Poem | |
They kill a body and to prison go
Behind the bars with time they have to pay
A life that’s deadened with a life exchanged
So law and justice see the light of day
But tell me what of those who kill the heart
Who murder love and glibly walk on by
Incarceration is not their reward
The weight of guilt to bear, they do deny
A greater crime than this is yet to be
To kill a heart and form the living dead
Someone who walks and talks but is not real
Who shoots away the day and weeps in bed
Imprisoned they should be who now walk free
A murdered heart, a greater crime must be!
Poem | |
A flagrant man is Robert Brown, a swine;
his eyes glow red like ember coals of fire.
Will fate be kind or bring him bitter brine
and will his soul the evil one require?
Did in pretense he seek to prove desire
and rise to plant a kiss upon her lips?
He sliced her neck and watched his wife expire,
as blood streamed down and dripped from fingertips.
Yet rumor spread as neighbors came to grips
with horror of a murder in their town,
and newsmen raced to pen details in scripts
while lawmen flocked to chase the villain down.
I held my mother in my arms and cried;
her eyes met mine in sorrow as she died.
Poem | |
We seen a dim light upon top of the Bell House Tower
a dark shadow slipped by it in the midnight hour.
What was that? I asked my friend, I don't know
she said, but it looked like something that's met
The wind was blowing with such a strange howling
and all the city lights were off making it dark for
A loud, maddening laughter rang through the air and
stood on our arms, every one of our hairs. We ran like
crazy down the ally way and never looked back until
the light of day.
The next morning a crowd had gathered at the Bell House
Tower and every one was shocked to see it was the bell
ringer who rung the bell, hour upon hour.
Not a sign made anyone sure of what happened, but we know
what we heard in the midnight hour, mad laughter from upon
top the Bell House Tower.
Poem | |
The hideous and the humble
Blood peppers falling snow
As world hurtles to the tipping point
Life chokes on ignited air
Wrenching love from hungry mouths
Stars fall without sound
Some weep helpless, day through night
Ever wondering how
Never knowing why ...
Poem | |
Elytte and Miranda Barbour murdered a man just to get a thrill.
It is always very stupid and senseless when people kill.
They said they killed him because they wanted to kill someone together.
If you're wondering when they'll get out of prison, the answer is never.
They pled guilty to Second Degree Murder and other charges and got life.
Elytte will never be able to kill another person and neither will his wife.
When Troy LaFerrara answered the Barbours Craigslist ad, he didn't know he was in danger.
While in court, LaFerrara's loved ones were very furious and they expressed their anger.
The Barbours are only 22 and 19, they're young enough to be my kids.
If they were my children, I wouldn't forgive them for what they did.
(This is a true story about Elytte and Miranda Barbour who murdered Troy LaFerrara.)
Poem | |
Cold misty clouds rise above the grates
The streets only illumination, tossing shadows like pennies
Faded street lamps at each end
The cold is biting, as I roll the collar over my neck
I received a call earlier that day
A new client, who insisted not to meet,
At my office
Just fine with me, my office scared its fair share
Of prospects away
So glancing at my watch I waited
Under the street lamp, I lit a fag
To pass the time
Where was the dame?
I was beginning to guess this was some kind of hoax
Worse still I was missing a poker game over at the Pig&Bath
The tube was a few blocks away, and sooner rather than later
I should part company with this particular street lamp of no desire
Not a soul in site, I decided I’d been played for a fool
A pretty voice, that will get ya every time
As I sauntered away looking bored in case anyone was watching
I heard the click of my own shoes on concrete
I also heard an echo?
Was I being followed?
I crossed to the other side somewhat on edge
I had enough blokes that didn’t see my good side
Not that I ever saw much either
I quickened my pace
Whoever was behind seemed to quicken their pace
I turned the corner and now in a very fast walk
Ran for the main street, passing an alley that had seen better days
Something or someone grabbed at my trench coat
All of a sudden, here I am, pulled into a dark alley
I feel the punches, and what seems like a pipe
Hitting me repeatedly, yet I see no one
I cover my head, and try to keep silent
No use humoring this lug with the pleasure of my pain
On the ground, I feel the kicks into my ribs
Blood starts to spill from my mouth,
Or who knows, maybe my nose
No concern of mine
As I wont have much of a face after this brutal feast
I hear the faint wisps and grunts, as I lay wounded
Whoever did this sure fancies himself a professional
I would like to say more, but I think is time for dreamland
No idea if I am unconscious, dead or dreaming
In a puddle of my own blood
I lie, in agony looking above at a strange face
My god, its my shadow!
He spits on me in disgust
Laughing, he says "finally I am free of you"
You rotten son of a Birch tree
At that he parts, off he goes to the land of the living
Walking away with some woman that I feel I should know
They laugh together, as I lie inside my own turmoil
The garbage pickup at dawn
Will dispose of my bones and dreams
Some PI I turned out to be
Murdered by my own shadow
Poem | |
At Dalton town where I was born
in Ozark hills of home,
There lived a man named Leamon Brown
who plowed the rich, black loam.
His wife, a sweet and gentle soul,
did not foresee his bent,
she daily worked beside her man
who seemed to be content.
But in his heart a wrath appeared
to poison spirit's peace.
When reason left, his anger grew
and clawed to find release.
He stepped behind her where she sat
and bent to kiss her lips,
withdrew his blade and slit her throat
while blood streamed down her hips.
In panic's grip she fled the house
but stumbled soon and fell.
The children screamed in frozen shock
and dove straight into hell.
One son ran to his mother's side
and held her as she died.
His siblings hid from daddy's blade;
he stood there, glassy eyed.
As gossip spread like raging fire
of murder in our town,
the newsmen raced to pen details
as lawmen dragged him down.
His deed became the hottest news
to ever hit our town
The judge declared the man insane
this man named Leamon Brown
Now he is locked behind closed doors,
his wife lies in the ground.
Though we lament the children's fate,
his kids are sorrow bound.
Poem | |
Trigger finger on the button as he shoots his victims photograph with cold bullets. He's already gone before the bullet shells hit the ground.
blood runs through there emotionless eyes. it leaks desecrating and tainting the floor with innocent murder written all over it. The bodies twitch on the floor in a horrifying manner to those who witness it. The people called him the ghost photographer because they've never gotten the chance to identify him. Like a shadow, there but not there. real but not existing.
The ghost photographer appears in another location at a wedding, heading there as the evening photographer nobody suspects a thing. Shooting people with the fake camera, clever man plotting to take the bride and grooms life. Engaging conversation with them. They trust him as a nice man however the two later enter a room and he enters as well convincing them to have a couple more pictures taken of them. They agree willingly because they are so happy and unaware of how there night is yet to sink into the pit of blackness. The doors quietly lock shut in the chapel room. He says "Don't even think about saying cheese cause you won't be fucking smiling". Before they get the chance to look confused as to what he just said he hits the button taking silenced "shots" of them piercing there skin and tearing there big day apart as easy as paper. The splatter and drip of blood leaves there deceased bodies as they hit the ground. Suddenly lifeless and unable to begin a life with each other. Everyone's faces drop when they witness the two victims corpses and happiness built up in the day has turned to sadness and horror.
The ghost photographer disappeared into the dark night.
Nobody knows why. But in his mind he is living yet dead, ending others lives and happiness for his own sadistic satisfaction.
Most photographers are happy to capture people's joy. But not this one, he ends it.
He went back to his darkroom illuminated by red lights to take real photographs of all the ghosts of the people he murdered.
Poem | |
Love went to the liquor store
She bought a bottle
Drank until the bottle was dry
Walked on over to the hardware store
Where there she bought a hunting knife
Love sliced open my chest
Her hands grasped my heart
She had a hearty meal
Dropping her knife
She walked away in the dark
Love stole my heart
Poem | |
Rick Springfield's Jesse's Girl was playing on the radio,
we were all partying guys and girls out on my patio.
I prayed no one or you would catch me looking your way,
noticing what I was doing for the better part of the day.
The music?, just irony, go ahead give it a whirl,
here I am awestruck by you my best friends girl
I just know this is so wrong all the thoughts I have about you.
You always look like you smell like soap taste like morning dew.
You always look like you just came out of the dryer.
I really have to ignore this urge or end up in the fryer.
There's a girl just to my left I know it's me she's talking to.
She might as well be talking to the wall all I can see is you.
It's my party, my house but I grab my jacket and leave.
Suddenly I hear someone running behind me, it's Steve
" You ok guy, you're white as a sheet, are you ill?"
he says, worry on his face. I reply "I'm fine, chill."
"Good. Mind if I join you?" he counters and he's all in.
Guilty is my middle name but I don't tell him of my sin.
"I've been staring at your girlfriend all night" I think!
"Is that what I should tell him?" I am on the brink.
I change my mind and I decide not to tell him anything.
We walk for a while before he shows me a wedding ring.
He explains he is ready to take the leap.
I listen quietly I don't make a peep.
What is wrong with me? This is my childhood friend,
I might as well be Judas look at me...as if I wish his end.
He is Caesar and I am Brutus with a knife in my hand.
How did I get here what am I thinking this was unplanned.
I congratulate him, his hug says it all.
He suspects nothing, nothing at all.
I know I will be selling my eternal soul
when we finish, at the end of this stroll.
I haven't told you the other side until now,
she looks at me too. She can't take this vow.
I know I will lose a lifelong relationship.
I don't care. I'm going for it. Let it rip
I 'm going to move in on her this very night
or in the morning in the bright of the light,
share my feelings. I am sure she feels the same way too
I am sure she will, if she didn't I wouldn't know what to do.
Steve must of left, but when? He was just with me.
Two men lead me to a room. Lock the door for me.
Everyone must of left. I hear screams in the hall.
I think they injected something in me, the gall.
The dream the dream I am having...again.
Rape...murder...bodies, Steve, her, me, insane.
What did I do?...what did I do?...wet I'm wet.
Sleep. I have to sleep. That's it you bet.
I bolt up. She's in bed with me. She's with me.
A nightmare. I was having...it was all make believe.
These nightmares have to stop...these bad dreams.
Go back to sleep. Yes. In the hall, what are those screams?
Poem | |
My daughter is dying and as I'm praying, I'm pleading.
She has been stabbed and I can't stop the bleeding.
An ambulance is on its way but it may not arrive in time.
My daughter wouldn't put out so her boyfriend committed this crime.
If you're wondering how many other people he'll stab, the answer is none.
I'm so enraged that I blew his sorry head off with my sawed off shotgun.
My daughter just died and tears are rolling down my face.
She died for being a respectable girl and it's a disgrace.
(This is a fictional poem)
Poem | |
They were bank robbers and their names were Bonnie and Clyde.
They robbed banks in six states until 1934 when they both died.
In addition to robbing banks, they also robbed stores and service stations.
They killed thirteen people, they were dangerous and caused devastation.
In 1933 the dangerous duo teamed up with Clyde's Sister-In-Law and her husband, Buck.
Clyde's brother was killed four months later and Bonnie and Clyde soon ran out of luck.
The next year they were driving on a road in Louisiana and they didn't know they were in danger.
They were ambushed and killed by a posse that was lead by a Texas Ranger.
The posse fired one hundred and sixty-seven rounds and Bonnie and Clyde were hit fifty times.
They were deadly murderers and thieves but they ended up paying for their dastardly crimes.
(This is a true story about Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker who were killed on May 23, 1934.)
Poem | |
*NOTE: Jack and I wonder how many of you have heard of the Zona Shue case –
an American murder victim who had revenge in Virginia in the late 1800s.
Zona was killed by her husband, Edward Shue, who then took elaborate steps to
cover his crime. In an attempt to disguise Zona’s broken neck, Edward dressed her
corpse in a scarf and high necked dress, stuffed her coffin with pillows (to support
her vertebrae) and refused to allow even the doctor near the body.
However, Zona appeared to her mother and revealed the truth. Following
exhumation and an autopsy, Edward was found guilty of murder. It was the only
case in American history where information provided by a ghostly apparition was
admitted as evidence for consideration by jurors.
Jack and I are co-sponsoring a contest on ghost poems. Our co-write "A Ghost's
Testimony" below will give you an idea what we're seeking in entries.
"A Ghost's Testimony"
"She must have fallen down the stairs:
A tragic accident," he said.
"I've washed her body, laid her out -
Oh, Doctor Knapp, my Zona's dead!"
"No accident! Shue broke my neck.
Mother, please hear my ghostly plea.
Take him to court and make him pay;
It's murder in the first degree."
“I’ve dressed her in her high necked frock…
Thought pillows by her neck looked fine…
She’d want to wear this scarf,” he wept.
“But no one touch the corpse - she’s mine!”
"Thanks, Mom, for bringing this to court.
The autopsy was not done right!
With malice Shue cut my life short.
Exhume my body; shed some light."
“Her mother wants to see me hang,
But she can’t prove my guilt,” he fumed.
“She claims the body sheet turned red,
And wants to have my wife exhumed.”
"The judge disagreed and allowed
My spirit world testimony.
Shue, my killer, was not so proud;
A death in jail for this phony!"
Poem | |
Are you a poet?
Are you a good poet?
No you can not be
You must be dead
In poetry DEAD is good
We can read and NOT listen to the dead ones
Silence is golden
One day I am sure
I will be a good poet
With all my cheering fans
Dear Lord, please don’t take me now
Let me here awhile longer
Dear Poet, I will let you there on earth until you
Compose the best poem ever written
Oh Dear Lord, bless you, bless you
Are you all hippopotamuses?
Some one was asking , not me
Poem | |
Men of Shame
There’s a kind of sickness going round
That makes man act cruel.
He lives in a sordid little world
Creating his own rules.
Ruling with an iron fist
Cause power be his thing
Because his minds is very small
Such misery he brings.
His women have no rights at all
For they be mere possessions.
This ugly kind of human being
Has failed he all those lessons
That teach to act with decency
And treat a woman well
This evil man he treads a path
That leads him straight to Hell
His lady shrivels up so all
As he breeds within her fear.
He’ll raise his fist to bully her
Then say he holds her dear.
She doesn’t know just where to turn
She is caught within his trap
As he treats her like the enemy
And makes her life like crap.
Now when I meet a man like this
I look at all his shame
I don’t care about his childhood
It’s only he to blame.
He takes a Goddess, stops her flow
And bends her to his will
This man is such an evil beast
Maybe, he’ll even kill.
Written in 2003.
Poem | |
Window-watching, the silver clenched in his palm like a charm,
his loneliness sifting snowflake patterns
through ashy, argent winter light.
In the shadow-shuttered green shingled house
the lucent beauty of lovely bones, keeping him company.
The eyes of the first one, serene and soul-open,
were mirrors in which he admired his reflection.
He softly stroked her to sleep - body a pulsing pearl,
her last gasp to grasp him, a quick breath in and out;
that candle flame wane, spasms quietening to calm.
Antidote to emptiness - another fortuitous find ensnared:
her vivacity a kaleidoscope mix of light; psychedelic-bright
bubbles blown to illumine the dark cave of his mind
where bestial images crouched.
Love-hate declarations imprinted, bitten deep on her cheek;
hands around the slim-stemmed lily of her throat.
He wept tortured tears over two; soul-screams in unison,
sweet suffocation in the laburnum-gold fronds of their hair -
he only wanted to hold them heart-close, gulping essence like oxygen.
Their heaped lovely bones - a rick of sticks under the crackling corn.
Awake through the painful bruise of night,
carving grand plans, serrated blade in surgeon-steady hand.
Peering through warped shutters into endless empty light,
his many masks impenetrable, soul-screens intact.
Poised under icicle precipice; his and their fates intertwined.
Poem | |
A soul cries yet nobody hears him
They say he has neither a head nor limbs
But he has a soul and a spirit
Undesirable is the soul to be taken from the womb
A soul cries yet nobody hears him
His voice is so mild that no one can hear him
He’s damned for a crime he didn’t commit
No supplication and inspiration to share
A soul still cries yet nobody hears him
He has neither words nor songs to hymn
He’s languishing from a lashing whip
A victim to hatred, dubiety and immorality
A soul cries yet nobody seems to care
He pleas for his precious life to be spared
Yet with a mild voice no one will give an ear
With despair he cries and screams into the night
A soul cries yet this girl has turned a deaf ear
A voice tells her “eliminate him from here”
But a master fate will sometimes have it to be
The Dame escorted him six feet underground
The Poet Preacher © 2014
Poem | |
Foolish Heart, since you don’t stop
That most foolish rant and rave
I will have to tie you up
And bury you in a cave
That would surely silence you
And let me live in peace
For now you just torment me
And I can’t live in ease
You’ve not given wisdom right
You’ve left me bruised and torn
When I gave heed to your voice
I was left to grieve and mourn
You are a foolish foolish heart
Your chambers devoid of light
Wisdom you beat and tied up
And you plunged me into night
You made me share secret thoughts
You made me open to slight
And I had to suffer shame
Flagellate myself with might
You’ve proven a real traitor
I see who you really are
You chose to see his beauty
And have left me with a deep scar
You fell for those angel eyes
You fainted at that warm smile
Made me act like a schoolgirl
Too innocent to beguile
But I fell flat on my face
With myriad eyes staring on
You are a damned wretched thing
I demand that you be gone
Stay hidden in that dank cave
With your mouth gagged till you bleed
You put me through hell and back
Your damn voice I will not heed
Aw…I’m a free woman now
I will go and seek revenge
Of all those who mocked my love
My spilt blood I will avenge
Devoid of love and feelings
I’m a Snow Queen made of ice
I enact your wicked ways
For they think I’m soft and nice
My foolish demented heart
Stay tied up until you rot
You did your damndest uptmost
But love’s fool…I AM NOT!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Poem | |
Serial Murder in Haiku
Murder one: Mary Lou
A prostitute dead
Motionless body cold blood
Killer on the loose
Murder Two: Stephaney
Body found in ditch
Police have no clue
Murder Three: Erica
Another girl dead
Throat slit in dark alleyway
Body left no clue
Murder Four: Julie
Girl strangled in car
Hand prints found around her neck
Police have a clue
Murder Five: The catch
Murder of four girls
Sentence to life in prison
No chance of parole
Poem | |
I lay in my hospital bed after giving birth, Could hear the murdering, raping
Hutus approaching my bed
My baby was no more. They ravaged me. Left me alive...........
Could hear the battle getting nearer
All I was worried about was my mother, Home alone...
My husband was away was he fighting, Was he alive......
Clutching my dead baby staggered towards home, The smell of blood filled the
air. Then I saw them, The valiant Tutu's, Fighting for us. here and now
The sound of machetes clashing together. Limbs flying through the air. Like
The screaming ....The misery.......
When I staggered home. Found Mother in the water butt. Hiding from the
savages. She was alive and ok.. So traumatised
Many twisted bodies on the ground. Dragged them into a pile, trying to
remember who they were. To keep a record , for posterity. Poured paraffin over
them and cremated them. Praying for their souls
We buried the baby in the hard red earth. Couldn't cry, had no tears we were.in
Date was April 7th...
So tired, we slept. Hidden from view...
I am alive, my heart beating. Yet I feel dead. Dead inside....Why I ask myself.
Why is it happening....God only, knows.
Penned 22/08/2014 for the Genocide Speak for the Lost contest.
I used 100 days slaughter of Rwanda.
You can see the skeletons of some of the twenty percent of the tutus that were
Can see the open mouth of the cry of pain. They have been kept. A reminder to
the future generation
April 7th is called Genocide Memorial Day, the week following is a national
Poem | |
There once reigned a great king on our Rock
Who dared the West and defied their bloc
Dark shades, face of a frown
Short brute so wanted down
Down, oriental appples on our Rock.
Poem | |
WHEN JUSTICE TOOK A HOLIDAY
Justice took a holiday today;
Peace fought back the tears.
The mourners came to knell and pray:
Guilt having choked the apathy of the years.
No eulogy can change the present or the past;
No commentary can ease the lingering pain.
What a mockery is made of “free at last”;
Only God has escaped the pointing blame.
Tomorrow will bring new tales to be told.
There’ll be no victory upon this cloudy scene;
Only memories of shades of gray of days of old:
Once again, humanity blinded to what was seen.
Yes, the more things change, the more they stay the same;
God forbid, we’re heirs to lives immune to festering shame.
So keep your eyes watching God while waiting for freedom to come;
The pursuit of happiness, life, liberty and justice, is still only for some.
But let us not whine and wallow in debilitating despair;
Let us not be like those who say they just don’t care;
With our audacious faith, there’s nothing we can’t bear.
So let us keep on keeping on with the last sweet breath that is left;
Let our cry be: “America! Give us liberty! We have given you our death!”
Poem | |
Am from the backseats of mean streets
I got my eye aiming the Wall Street
They said education is the key
I wonder why they made it expensive for we,
Am sitting around hood rats,
Gangsters and Ex- prisoners
Sniffing, snatching, stuffing stuff
Mama expects a lawyer, a doctor, a mayor,
We are in the middle of a crisis
Am the original copy of a son-of-a-gun
I define the odds
I believe to break a law,
Is to make a road
You go east or west,
Home is still the best
But with a bullet in your chest
Don’t mess with these streets
They will give you a free ride to hell
Pot and crack do rounds all over,
It’s a mess,
I am needed, you are needed,
We are needy
We are in a man eat man generation
You either survive or succumb
There’s a billion ways to die,
It’s time for a change,
Change of perspectives,
Change of attitude,
Change of behavior
Let’s get out of our comfort zone,
Coz that’s what’s drowning us,
We need a change
Change for the better
It’s revolution time!!
Poem | |
There are no words that we can say,
About the tragedy that happened on that December day.
When an elementary school came under attack
And all those little lives will never come back.
Our hearts cry out and eyes fill with tears,
For the parents who now have to face their worst fears.
Their child is gone taken away
On that tragic December day.
Innocent children from age’s five to ten,
What could they have possibly done to meet such a tragic end.
And to the teachers whose lives were also lost,
You protected the children and paid the ultimate cost.
written by nancy stoy
Poem | |
AARON OR JACK
The shadows against the walls were looming,
Creeping silently across the burb,
When through the mist an eerie sound,
A muffled scream, breaks the night.
No one at the pub heard,
No one saw a thing,
Their life went on,
And first light
Exposed the truth
The crowd now gathered,
At the lane way across,
The pub where they had partied,
In the dark, dark room for Halloween,
With the prostitute that lies face down, dead.
Penned by: Ronald Zammit
Contest: In a dark, dark room for Halloween
Sponsor: Pendleton Arkwright