,
Of politics and religion,
And all things that divide.

Eliminate them, one by one,
And you will understand.
They're simply branches of the tree,
But they don't make it stand.

The root that gives life to them all,
Is right in front of you;
Sustained by every breath you take,
And everything you do.

It is the root of evil's tree,
The source of our Lord's tears,
Eliminate the human race,
And evil disappears.

So if you're looking for the root,
Can you accept what's true?
The answer is a damning one,
For evil's you.

Copyright © Mark Spencer

Details | Rhyme | |

Philosophy on Life, Evil and the World

Philosophy on Life, Evil and the World

The Masters, serve their greed
take from those in great need
Such is evil's darkest cloaks
swallows that so often chokes

The Blinded, serve very well
masters in the pit of Hell
Each has a false laid pride
darkness is where they hide

The Slaves, eat deep regret
of life they'll never get
Each accepts a darkened yoke
defiance rarely ever spoke

The Brave, sail with heart
paying from the very start
Sacrifice to save our Souls
Deep river, so many shoals

The Warriors, cut ever deep
die as family sets to weep
Freedom's mantle they serve
with epic hearts, iron nerves

The Innocent, stand so bare
suffer greatly, so few care
Yet they are the true treasure
their test is the real measure!

Robert J. Lindley, 09-05-2014

note: Impossible to include ever 
group so this poet came up with 
these six to write about...

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Free verse | |

King Vlad

King Vlad is anything but Democracy’s man of the hour.
Rather, à coup sûr, he’s really Stalin’s nasty little boy
who ironically parades "svoboda" and "glasnost" like 
he really means them—actually he means them not.

King Vlad’s political traditions and pronouncements 
are well-known among those who are sadly aware
of his tapestry of treachery and deceit—oh so slovenly woven
for all to see, just like some of his fellow-gangster favorites:
Lenin, Stalin, Beria, Molotov, Brezhnev, and Andropov.

King Vlad is anything but a real world leader . . .
His "Kind" are an open book for all to see and understand
what they are and what they mean for all who strive
for openness, decency, and real compassion in the
twenty-first century world order.

King Vlad—just like his Dracula name sake,
is a man without a soul, without a conscience,
who shall never shudder, wince or cry
at the piercing death rattle of a Kalashnikov.

King Vlad is truly no friend of Democracy, 
sounding even at times not unlike Hitler;
he’s a demon leader with innocent blood on his hands,
always quick with the old Soviet reply:
Lie . . . Deny . . . Accuse . . . Reject . . . Criticize . . . 
all tools of this redoubtable master of prevarication.

King Vlad should know that the Heavenly Souls 
of flight MH17 know the "bitter truth," gorkaya pravda, 
surrounding his lies, treachery, and deceit—all pejorative 
attributes to a man with the mask of a real monster who 
had the very best Soviet teachers.

And so Generalissimo Stalin . . . 
How do you like your nasty little boy now???
He’s right up your alley, right???

“Putin” has five letters just like “Devil.”

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (August 9, 2014)
(Free Verse)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Rhyme | |

Evil That Always Takes Its Toll

Evil That Always Takes Its Toll

Remember where hot lightning bolts flash down,
Its sun-fire heat burning in a tragic strike!
There perished mother and her little tyke;
Tragedy there, where the angels cry and frown,
And sing their saddest songs upon the waves:
Doom and gloom a sad fruit to be born
Taken long before Gabriel blows his horn.
Judged by Fate no power in Universe ever saves,
Yet no man lives that can ever be so sure,
That misery will forget to take its toll
Upon the peace that stirs the blessed soul!
There was peace: yet no peace can insure,
Paradise will be waiting for its fair guests,
The great promise, its most fantastic lure!
Security of life and limb of angels so pure:
Or protection from Evil that so eternally infests.

Robert J. Lindley, August , 1973

Note: A poem from my private journal, from back when I wrote a bit more in the old style.
Sometimes I dearly miss writing like this..... and that muse that raced so far away!

p.s. My first wife(future ex) thought this my best poem ever. 
At that time I had several hundred written.

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Kimo | |


Evil is a spiritual maggot,

                             That devours the heart and mind...

                                                                       Leaving the soul to rot.

                                                                        Timothy I. Brumley

Copyright © Timothy Brumley

Details | Narrative | |

Good- Verses- Evil


What do you do when life throws you a misguided curve?
    You just keep on chugging, never losing nerve.
It’s easy to quit, give up, holler I’ve had enough.
    But just shake it off, get tough, show em you got the stuff.
Pity parties are for losers that will only sire defeat.
    Never stop trying even when better judgement says you’re beat.
If you’re not fully charged with a positive electrode,
    Then it won’t take much of a negative to drain your load.
Keep yourself charged with a positive upbeat,
    Then you’ll know why I say victory can taste so sweet.
No matter who you are there is always somebody that looks up to you.
    So be a role model, set good examples in all things that you do.
Your one fleeting moment of good may set the tone,
    To that someone that was watching, that you may have never known.
Take it from someone who has been on both sides of the fence.
    A positive and good attitude is always your better defense.
Just have faith in knowing that tomorrow the sun will shine.
    Just in believing will give you a much greater peace of mind.


Copyright © Ronald Bingham

Details | Free verse | |

Plant Tale

That lone ornamental plant,
that stood straight,
with colored shiny leaves,
had its own story to relate,
it was brought in infancy,
to the office,
to decorate and tickle fancy,
it was an eye soothe,
amongst dead office wood eye sores,
and people who were alive,
but wanted others dead,
plant was innocent,
and had not thought so in the start days,
but had gathered that over each passing day,
he had a secret to reveal,
that people came to office,
not to work,
but to work down others,
they were jealous and egoists,
they spoke lies and spoke bad of others,
most of the time they did that,
only a little was left,
for the work for which they were paid for,
life of the plant was spent thus,
he became tired and almost dead,
he knew these evil people,
would throw him out one day,
and that they did,
but he was happy,
that he was free,
of evil and bad.

Copyright © Shishir Gupta

Details | Alliteration | |



Berty Beaver, he was quiet
He never said too much
Yet Molly, Berty’s little wife
She mouthed off just a touch
She’d always threw her weight around
And poor old Tiny Tim
 He got a slap most every day
And times his days felt grim

Molly, well she was his mum
And though she loved him so
She always had to nag someone
And give them a cuff or blow
Tim became a poor young man
And shrunk from every one
And as the bully’s hung around
More evil did get done

His mum she says ‘now that’s not on
They don’t do this to my son!’
And she goes running to the school
Oh, she’s an angry one
She glares the teacher up and down
And lets her know who’s boss
Teachers try hard to placate her
Though, they only suffer loss.

Then Tiny Tim, comes running in
And says right to his mum
[Frustration snatching fear away
No more his mouth hangs numb]
‘Look Mum, at what you always do!!!’
He says with voice stern
‘If you’re a bully too, then how
Will us kids ever learn.

28 June 2013 @ 1727hrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

The Game

My life has been one enormous charade,
A make believe game,
A play I have played, 
A story I tell myself, day and night,
Hidden from myself, out of sight,
A game of hide and seek,
While searching for something else to eat.

The game,
A cosmic game,
A comic game,
A bad joke,
A puff of smoke,
A laugh,
A bath,
A lonely path,
The Game.

I used to take it so seriously,
Think it, feel it so real, so perfectly,

So certain I that was right,
That I lived in the light,
So convinced that I knew the rules,
So obvious I had all the tools,
That I saw the truth, 
That I saw the light,
Would win the battle, win the fight.

Heard the sound of the distant drum,
Calling me to battle with the devious one.
The walls of my ego were high and mighty,
My dreams and delusions danced in front of me,
Their smooth dark surface impossible to climb,
Images I swallowed and thought were mine.

I made them alive, moving and real,
Twist and turn like a slimy eel,
Just to tell myself that I was still someone,
Playing in the game and having lots of fun,
Just to tell me and to tell you,
That I wasn't a loser,
So I wouldn’t hear the words game over.

Game over,
Check and mate,
Here's the gate,
You have to take,
Out of the Game,
The game of shame.

The game of avoiding being blue,
Of dogging the bullets they shot at you,
The atomic bomb they drop on your head,
The monsters that they put under your bed.

The game of hiding away,
Live to play another day,
Even if it's only make believe,
The prizes in plastic,
And not worth a dime,
At least I have the impression that they are mine,
At least I don't fell the pain,
The pain of shame,
In this perverted game.

So that I don't feel I'm a prisoner,
Tied to this post,
Don't even realise that I'm only a ghost,
That the truth is well hidden,
On the board of the game.

That the prizes are in plastic,
But they are shiny and new,
The paint hardly chipped,
The emptiness hardly shows through,
The laughing is loud,
The smiles are all warm and friendly,
And we are all together,
Joyful and happy.

The illusion is REAL,
And only the mad man knows,
That it's a rotten deal.

more of my poems at

Copyright © ness tillson

Details | Blank verse | |

The Eye

The eye,a sign the 
unwise can't comprehend
  Forged from the world's 
illumination in darkened 
minds,for the 
enlightened ones like 
Leonardo da Vinci,Isaac 
Newton,John Milton....etc.
   The eye is a tree 
with many branches like 
Priory of Scion,Knight 
Lodge,Music industry, 
Politics,global economy, 
stretching beyond 
human imaginations-felt 
in all corners of earth.
  The world is clothed 
through wisdom from 
   The eye,all seeing 
sign,an invincible 
emblem of power and 
riches to the lion hearted 
and loyal souls.
A seat of influence and 
  Creating the social order 
through men of power....
  Some see it as a 
curse,others a blessing.
  I feel it,the great eye is 
everywhere watching 

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu

Details | Free verse | |

Virus of evil injustice and war

Virus of evil injustice
and war
infected our land.
It took harmony of peace
from the people.
Our land is terribly ill.
She is asking for help,
and wants to be cured
by heavenly love
of perfection.

Copyright © Igor Marinovsky

Details | Light Poetry | |

Twisted Fate

Take your knife
Carne con sangre
On sale here
Cut me up
Slice me dice me
Taste my sour blood
Savor the flavor
Revenge is on sale
Bitter and sweet all for you
Bile flows through me
Thinking of your hate
You may have butchered me
Slaughtered to rot at high time noon
I have a revelation for you
I love gardens and flowers
I now am one with them
As I feed them, and bring beauty 
To those who quench the thirst of love
I kiss the sun and laugh at you

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Free verse | |

Irony of Eggs

All eggs are White when Laid
But some may not be as good as others
Even if kept safely in a safe environment
you only come to know about this
(unless  you had  tested them for fitness in some other way)
 when they crack and at least one of them
Turns out to be a bad bad egg
Like a black sheep of the family!

Copyright © mazhar butt

Details | Free verse | |

Good AND Evil

To the darker side is the human inclination adherant 
To the evil impulse it is strongly adamant
But what  vile part of anatomy urges it to be so delinquent
What abets his innerself 
to disembark from the lane of good
The fulcrum of his conscience
weighs heavier on the evil side
There are dark shadows on 
the inner realm of the soul
Yet there are stronger lights 
And a mightier force to balance the rusted fulcrum
What divine part of anatomy
urges it to the lane of right 
It is 'Him'  who resides in every being
In the good and the evil 
In the saint and the devil

Copyright © Ria Vij

Details | Free verse | |

The Hunter

You speak to me of Reason? 
this night of celebration
when there are many people about
laughing and stumbling
around the Bonfire.

speak of Reason to them.
as for me, 
i wait in the Shadows.
there is much work to do.

Copyright © Sam Toil

Details | Epic | |

The Emperor, and the holy man

The Emperor and the holy man

Once, a long, long time ago
There lived an Emperor
He had conquered half the world
He couldn’t be worshipped more
And everyone within his realm
They done what he did say
For each knew that to disobey him
Could mean his dying day.

One day this Emperor did decide
To sail to India
He’d heard about those holy men
And the tales in him did stir
A lot of curiosity 
He decided he would go
And find one, then bring him back home
He had a need to know.

Romanda was a holy man
He’s deeds were legendary
He never wore no clothes at all
And everyone could see
That he was someone very special
Many had seen his power
And they knew that time with him
Could bring one’s soul to flower

The Emperor sent some men to find
That holy man, did he
He told them bring that Guru back
Deliver him to me
So off they went to do his will
But Romando he refused
He said your man must come to me
Those soldiers were confused!

The Emperor, he was upset 
He found that holy man
He offered him jewels and, and money too
And he did not understand
When our hero turned him down again
He drew his sword on him
It didn’t look good for the holy man
That Emperor looked grim!

Romanda told the Emperor
“My friend, chop off my head
If this is what you’re bound to do
But you won’t kill me dead
I left this body years ago
You cannot kill what’s not
Oh, you may kill this shell I’m in
But that’s not worth a lot.

He said ‘why do you conquer
Don’t you know, it’s a disease?
When you have conquered everything
Will you then be at ease
Put your sword away, my friend
Don’t be so childish now
Know you a man who says he’s great
He really has no power”.

The Emperor was beaten by
A naked, unarmed man
The great man? Stood there foolishly
He did not understand
How this man was unafraid
He’d never glanced within
Great Emperors, they only know
The mind and all its din.

12 September 2013@1835hgrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Lyric | |

Devil's road

Leaving behind the refined day
A silent night, bright moonlight, you're here to stay

Disposed from a curse, i give away, set free
Darkness in the horizon, i closed my eyes to see

Assembling the patterns of the shattered soul
Making a pledge with no control

All morals have been sold
A clear path showing the road
Dominated by the scent of black roses and seeds of gold
It's devil's road, you've been told.

Copyright © Mohamed Sarar

Details | Free verse | |



3 o’clock in the morning…
The sounds of bed frames hitting drywall,
The sounds of Chopin and Coltrane played
With a hint of sadness in tone.
Sounds of whores and pimps arguing;
“Where is the money, you whore?!”
“I don’t have the money!”
A sound of a slap to the face
A big hand crushing bone,
Blood everywhere
Red streaks on white walls.
The sound of drunks walking gloomy streets,
Police and ambulance rush down burned out streets
Sirens wailing, crying out!

A child, six years old
Crying, “Momma! Momma!”
Shedding tears over his dying mother, lost her soul to the
Crack pipe.
Rest In Peace.
A sound of a .357 magnum revolver click
And a gunshot shakes the nerves of many,
And for a moment the sweet and peaceful silence.

“Dispatch, suicide on 46th street Hollywood Boulevard, Send the Corner. Over.”
Then the darkness sails over
And the entire cities are showered with tears from the heavens,
But no one weeps,
Not a single soul…


Copyright © Chris Boskovski

Details | Ballad | |

The sunyassin

As far as I know this is a true story about Alexandra the great...Peter

The Sannyasin.

Alexander said to Dandamis
"Old man you come with me
For I need me a sannyasin
To take across the seas.
Hey you be just a beggar man
I'll make you rich indeed
You'll live a life of luxury
With everything you need.

Dandamis standing naked there
With silence in his essence
He had no fear at all did he
In the mighty leaders presence.
He said "I'll give you nothing friend
And there's nothing that I need
So Alexandra drew his sword
Tried to make the beggar plead.

Dandamis laughed and said these words
With power in his voice
"You can put that sword right through my heart
My friend, that be your choice.
But I left this body long ago
I have no use for it
So pierce this heart my fine young friend
It won't harm me a bit.

Alexander he was beaten
By a fearless beggar man
Though he had won most of the world
Dandamis foiled his plans.
The beggar said "You say you're great
But that's not true at all
For any man that thinks he's great
He be merely a fool

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Free verse | |

The Eternal Chess Game

Down the narrow unending hallway of my keep, 
To the last door on the left, 
I rest my head for a moment of sleep. 
As I fade to dream I see a tunnel of light, 
A small space of illuminated madness, 
Where demons cringe and angels delight. 

A place long ago hidden and known by few, 
Where the sands of time have come to a still, 
A maze of light and darkness is what I have come to. 
I realize I am not in heaven, nor in hell, 
But rather in a impermeable shell. 
Surrounding the purity of the light, 
Lies the beast of the night. 

An unyielding guardian of incredible might 
Displaying unholy darkness, 
Taunting and teasing the light. 
"Come on out .." he would seem to say. 
Away from its shell, 
The light did dare not stray. 

For within the virginity of heaven's keep, 
The angel of light finds his peaceful haven, 
A place so pure even the horrid beast dares not to creep. 
He knows his limitations, 
Regardless of the how strong his power has become, 
Forever shall he cower at the grace of revelations. 

Yet revelations alone are not to contain the beast, 
No not in the least. 
Limitations like rules are meant to be broken, 
Bountiful evil incantations are repeatedly spoken. 
The spell of light that feels the need to control, 
Becomes undone, 
All from the darkness of one evil soul. 

Yet there in the heart of the darkness the light remains to be free, 
No matter how hard to darkness tries to invade, 
The purity of the light holds the key. 
A never ending struggle within the mind of one, 
Light upon the darkness, a balance never to be won, 
Forever shall the chess game continue, 
Neither one to give an inch, 
Neither one to be outdone...

Copyright © john jenkins

Details | Free verse | |

Vengeance is Mine

Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord 
A statement I'm sure we've all heard at one time 
Also a very tough one to deal with 
Vengeance is not ours according to the Bible 
It's left to faith 
It's left to the belief that the horrific crimes of others will be dealt with 
I, myself have a hard time with it 
I have no choice but to follow it 
Even if I don't agree with it 
I would like to believe that evil will be dealt with 
Or is currently being dealt with on some spiritual level 
I would feel better If I knew the outcome of the vengeance 
If I could see the result 
See the "check" being paid as it were 
I am having trouble not seeing murderers get what is coming to them 
I can live without killing them
I can deal with them being locked up for life 
But I want something more than that...........................
Hard labor?
Daily torture?
Public caning?
All of the above?
Prison is no longer a viable deterrent for the horrific crimes that occur 
Every year we as a species seem to find new and more grisly ways to murder each other 
What will this year bring?
What will be this year’s most shocking death? 
And who will bring it?
The kids?
They seem to be the latest thing in absolute shocking carnage 
Or maybe this will be the year of the female 
They have been lacking in the body count of 2009 
Maybe this will be their year 
I wonder 
Do you even really care?
Thou shalt not kill 
It seems that statement has fallen upon deaf ears for quite a long time 
You know.............
If we as a people didn't have religion 
Evil wouldn't stand a chance 
The sense of right and wrong 
Would destroy the evil of man without a thought 
If you knew you could destroy an evil person and not pay religious consequences would you?
Of course you would 
As most of us would 
There is no remorse for doing good deeds 
And taking vengeance upon evil 
Is noble and just 
But the rules of religion say we must not 
The rules say we must rise above it 
And trust it will be dealt with 
Keeping the faith it will be done 
To try and hold this commitment 
Is in itself God like 
Which is why most of us fail 
And fail miserably 
We want vengeance 
We want their death 
We want them to feel our pain 
Our suffering 
Our loss 
Our sorrow 
Our anger 
Our hatred 
Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord 
And it is because of this statement 
That we have faith 

Eric (and sometimes not) 

Copyright © Eric Nolan

Details | Rhyme | |

Hoss, Hell Ain't Full Yet

Hoss, Hell Ain't Full Yet!

Dark deeds done in dead of night
Eventually, all come to the Light
Watch your step, hedge your bet
Careful, Hell ain't full yet!

Set your excuses completely aside
Evil takes you on a deadly ride
Think, grab all that you can get
Careful, Hell ain't full yet!

Badly mistreat an innocent child 
Think, such is nothing but mild
Hoss, that desert just ain't wet
Careful, Hell ain't full yet!

Force a woman to give when she won't
Think, you skate but Hoss, you don't
You'll face a judge you have not met
Careful , Hell ain't full yet!

Steal from others to satisfy greed
Destroy all around like a nasty weed
Think, you get by, your life all set
Careful, Hell ain't full yet!

You murder, take any innocent life
Spread misery, evil seeds of strife
Think, no damn time for any regret
Careful, Hell ain't full yet!

If you murder, steal, lie or rape
Think, a path exists for your escape
A fool's errand , a darkened mindset
Careful, Hell ain't full yet!

Robert J. Lindley, 08-18-2014

note: Inspired by a poem I read long ago 
authored by Frank L. Stanton ...
This my original reply to that great poet's
 message and poetry form .

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Epic | |


hello my friend, stranger walk by,
borrow a moment, spare me your lie,
through pen of the narrow and mist of an eye,
below absolute zero, someone will die;
sentence to rambler, apple hereby,
flute of the meadow, mandrake will cry,
in front of the riddler second might try,
get out of here mortal,
exit near by-e.

angry as he strike out his pen,
get out of here demon, get out of this den,
in thousands of years how long has it been,
when scriptures wear sandals;
on meadow you land, many bear seasons,
stakes shall bend, lantern still burning,
your letter is send.

Copyright © Miche Ulman

Details | ABC | |

Death Mad and Blind

Dot-matrix monotony beasts,
Bring endless agonies and fake archetypes,
To drown the silent scream of nothing inside.
I know now why you turn up the noise.

Hide your ears, as they pound on the drum of sadism.
Because I howl the song of terror.
And now we both become batteries.  
You the positive, I the negative,
Existing purely to give power to the another.

Their box of lights bleeds our minds.
With a thousand meaningless babbles,
Like over-zealous wasps.
Senselessly knotting round and around.
Constricting mind, body and soul.

Under this monochrome sky,
In this thick, wet, air,
They are almost tangible.
Tasted, smelt, but never heard
Cartoon wraiths flitting at the periphery.

Not waiting, not feeling.  
Blind mechanical bats.
Without voice or form.
They feed my failings,
Fattening me for the feast.

But they hold no malice,
Just a circuit with terror as it’s current.
They no more hate my soul, 
Than the fox hates the rabbit.

Fearing these surrogate pulses, 
I pull a blackened hide over my shoulders,
And with snakes for eyes, I pull on chainmail gloves.
The metal cuts my skin, the rotting hide constricts
 My last breath bears a spirit,
Which eats the sky like a rusty knife.

Copyright © Danny Stockton

Details | Free verse | |

Salt Water

A thing so paradoxical desire;
So all encompassing it’s grasp;
A curse of eternal thirst- 
Though we are drowning.
Hands desperately scratching for a life raft
That is secretly made of the same water we drown in.
So we continue our daily floundering
Chasing a trail of crumbs we call “Hope”

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt

Details | Free verse | |


The doctor has examined the patient 
And the diagnosis is clear 
For the patient 
A horrible death I fear 

I am not one for the continued suffering of the patient 
The condition will only get worse 
Day by day and year-by-year 
And will increase as the end comes near 

This disease unfortunately 
Has no cure 
It not a virus or a germ 
But something old and pure 

Its existence has been known 
And continues to endure 
Attempts at a solution 
Have been met with confusion

We have tried for a long time 
To relieve the patient’s pain 
Only to have our efforts 
Die in vain 

The patient you see won’t survive 
But the evil that inflicts him 
Will continue to thrive 

Our solution both radical and insane 
Will offer comfort and remove the pain 

Kill the patient and all the cells 
And the evil will no longer 
Have a home to dwell 

The world can no longer sustain the infection 
It can no longer support the evil deeds of man 
It will soon be time for the patient to be cured 
Through the Resurrection 

Eric (and sometimes not)



Copyright © Eric Nolan

Details | Narrative | |

The View


The View

At the end of Mulberry street
stood a massive old and weathered oak. 
With an owl rested there every night , just waiting
for the right meal to wander by,
then silent wings swooped effortlessly down
the massacre hardly made a sound at all.
I watched from my bedroom window each night to 
see this act of natural savagery and the feast
Even saw a black kitten become the monster's meal
Yet never did I think of it as barbaric savagery 
because man eats whatever he wants with arrogant glee
As master over all creatures and with contempt
for the weak and lame,
Throat cut and bloodied the cow so peaceful
becomes next day's burgers and we bat not an eye.
Unholy indifference reasoned to be a normal act
by we lords of the earth, we takers of all weaker
Great to find the old Mulberry still a launching pad
after these past decades. 
And man changes not except his clothes and his
ideas on his superiority over known and unknown Universe. 

Robert J. Lindley 
April 7th. 1992

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Free verse | |

I Have The Evil of You

I have the evil of you
Caught in my hands, entangled
Like the arabesques of Eden's vines
Just like paradise, but why should shame remain
Singeing like immolation of Peter's Inferno
These reddish-purple chains convolute myself
as the grapples shoot out from the clouds
both below, above me
The self-lovelust propelling 
You did this - these plagues
You drag me down - to your cage
Cadaver Vampire - I am your slave

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen

Details | Sijo | |

Evil The Enemy Thus Be

Pontificating on the depravity of a man’s heart
Awaiting the answer for all, in choosing whom they want to be
Opening box because the apple is there for the taking

Copyright © Steven Henderson

Details | Ballad | |

The joy of the pheasant shoot

The joy of the pheasant shoot.

Getting set for the big event
The good folk do their stuff
They beat the earth with sticks, do they?
With their little dogs so tough 
They flush those pheasants from the scrub
So all can have some fun
Killing them with smiling faces
As they fire beloved guns.

Then as the pheasants in a panic
They bolt into the sky
Our hero’s with their guns in hand
Make sure that hundreds die
As the air is filled with the cracking sounds
As birds fall all around
Just so these fools can get there jollies
These corpses cover ground.

I wonder sometimes if these hero’s
Have any souls at all
That they could get such satisfaction
Doing these acts so cruel
Sometimes it leaves me speechless
At the way folk get their pleasure
Killing beauty just for fun
Is an ugly kind of leisure.

10 September 2013 @ 1340hrs

Copyright © Peter Duggan