Through Their Eyes
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Contest Description
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A poem that tells of murder. Imagine you are the killer and tell me about how and why you kill your victim.Any form of 8 or more lines 30 lines max Title of your poem must be the title of contest no other title is acceptable ie
"Through Their Eyes"
date your poem please
have fun and gl
I was over the 30 line limit, never the less, I tried!
Of course this is all tongue and cheek; no actual poets were murdered in the making of this poem. I received a few emails, asking to be ”murdered” Although I read the contest, the idea is actually based on a book. Will post the book on my Blog under Good Reads!
J Ward was an Australian prison used to house the criminally insane, located in Ararat, Victoria, Australia. There is a story of a man there who cut of his ears, thus the reference in the poem!
Through Their Eyes
The Poetry Murders Part 3 in the series
Murder She Wrote
It was a dark night with a full moon
The alley narrow, my hopes high
My footsteps echoed in the ears of the invisible
I quicken my pace
I had an eerie feeling, fate waiting
At the next gate
I rounded the corner
Mist from the sewer drifting
The ambient mood that of sinister
Is that the wind I hear?
Before I could gaze up
A thousand heavy books
Rained down upon me head
I was struck dead
Surrounded by books and words
A hundred yards away
Behind the walls of the church graveyard
There was laughter in the night
Murder she wrote
The final perfect one
As I lay dead
On the street of forgotten poets
Through Their Eyes part 2
Sleeping Beauty
She gazed into my haunted eyes
Knowing my devotion was absolute and complete
She fulfilled my nefarious dreams
Ever so peaceful in her green eyed slumber
She struggled with the rope and tape
I whispered in her ear
Relax, your destiny is clear
You shall sail to the sweetest of places
I shall allow you your escape
Slowly, smothered with my pillowed love
She lies lifeless
In peace
With my poems upon her chest
She has found paradise at last
As the light fades from the far away sea
Old roads become watery graves
North she sails with my words upon her very soul
Through Their Eyes part 1
The Poetry Murders
She is hiding
I know it
She knows it
She’s next
The vast expanse of Ontarian forest
Is no protection at all
I am the butcher of all slithering poets
After all they slaughtered the words
Fair is bloodthirsty fair!
Everyone suspects the butler
Or maybe the Gardner
All the usual suspects
No one guesses the millionaire
Money isn’t everything you know
Murder is the thing keeps me on the go
Florida was pleasant trip
A lot of writers around the lakes
A lot of poets down there are really fakes
I’ll be serving tacos on sticks
Nothing like having strangers eat the evidence
The alligators will get the scraps
I wrapped them up in such poems of utter crap
I so loved the Bible belt
They are seekers of redemption and find only fools
Now there is a writer with a huge welt
The axe you see split his head in three
Breathless he sleeps like the holy trinity
Rotting away, the same stink was there
As In life his rotten disposition
Filled ones nostrils the same as deaths kitchen
Now I fancy a trip back in time
Way way back, way back were I hear roman chimes
Caesars second is chasing killers
I shall turn the tables of destiny and time
Slitting his throat a thousand times
Brutus was a pussy cat compared to me!
I drinkith the cup of blood, I am thirsty as can be
Oh this spree has just begun
Killing poets is just so much fun
They can hide behind their masks
Shivering in silence I stalk their fear
Tickling their soulless spines
I have a gift wrapped in blood
Let me make you divine
I pronounce you Silent One till the end of time
Headless you sit in your chair
Hideous and hiding
In death you shall have more class and flair
Cyanide is slow and fun
You see them shrivel, blank stares
Death dancing all over their hairs
Your next drink, I do say beware
It flows with poetic dreams
Taking you away from this earth
The sad news is this
You will not be going upstairs!
Agatha Christie could not spell
The fact of the matter some do dwell
If she was alive to see me now
I’d be facing the garrote for murdering her cow
Alas she is gone, dead and buried
I smirk; they never caught me for her or the cow
Now if you think I am a psychotic nut
For murdering poets, hey I was in a rut
They all deserved their painful butchered demise
Even they have locked me up
Not for murder, I was really too good at that
They think I am mental and hey lets play along
I have one last murder you see, so delicious
This crime soon to be
I ate my ear to be locked up here
Inside of the institute called J Ward
Copyright © Arthur Vaso | Year Posted 2016
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