Best Beheading Poems
Sing ye poets of stunning birds and butterflies wings.
Kiss ye, your own,Muse pen, on divine parchment, scribblings!
Ride in gentle winds upon your colorful, faux unicorn
Your hair flies in the wind, soft as the new dawn.
Speaking of love, oh, tis so divine,
But the slaughter of the unborn…is fine?
Madness runs poetry, our lost souls shrink.in literary brine.
Heralding to all, that all the world is fine??
Ye run like sheep when a poem addresses a human evils and wrong!
Instead, you prefer jokes and applause from the gigglimg throng !
Is this all we are, in a world so vile?
I have read many poems here,far too many smiles?
A head from a body chopped off in Nice?
I find no poem about it, just gleeful pages
poetic fleece.
To Olympus should be our chosen.grand banter.
Why do we prefer trophies and empty chatter!
To reality, we keep the door fiirnly shut.
As if we can hide from evil, alas. tut-tut!
5/30/2023
I wrote this three years ago. And I do not recall the beheading story
of the woman in Nice. I do know the world is in a catastrophic space
right now. More so that three years ago! Not only the Uktaine
Khadim Rizvi preaches gore
To his followers rioting in Lahore
He, wears lipstick and ladies dresses
His followers had lobotomies on dirty floors
They wish to murder a young girl of faith
for perceived insults to their petite virility
oh how merciful are these gang of monkeys
oh how merciful are these hateful devils
Rizvi is seen wearing red woman's shoes
Proof the prophet sends blood to his toes
His heart now a ticking time bomb
With justice, his beheading, then he be gone
Merciful these fanatics surely are not
Asia Bibi, your Muslim sisters shaking their heads
their burkas fall off, in disgust and in dread
Any woman of God, knows right and fears hate
Khadim is dim, Allah forgive his hate
but take his head, and his followers too
Open the bloody gate
Devils all, suffer your own fate
How can people want rights but they aren't right
While working in the daylight with souls bright as night
The creator shall judge the judges, The evil deserves evil
Good people will get what is equal to their actions
And immoral skin passions have fatal lessons
God has a scale where He weighs & sits
Because everything has equal opposite
We selfish to others but hold our nose when they sell theirs
And not giving pardons while expecting God’s cares
And blessings while leaving others with our bee stings
Now turn to your devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
To be right there's no wrong, the righteous are morally strong
You need more than calcium to be the backbone of society
While society breaks you, to makes you. Surprisingly,
The -able are ignorant and unstable
Unable to add-up in the moral table
Telling fables of multiplication while being divided
Trying to add reasoning in facts provided
Their individualism is subtracting from the fold
Being percentages of a percentage, losing the stronghold
False foundation told about a “Doomed Youth”
While the witty wise horde the fake truth
As the truly righteous shake their head and sings
Go ahead with the devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
The battle of truth lies in the beheading of lies
The Righteous must write us
For justice to be just to us and right us
Bleeding thoughts to think, words to ink
Carving insight to push sanity to the brink
Punching Intel, in mind, for knowledge to sink
Unfold stories consoled foretell tails told
Today's prophets profit profits with souls they forfeit
Crumbling towers with warped foundations
Ripping families but cursed lives they’re facin’
Losing the troubleshooting; uprooting with a booting
Bearing false fruits flawed brings
Now play with your devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
Crows gather around the mysterious, abandoned castle,
Its bastions and towers drowning within a mournful silence.
Ghostly shadows loom within the dungeons and the murder holes,
Screams of perished souls are locked within the castle walls.
Long it has stood there upon a mountain of tempestuous winds,
Withholding a secret from haunting years passed.
Stones big, dark and looming, an ancient evil lurks inside,
Creeping through each room, an eeriness unexplained.
Each corridor discloses a tale of bloodshed on that dreaded night,
when the devil sent his descendants to run havoc amongst the mortals.
The bitter queen who summoned them did not live to confess the tragedy,
She took her life, witnessing all before her slaughtered including the adulterous king.
As a child, I had heard countless legends of the forbidden castle,
Of the torture chambers and the merciless beheading of the accused innocent.
Many have warned, “Beware…stay away…” and now I stand before the entrance,
The devilish crows watching knowingly, as if they foresee my fate.
“Beware the snares in the dark, for Death grins, awaiting your coming…”
A special collaberation with The Silent One
Thanks for the opportunity! :)
The Beheading of John the Baptist
Inside a dungeon, a man is shackled;
Where instruments are employed to inflict
Pain on him while being interrogated;
To confess to crimes, he did not commit.
Above, a damsel dances for Herod,
A gift of pleasure set by her mother.
In a stupor, he rewards Salome
With John the Baptist’s head on a charger.
Herodias’s revenge from a tyrant’s boast
Of lust for a child lives in infamy;
As John’s disciples mourn his headless corpse.
The living will demand answers from Christ.
And forgiveness for their faults without works,
And want acceptance into paradise.
***
References:
Matthew 14:1-12
Mark 6:14-29
Luke 9:7-9
Dragons are fabled beasts of myth and lore;
and yet, some say they lived in the far past.
And they were noble creatures at their core;
or so said every mage I've ever asked.
They slept on every treasure they'd amassed,
and those hoards were oft-rumored to be vast.
They were adept at soaring silently
on magnificent wings, masters of flight.
And yet, Man treated them violently;
their beheading, the quest of every knight.
And thus, they were hunted and killed on sight;
until no more creatures were left to fight.
St. George once slue a dragon in England;
and He's still renowned for it to this day.
The last of dragon kind, killed by Man's hand,
was a leviathan of silver-grey
that once flew the skies of ancient Cathay;
only to be speared and left to decay.
Though long extinct, destroyed by greed and fear,
dragons were both magical and austere.
What does pulverize mean? The five-year-old asks me.
His face is a frown.
“No idea,” I lie.
Having already put up with sobbing wailing
over the Easter Bunny’s beheading
which was explained by his 11-year-old brother.
Brother who giggles and runs off.
No telling how he has used pulverize.
Inside a boisterous tavern,
a-light with drunken gaiety
of spilled ribald laughter,
he quietly sits alone ...
gently cradling his mead darkly
Brooding thoughts of past paid coverings
buzzes inside his head
Talking flies having the faces of the dead
“Have mercy, please”
This haunting cry, they all pled ...
except the halo head ones
“I forgive you”
This they all compassionately say
in time dispersed unison
The self-muted giant rubs his eyes,
still in somber inner disquietude,
at this troubling sight he has seen several times
Witnessing a bright, shining glow,
which radiates all around the tops of those
who call themselves Christian disciples —
before descends the sharp, quieting blow
It is by his liege, Caesar’s command,
to eradicate the scattering vermin radicals,
that he daily swings the severing blade
The duty-bound Herodian executioner
must always stay masked
when the murdering performance ensues
This is by privileged decree:
the entertainment requirement rules
A black cloth covering,
sprinkled with scarlet droplets,
is the terror mask his masters has him use
Rabid crown sycophants love their crucifixions,
the Roman preferred method of capital punishment
But, his under-lord, Herod, still adheres
to the ancient Molech ways —
Death by the beheading blade
Sighing, the brooding giant gazes about the riotous inn
with roaring, unspoken disdain
Even without the ritual Deimos mask on,
all within the tavern knows his occupation,
evidenced by his massive frame
They yield a fearful wide berth to him,
no one sits in the seats around his hulking presence
Looking down at his Pilate-cursed hands,
he sees the blood of the guilty and the innocent
Bloody hands that can’t be washed clean ... never
As long as he raises his arms,
and lets the body-separating blade swing
Prophesied in scripture
Deception is the picture
Pleasing to the itching ear
Words many long to hear
Manipulation of the word
Mockery of the spirit's sword
Flattering hearts in many ways
Leading righteous souls astray
Promises delivered on every hand
All part of deceptions plan
Building an army in the dark
To defend an evil monarch
Throughout the lands, peace proclaimed
As mankind sits at Satan’s aim
People cheer at the promise of peace
As they face the coming of the mark of the beast
Disguised as an angel of the light
Leading many to a evil plight
People running to and fro
As their souls are freely sold
No one willing to understand
Pride, greed and envy on every hand
Jesus will come as a thief in the night
As many in blindness miss their flight
What a horror story they will endure
Starvation, beheading and so much more
From the depths of hell, evil unleashed
The rising of Revelations beast
Don't blame God when that time arrives
As it was His word compromised
For it was written clearly to read
Yet ignored through pride, lust and greed
Abomination of Desolation stands at the temple
Only scripture will be instrumental
Tucked away in the heart
Never ever to depart
Come out of her, Revelation reads
Do not take a bending knee
New World Order is at hand
Fear covers the chosen land
“Judea, flee to the mountains”, God speaks
Turn not back, nor belongings seek
A time is coming of great distress
Horror words can never express
The answer lies within the truth
The gospel that many choose to rebuke
Lift your heads toward the hills
Pray as revelation fulfills
We each have a choice we must make
We must not sleep, yet keep awake
Be not deceived by all that is good
Let scripture be understood
Pray always to stand in God’s grace
That time of tribulation, pray to escape
Lies and deception be cautious always
Not all that seems good, is the righteous way
“LIKE A MADMAN THINKS HE'S GOD, WE THINK WE'RE MORTAL”. Delaland, Speech on Shadows
Transparency is the key to the social harmony. Transparent people pass through each other like light through water. No one blocks out the sunshine, no one bars the way, no one stands in line in front of the other. The content of pockets, stomachs and minds are all in plain view. Mutual permeability, politeness, indifference. The see through popeyed souls, as sleepy as fish in an aquarium, come alive only at the sight of you, poet. You're opaque and therefore dangerous. You're a poet and therefore guilty. Alas, there is nothing more impenetrable than the walls in a transparent prison. But soon, from the height of your scaffold, you will see the world as opaque as you that awaits you on the other side of life.
get him grab his legs
hold him down I'll chop it off…
where'd you go poet
Dedicated to Cincinnatus C., the protagonist of the novel "Invitation to a Beheading" by Vladimir Nabokov
21.11.2019
Opaque Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausin
The Beheading of Nînwe
Ninwe is the ancient Syriac name for Mosul
(not to be confused with the ancient Assyrian city of Nineveh)
Burned books
Dead poets
Dark ages of Mosul
Smattered relics
Islamic horrors
Dark ages of Mosul
Education denied
Blind minds cutting out eyes
Dark ages of Mosul
Evil hearts
Dark Souls
Rulers in Mosul
The golden age of Islam long ago
Evil winds have blown
Now they live in darkness
In Burka tears
Fear
For years
Crucified Christians
Run run run
The museum is closed in Mosul
I like immigrants, immigration. Legal immigration,
Jane passionately corrects. Actually my goal is a borderless world.
That's a new idea to her.
Gathering the neighborhood like family.
The men discuss sterilizing welfare mothers. I say You're working
around the edges,
humanity has exceeded the carrying capacity of the planet,
even those with jobs. And spouses. And houses.
Yet it's an idyll of an early summer evening, new cut grass,
two baseball teams of children playing in it. Safe from Pakistan.
News photos of Muslim refugees, women in blue robes, biblically
carrying children away from holocaust. The fundamentalist army
not far behind, beheading sinners, sure in its righteousness
as the Holy Roman Empire.
Somehow Joel Osteen the evangelist comes up
while talking about how the Catholic Church is irrelevant in North
America,
even Latin America and Africa are going evangelical.
Izzi likes Osteen, awesome extemporaneous speaker, no teleprompter,
up from bootstraps message. My wife says he's probably Jewish.
No one wants to go there.
Fortunately no one claims the Holocaust never happened or slavery was
voluntary.
What is the carrying capacity of the planet? Two children
have replacement value. In China is it each couple or each adult that gets
one offspring? As life expectancy and standards rise,
family size diminishes. We draw together into greener, tighter cities
surrounded by farms surrounded by forests.
The children of three monotheistic religions, atheists and agnostics
play in city streets, work farm fields, explore forests, deserts, grasslands,
space.
Two ancient female poets: Enheduanna and Sappho
are a revelation. The clarity of their complaints:
lost lover, lost city.
i hope you don't mind
if I wander in through your front door
and reset your clocks to headlight savings
life requires humor he said to the lens grinders
as he rode his all terrain moon beam to heaven
where they were eradicating stupidity with fairy tales
same **** greater magnification was basically it
slipped on their own icy hearts
applying one clever artifice after another
but after all one wants to hasten
the modern world along clippity clop
impediments to traffic flow were to be shot
what happened next is not in the dictionary
which is fine don't get me wrong
beats the nuts off hunger
but the world is not nice anymore
isolated pockets of rebellion perhaps
out in the bleak lizard sands hanging from a tree
but the rest stuffed with foam peanuts
that could turn you to ballroom dancing
your narrator being the test case
for daisy picking the numbers the samples the statistics
I love you just the same she whispered after the operation
the entire ABC unit was called in from the chalk mines
and the XYZ crew was called in from the slate quarry
but no amount of preparation could have warned them
of the melancholic yet piquant sagging of standards
his mind had turned upon itself out of shame and envy
he had an entire city in his head
that wasn’t in Architectural Digest
honkings sirens gunfire breaking glass
spasms and outbursts and phobias and anxieties and
compulgings and obsessities and hallucinotions and
mysterias and distortoons and damplifications and
twitchings and itchings and may I add bowel flux
we haven't even begun to look at his libido
which had shrunk from a blacksmith's forge of intensity
to the vague expectation of an afternoon nap
better than living the prelude to a beheading
you decide if hiding in the bushes permanently
like a grinning jack in the box with a message
is the same as dancing through the forest
dressed in leaves and emeralds
pantomime after all is deception
random at first then shapes intervene
there is no random he said over and over in proof
they say the devil spoke Hebrew
and Popeye smoked his spinach
a contemporary exercise in
signal location
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
[A] World is us.
[The] World is the universe.
Attuned to captivity from the freedoms denied to others internationally,
only defines true political activism.
Benevolence does not just form even in civilization.
We must annihilate those that deny peace.
This is where we find our true leaders.
For the love of God, let’s stand together as a method of wealth.
Formulate the terrorist to close the flood gates.
Our grief and bereavement states that we will die one day.
Therefore, our journey should not be negated by killings premeditated.
The world as a systemic force defines the people who invest in hope.
The emotions shown from unnatural occurrences demarcates a new system of
government.
Forum for Discussion - we will define (M)ilitant (C)ommunism.
It is our civic duty to bring forth new theory.
A world as us deals with our home front.
Unnatural occurrences do shape world war.
Once ignored, it overwhelms the balance of amity and peace.
We are the people that find responsibility in ideology.
Militant communism is to be.
For the love of God, let’s endow humanity a greater passage to a new era where
peace is positioned in precarious time and not through terrorism
contradicting creation and life.
For the love of God, we should appose right from wrong where we do not
condone beheading at all, but stand together to eradicate all aberrant
mind-sets to preserve human existence.
For the love of God is an outcry that describes a terrorist attack.
For the love of God, Why?
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written March 24, 2016!
Enriched is the mind that embellishes the soul...
I stood hidden in the shadows, watching
as Salome, clad in flowing veils, gyrated
to the music, exuding sensual richness.
Herod leered drunkenly at her vibrant body.
Overcome by uncontrolled lusty desire
he promised her anything that she wished for
and, prompted by her evil mother, she asked
for the head of John the Baptist on a plate.
Reluctantly, all eyes on him, including guests,
he was compelled to grant her strange request.
I stood hidden in the shadows, watching.
The condemned man was dragged outside
and roughly bundled to the floor, unresisting,
held by the executioner’s steely grasp
whose dagger swiftly slit his life away.
An old woman clasped her head between her hands,
shocked and fearful at the sight of oozing blood,
in horror listening to the janitor’s final bidding.
The keen young maiden held a gold container
ready to receive the freshly severed head
of an innocent man. The old woman cried, in vain.
I stand hidden in the shadows, watching the years
roll by, a silent witness within a gilded frame.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Within a Gilded Frame: A masterpiece by Caravaggio
“The Beheading of St John the Baptist” prominently
displayed in St. John’s Co-Cathedral, Valletta, Malta.
© paul callus ~ 13th May 2016