Behead Poems | Examples

The draconian state

I steal the time and i steal the heart,
I steal the memories and i steal the scars,
I was a thief who stole for love,

But finally they caught me deciding how should I'd punished as I was a thief who stole laughter,
I was a thief who stole sadness,
But it was a crime they said in the end, 
Would they burn me or buried me alive,
Would they behead me or cut me alive,

I accept any punishment as I was a thief who likes to steal the pain,
No draconian law affects me or cage me as I became a thief who stole the freedom and fate,

I died laughing as crimson was dripping from my flesh,
In the end I was called a thief who stole his own death.

Jarrard's Poem

My love, jarrard.
I wish I were dead.
So many things left unsaid.
I will go in silence instead.
Keep everything hidden in my head.
We are unwed. 
We shared so much bread.
I feel so misled.
The distance, I dread.
My heart, you shred.
It lay scattered and spread.
I go to lay alone, in the bed.
Last night I bled.
It turned the sheets red.
You left me on unread.
I feel now, undead.
The signs, I misread.
You are way too far ahead.
I missed the tread.
Fell over and was behead.
The scene, you fled.
My spirit from my body, it shed.

Battle for the Lone-Star State

   The plans had been laid
     their dues had been paid
   10,000 enraged Mexicans
     heading north to behead Texans

   For Texans had 'stolen their land'
     almost two centuries ago
   and with America looking weak as can be
     Mexicans would not be denied liberty

   The operation was seamless
     50,00 Texans slain
   Jubilation in Mexico's capital
     Texas will be ours again!

   All across the Spanish-speaking globe
     supporters did rally
   demanding millions more Texans die
     in the name of justice, MLM, and DEI                 Mexican Lives Matter

   But Texans fought back
     they were not to be denied
   Lone-star state soldiers headed south
     for Texas they were ready to die

   The world jeered and hooted
     called Texans white racists and worse
   Violence flared at every protest
     Times were tense and terse ... 

   You may think all this a fantasy
     and many with you would agree
   But I am Jewish-Israeli
     Mexico and Texas are Gaza and Israel 
     ~ This is hard reality for my family and me

God speak

anoint forehead
with love said God
behead ego

Favourable Coma

The person stuck on that memorable throne,
They are not too immune,
Twitching with suspicions,
A knife behind their back,
Soon they will be by your side,
A partner ready to behead,
Constant checks, Lonely Medicine,
The pool of influence,
Followed by infection,
The recovery time is raw,
Developing more than before,
The morale of their greatest actions,
Only a fraction of their innocent mind.

The Last Kiss

her hands were cold, ?my eyes were numb,
       and impossible was eye contact;
              tears rolling down, and hearts left dumb;
       how on sep'ration, we could act?

she looked at me with silent lips:
       her forehead was with worries moist!
              we, as rain before thunder drips;
       just forgot if ever rejoiced.

then, suddenly, I held her head,
       she held her hands before my back;
              our lips struck as world was dead,
       a love's revenge with pink attack!

don't know when our lips separat'd,
       it was a mourn more than a bliss;
              she left, she had to leave, behead;
       left me tantalized with last kiss!

July 02, 2022

Rattle

On light industrial units, sheet-metal roofs
ting under the rising flames of sunlight,
alloy is stretched into ping-pong rhythms.

He arises, rolls off the side of comfort
For a moment tramples on himself 
as if he had too much baggy skin.

Morning on the edge of a medium-sized city.

This summer
I will inflate or die, he thinks,
this late chiming morn,
I will behead habitual pretensions,
cast my anchored mind upon uncharted waters.

Minor keys ding as plated roofs tick and clack.

Those sounds’, he thinks, I can use somewhere -
After all, I am a poet
and do I not prattle and rattle when stirred?

Deep-Pressed

Hanging at the edge of depression
  Since, never I've known a face of expression
  A thought of a depressed overthinker
  Is just like a tear in a river
  It haunts!

  For they say am a fey
  What's left to, but bray?
  Nothing, did I not adore?
  But now, everything I abhor?
  It haunts!

  Left tormented in a void
  By friends who alike avoid
  All I speak, quickly they chide
  Still not enough, they deride?
  It haunts!

  They say am not in form
  Can I? When am out of the norm?
  Always, am trying to battle
  Can you? What you can't handle?
  It haunts!

  Then, I was warm and did glow
  Now, so cold and empty as snow
  I espy only my friend nature
  And conjure with rain's enemy azure
  It haunts!
 
  This abyss a bridge to death
  So dense and dark to breath
  Sucking you caressingly to drown
  You ought to know, you down
  It haunts! 

  When it's time to behead 
  Try too to befriend
  By being coherent to understand
  Only shall we start to withstand
  It haunts!

Friday the Thirteenth 1980 Director Cuts

Friday 
Why pray

Thirteenth
Heard scream

Warning 
Scorning 

Drug use
Smug youths

Jason
Lays in

Waiting 
Baiting 

Silent
Violent 

Slasher
Catch her

Smash in
Slash skin

Alice
Callous 

Voorhees 
Your seized

Fight back
Knife hack

Behead
Sheer dread

It’s dead 
Wrists bled

Weary
Teary 

Night mare 
Fight scared

Sequel 
Lethal. 

By
David Kavanagh

A Becoming Muse

The print is not there only the imprint of a poet.
A Muse that has never known words.
only the blank geography of creation speaks for her.
She looks through the ink as if the page were not there.

“If you would speak for me then behead your words,
fill their rolling heads with Autumn smoke.
Give them away as Jacko ‘Lanterns,
make them recite poetry to the ghosts that tumble out 
of the bare trees each year
hopeful to hear something new

knowing always that disappointment
still dresses both them 
and you.”

Rattle

In light industrial units, sheet-metal roofs
ting under the rising flames of sunlight,
sounds of tin are stretched into rhythm.

He arises, rolls off the edge of comfort
tramples on himself as if he had 
a baggy skin.

Morning on the edge of a medium-sized mid-west city,
“This summer
I will inflate or die”, he thinks,
“this late chiming morn,
I will behead habitual pretensions”.

“First-rate breakfast tea”, he thinks.
sucking his lips.
Minor keys ping as a tin roof warms up,
gradually low-grade whispers
splutter into tuneful rattles.

‘Those sounds’, he thinks,
‘I can use somewhere,
after all I am a poet
of sorts’.

Atman, Atman

I have no clue what Krshna taught Arjuna
but I like the name Atman a lot.
Atman. Atman. Where a man is at.
At all times. No matter what.
Gita, get in the action, gorgeous girl,
God is the answer, keep the meter.

Wisdom, none. 
What Krshna tells Arjuna makes no sense.
I prefer mathematics.
Knowledge of how things are made and done
more than meditation on the Self
as a manifestation of the One.

I’ll never have to leave this comfortable planet.
We have this asset but can we sell it?
In Paradise Lost, Satan executes his plan
but God already knows all about it.
Still, whether it succeeds or fails is up to Man.
Same here, when it comes to nuclear armaments,
a distraction from the work of making life permanent.

It is all premised on the mystery
of invisible but sentient particles—
little Krshnas and Kachinas
nesting inside one another.
Meanwhile life goes on outside all around you—
WWII, the Napoleonic wars,
the Civil War which we’re still fighting.

Krshna says behead your brothers 
without prejudice or justice.
So it transpires in the nuclear fire.
Whatever forever.
Teacher, teacher—tiger!

Behead Me Please

Behead me please
I would scream
Put it on a pike
In front of the scarecrow 
To show him
What he has not been able to do
That I can

My relatives would laugh
Thinking I was crazed, and maybe
I would be a bit, but think about how
many years they would talk about me
I would be more of a splash than
so many other flash-in-the-pans
Who are only famous for 
six or eight minutes.

Not yet, fool.
After I am dead!
What the......

The Annals of History

Review the annals of history
   Murder upon murder you'll see

Start with Adam and Eve's son, Cain
   Who murdered his brother Abel in vain

Then there's Moses, the saintly lawgiver
   Who murdered an Egyptian taskmaster and shivered

The greatest of playwrights, Shakespeare, didn't hedge his bets
   He wrote of murder in 'Julius Caesar,' 'Macbeth' and 'Romeo & Juliet'

What of Abe Lincoln's assassin, Mr. John Wilkes Booth?
   His name lives all these years later, verily and forsooth

There's Lee Harvey Oswald, shot JFK -- ended Camelot
   Else his name wouldn't be worth a pee in a pot

Can't forget the serial killers, whose souls are damned:
   Richard Speck, John Wayne Gacy, Son of Sam
 
Not to mention the 'iconic' socialists you all know:
   Lenin, Stalin, Hitler, Mao, and Idi Amin also
   
In this century you don't have to rack your brain
   We've had Osama bin Laden, Bashar Assad, Sadam Hussein...

As for 'professionals,' Bonnie & Clyde are your bank robbers
   And how about ('Scarface') Al Capone for a celebrity mobster?

So, you want your name to be ever remembered?
   Just commit a few murders: Behead and dismember!

Begone Bygones

Behead your bygones
   that don't belong.
Beget and bedeck
   your being, 
   with much better
   less belligerent bees.

• Short Behead Poems
• Famous Behead Poems
• Best Behead Poems
• Read Behead Poems
• Long Behead Poems
• Behead Quotes