Grave Hate Poems

These Grave Hate poems are examples of Grave poems about Hate. These are the best examples of Grave Hate poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Lyric |
Dedicated to my Dad who lost his short battle w/ Colon Cancer on June 18,2013

I hate you Cancer
Your vile evil and cruel
You don't care who you hurt
I'll never forget that day
I'll always hate you for it

Your heartless Cancer
You took someone important from me
Someone important from others too
Took people who didn't belong to you
I hate you for it

You disgust me Cancer
You had no right to take him from me
He mattered more than my very own life
I hate you for taking my Daddy
I hate you for taking others too

I hate you with a passion Cancer
You took part of my heart with him
You took part of my soul that day too
I hate you for it
I hate you I hate you I hate you

I hate you with every fiber of my being 
Go back to Hell where you belong
I hate you, others hate you
Your not welcome or wanted here Cancer

I hate you more than his doctor's
I hate you more than God
I hope I get to witness that day
Witness the day you fall
And you will fall Cancer

You're gonna lose the battle one day Cancer
I'm gonna laugh and dance around your grave
You'll finally get what you deserve 
And you'll never be able to inflict your disease on another soul

Sabrina Niday Hansel

Placed 8th in Poet Destroyer A's  2013 "PINKTOBER" Contest

Please Support a Cure for Colon Cancer & every other type!

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic Verse |
My Dad was Chicagoan.
He would light up a room just like my Mom. 
He loved to fish ! He loved his beer .
He also designed a Octagon home in the 70's 
Built custom by hand . I was very proud of Dad .

Alcohol hit our Family , a curse .
He left my Mom when I was 14 in Illinois.
To renew in California , leaving a trail of tears .
Meeting my step mom , my sisters age .
My 2 sisters they were accepted in her world . 

Not I , I looked too much Like Mom . Told this all my Life . 
She a petite Beauty , RN , real estate Broker .
I did not see why it was wrong to be like mom ?

I moved in with Dad, His new Wife , and 2 sisters 
eventually . All three women were competing for my Father .
I was kicked out at 16 yrs.

Years do pass , you try and accept people places and things .
At the end of Dads life , he was calling me once a week .
I ordered a Engraved Clock for the Fathers day coming.
This was a issue for the Wife and sisters , never invited to his new home , 2 Decades ~My little Brother & I , never wanted .

Dad passed suddenly one sad Spring Day . Not one word from his wife , all 3rd party,  how and when,  Dad Died . being denied the right to his address , even to say goodbye .
Not being able to send my engraved clock . 

 "Dad Passed " received call  from sister whom just stayed a week with me ,  I took her all around the sites here . "1st day I get call , you should come , 2nd Day after , Dad's been cremated already . " It was a lie.

I went anyway , finding the funeral home, the Funeral Director was appalled at the denial displayed.

He insisted I was given 10 minutes alone with Dad , my Birthright to say Goodbye , he was in dismay over the Hostility towards a daughter ~

I get to this room of mean relative's. His sisters , Mine, angry looks , hearing from a Aunt "What is she doing Here ! " I can't give nor reason or rhyme. 

 Shame to you and all that participated that wicked day.
 Are you Glorified with Power?  Denied the right to grieve , 

 Left with no sane answers to give in hatred received by Blood . Some , just Spouses , telling me I had no right to Say Goodbye to my own Father , My DAD .

My Dad wanted me there , I know he did . I love Him and will never forget , his youngest girl whom looked like Mom . I know in my heart and dreams he speaks. 
 We all see when we leave . May God not allow any Son or Daughter to go through such Evil.

Thank-you Poetry Soup for returning my voice .

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |
The wound       (Haiku)  2014

A deep gaping hole
newly covered with scar flesh
a cemetery

the reflective pond
the bright thirteen year old trees
the lost souls still there

the money-men charge
fees to visit our worst time
Ah, America!

check out my blog for more Haiku and 9.11

Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014

Details | ABC |

Bitter by ; being mentally bruised and battered most of my life,
shaken with fright without a single soul to help me
through the troubles unseen horrors of the night, 
from an evil source that I fear to strike. 
But as the evil forces, who limited my choices 
that when I found my stallion horses. 
Swiftly it came to my head I can run and I cannot hide, 
feeling the Beast closing in on every time I decide to hide. 
Tired of running and tired of alluding this
relentless creep as my red bolt eyes weep 
feeling rest-less, likes a lonely defeated warrior from his home in retreat 
that is when I knew it time to rest, to release my Beast. 
But in a fight, I may not win however as I cast out my dirty words sin
I made sure it felt my impact, to the bloody end.

by Keith Kadell

Copyright © Keith Relf | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
In the attic, above wooden floor,
through the hallway of psychotic, locks upon my door,
near the broken window and glass of the sore,
hiding in the shadows,
bloodstains on the wall.

 Number nine,
house at the end of the street,
where lights are low,
where silent never sleep.

Copyright © Miche Ulman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
The embers of the fireplace glowed,
We were all alone in the forest 
spending a family vacation
 surrounded by big, shadowy trees 
and a river that never flowed.
At first, I acted as though 
I wasn’t scared at all,
For I know my parents 
will drive back after all.
We sat and played board game 
in front of the fireplace,
Which for days I’ve never touched nor carry, 
rather than to think of raise.
The wind outside had grown 
stronger and was whistling
around the house,
Blowing through the little cracks
 in the walls of our tent 
and climbing us to the bone.
I started to shiver, 
although I don’t think it was 
from the cold alone.
Suddenly, the idea of where we were , 
just all alone,
started to prey on my mind,
 causing fear.
I looked out of the window,
I could see the limbs of trees flapping in the wind 
like ghostly arms.
I remembered how far down the road 
into the forest was,
We had traveled without even 
seeing another house.
‘I think am scared,’ I told myself,
Curiosity and fear started churning 
my imagination into terrible thoughts.
I remembered when I was younger, 
I used to be really afraid,
Especially after kids from school 
told me scary stories about what lurks out
 in the forest in the dark.
‘Let’s go to sleep,’ 
I told my little sister with a shaking voice.
I turned off the lights, and settled into the thick
 goose-down comforters of the loft floor.
Looking through the 
small window beside us,
I could see the tall trees of the forest,
The full moon hanged in the sky like a silvery disk.
I slept in silence for a while,
When suddenly,
 I heard something that made me rise 
my head with wide open eyes.
It was the sound of footsteps, 
a heavy footstep outside 
the timbers of our tent.
Panic clogged my mind,
I was too scared to say something.
I sat and waited 
for the sound to come again,
But I heard nothing,
Nothing but the moaning 
of the wind through the trees.
The sound of the footsteps came again,
But this time it was another
 side of the house.
I started to feel even sicker,
Every muscle in my body jumped 
when I heard the front door opened.
My blood ran cold, 
and I was suddenly afraid to move.
The footsteps were moving across 
the passage toward were 
my little sister and I were lying.
The room was filled with horrible silence,
Just the sound of the footsteps
 getting closer and closer,
I couldn’t say a word, neither my little sister,
I just scrunched down further under the comforter.
In my mind, I saw the scary man 
of an extraordinary size, 
coming toward us through the dark.
I began to shake so hard, 
when I heard the footsteps on the floor
 entering the room where we were.
I huddled my sister and I against the wall,
And I could hear the breathing of the beast, 
coming closer and closer to my skin,
I could feel its nearness.
The heat from his nostril 
made my skin feel feverish.
But suddenly, there was a light
 through the window of our tent,
It shone like a spot light,
And I could feel the heavy 
breathing quickly reversing.
The lights were from my father’s bus,
He had just saved us just in time.
I’m almost back to normal,
No more of the taunting of an animal.
Except at night,
During the full moon,
When I hear the sounds in the house,
I tried not to think about of what it would do when it caught me.
Then finally I found out when I woke up,
It was just a dream…

Copyright © Anayo Oleru | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Seeking accompany- Zamreen Zarook
I kick to wonder what made me to cry,
Am really writing as a fry,
Myself launch to be dry,
This ink will be a victim for my cry.
What really went wrong with me all these day,
What made e to forget my last day,
I realized I jumped out of my track yesterday,
So I regret for that, what is called as present today.
Happiness have started to wave hands for this sinner,
Sadness have started to move inner,
The faults that I considered as miner,
So far changed as a miner of a winner.
My face was a comparison to sunlight,
Where as my routine changed it to moon light,
I wish to get that twilight,
As a sinner I started to search for that enlight.
I started to enjoy what is right,
I remade my faults as a kite,
I wished it would fly apart from my  sight,
My system said, you are free from your rubbish weight.
It proved that I always should depend on god,
In whatever the variation of my mood,
He is there to clear my victorious road,
So, I started to live according to His code.

Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Waking up five in the morning,
and looking the dawn's sun rise,
to start the day with a yawn and strech.
Smell the morning dew,
as you go and retrive the morning newspaper,
filled with tablots of lives more intresting than yours.

You wave to your hand to your neighbor,
who you don't like, still you say, "hi"
It's just the nature of the human being.
You turn and go inside,
you feel some pain on your leftside.
All those milkshakes and hamburgers
caught up to you.
What do you do?
Not much, you can do now,
You fall to the ground, clenching your chest;
you call out for help, but no one comes.
You see your neightbor, but he doesn't mind.
See he hated you as well, like you hated him,
and he is glad to see you fall to your
knees and beg for Mercy.

Oh no! here he comes,
Doctor Death, no not Jack Kavorkian,
No! the big cheese,
the Creature that prays on black souls,
just like yours.
Doctor Death come on down! Come and clam your prize!
Good morning Doctor Death! I'm ready,
Are you?

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
You think you’ve gone just far enough,

I could smile knowing you’ve gone far enough that you can’t go back again

You think you were careful but,

I’ve caught a glimpse of your true, wretched form

You think you can find a way into my good graces

I’ve seen what you are, monsters with a friendly costume

You can’t deceive me anymore and, I don’t consort with serpents

You think I’m a game to be played but, trust me, you could never win

Don’t underestimate me

You think I’m a joke but, trust me you won’t be laughing

You think I’m just talking myself up but, trust me, you’re the ones going down

My eyes took too long to adjust

Better late than never

It may take a monster to know one but, I promise my teeth are sharper than yours

My first reaction to the hideous revelation that was your form was to weep

Fall to my knees, maybe even wretch my heart from my chest and onto the carpet

Then I thought about the mess it would make

I decided the only blood that will spill, will be your own

I was not weak, but I had a weakness

A heart of soft gold stitched to my sleeve with care

No longer

Now my heart is a stone so heavy

I could kill at least two birds at once 

Being the nice guy is a thing of the past 

Thanks for freeing me of that softness

You thought I was all sunshine and delicate things

When really I had just been swallowing razor blades

Now that sun is setting and I hope you see it was you who were wrong

Can you feel my darkness coming, because it’s eager to hold you

If you thought I was the one who would just stand still or turn to run

Your gonna be the one with tired feet

I’m not sad anymore

Just sick with the plague of your lies

Contagious, and I’m looking for someone to kiss

Even angels can make themselves wicked

When we do, we take no prisoners

Still think I’m a game

This one is just beginning

Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |
                                   Here is a war, fighting
		              Fighting those i dont know
		            Stabbing, shooting, strangling
	                        	all without care
	                       	Infanticide, i dont care 
		       Rest in peace infant, was all i know.

Copyright © Sunday Kelvin | Year Posted 2017

Details | Epic |
no doubt sympathetic poured in exceeding a ton
sans the reverberations from the supposed terroristic act doth stun
although neither a native bostonian son nor one who opts to run
my track record racks up with any manner of pun
yet only tears for deadly explosions 
 and incalculable loss of limb it less life barring none
when cataclysmic dynamic explosions occurred around 3:00 p.m. on mon
day april 15th, 2013 
 with inexplicable psychic 
 piercing pain punctured as with countless gun

near bunker hill where american revolution 
   bred battles for freedom bought
brandished weapons 
   from colonial americans feverish cry for independence caught
with blood, sweat and tears of lexington and concord fought
with nada one justifiable reason and now motive sought
but...when perpetrator identified justice will be taught
adhering the state motto 
   "By the sword we seek peace, but peace only under liberty"
   for religious or those of secular beliefs 
   whose lives rent asunder with grievous heartbreak wrought

despite the race, religion or creed
of those mortally hurt and/or killed, i feel such heinous deed
only the mindset of a live googly eyed yahoo doth feed
with relish the innocent lives forever he/she now gloating with glee
as a miser with greed
at what august athletes (suffering les miserable’s) lack any wherewithal to heed
for who could foresee where a twisted mind or two would lead
ambitious disciplined bodies would so suddenly need
triage with others on the sidelines to plead
for desperate intervention with utmost speed
heard by ordinary folk now cast as heroes 
   bursting forth like a hardy weed.

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Sinking in deeper,
No way to escape,
The dark and scary Reaper,
Fore told in the Book of Life.

Is this my end?
Will I ever see the light of day again?
No. My wounds, I must mend.
I must find my strength.

Stand my ground,
Face my fears.
Only then will my voice be found
I must survive.

Break the suffocating chains,
Run from the darkness.
Power will fill my veins.
I will Fight!

Fight the painful names,
The horrid memories,
The demented games 
And escape My Black Abyss.

Copyright © Jewels Chavira | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood. 
The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I wait,  I wait for him to reach me instead. The wheelbarrow has a dark green cover, such a sickly, metallic sweet smell underneath,  such a heavy lump in my throat,  “don’t lift the cover!” but regardless, I pull back it back to see.
The first thing to strike me, such a tiny hand, tiny fingers all bent into a fist, and an inch below there in my big gloved hand, the smallest most delicate wrist. Her face is held together by bright orange thread, her eyes are searching the stars. Her crown should still be there, on that beautiful head, where she lays, crumpled up inside her Dads cart. I put back the cover, swallow hard and just stand there, my head, Jesus Christ I can’t think,  my pounding heart tearing itself apart inside my trained body, at this beautiful little angel in pink. 
Her father, his eyes screaming toward me sobs gently, silent rage and yet deafening shock. Why can’t I bring myself to look into this man’s eyes, oh Lord, grant me some breath that I may talk. To say sorry, to ask why, to just speak in his tongue, to show him that I really care. I realise that I could never find words, I’ve no such tragedy to compare.
I walked away from the blue wheelbarrow, thinking that I could leave it behind. But every night as my daughter hugged me, that wheelbarrow crashed into my mind. Whenever she cried my stomach went tight, when she laughed those dark clouds disappeared, whenever she told me she loved me, I knew that I had nothing to fear, but yet so much. The wheelbarrow changed me forever, drank me to illness, and brought my whole life to the edge. I couldn’t switch off from that sweet smell, and I couldn’t explain that to friends. 
 I will never forget, such a small wrist in my hand, such beautiful soft lips kissing the sky. Such a pretty pink little dress, though stained red with blood, those clear and lifeless brown eyes. I wish that I had asked for her name, what to call that three year old victim of war, so small and so beautiful with those innocent eyes, my body aches that I can’t wish so any more.
If I could explain to people, about my demons, in one image to make them understand. I’d draw that blue wheelbarrow with the green cover on top, and that sweet delicate wrist in my hand. Two days after the wheelbarrow I became a Father and to my comfort, for the rest of my life I will know. No matter how often the wheelbarrow returns, I have my daughter, here for me to hold.

Copyright © James Clark | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Watching the sequence of sound coming out of your mouth...
But the screaming is too loud.
I can speak,
But my brain doesn't want to.

I closed the door.
Silence called for me.
Should I cry or should I run after her?

What have I done to you?
but love you uncontrollably.

Shes then left speechless.
It looks like shes out of breath,
but really I broke her.

She was fragile.
So innocent.

Run, Just run.
A gun raised..
up to her mouth.
And a taint on her heart.

Copyright © Lidija Vresk | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
A blind man fell into a pit
In a public garden in Tougan
Can I pull you out? 
Shouted a passer-by
No! He shouted and screamed and lamented;
I prefer starving to death in this pit.
Why not jump out and save your life?
No! B’cos I have loved without obtaining love.
Don’t you know Mr. Blind man! 
That Love is blind?
Yes! Love is blind,
But the blind is not loved.
So I have chosen intentionally 
To end my life in this pit,
When he was rescued by the police
He cursed and promised to kill the constable
Who pulled and forced him out.
This blind man,
Is a crazy blind man of Tougan.

Copyright © IRON BENDER | Year Posted 2015

Details | ABC |
People want to commit suicide,
people choose to die over livin life.
Why has it come to be this way?
Why has this life become so meaningless,
that we just want to throw it away?
We become selfish and think our life is so bad,
dont think of others who's lives are worse, But still greatful for what they have.
People take for granted the things they've got,
clothes, food, smokes and shoes, even a roof or a bed,
They dont think of the homeless,
the hungry, not even the cold or the hot.
They just think they want to be dead,
Things happen in our lives that, to us, seem bad.
We dont look for help or trust any "friends"
All because of the past we've had.
Dont be a coward and run away,
Stick it out, Live life,
I know that there's alot of strife,
But stick it through day to day.
People want to commit suicide,
people choose to die over livin life.
Why has it come to be this way?....

Copyright © brandi foote | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
“Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two, and this story...”


Yeah, Doc, it really was a long time ago
But the emotional scars are still there, you know
He came into my room while I was away
And scattered things in complete disarray

Why he chose me, I still question
Perhaps just to teach others a lesson
He moved me to an empty dorm
It was like the calm before the storm

“Welcome to Jenny Barracks”, the note he left read
I'll never forget what that note said
He had classified me as a female ass
 A degrading thing, a lowly class 

I spent my nights in solitude
I was humiliated and treated rude
Every day, he'd strip my bunk 
And call me names – I felt like junk

Tossed aside like a filthy rag
For him to torment, debase, and nag
I felt it my duty to let it go on
In just three weeks, I knew I'd be gone

Nights dragged on in great despair
Why had this man put me there
Then the day of graduation came
But I would never be the same

I left Texas, bound for home
Nights of solitude were finally gone
Forty-eight years have passed on by
Yet I still have nightmares and often cry

To think someone could be so cruel
And treat another like an utter fool
Causing such hurt and emotional pain
When he himself had nothing to gain

Now, Doc, let me tell you this
I live a life that's filled with bliss
I'll not forget those days gone by
But on the nights I start to cry

My tears are never cried in vain
Jesus Christ heals all the pain
I know He hears my every plea
And I thank Him for delivering me

The things I told you made me sad
To tell the truth, they made me mad
But thank you, Doc, for listening to me
Would you care for another cup of tea

Copyright © Curtis Moorman | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
Girl are born. But not every time they are lucky enough to live. Many a times they are killed by their families who were expecting a boy child. 
This poem captures dreams of a girl child. Her dream revolves around getting love, affection, acceptance from her parents but these dreams can never be fulfilled. Her destiny has something else in store for her. 

                                    Poem – My stupid little Dreams.
                             (Some dreams are never meant to be fulfilled)

My dream is to be born cuddling in my mother’s arms and staring in her eyes,

My dream is spending my childhood hopping in my father’s lap,
My father tickling me until I cry out of joy,

My dream is feeling my mother’s soft tender lips, as she kisses me wishing me

My dream is enjoying weekends hopping on my father’s back;
As he play a horse and I a brave knight,

My dream is to fall down, bruise my leg and watch my mother rushing out for me,

My dream is spending endless nights sitting beside my father,
His hands coiled around my neck, re-living my favorite bedtime stories,

My dream is treading on roads shimmering with sun rays escaping from canopy of trees that leads nowhere,

My dream is racing down endless streets crowded with people; teeming with life;
Happiness, fervor and excitement spread everywhere,

My dream is to live, prosper and watch all these and thousand other dreams come true,

But I won’t live long enough, so bye-bye dreams; I bid you adieu,

I have committed a sin, as grave as a crime,

My family needed a boy, but I am born a girl child,

My dreams, my wishes will stay alive with me till I am in my mother’s womb,

Seconds after I am born; they will travel with me to my final destination – my own personal tomb.

If born; No respect, no acceptance would have been the saga of my life,

Thanks to my father, he saved me, by taking my life.

No time for my dreams, I died paying for my sins,

Once born; I was send on a long vacation in some local dustbin.

I was born like a flower that could bloom and thrive

But I was plucked as a bud, never allowed to ripe,

Not only me there are thousands more lying in rains,

Moaning in pain, their blood gushing down the drains,

No more dreams, no more wishes just one cry,

O God! It’s enough. Please no more girl child.

Copyright © Surya Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lyric |
Lets get down to business,
Imma bout to quit this as God as my witness,
Coming back from class, in one of my civics
The next tree I see, Sh*t I think ,I'm gonna hit this
But my stick shift did not shift, now i sit in ditches 
this is 600 dollars that I don't have to fix this
I guess I'd admit this, cause I'm done with sickness
Of the mind, see I've been, out of mine,
Half an hour, in the shower,
Praying some evil power,
Doesn't come through my spine,
Looking like Bill Cowher,
As I cower from the scour,
Like a clam becoming chowder,
I'm a coward devoured,
By all these damn thoughts,
That keep getting louder,
Burns like whiskey sour, 
So pale, I went from me being green,
To cauliflower.

Copyright © Mike Conway | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
i've been telling myself to stop
i've been trying hard to escape
i've been loving you all my life
but do you really care?

there's a  little piece of heaven, inside this hell with you
for only on those stolen moments 
i could say i own you. 
but it can't be like this forever
i can't always be a shock absorber.
i don't wanna feel empty again. 
everytime i come out of this little heaven..

i hate you.

Copyright © imee murillo | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |

I placed something in my grave,
before my body was ever put there
I buried all my ignorance,
and hatefulness,
in the days when I still drew air
Many have come to this cemetery,
many have come long before me
Now here we meet, as they lower me ...
we who once would never
grace each other's company

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |
The glory of America, now heats up 
   with agitation poised to strike on the brink 
sans legislation incites humiliation, 
    which goads desecration as fete accompli chink 
   in armor of Democratic rubric, constituting capitalistic 
   ethic, generic iconoclastic, and jingoistic logic, 
   nor budging an inch when mandating masses swallow his drink 
what huff huck – this belligerent, dominant and 
   fervent hell raiser doth bungle in the jungle
decreeing tacit Mar shall law fast as a shutterfly eyewink
as his cosmic crotch grab doth put Venus under his sway 
   with his Mercury hill temperament
   pitches the orbit of planet Earth tubby comb out of balance
   infected by hiz anti Ju pit er damnations, excoriations, fulminations
   Huzzah sing how whiz derriere didst Sat urn simultaneously 
   crushing crucible as an Uranus
   indiscriminately plop ping two hundred fifty pounds off flesh 
   dub ling down humming his favorite Neptune 
   that dost affect Pluto hoc crass sea
   repeating a self coined motto – 
   I yam all mighty, therefore no fink
simply commandeering the reins of control, 
   a one man military intelligence groupthink  
hut triad and true dyed in the wool rip pug in ant guise zing rogue 
   rejoicing tuff fool, governing and hoodwink
king the die hard fans of dictatorial, linkedin and monarchist ink
cube bus thriving on wielding indomitable aggression 
   practiced in the Art of the Deal incorporating an unanticipated jink
iron fist rule reigning down vis a vis pro pens heave lee and prop hen city 
   flashing hiz seal of approval, which scribbled signature 
   doth not smooth monkey serve hay puzzling kink
boot his frenzy to bulldoze catastrophic, formulaic, and illogic
   spells these United States of America twill become hell 
   in a hand basket with nary a trace of the grit of link
kin, the sixteenth president (whose ruggedly pioneering frontier existence) 
   found him steady and strong, plus soft hearted as pelt o’ mink
the epitomy of this forty fifth elected commander in mischief
   a twenty first century Drake yule ha – albeit nink
con poop – barely describes this oafish piranha making waves
   (Whereby Hurricane Katrina seems like child’s play), 
   where even a toddler, could out rule, out smart, and out think 
   thee maniac pampered by don patriarch Fred, who fawned, doted 
   and bow wowed over this magnate trick son, whose rapacious, 
   reprehensible and riling actions generated when Melanie doth wink.

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |
There is no power in death,
great enough to stop youth.
From what must be done,
souls taken one by one.

If God should stand in the way,
clear the path you will go away.
Should I contend with this power,
no choice it is the devils hour.

When the wicked rule in time,
deception reigning of crime.
There will be a stand instead,
where I gather the vengeful dead.

Amongst in Hell that we cower,
our vengeance will grow louder.
Strong enough in legions,
numbers increasing regions.

Then the wicked will fear,
what is about to come near.
No where near closer to home,
inside Hell's nightmarish tomb.

Copyright © Eternal Victor | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |
Congressman and senators forewent 
   all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers 
   and firearms as all hell broke loose as testimony
to the dire prognostication foretold 
   more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que 
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs 
   and brickbats ratcheted up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis credo, coda and cock knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint 
   against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto when opposing with energy
and verve espoused by fellow delegates, and his hologram ghost bloody

from battle scars outside and/or inside 
   the halls of government where blows bashed 
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate 
   as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis 
   of the twenty first century 
   during the term of Donald Trump 
   who throve on the cutthroat frenzied 
   internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon any hope for civilians to escape bloodshed 
   spilled from without vaunted halls of justice, 
   the approach of doomsday 
   writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed 
with uproarious coup d’etat, 
   when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws 
   pistol whipped and hashed 
tagged traitors who roared America 
   went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country 
   into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue 
   in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
do not weep at my grave 
you don’t deserve to apologize 
may hell’s fire rain upon your sinful hands 
may you weep 
but not at my grave 
not to me, for me, never to me 
you don’t deserve to apologize 
i don’t want to hear your cries 
your pleas and your woes 
your regrets 
i don’t want them, keep them 
keep them to yourself 
let them fester in your guts 
like maggots, like worms, like rot 
you don’t deserve to apologize 
do not weep at my grave

Copyright © John Egbert | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
I can't remember who you were, who you are.
I think I have never met you
You,however, instilled who you wanted to be
The never was of someone who wasn't

There was never any person, just a collection of dead flies
Lying around that dead man walking
There was no warmth, only disease

There were complaints, endless reasons and unresolved pasts
There were energies not meant for us
The whirlpools we were caught up
And storms, oh the storms
There were storms as irrational and as abusive

And then I couldn't understand the very truth that was right in front of us, wasn't realized by others
Perhaps they sympathize your horns, 
Perhaps they were in love with the chains you choke them
Perhaps they were too young to understand
Or perhaps they were you

That dead man walking, carries with him a black hole as a heart
That dead man walking was waiting for his life to end, wishing
That dead man walking is alive yet cease to exist
That dead man walking is you.

Copyright © Emerald Canoy | Year Posted 2017

Details | ABC |

					I shot him,
Blood allover the walls,
Night ain't real,
Scavengers poking his body,
Children screaming and panting, 
Am numb,speechless and arrogant.

Silence is the environment, 
Dark is the light, 
Dead body still and not moving,
Anybody here is the question, 
Scattered this and that, 
Just a humble man that i killed.
Crime is not what i did, 
But why i did it is the crime,
Hear everybody no races are better,
The man was respected, 
Heard he had a daughter and son, 
Why shot him?am mad,
No, I am and I don't regret.

Their race ain't superior like mine,
Am a prophet of God and he is a servant, 
Stay still and do what i ask, 
No more mercy,you understand,
You black snakes and chimpanzees, 
Kneel for me and my master,
Or i shoot another man.

Copyright © Morris Murenzi | Year Posted 2018