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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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The Murder of The Mimes by Dickman, Warren
The Murder by Mithai Wala, Khuzema
murder was the case by chizoba vincent, john
Murder on rue St Louis by vaso, arthur
Mass murder manifesto by Haman, Danny
MURDER: Death of Dignity by Vassallo, Alfred
Lyrical murder by Duffy, Alex
Boston Murder by a Monster by Horn, James
Murder on My Mind by Manassian, Eileen

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The Best Murder Poems

Details | Murder Poem | |



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.

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 

       ***For Contest
       ***Trashed #2, 
       ***sponsor, Broken Wings

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

More great poems below...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Details | Murder 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

Copyright © arthur vaso

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

Details | Murder Poem | |

Ryan, Where Are You

Ryan, Where are You?
Oh Ryan, please tell me, where are you? I'll never forget that tragic summer of August 1992, when you left without even bidding a final adieu – not even a single wave good-bye, just leaving us high and dry. How could you just simply disappear? Like a dark shadow, in a grey mist...not really there? Gone to heaven or God knows where? My dear Ryan, did you think we really wouldn’t care? One day you're enjoying the sunshine, doing so well; the next day buried in a cold grave where you now dwell; You always said that tomorrow’s not promised to anyone. Now, you’ll never get to see another glorious sunset or dawn.
I heard you were run over by a Brooklyn-bound train. But neither the police nor the coroner could adequately explain - was your death instantaneous or did you suffer any pain? Please help me to understand - who’s to blame? Please tell me - was it just an untimely death? Please explain to me - was it just your fate you met? At birth, did the Three Fates your destiny set? Or were you just in the wrong place at the wrong time... an innocent bystander who hadn’t committed any crime? When Atropos cruelly severed the thread of your short life, the incredible pain of losing you cut deep like a butcher’s knife. But, my dear brother, your treasured memory will be with us always, through your children and in our hearts ‘till the end of our days!

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez

Details | Murder Poem | |

I Can't Stop The Bleeding

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)

Copyright © randy johnson

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 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 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

Details | Murder Poem | |

Bonnie and Clyde

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.)

Copyright © randy johnson

Details | Murder Poem | |

Dare I, Own Up And Confess

Dare I, Own Up And Confess

Whispering shadows floating in the dark
Sound of laments ringing in their wake
Biting with wicked teeth so like a shark
seeking one lost and lonely soul to take!

Alarm clock wakes me from such a dream
yet bloodstains are at foot of the bed
How silly! All was not as it did seem
nightmares rage inside my old, aching head!

Rising to race quickly to the cold shower
stepped in a slippery,soft and warm mess
Blood on my feet, shows dreams have power
now the police demand I own up and confess!

Waking! My ankles shackled to these bars
Got a feeling,this dream going to leave scars!

Robert J. Lindley. 08-15-2015

Note. A dark sonnet for a change.

Copyright © Robert Lindley

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

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

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

Details | Murder Poem | |

Men of shame

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.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Murder Poem | |



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

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 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.

Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot

Details | Murder Poem | |

Foolish Demented Heart

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

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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

Details | Murder Poem | |

A Soul Cries

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

Copyright © Gideon Foli