Best Assassination Poems
With sadness, that never ceased,
I watched your Father shot on live television.
I was living in Chicago and Elena, a baby
in my arms asleep.
Your Father, Robert had just won California
and “on to Chicago” was his mission.
Sirhan-Sirhan., anti-Isreal, pro-Palestinian ,
shot your father in the hotel’s kitchen, near dead.
I sat in Chicago, in tearful disbelief, and all I could
feel was profoundest grief!
Screaming crowds wept as deep crimson-
warm, blood seeped from your father’s head.
And here you are now with your lovely wife and
actress, Cheryl Hines, about to follow in your
Father’s footsteps!
Your voice may sound strange as you are
affected by spasmodic dysphonia.
I am just an ordibary American because I
do not think one party is a religion whose tenets
are absolute truth.
@@ This is not an an endorsement on his campaign@@
Panagiota Romips.
As of this date, this poem has had …1,660 reads!! I congratulate all who commented, this was never a POTD or POTW. Your interest in American history is far more moving! Thanks to each who read it. Pangie.xx
This comment, posted 3/20/2024! Bless all of you.!
Re Posted 3/18/2024
Conviction so precise, I launch missiles of truth
Indestructible rhymes, unbreakable and shatterproof
Infiltrating your foundation and breaching your walls
Collapse on your composure cause your conscience to fall
I can convert your beliefs, cause philosophical treason
Alter your perception like the changing of seasons
Cutting down your preconceptions, my tongues a two edge blade
speak to your peace and send it into a rage.
Unearthing your terrors; exposing all that you’re fearing
a psychological apocalypse, prepare,the end is nearing
Sending your thoughts into a frenzy with waves of confliction
I can drown you in the depths of my intentions,
I boldly walk the lines between chaos and sanity
Annihilate your arrogance and, erase your vanity
My thoughts ascend and evaporate into the atmosphere
Cause the universe to cry upon you with blood stained tears
Blurring your vision, like a blinding light
I can deafen your hearing, and deaden your sight
Rattling your rational like the clashing of clouds
Awaken your silence and make it scream out loud
Contradicting your theories I cause you certainty to shake
trembing your imagination, like a cerebral earthquake
Violating your intelligence, mental penetration
executing your expressions with lyrical assassination
Chiquita Baity
A fertile wind lures a petting call
from the bull who will swim the Lough.
Immortality lurks within its perfume
of dynasty and a future king.
The scent of tomorrow makes love extinct
for our genes are perfumed with success.
Prada and Versace can make the lemon sweet
but the offspring will question this statue,
we call David.
Poets will bleed a loves embrace
this beauty of presence a royal write.
While nature spins the spiders web
of a lover who creates life with death.
These tears will soon be forgotten,
in the rose that greets the winter.
For love grows cold in the markets of man.
But love should not be abandoned
for creation is a spiritual thing.
As the warrior holds his head against the tree,
unspoken words transcend this earth
that only his isolation can see.
And in its meaning
love can find a nobility,
that prostitution will never be.
Love was a word that once made empires fall,
now reduced in the confetti of modernisation.
A face book soul caught in the pouting lips
of adolescence,
staring into the depths of an old man unseen.
And the obese teenager that parents adore
go blind to this locked door .
While mirrors delight in snow white dreams
and a wardrobe that secretly desires perversion.
For the window of **** gags for that.
Sex is the ticket to the premiere
that eventually all her friends will see
and the weak will be the spillage
Of a corn sack filled
by a man that only a rapist will see.
Walk into this gas chamber
And succumb to a kiss,
prostituted by a River Island fee
and a Rimmel greasy lipstick.
That makes the suitor hard
inflamed by the chemical caress of perfume
which will procreate another lost child
Into oblivion.
And love will show its face once more
In the bottle of regret
and a being too fat to work.
Spilling the grease from his chips
while watching the latest premiere
Of another adolescent dream
Assassinated! Four of our presidents died,
A killer's shot and our people cried,
The killers were caught and paid for their crimes,
Two were shot, the others did their time.
Attempts on the lives of seven more
Made guarding the president a dangerous chore,
The Secret Service took over in 1901,
But to guard the president they had to have guns.
To bad our presidents have to think of dying,
They should be focusing everything on supplying
Our country's people with the best Life they can give,
Instead of wondering, if after their term, they will still live.
To end this very sad but true story,
I don't think our presidents worry,
The g-men do a wonderful service
So the president doesn't have to be nervous.
So this southern bigot wants to be President?
From which hell hole was this guy sent?
He believes he can pull the nomination off, it seems.
Well, I will put an end to all his dreams.
I am following this dude all over the country,
despite his large campaigning itinerary.
When he comes close to shaking hands with the crowd,
I will empty my pistol, and the shots will ring loud.
Here is my chance to be a part of history.
For this noble deed, the public will thank me.
Does my PTSD gets in the way of my character by
Unknown and recognized faces in any situations to
neutralize my energy? Because of someone 's else
Pre judgments, forced opinions, making false
deliberate spoken assumptions with slandering, personal
attacts. My character Assassinations
My feelings seems If I'm trapped in someone's else box
of how I should verbalize or how one portray me as one
see fits. My Character Assassinations
If the tables were reversed how would the assassinators
feel? My Character Assassinations
Flaws people whose bones,
Lives in glass houses should not
Be throwing stones.
One in many tens,
She reaches the Moon,
The Moon is conspicuous,
It palpates the Sun.
An unwritten thaumaturgy,
You wonder her crime
She quivers in melancholy,
Crimson puddle of dreams & reality,
Why some colors never mix?
Pressed against the wall,
Beneath the invisible glass,
With few taps of fingertips,
Ashamed soul cries,
It smiles,
A withered dying dream may be…
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Paraphrased
A woman has to face more problems compared to her counterparts in achieving the same goal (1 in 10). However, once a woman achieves something noteworthy (Moon /prized possession) she is easily noticeable. This moon thus becomes subject of envy and hurts ego (Sun) of some men/society (moon palpates sun)
Now magically out of nowhere (unwritten thaumaturgy) rumors spread about her. But she wonders about the mistake (achieving success) she has committed. When these rumors (melancholy) reach her she trembles in horror. Her dreams and reality have barriers filled with anguish/rage (crimson puddle) both hers and society. She slowly starts believing dreams will not become reality (colors never mix)
She is forced by the norms of society (pressed against the wall). She cannot grow further because of the glass ceiling effect (invisible glass). Twitterati and hooligans of social media troll her (taps of fingertips). She feels ashamed. It (her dream is no longer living) smiles (an expression of madness when you give up after all efforts) as she doesn’t understand the reason. Devoid of her dream she loses zeal (withered) and thus a dream dies.
So cold, concrete heart! Absent soul, unable to love.
Your warm tears only leave me frozen.
Ice flows through your veins
Frosty demeanor, feeding off the vulnerable!
Like a sadistic vampire, draining the energy of naive souls, doomed to sink into your abyss.
Your fangs of poison limit my days as your words ravish my soul.
Everything you touch crumbles, I witness you punch the blood-stained rattle, and I fall
into a loveless void.
Barren of empathy, your actions bring me nothing but hostility.
Tell me again the definition of bliss.
For in this wretched life this fact I have missed
I imagine dying, naked in the snow; you dare not to see
I endeavor in wanderlust, wanting courage to flee.
Yet I am no longer your snow queen; I am fearful and icy.
You offer me no benevolence, solace, or a trace of a happy sensation.
Now I hold my garnished gun, fantasizing of the bloodbath of your obliteration.
Was Lennon's death a nations shame?
The question is, why did he die?
Psychotic dreams were thought to blame.
His stance on peace, did fan the flame.
The assassin said that John did lie.
Was Lennon's death a nations shame?
Mark shot him down, then seeking fame,
He read 'The Catcher in the Rye'.
Psychotic dreams were thought to blame.
New York had staged it's 'national game'.
Conspiracy was a theory, 'why'
Was Lennon's death a nations shame?
With rumours rife, some gave a name,
As coded transcripts did imply.
Psychotic dreams were thought to blame.
By exploitation, did they frame
A mindless act, whoever by?
Was Lennon's death a nations shame?
Psychotic dreams were said to blame.
I wrote this in march 2014. but i thought it might upset some people.
If so my apologies to anyone offended
It was brief and short sad moment of time
That still flashes and rings in the painful memory of the country
Enjoying and his wife Mary Todd the play 'Our American Cousin'
In the midst of the laughter and roar of the audience
A southerner John Wilkes Booth full of anger, rancor and revenge
He entered the Lincoln's lounge hitting the president by a bullet
It was fatal and landed in the back of Lincoln's head
The assassin jumped from the balcony and injured his leg
Outside the theater he fled on a horse heading to the south
Two weeks later he met his end
A single bullet of Sergeant Boston Corbett hitting him in the head
Trapped in a burning barn of a Virginia farm laid dead
The assassination of Abraham Lincoln opened a new wound
to a nation whose wounds did not heal yet from long civil war
The irony Abraham Lincoln death was at the peak of his triumph
A long thought victory after many years of bruising civil war
A nation united again and looking for the future
Ending centuries of slavery and humiliation of blacks in chains
A promise to bringing dignity and honor for all mankind races
Opening the long road for full equality and Justice
A holy struggle for all to live in peace and harmony
For all who share the land of America and call it their home
On this silent night you won’t hear a sound until it’s already over
With blood thirsty eyes are blades will kiss their throats
Paint these walls with the blood of the family
When the crow caws at midnight begin the killing
This cold feeling of assassination turning to a prophet
Executing a corrupted hold on the minds of the weak
For so long they’ve always felt so deserted
While a bloodline bathes in gold and diamonds
Now they’ve walked into the belly of the beast
Please save these innocent angels
Their sanity being deprived
Give this family a fatal end, everything goes pitch black
For years these halls echoed with sadist laughter
Villagers crying and suffering
Begging and pleading for a change
Now it is time for freedom fighters to break through the skin
Grab the noose and long blades, let these devils breath their last dying breath
The people have been wronged for so long
Let the gods answers their prayers tonight
No longer will you rape the minds of these poor souls
Are blood-stained hands is are badge of honor
Protecting the ones who can’t fight
Now I lay thee down
She scrambled
from where she sat
in the back seat
climbing onto the
trunk of that
long luxurious Lincoln
not to escape an
assassin's assault
as many assumed
but to collect the shards of
skull and bits of brain
that had been blown
back onto it as a bullet
blasted a hole in his head
his body lolling over to
lie limply in her lap
as her flowers fell to
the floorboard
sure that if she were
to stuff them back in
he would live again
In nineteen eighty on
December eighth
Who could imagine
John Lennon
Aged only forty
The peace activist
Famous for bed-in
"Give Peace a Chance"
And criticism of the Vietnam War
Brutally assassinated
In front of his Manhattan home
Shot in the back
Who could imagine
His life nothing but
A legacy of peace and love
Who could imagine
Who could imagine
Read on air by invitation ~ April 28, 2021 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: 3rd place, Honorable Mention 2020
Mahatma Gandhi: Oct.2, 1869-Jan.30,1948
In Birla House, his gatherings Bapu
Greeted with prayers, solace, and comfort
And cheerfully rose, clasping hands with few
Humming Vashnava Jana To in sort.
In frisky style Bapu exited door
To trail of family and friends in cue
To greet gatherers cheering by the score
Whispering, Ram, Ram, Sita Ram; Bless you.
Stepping out on the lawn, Bapu sparkled
A Light to the world beyond India
To sudden bullets from Nathuram, filled
With anger, darkness in the arena.
Assassination of Bapu blinded
This whole wide world that is so corrupted.