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Violence Imagination Poems | Violence Poems About Imagination

These Violence Imagination poems are examples of Violence poems about Imagination. These are the best examples of Violence Imagination poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Rhyme |

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 | Dramatic monologue |


   Who's that staring through my window walls, with eyes as old as time
the clock has not yet moved and the wind outside has died
no breath for me to find nor the strength to check the time
unless the minute hand is lying theirs a chance i may have died
I wish this all a dream but the eyes i see dont lie, they have told me with their watching that all men do really cry
yet in vain is all my wishing but perhaps this is delusion of a sedimentary man with his mind ripe for losing 
Come at me then red devil, I shout within my mind yet the tension I had hoped for was delayed and rather dry
no ravishingly velvet flame encircled this such room, nor were the furniture and ottoman  thrown like an old shoe
marvelous the time in which a demon throwns your home and his only one intent is to stare right through your soul
 to that i bid goodnight to you, to do as you wish, regardless of the manner I am nothing more then fish. to be shot out of a barrel for a fellow such as this
If you do deem it fit that I wake another morning all i ask is that the clocks all please return to working order

Copyright © chriss todd | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |


A phantom beauty sheathed within a gown of utter darkness,
Stalks the lonely avenues of Los Angeles, seeking in vengeances
Revenge for her murder to bring him unto justice’s final damnation!
On the corner of thirty-Ninth Street she pauses, in reverence for
The mangled corpus sliced in half, and posed in displays erotic
Subjective stance for the gawking voyeurs to view, in pleasures
Oh sweet mistress of the tragic, weeping with the bloodless tears
Of deaths draining futility, again she begins the walk of the tormented
Beast, the black Dahlia of mysteries suspense, trailing in the dark,
Within her silken shroud of her burial gown, crying outwardly
 For mercy’s salvation, yet it is only the dead silence of the
Wintery breeze that answers in the stillness!
The burnt amber leaves of autumn, are crushed beneath the
Heavy feet, of a she ghost screaming within the nights empty
Hallows, beckoning unto the lord above, to return her life
Essence that was stolen by a slayers sharpened blade of 
Degradation and mutilation, why the howling banshee
Yells, why what was my crime, to be tormented so!
The newspapers deadlines read, the Black Dahlia, was
Chopped, hacked in half in the middle, scrubbed by her
Assassin killer, whom slashed her chicks into a jokers
Grimly smile!
But this ebony dame, with the eyes of graying death,
Strides within the ethereal limbo between heaven and
Hell, begging for the after life’s illumination to set her
Free, from the netting of betrayals unjustified torment!
A figure of distinction, heckles in the black abyss beyond,
This fine gentleman birthed within the household of the
Elect, tact’s another trophies photo upon his wall of
Glories victims, she the women known as Elizabeth Short,
The black Dahlia!
Within this doctors black leather bag, lies secrets never spoken
Of in the light of day, clean are his instruments shimmery to the shine,
These slashers sharpened slicers cutting without mercy’s discrimination
Of depths degree, to please this serial killing physician of death!
Within the house holds of the elect and wealthy, a gentleman
Chameleon hides, protected by the birth rights of the cultured
Upper class, no one suspects this learned man of any wrongs doing,
The perfect cover, to stand right out in the open acquiescing others,
Of the bloody deeds his done!
Within the vaults of deception, on the high hills of rich and famous,
A demonic doctor of death, waits in the shadows for an unsuspecting
Victim to stride within his butchering claws of death, and the black
Dahlia searches for him, seething with vengeances fury!


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

The Lonely Army

When wind’s silence 
heralds boundless oblivion
and the trembles of cracked earth
raise the dust of tears
dried by the boundless footfalls
of sallow flesh

When a thread of gold
brings unearthly thought
and the misconception
of suns fallen
drives foolish men to their knees
in unending tremors

An army of one
frees the air from his fingertips
and stays not his opal blade
as it bites the rotted gray necks 
of kings released from their wrongful bliss
by his trembling palms

An army of one
unconstrained by nature’s volume
freed by the sin of his naivety
yet, bound by earth’s oldest secret
as the scarlet sun weeps
its bloodied tears

An army of one
his cloak worn through
by the acid blood of his deception
and his bones stilled; 
the branches of a dying oak
which no longer caress the wind

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

The Gunfighter Was Ready

The Gunfighter Was Ready

The coach arrived engulfed in blowing dust,
this day carrying more than precious gold,
a gunfighter, his sending for was a must,
needed was a fighter wild, fast and bold.

Confident as he stepped into dirty street,
eying all around for any deadly threat,
looking for the lady he was to meet,
a job he took on a personal grudge and bet.

No nervous edge did he feel this day,
a calm resolve filled his icy veins,
find the lady , get his precious pay,
each deadly job building his earthly gains.

Early morning sun, gave a blinding glare,
as a beautiful lady stepped from the crowd,
keen senses felt her admiring stare,
well before her welcome rang out so loud.

First to invite this vision for a meal,
business could now be delayed,
her beauty set in him a strange new feel,
so different than the usual price he was paid.

Soon small talk shifted to what needed done,
three lives that fate called to be erased,
evil men, so fearsome they'd never run,
a task , quite deadly that must now be faced.

Details settled, the marks now must be shown,
each victim's soon to be shot and dying face,
falling to the gun-speed he had decades to hone,
no man ever matched his accuracy and swift pace.

With foolish bravado each man faced his threat,
first two were dispatched with the usual ease,
last one was the target of his personal bet,
a fast gunfighter, fate so often did please.

Day came, the sun beamed in a brilliant sky,
he could finish the personal job he sought,
there was a reason , none knew the reason why,
this last gunfighter had now been caught.

That morn as the town clock struck nine,
speeding bullet did end the evil life,
joy returned , all was now so fine,
man dead, that had long ago killed his wife.

Last payment he waved away with a smile,
this course he had set so long ago,
accomplished with dedication, speed and guile,
sun shone brightly as galloping away he did go.

Robert J. Lindley , 12-10-2014

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Dark And Twisted, Another Bloody Body Awaits

Dark And Twisted, Another Bloody Body Awaits

There she lies, bloody dead at foot of my bed
How the hell had our love morphed into this
Throat slashed, body decaying without a head
Smell of rotting flesh and grossly stale piss.

Cold reality now just a dark and ragged blur
Every day ghastly, morbid scene eats my mind
Absolutely no memory of savagery heaped on her
House sealed up tight so nobody can ever find.

Red in rage, memory from bloody ages long ago
Now burdened with a lovely but rotting mess
Facing each day, a scene from a horror show
Fearing discovery of my greatest, dark distress.

A dream that night, slashing a monster's throat
Walking around in sweet red blood and gore
Satan pleased with this finely sacrificed goat
Now dark and twisted, soul demands even more.

Lurking in a long dark alley in this small town
Obeying murderous, mad urges torturing me
Waiting to seize and bring another girl down 
This darkness not resting, my soul's evil sea!

There she lies, bloody dead at foot of my bed
How the hell had our love morphed into this
Throat slashed, body decaying without a head
Smell of rotting flesh and grossly stale piss.

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Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |

The Beggar

The beggar

Wizened by lack, more than by age
The old blind beggar, who does loiter our streets
Unknown to most, is the legend
Behind the tales of Joe the bandit

With his great horde, he'd ridden into our town
The mordacious look, on his heavily bearded face
Did elicit fear, from the bravest.
Our good old town; always his to pillage

The lives of the town's folks; nothing but a trifle
He'd kill to instill terror, at the slightest provocation
But his next ride, into our little town
Had been his last ride, into any town.

A spent cartridge a meter, had lined our streets 
The drains and sewers,  had also run red 
As a weak town's folks,  had risen to war 
Killing the bandits, all but Joe.

Shackled and marched round the old town
His life was spared, with his eyes gouged out
His new image; a message to others
That Old James Town, was out of bounds.


Copyright © Sandison Jumbo | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |

Who killed who

The Tiger and the Bear.
Tooth and claw, tearing
flesh as death draws near.

Primitive killer instincts and
lack of fear

Sheer brute strength with a
blood thirst to quench.

The Bear, a tower of strength
with a razor sharp Bear hug to

The Tiger, a ferocious attack upon
your back. Blends in like the wind
itself, moves with stripes of deadly

The Tiger and the Bear.
Tooth and claw, tearing
flesh as death draws near

Copyright © Andy Craig | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Sought Caught

They found me hiding under the stairwell 
There were three or four of them, 
I couldn’t really tell 
They used chloroform to knock me out 
They placed it over my nose and mouth 
When I came to, my eyes felt like lead 
My head pounded and my nose bled 
They gagged me and sat me down on a broken wooden chair 
They burnt chunks out of my hair 
The room was dark, not a drizzle of light 
There were too many of them, for me to fight 
I couldn’t scream, I tried to shout 
No words came out of my mouth 
My face was swollen, my lips dry 
I could not move and I didn’t know why 
Shots were fired in the air 
Sounds of scrambling everywhere 
They fled the scene as fast as they could 
And left me to die in this dangerous neighborhood. 

Copyright © Brigitte Pace | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

A Remorseful Life

 Thorns piercing through my heart while it's burning. Vines flowing out of my soul, and I look to the sky. Hallelujah, I'm alive. Hallelujah I'm whole.

 Smoke of cigarettes flame out into the open. Feelings of charm and warmth pass across my lungs. I see twelve or more dwarfs marching in rows. One of them stepped on my toes.

 Planes flying into the fog, and women being rapped in the alleys. The life we lead are lies, planned out like puppets from another dimension.

 Time can't save us. We save time to save us. The sun goes down, and everything is quiet. Birds chirping, and the wind blowing white snowflakes onto my face.

 Walking passed the church. Blood on White. Everything's a fight. We rise to the golden gates and we look upon the spirits.

 The leaders and missions fail. It's not the end of this tale, when soon there will be more blood shed. Anger and hatred have no room. Live the life you are born to lead, or you will just be another blood on white.

Copyright © Teresa Habas | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |


able to control the situation of the hunt,
there's no end to the possibilities.
ranging from vehicles to any guns,
arsenal fantasy so unlimited.
underrated version of what the violence means,
mental consequences not truly seen.
deranged activities at first is enticing;
misplaced content of excitement,
hours passing by with unlimited possibility of different kills,
no pressures from serious authorities.
enjoyment of the thrill:
exploitation of the fun,
going beyond your imagination,
meaningless aggression that doesn't stop.
unworthy replacement for having too little to do!!!

Copyright © Donn Ronquillo | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

Cold Fear

Looking out with apathy as strong as currents from the greatest seas. Destined to roam yet destinies free lost within the symphonic ballad containing all of lives mysteries. Will we ever see what we were ment to be or are we trapped within our self created Fantasy.
Screaming down from up above all of them calling "blood for blood" covering the cries from within being sure to never allow them to win. Within the blink of an eye and the burning within, turning tranquility to violence and violence will spread leaving those who oppose feeling hopless, dead. Suppressed by the sovereignty we are buried by power.In the end it's me,perhaps even we, who must begin to fear what humanuty will grow to be..

Copyright © Jess Smith | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? |


This space becomes a pressing malice 
to which death rapes the beautiful girls 
into submissive screaming.
There can’t be a breath of fresh pain 
to suffocate this kindness. 
Because life begins to die
 as soon as the breathing stops. 
I fume in the burning rage of salient slicing to which gages the envy.
Hate keeps the blood from staining my clothes because my clothes are my nakedness. 
I feel not a pin prick in this gash that is my perversion .
Numbness cuts this distaste against this wall of bloody suicide.
 So now my end is the beginning
 for nothing in my words describes 
the space of violence in my head.

Copyright © Matthew Robison | Year Posted 2008

Details | Quatrain |

From Violets to Violence

Faces and figures that only he can see.	
Heart sounds emit from his friend, the radio.
The past and the present are entwining him
As a once-hopeful future is lost in the din.

Upon dawn’s early light and throughout his days, now,
He knows to bear witness to all that they say now
From, “You are waste” and “Nobody wants you”
To, “Take your life now. You know that you want to!”
Shadowy forms on the ceiling and walls
Reach down to him: his tormentors’ calls
Where light is the dark and dark is the light;
Where night is the day and day is the night.

It’s a foregone conclusion, these garbled voices,
Bedlam’s intrusions interrupting his choices.
The velveteen violets too calmly revealed
Will soon be replaced by violence concealed.			

Copyright © Sherree Huckleberry | Year Posted 2007