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Best Murder Poems

Below are the all-time best Murder poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of murder poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Murder Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Murder poems are below this new poems list.

Murder Myself by Bennight, Ken
CRYING FLAMED TEARS: Trayvon Martin's Murder Machine To Be Auctioned by Papyrus, Kay
some kind of murder by Mkenzie, Nichola
Murder Mystery-4-8 by Sanyal, Sabyasachi
Murder Mystery-3 by Sanyal, Sabyasachi
Murder Mystery-2 by Sanyal, Sabyasachi
Murder Mystery-1 by Sanyal, Sabyasachi
Haiku Attempt 1 The Mass Murder by Romeo, Agent
Said the turkey - Murder by Juman, A.
TIS MURDER AFORETHOUGHT by Strand, Brian

View all new Murder Poems

The Best Murder Poems

Details | Murder Poem | |

FINALLY

Finally 

Doctor, it's been 7 months 
The MEDs aren't kicking in

My dreams are getting stronger, 
The blood remains to run code red
It's getting harder and harder to get out of bed 
Dark images keep taking place inside my head 
The voices - The voices, are not all right!

I no longer lay laughing 
The screaming never stops
In irons,  my mind rattles 
Theses thoughts are all I got
In slow motion, my mind plans the perfect plot

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Counting every single second on the clock 
At first, I could not breathe 
I felt, I was left alone, 
Broken down --- Incomplete  
In your eyes, the schizophrenia spoke loud
In my eyes, everything is dark and gray

Doctor, now listen closely, open your eyes
While the walls slowly close in on you
I have my hands around your neck
Finally, I feel my arms, the needles are gone

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
The tightening of the chest is clearing
Today I possess a little more than yesterday 
Knowing exactly what needs to be done.

DOC YOU AREN'T LISTENING!
Was it all for nothing, the bloody wrist?
The faucet constantly dripping every night
The voices I call my friends

Deep, deep down,  
I'm still a child, painting  bedroom walls
Setting fires after my mother's death 
A crazy peril in its most threatening state

Doc, here you are again,
No longer will I allow you to waste my time
With your fetish lies, trying to make me better 
The problem is not me, it was always you!
Painting pink butterflies and white skies

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Don't you understand  she's dead!
Pills aren't going to bring her back 
Padded rooms aren't going to help me,
Help myself --- grieve  the proper  way!
Straitjackets aren't going to restrain me, 
--- from wanting to hurt badly!
Psychologically, I'm perfectly sane 
Expressing my emotions a different way.

Doctor, you're not saying nothing 
You're not moving, 
You're just sitting there pretending to care.
Doc, I hope you aren't mad?
The voices explained it had to end this way
How else could I make you listen?

Finally, the impulse is gone 
Finally, I'm going to be alright 

       by: Pd

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

Empty Prisons

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!

Jade Celeste

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

Murder in Randolph County

 (Spenserian Sonnet) 

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.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

Beautiful Disaster

Beautiful Disaster

There she is
Silhouette in the night
Lights glimmer, as fame simmers
She is all of my desires
She is all of my fires

Here I am wet
Flooded with pain
There she is dry
As a desert rain
Her beauty rouge bleeding into my soul

I wash my hands
I wash my meaningless life
Of sins and woes
Alcohol in the sails
As I fade to seas far away

She at my feet
Singing her lovers lullaby
Me in the wind
Of sadness’s despair
The air soon to confess a sin

All my life, no lover in the morning bed
No future for a chance to wed
There she is now so devoted
Yet here we both are so bloated
Throats cut and floating

On a rivers dream

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


Details | Murder Poem | |

The Bell House Tower

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 sounded as if something has met
it's end.

The wind was blowing with such a strange howling
and all the city lights were off making it dark for
mysterious prowling.

A loud, maddening laughter rang through the air and
stood on our arms, every one of our hairs. We ran like
crazy down the alley 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.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

Slaughtered Innocence



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 ...

Copyright © Patricia L Graham | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

Jesse's Girl

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? 03/10/2014

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

The Craigslist Thrill Killers

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.)

Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

Murdered by my Own Shadow

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

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

A Ghost's Testimony Co-written with Jack Horne

*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!"

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011


Details | Murder Poem | |

he is leaving home

                            
                  In great respect of the band I grew up listening to
                       as sure as Mom passed down Saturday Chores 
                      for I had been chosen to scrub bathroom floors `

                    Yet a familiar sound would bring me to keep scrubbing
                       The red album, The blue album , The White album 
                        Then .. Abbey Road , always remembering the sad look on
                  Ringo's face ,  something hard to understand underneath~
                       
                      I get it now, what you were saying all those years ago ,
                    the many sad lonely tears , secret tears , secret fears 
                    For Maxwell's Hammer was a real one . It wanted silence

                    Going back ..remembering when John Lennon died 
                      I was in Arkansas saddened with the world .
                      Then seeing his face saying " Drag isn't it " 
                      No .. this was not my hero in music and song .

                      he was a stand in hired William , he filled his shoes 
                      bringing diversity to create so much beautiful music from loss

                       One left standing , alone;; grief struck on back cover ~
                       The other identity hidden, tried to be part of ..coming together
                                                                                                                                                                        
                            his  world of secrets
                        He to suffers today , in fear , Faul~
                       
                        Too many years gone by .let us tell the Truth. Let us be free
                         The very sad long and winding Road ~
                         Let us Bury our real Paul. 

                         No more " Mystery tour "
                             No more fear 
                                Let him be in peace ~


           Inspired by " The Last Testament of George Harrison , Is Paul Dead ? "

                





Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013


Details | Murder Poem | |

Dead Poet Dear Lord

Dead Poet

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

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

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

My Only Son

I woke last night, with a heavy heart,
miles away, and world's apart,

sensing you...  sensing you..

All through the night, and into morn,
headless fears and shadows form,

so forlorn...  so forlorn..

Feeling scared, and knowing why,
seeing nightmares in your eyes,

over there...  over there..

Images of ruthless foes,
dressed in black, from head to toe.

Jagged blade, held to your breast,
evil serpent, puffs his chest.

my only son...  my only son.


Hide my soul and blind my eyes!
Precious son, I hear your cries.

Brutal boots, and shattered bones,
taunting jeers, and heavy stones.

A thousand lashes to your flesh,
hidden under prison dress.

Gagged and bound, they drag you out,
Infidel! they cruelly shout.

Forced to kneel; so hate will rise!
Dagger falls..... alone he dies.

A life of honor, and good cheer,
taken from you,  with a sneer.

Heart of gold; at heaven's gate,
my precious son, in glory waits....

Copyright © Kimberly Shaw | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

Love

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

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

Murder in Our Town

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.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

WHEN JUSTICE TOOK A HOLIDAY

   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!”

Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

My Tell-Tale Heart- Twist on Poe

It wasn’t that I’d done you wrong
I'd welcomed you into my heart’s home
I'd cherished you
and I had fed you 
I'd protected you
I had let you dream your dreams
in comfort
in safety
and I had loved you:
You were my own

And yet….
day upon day,
you waited for the opportunity
to confess
knowing it would kill me
knowing I would bleed...
you had a perverse pleasure
in planning….
the murder my heart
and I never had a clue
I trusted you

You planned…you observed
and all the while you smiled
acting sweet and caring
checking on me
making sure my needs were met
And then
out of nowhere
like lightning
you struck my unsuspecting heart
rammed the dagger in deep
and twisted
t*w*i*s*t*e*d
to make sure
every drop of blood was spilt

Satisfied and sure of yourself
you hid your gruesome work
underneath layers of indifference
buried
or.... so you thought
but every now and then
you hear it
I know….I can see it on your face
You hear the beating of my heart-
my tell-tale heart
it still beats for you
It’s still ALIVE!
You try to deaden it
the noise
It’s driving you mad
as you wine and dine her

You try to make love to her
more vigorously than before
more often
more intensely
but as she is screaming your name
begging you for more
in the crescendo of passion
You hear it...

It's the beating of my heart
It drowns out her voice
It drowns out everything
It pounds in your head
My love is not dead

You can’t go on
enraged, seething
you leave her wanting
as you run out of the room bellowing…
“STOP IT!
I hear your cry
I killed your love
Why do you still haunt me?”

Beat after beat after beat after...b..e..a..t....
My heart is still alive
You feel it
You are drawn to it
She notices
They notice
You are agitated
Something is driving you mad
It’s me
You remember my goodness
My smile...my bed...my scent
my love...my body...my warmth
That pounding in your head 
is desire for....me

It gets louder…LOUDER
As you walk over to where I stand
with each quickened step
the pounding intensifies
Surely everyone must hear it

You come closer
the indifference gone from your face
Love...Passion...Repentance
I hear the beating
thundering in my own ears
my love for you

You are closer
you put your head on my chest
as your tears wet my blouse
I run my hands through your hair
pressing you closer

I whisper…
“Listen…
My Tell-Tale heart 
Is still beating for you!”

For Tommy's Poe Contest
A remaking of the Tell-Tale Heart story

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

The Lovely Bones

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 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.

Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2010


Details | Murder Poem | |

Serial Murder in Haiku

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
Brutally mutilated
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

Copyright © Matthew Horstkotter | Year Posted 2013


Details | Murder Poem | |

If Secrets Keep - Triolet

If Secrets Keep,
no one will know...

They'll stay asleep,
if secrets keep.

What's buried deep 
beneath the snow?

If secrets keep,
no one will know.

Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

APPLES ON OUR ROCK

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.

Copyright © Alozor Michael Ikechukwu | Year Posted 2013


Details | Murder Poem | |

Why - Genocide Contest

 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 
boomerangs.
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 
shock......
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.  
Why?......


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 
killed,
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 
mourning week.




Copyright © SEREN ROBERTS | Year Posted 2014


Details | Murder Poem | |

AN INNOCENT MAN - FOR CONTEST

Misconstrued meaning Bentley said ‘Let him have it’ Meant hand him the gun Innocent man hung Those words will always haunt him Posthumous pardon Poem based on the sad case of teenager Derek Bentley who was hung for murder in 1953 - his words convicted him - he did not actually fire the gun Contest:-Senryu of Being Misjudged – Marvin Celestial 07~12~15

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Murder Poem | |

1140 Royal Street

The first time I met Madame La Laurie, was in 1832 When she and her third husband (Dr. Louis La Laurie) purchased me. My first impression of Madame La Laurie was that she was soft spoken, of fine breeding, and very beautiful.  

Upon her arrival, she wasted no time filling every nook and cranny at 1140 Royal Street with the finest furniture and china that money could buy. No one looking at the  plain exterior of this house, would ever expect such opulence within it walls.

She wore the latest fashions from Paris with a flare beyond rival, even by the most inducted social lights of the hour, which did not go unnoticed.  Both men and women, would stop in their tracks to gaze upon this regal beauty as she strolled down the main streets of New Orleans.

Soon, with the aide of her husbands connections through his practise, she, gained  acceptance into the higher circles of the community and began hosting what would become, the most sought after dinner invitations in all of New Orleans.

This was the one side of Madame La Laurie that the world saw, but it was I, who bore witness to the other side. NEVER could anyone have ever imagined the atrocities this women committed in her chamber of horrors on the 3rd floor as she maimed, tortured and  murdered any slave that displeased her. 

                                           ~~~

I was burned badly, when one slave, wanting to end his misery, set a fire in the kitchen, finally bringing her reign of terror to and end, where upon she  fled in her hell driven carriage, into the night, never to be seen again. 

Today, I stand here at 1140 Royal street, completely unrecognizable. I have a different face now. The only thing left one would recognize from that day, would be the old path that runs between me and the adjacent house.  

Lush green foliage now grows along its edge, in what I like to think, a remembrance to the tortured souls who died here.

Between these brick walls
Bright light filters from above
Old seeds bloom again

BUT...IF YOU DARE to walk between these walls, you...like me, THAT OLD HOUSE IN NEW ORLEANS, might see the apparitions of the tortured souls still residing there.

                                                ~~~


Poetry form: Haibun

For the contest, A House In New Orleans, sponsor, Lin Lane

PLACED SECOND

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2016