Best Blood Filled Poems
I stood on a rocky shoal, regret lingering on my mind
Its fingers traced blood-filled lines along my bare arm
as if brittle veins in leaves, fallen from their tree
I was not blind to fear or its impending threat of harm
Whispers like the breath of death washed over me
Brief the moment seemed to be between light and dark
Shadows cast then fluttered in ebon depth of night
Twas foretold a tale of danger, imminent and stark
Pale moon risen, silvered orb stared at me from high
A cyclops beast waited to feast when time was right
Scarecrow in a fallow field, on his arms there perched
ravens who then danced on his head, raucously calling
Death rode on a pale horse and scavengers took flight
Fierce, my fright when from the sky, red eyes lurched
I stared in disbelief, knowing I'd no chance of stalling
Barren branches of leafless trees, maudlin limbs
frowned at me with forlorn face of a grim poet, Poe
My weak knees trembled; eyes filled to the brim
Frozen with terror, deprived of taking a last breath,
'twas not snow made me shiver; an ill wind did blow
Brisk the Winter chill when murder of crow took to air
after beady eyes sent a warning glance my way
An eclipse veiled the moon; and I, gripped with despair,
heard their caws, despite my flaws, denied Poe my soul
At water's edge I escaped death's claws on a rocky shoal
I lay in my hospital bed after giving birth, Could hear the murdering, raping
Hutus approaching my bed
My baby was no more. They ravaged me. Left me alive...........
Could hear the battle getting nearer
All I was worried about was my mother, Home alone...
My husband was away was he fighting, Was he alive......
Clutching my dead baby staggered towards home, The smell of blood filled the
air. Then I saw them, The valiant Tutu's, Fighting for us. here and now
The sound of machetes clashing together. Limbs flying through the air. Like
boomerangs.
The screaming ....The misery.......
When I staggered home. Found Mother in the water butt. Hiding from the
savages. She was alive and ok.. So traumatised
Many twisted bodies on the ground. Dragged them into a pile, trying to
remember who they were. To keep a record , for posterity. Poured paraffin over
them and cremated them. Praying for their souls
We buried the baby in the hard red earth. Couldn't cry, had no tears we were.in
shock......
Date was April 7th...
So tired, we slept. Hidden from view...
I am alive, my heart beating. Yet I feel dead. Dead inside....Why I ask myself.
Why is it happening....God only, knows.
Why?......
Penned 22/08/2014 for the Genocide Speak for the Lost contest.
I used 100 days slaughter of Rwanda.
You can see the skeletons of some of the twenty percent of the tutus that were
killed,
Can see the open mouth of the cry of pain. They have been kept. A reminder to
the future generation
April 7th is called Genocide Memorial Day, the week following is a national
mourning week.
Without the relentless grind of living
each glorious and difficult day
those who take up the writing life wouldn't
have much to say.
It's the flowers in the garden
and the lover's tender touch
and the way the winter snow falls
we writers love so much.
We kiss the grass we walk on
and the clouds that float on by
as life keeps right on giving
to the poet's inner eye.
The pain of having loved and lost
a part of one's own being
when someone dear has disappeared
we writers keep write on singing.
When life has kicked us down and out
in the mud and blood-filled ground
and others fade into deep dark shade
we seek what's more profound...
A worthy rhyme and reason
to lift us higher still
Our lives provide the water and seeds
we need to be fulfilled.
As we look to the past for things that last
and those who shaped our lives
while secretly writing our epithets
Long before our time to fly.
It is holiness and sinfulness,
where sinners and saints abound,
Dreams at night, eagles in flight
And Beethoven's orchestral sounds.
The thoughts in our heads, the food we are fed
winners, losers, fortune and fame,
it's all a big bust and a blast if we trust, writing
is a wonder-filled game.
At the end of the day all one can say is
life's no roll of the dice,
But a Mighty grand gift that's made to lift
Us writers from darkness to light.
War is declared
the field is set
blood-filled pawns on a chess set
with the flag raised and weapons primed
for our disposable heroes
their time is nye
the stone cross roads and the moistest fells
warmed from the flames of hell
a piercing stare across the room
office politics contempt and gloom
man climbing man
the mountain to the alpha male
man climbing man
bullying on a sliding scale
violent words and painful cries
webs of sin and deadly lies
the new boy blues will settle in
who cares what race or fat or thin
don’t go crying to the boss
your tearful eyes cost you your job
portraying weakness and insomnia
bloodshot breath with a sour spike
man climbing man
the mountain to the alpha male
man climbing man
bullying on a sliding scale
Streaking skyward the tracers rip
Into hanging soldiers
Falling about into mayhem
Pulsing through blood-filled ears
Hearing comrades scream
Understanding nothing
This is the war I found…
Hatred filled hardened hunter
Into smashed building
Homes pulverized rubble
Strewn about the decaying mass
The scorched metal burning
Bodies of the fallen men
The miasma of war I forever inhale…
Tigers rolling through billowed flame
Firing upon burnt battlefield blindly
Retreating in terror I leave the voices
Calling as I my boots tamp by arms
Reaching for safety I couldn’t render
Brothers abandoned in the Arnhem snow
These are the ghosts of war who haunt me….
Battle’s percussion on the horizon distant
I fade through the fields upon the Rhein
Farmhouses glow a midnight path
Walking to the beat of gun fire echoes
Off the walls of a shelter a little boy sits
Unafraid of the man feeding him chocolate
In the crater of a bomb…
This flash of hope my salvation from war.
ANZAC
Few among them knew the name Gallipolli
no crystal ball foretold the hell it spawned
but in the misty dawn of 25-04-15
the legend of the ANZACs would be born.
standing tall in khaki pride
he held his wife and newborn son
don’t worry love be back real soon
we’re gonna make them jerries run
the women waved tear streaked farewells
from wharves as troop ships steamed away
and crossed horizons far from home
to face the trials of unknown day
excitement written in their smiles
proud and brave and some so young
they sang ‘Australia Will be There’
and to the winds their voices flung
no notion no suspicion
of the fate their journey faced
as on that fear filled morning
into fiery hell they paced
and in that violent misty dawn
sixteen thousand heroic hearts
stormed a friendless beachfront
for king and country do their part
their bravery knew no backward step
as lacking grit to see it through
would be to turn their back on mates
and no such thought would they pursue
for eight long mud and blood filled months
they dug their trenches fought their fight
and dreamt sweet dreams of those at home
morning noon and haunted night
the mettle of each beating heart
for eight long months was tested
too many souls would not return
by the time the guns were rested
so far beyond imaginings
that nightmare task was set
sixty thousand heroes
“Lest We Forget’
Few among them knew the name Gallipolli
no crystal ball foretold the hell it spawned
but in the misty dawn of 25-04-15
the legend of the ANZACs would be born.
Of a distant pass, I am aware
It's said that Satan once dwelt there
Where zombies roamed without a care
And sounds of torture filled the air
Where demons guarded gates to hell
And warlocks gathered to cast their spell
Where tyrants went with souls to sell
and so many heroes, in battle fell
Where roots of terror had begun
And freedom was a right to none
Where moon refused to yield to sun
It was the road they called Red Run
Blood stained the walls, and blood filled the wells
The land never cleansed, for the rains never fell
Where men fought evil, but failed to repel
Where women all prayed, while little eyes swelled
Then off in the distance, a glimmering light
Shined from the dark in the dead of the night
A soldier of heaven was joining the fight
He donned golden armor, a mythical knight
He knew all his life that he would be the one
To vanquish the darkness and bring back the sun
He would not rest, before the war was won
And peace was restored to the road called Red Run
He road through the pass
Sun low at his back
And with each gallop forward
A light filled the black
Satan knowingly raised his head
for he felt the warriors presence
He mumbled the ancient curse of the dead
As he rumbled his way through the peasants
To slay another hero
To shadow the sun's bright beam
To end these futile hopes of freedom
To kill yet one more dream
Soon they met, upon their steeds
They met with swords in hand
One would soon be dead indeed
And silence covered the land
Their eyes then locked, and began this battle
Thunder crushed the conflicted sky
All the mountains shook and rattled
The wind released a sigh
Then silence returned, this fury complete
But only one, remained on his feet
The other lie still,bye the side of the street
Yes Satan was cast to the depths of defeat
The sun then rose high, the dove could now sing
The people all gathered to greet their new king
For he would now lead them to ages of peace
This death and destruction would finally cease
Rebirth had begun, the fight was now won
This darkest of hours was finally done
But the legend does read, that The Devil's own son
One day would return, to the road called Red Run
The Queen's Palace of ancient times
has been renewed with christian rhymes;
And for the glory of new days,
Let's sing and shout as the Queen prays.
They named you Rova: it means to me
that every time I look at you,
my heart will sing a melody
that sings along with their hearts too!
Your name, it means to all of us,
a place where blood filled sacred trees;
a fortress where they still discuss
in memory of Memories!
My Queen's Palace, they named you so
to translate you in others' tongues;
to give your looks a brand new glow
and welcome books with grand new songs:
About new fights,
About new rights;
About the stakes...
About mistakes...
About a warmer place to go.
Then, queens and kings of ancient times,
revealed anew from the furnace
of savagely translated rhymes,
shall reconquer the Queen's Palace.
And lead new fights...
Restore old rights...
And take the stake
for no mistake,
And find a warmer place to go.
There Peace will be
under The Tree
of Justice
reigning
by the Law
of God on high.
THEY MARCHED* for miles in blistering heat
THEY MARCHED with nothing to drink or eat
THEY MARCHED as soldiers, Filipinos alike,
THEY MARCHED over trails others had hiked
BLOOD FILLED the path of those who balked
STOPPING MEANT death--thus, they walked
THEY MARCHED through mud caked to the thighs
THEY MARCHED on stones and hills that rise
SOME DROPPED from heat and thirst combined
SOME FROM slashes to throats from behind
THEY MARCHED together or marched alone
THEY MARCHED and marched into the unknown
Present-Day WSMR Bataan Death March Memorial
Each windy March over mountainous paths,
men and women brave Spring's gusty raths
Military groups join those walking alone--
a veteran in wheelchair, pushed by his son.
For exercise class, short march is their pick
others, with heavy packs, march twenty-six
Almost ten thousand from around the world
Many with their banners proudly unfurled.
Some view it a contest, some endurance test,
some view it a chance to perform their best.
Finally, they do it to honor those souls
who marched to death in war's bitter tolls.
*In April, 1942, approximately 20,000 New Mexico Guardsmen, from
all branches of service, and 50,000 Filipinos, were force-marched 66
miles across Bataan Island by the Japanese military near the end of
WW2. They endured extreme hardship and no food or liquid. 16,900
died during the march. Many others later died of dehydration or star-
vation. They are honored each year with a march. Often, many Japanese
join the march.
Beneath the deep blue ocean waves
In coral crevices, holes and caves
Exists a creature of the deep
There upon the rocks to creep
While through the water he jet propels
With muscles that contracts and swells
This invertebrate is soft and pliant
From smallest to the biggest giant
With bulbous head and eyes with slits
It waits and watches using wits
Anticipating its prey to grasp
And then with suction caps to clasp
With no bones to keep its form
It can change and so transform
And squeeze into the smallest spaces
Into tiny fissures and thin ledge places
With eight long arms and caps in rows
If losing one a new one grows
And when afraid or to confuse
They squirt out ink a flawless ruse
Or change their color with special cells
Intent on using magic spells
Their blood is colored blue not red
They have two eyes upon their head
Inside their gills and body parts
They have three beating, blood filled hearts
Their intelligence is far superior
To other fish, that are inferior
They have good memories, both long and short
And can learn new tricks if they’re taught
A shark it can so easily kill
By holding it so very still
With camouflage it can achieve
A form and shape that can deceive
They have an excellent sense of touch
The Devilfish its other name
An octopus, yet just the same
Form:
As the sounds of war loudly roar
The thoughts of Freedom began to soar
For on that day of infamy
It changed the course of history
They didn’t ask to be attacked
But patriotism became a well know fact
With Peril Harbor still fresh on their minds
Young and old stood in long enlistment lines
So off to war these soldiers gladly went
To distant lands where they were sent
In Europe where the German’s raged
Eisenhower began to set the stage
Just before the breaking of the dawn
The seas were cold and breaking strong
Below the deck of the great Samuel Carroll battleships
A solemn prayer came from humble soldier’s lips
For On this cold and blistery June D-day
What unknown adventures, what grievous price to pay
They cleaned their rifles, down below
To France’s land where they should go
On this day, upon those treacherous shores
To battle them who start the wars
They came of every race the mingled swarm
In proud defiance to withstand a deadly storm
Americas' hero’s shown in pristine glory
And to write Freedom's worthy story
For on these shores and lapping waves
Came the spirits of America’s brave
Some gains were made at heavy human cost
The price is high, but not, if Freedom’s lost
These soldiers’ knew not if they would survive the day
Their prayerful thoughts of loved one’s far away
Up and down this cursed blood filled coast;
Two-thousand lifeless bodies gave the most
They paid the price for freedoms sake
With salt tears, let us not their sacrifice forsake.
In the void, sipping the zoid,
with mental properties of tripping on the spiral.
Falling down the tail of lions, awkwardly spinning.
With upside down tunnel vision leaking through.
Solidifying all matter that matters,
melting into the walls of your brain.
It tickles all the raindrops dripping in your eyes,
satisfying your desire of a synchronized pattern.
Bleeding purple from the rainbow,
and turning into swirls of diamonds.
Slipping exuberantly beside you; driving you wild.
Where the shadows stop the spirited scream.
Devour yourself into the omniscient grip.
Icy cold finger tips scratch the surface of your divinity,
bringing you closer to the God who whispered in your unborn ear,
situated in your flesh from birth to death.
It embeds itself in the pupil of your eye,
dancing with your spirit and licking your soul.
Black shapes of madness wrapped in chaos and euphoria.
Twinkling and blinking dust of a cloud.
Haze filled skies and blood filled smoke raining from the clouds.
Envisions of clowns and demons laughing at our demise.
Chilling sensations of sickening mannerisms,
mechanisms and mechanics sought out to destroy the tiny creatures.
These creatures running crazy into acceptance of demise.
Deprived of life, scared of death but giving into it's taste.
Taste buds quiver as the taste grows sweeter.
Death, oh death, tell everyone who you really are...
Too long have you been hidden in the shadows you cast,
too long have we rendered your pain.
The world grows sicker as the hairs in my head grey.
I'll never surrender as demons always circle.
Today, begins a new day of our fight.
And I have a good feeling about this day.
Onward, we have united our minds and gathered ourselves within.
Always ready for we accept our fear.
We accept our hate and everything in between.
Accept it all for what it really is.
No amount of doubts will over throw us.
Onward, to peace.
From river to the sea, an ocean of blood, filled with cries of children;
peace is broken, homes destroyed, lives shattered, a sea of refugees fleeing torrential bombs, under the ether of Western civilization resisting a ceasefire.
From river to the sea, Palestine is on the brink, like an express train to unspeakable tragedy befalling a whole nation, slated for extinction.
History's marching backward, to Rwanda and Auschwitz, a clever strategem for land without its original people, invaded by European settlers citing holy book to lay their claims, like Spanish conquistadors, proclaiming an "empty continent."
From river to the sea, a nation rises and put down like new Spartacus, mutinous against their slavery, and the new King Cnut desperately summoning the waves for Eretz Israel, with no more checkpoints and separation walls; they're only needed for an apartheid state.
From river to the sea, priceless treasures, highlighting architectural ensembles of centuries, buried under the chorus 'finish them,' finish them all, old, young, women, children, their animals too. The magic of land that spawned world religions suddenly has dwindled to a trickle of humanity, the catharsis of a crisis of spirit, shutting down conscience, and soon new settler homes shall be built on tower of skulls, with Gaza's unwelcome beaches available to western tourists again, offering kayakers great thrills at discounted prices, with its banks lined with daffodils and new palm trees, so the pleasure boats can anchor for a day to take advantage of the whirlpools of new resorts with a big sign, no Palestinian allowed.
From river to the sea, the light glows within the dispossessed, and with each martyr, their spirit of resistance blooms, and the saga lingers: Palestine will be free, and Jews and Muslims shall live together in peace.
A drop of blood was the start of our Salvation.
Yet one drop was enough for every nation.
But it didn't stop, the whips, stripes upon
His back, face unrecognizable, the beard gone.
The Father turned His back upon His Son,
until our Redemption was fully done.
On the Cross He took our sins upon Himself that day. .
they didn't taint His pure blood, it washed them away.
Through Jesus blood filled eyes what He could see,
Was the love He had for all humanity..
He asked the Father to forgive, He paid the price,
He gave His life as a sacrifice.
Jesus Blood did what Adam could not do.
Gave the gift of life eternal for me and you.
With pain that love would not diminish,
Jesus cried,"It is Finished."
On the third day,Jesus opened up His eyes.
With His the Saints, to ARISE--
He AROSE from the earth where His body lay,
was seem by many on that Day..
Easter Morning, Full of praise and Glory
the beginning and finishing of Christ' Story.
HIS Power, Love and Mercy He shared on Earth's shore,
Because He is ALIVE and lives FOREVER More..
I feel her chilling touch here in my sleep,
My girl of dreams is dressed in shades of night,
Her hunger for fresh blood upon her lips,
My senses know the darkness of her delight.
Her hour has come and now she takes control,
Such beauty burns in love’s eternal fires,
My weakness succumbs to her vampire want,
For she, the woman of my dark desires.
With one bite she purged and raped my soul,
As blood-filled veins became her wanton feast,
Yet beauty let me live another night
As she left before the dawn kissed the east.
Enchanted soul, I longed to feel her touch
To come alive in pain that is my need,
I wanted so much more than her sweet bite,
My own desires had come to take their feed.
Form: Sicilian Quatrains