Best Butchering Poems
My mind opened releasing the remnants of Pandora’s Box
Revealing the wraths of a complete paradox
Eradicating the thought process like a mental massacre
Destroying your clarity until your notions are obscure
Slaughtering your expressions, total annihilation
Bludgeoning your lines, poetic eradication
Devouring your preconception, with utter devastation
Eliminating your disposition, enlightened extermination
Butchering your reason with a brutal bloodbath
Lyrics linger in limbo lost in the aftermath
Slaying your insight with catastrophic rhymes
Conscious collapsin' corpses fallin' with the times
A war of words, our philosophies collide
Verses fall victim to a vicious verbal genocide
skirted, wind blown from afar
I was not to be late for the affair
bells struck midnight
and there were two left in in the square
twelve strokes to signal we were there
we circled right
looking for a place to disappear
tongues tendered to the herd
we kissed
my bones bent to your will
it was late
stars begged us to stay
the moon in her blushed
less than casual rose state
checking out as clouds ruffled by
we were high
and you, smokin'
like you always do
the time, the place, the memory
the face
fingers dancing as we knew the end
much more than the beginning
heartbeats pausing
pleasing, my ears
romance, encapsuled
in the singing
desire, a choir of one
and we won
thirty beats, pulsating
blood in-between the bludgeoning
a sense of belonging
longing for days to never come
nights slashing through the dark
butchering arms
grasping
charred, bodies
steam
whistling as she walks away
Mohamed and Khaled
The best butcher shop in town
In the deception of silence
they butcher those with sound
Voices against their Kingdom
they fear and do not like
Raping their women with modern views
while butchering a protesting man
Both Prince, King and pork herder
Vehement denials throughout the land
Yes the color of red, proof of blood in their sand
In the shoes of Aysha, these cowards cant even stand
Intoxicated Salman, butchered an innocent man
as Trump applauds, the free press in a grave
situation... Tyrants kissing and holding hands
A thousand lashes, to the butchers of Riyadh
Prince Mohamed be damned
Day in, and day out, from the ripe old age of five
I’ve take to sharp objects and whittled at their sides.
Plotting the precise angle with penetrating gaze,
the slant of slice, just so nice, as memory replays.
With curt tongue and tireless ire, I shred the sages
Burroughs, and Asimov, the Shakespeare past ages.
Butchering with rare delight, the language on the page
lancing every metaphor and simile upstaged.
and so I've arrived her in rhythm and in rhyme
killing the English language as other people dine.
*Nibbs are the pointed ends of fountain pens
as well as being an important or self-important person
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I'm vexed not because of
Personal issues but because of the
Morbid, abstract canvas of life
I'm subjected to witness, where
Groups of so-called righteous men
Drop indiscriminate bombs
On fellow humans ripping
Homes and families apart
Shedding the blood of the innocent
Then simply labeling it
Collateral damage -
Collateral damage of War
Shelling babies... collateral
Damage of war!
Then pluck out thine eyes
With two bold fingers
For I cannot bear witness
To the dislodging of families
Fleeing wildly wherever
The cold wind blows
Crossing rough seas
None with the ability of
Jesus to walk on water
Nor faith to part it like Moses
Water ...swilling with red blood
And saline stinging tears
Mothers wailing bearing
The agony in suffering
Petrified twisted faces pressed
To their wet bosoms
Fathers gnashing teeth,
Raging, panting, feeling
Like a poltroon
Powerless. Gray skies depicts
No rainbow, no promise.
Strike me down
I refuse to bear witness
Beseeching before I meet my demise,
Obliterate borders, these
Man made borders
Us with our Jingoistic attitude
Jingoistic ... flag waving
Entitlement ... displaying
Utmost xenophobia
The mantra mocking
Go home, go home, go
Home - face your fate
On your homeland soil
Drenched and soaked in blood.
I shiver terrifically in my skin
What if it was me ... you
In those weathered skin
Under the moon and stars
Branded a refugee, worthless
Vulnerable, famished, weak
Motivated by hope to
Overcome barriers and borders
And when pruned fleshed
Feet imprint the coarse sand
There's no child in hand
Swallowed up by the gluttonous sea
Let hell's bells drone on
When dastardly Superpowers drop
Nasty bombs on the innocent
Butchering, maiming ... moribund
Then labeling it collateral damage
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I will go stark raving mad.
© 2015 Denise Morgan
It happened many years ago, just after World War ll.
When I was just a little girl with lots to see and do.
A visit to my cousin's house, ten miles northeast of town,
Would cause the frown upon my face to flip flop up-side-down.
I stayed for just a week or so and shared her saggy bed:
Told silly jokes and giggled, as sleep hovered overhead.
Then came that awful morning when we took our country walk.
The day would start with sunshine and much childish, girlie talk.
Mowed stubble in an open field, each bare foot placed with care,
As well as dirt road trod upon, with stones and pebbles there.
But what we were to come upon, while meandering on our way,
Is not a sight that any child might come upon today.
An old shed there beside the road, not even tucked from sight.
A charnel house with death inside: bad dreams to come that night!
The hog and steer hung upside down and both were split in half.
The pig above a rusted drum, prepared for scalding bath.
Their innards heaped beside the shed, a pile of sickening gore.
Two heads with glazed and staring eyes, would view the world no more.
A slaughterhouse for all to see while happening to pass by.
Run by a neighboring farmer who did butchering on the side.
We stood transfixed and watched him work, his lips pursed in a whistle,
As he dunked the hog in the scalding drum: later scraping off the bristle.
And sadly we took a closer look at the face of that old steer.
Two days before we had patted him in a field not far from there.
That gentle old beast in a pasture, unknowingly chewing his cud.
Now a dead and lifeless thing, defiled with sawdust and blood.
We trudged home in solemn silence, our innocence badly bruised.
The world, though still an open book, had new . . less pleasant rules.
A lesson in our lives to come of the callousness of men,
With many more lessons to follow, before this world will end.
Now when I see children learn about death, while watching pretend CGI;
Two little girls will still come to mind, and the old steer that made them cry.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
It’s Butchering Time
By
Tom Wright
I once watched a long-haired goat,
In a race for its life with a shoat
The goat stuck out his chin,
And by whiskers did it win,
And then had the audacity to gloat.
While strolling through the graveyard the other day, I was drawn,
To a host of stones with creative and pithy epitaphs etched thereon!
Such flowing poetic verse is deemed worthy of recording for posterity,
Due to its peculiarity, sincerity, rarity and macabre hilarity!
"Here lies Gus riddled with lead! The high sheriff shot him dead!"
"He brewed the finest booze in the county! 'Til a G-man shot him for the bounty!"
"From his horse Red was throwed! He was the finest feller we ever knowed!"
"His jealous spouse cut short his life! With a twelve-inch butchering knife!"
"She slipped on a derelict banana peel! The bump on her noggin failed to heal!"
"He failed to slow down and swerve! Lost his nerve and missed the curve!"
"If you think this place has no appeal! How the heck do you think I feel?"
"Here lies the late bullfighter Umberto! He was fatally gored by el toro!"
"Clyde owns this piece of real estate! Or that's what he claims, at any rate!"
"Barnstormer Barney has flown the coop! He failed to negotiate an outside loop!"
"Cowpoke Pete has bit the dust! From his wild cayuse he was abruptly thrust!"
"A slug ended the career of gambler Steve! Seems he had some aces up his sleeve!"
"Too much cholesterol is how he met his fate! Docs warned him but 'twas too late!"
"She met her doom skating on the ice! Tried to do the triple axel thrice!"
"He always enjoyed a nickel cigar! Alas, his flame died out due to too much tar!"
"Upon my stone let no bird alight! Should that happen, please clean off the blight!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I'm the only one at our house who relishes onions and liver.
Ah, the thought of that delicacy sends up my spine a shiver!
Never mind that my spouse almost gags and must pinch her nose,
Keeping the frying pan at bay as that malodorous aroma flows!
When a pan of onions and liver is sizzling in the kitchen,
To attack that delectable repast, my delicate palate is itchin'!
I take no heed concerning liver and all of its cholesterol.
Alas, it is seldom on the menu at our table after all!
A supper of onions and liver is just not at all complete,
Without a slab of cherry pie and ice cream for a treat.
The entree' must include peas, gravy and smashed pertaters,
And on the side a salad liberally laced with fresh termaters!
I grew up chomping on onions and liver as a Hoosier lad,
'Specially at butchering as hogs' fates were sealed by Dad!
We'd never heard of lobster thermidor or cordon bleu.
Shucks, at our humble abode we were pleased with a zesty stew!
I've heard that too much cholesterol can bring about an early doom.
Should that occur, this epitaph would be most appropriate for my tomb:
"Docs warned him about onions, liver and bad cholesterol;
Alas, he took no heed - his demise they could not forestall!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Human Organs Anyone
Early this morning, there was this dire warning over social media...
Of a van apprehended in Thailand filled with bodies of dead children..
There was a disturbing photo of young children, some half naked...
Laid out in neat rows, some with bandages or plasters in places...
The warning was for all Malaysian parents to be extra vigilant...
Seems there are inhuman syndicates actively scouring for hapless victims...
Butchering stolen kids for young healthy organs for sale.....
Seems it is a thriving trade, it is just another buy and sell..
There are always organs easily available somewhere ...
Just to mention, India and China, they are readily in our minds...
When your life is at stake, it matters not whose organ it is...
When you are at death's door, it does not matter where you get it...
You have the money, time is your enemy, let's have that part...
It matters not the race or nationality, so long it's bleeding red blood...
With suppresor drugs and medication round the clock...
With a new organ inside you, it is a new lease of your life clock...
This early warning to all concerned Malaysians is very timely...
For just recently, there was this news about a poor mother....
Losing not one, but the whole flock of her 5 children...
Foremost in her mind, her children could be victims of human trafficking...
If they are lucky, they could be alive working in some sweat factories...
If not so lucky, they could be mutilated to be life time beggars in some foreign countries...
If they are really unlucky, they end up victims of the lucrative underground trade...
They may be kept alive as some human cattle, in readiness for an opportunistic trade..
Yes, there are human organs for sale, fresh and healthy, vitality guaranteed...
When you have the money, and death is your spectre, life is all you plea..
If your price is right, would you like to have a fresh beating heart...
To match the pair of healthy kidneys you've just bought....???
Richard clerihewed me yesterday
Why the nerve, I should have got him first I say
Then I laugh still wondering if clerihewed is a word
Realizing that many conventions in our language are up surd
The Clown of Clerihews, what a moniker Moe would say
I could probably write a lot of these everyday
The ballade though, not a form for a dummy
If I can convince ForDummies publishing, surely I'll make money
I'm butchering the king's English Curly would say
As a child I'd watch three stooges reruns everyday
Yes at that time Curly was my favorite of the three
A poem with nyuk, nyuk nyuk, is a sight to see
I'm not sure what Larry would add
Being the only of the original four from a different dad
A musician yes, a great violinist they say
Healy said he pay him $90 a week and extra $10 to throw that fiddle away
What about Shemp can't forget the other brother
Yes Shemp, Moe, and Curly had the same mother
In the latter years I've grown to like him as well
He was actually one of the original two, or so they tell
Joe Besser, hah, definitely the lame duck
Being Jewish, I'm sure the other three would call him a smuck
Some of his appearances I have to tolerate
I'm a fan of the other two with him, so I can't hate
One more for Stinky Davis, as he was called on Albert and Costello
A role he played, definitely not the role of a hero
They all said he wouldn't take a pie in the face
Did he not know the other 40 years of stooges history, what a disgrace
I purposely left Joe DeRita or Curly Joe
He had two stints with The Stooges I know
Was the one short film Snow White and
I have him below Joe Besser, that can't be grand
I guess ThePhilosopher, now lower shouldn't judge
In the 50's he didn't even live a nudge
I was born quiet a while later
Ok I admit it, of Joe I'm a hater
Even having fun in my hate of Joe Besser lol. He had a very extensive acting career, and there was a reason he was allowed to be there without taking pies in the face. He was actually acting out his own character that he developed over his comedy career, so that's kind of impressive. After posting had to add in Joe DeRita, or Curly Joe, lest you thought I forgot his important roles lol
‘my eyes
with a film over them
clouding them with
iridescent shapes of
you’
I'm reading this again...
probably not the best thing
for me to read at this moment.
sending off...hmm?
do you still feel the same?
a ramble of unpoetic lines
shoved together haphazardly
if the power of words can kill
then
I’m butchering a pig—
—blood as virtual ink!
…pathetic
not poetic…
comparing my ‘poetry’
to yours
my UNpoetry
yet,
you say—
—you claim to love it
sending off—
—do you still feel the same?
‘my eyes’
-coming ‘round full circle-
‘with a film over them’
—just incase—
you’ve forgotten
[my eyes
with a film over them
clouding them with
iridescent shapes of
you]
‘clouding them with’
-repeated-
‘iridescent shapes of’
—not quite—
‘you’
sending off—
—do you still feel the same?
do you
still
feel the same?
Lately a person begins to read between the lines
how a network of human beings devalue another's worth
battered and bruised internally exhausted at times
they make you invisible shying away from the truth
To hurt someone that only wishes to speak and correct wrong
a violent nature lacks any respect to honour Justice correctly
certain groups have become hostile to straight talkers even violent
Charity cases crying over sin and vices to be accepted as normal
to carve the hammer into words etched on stone cold laid facts face
The bully is enslaved by their desire to overturn God
burning hate pretends to be polite sticking the dagger in
lacking innocence it poisons the purity in defence
You can be a murderer butchering defenceless beings
but you can't be seen to pray without being insulted
Ode to Ustad, the Celebrity Tiger
Is it true Ustad , you’ve divided humans?
Is it true, you killed all the four humans?
Is it true, you are dismissed from Ranthambore Reserve as “problem animal”?
Is it true, you licked the blood of Rampal Saini, after butchering him animal?
Is it true, you feel homesick 400 km away in Udaipur Bio Park?
Is it true, you posed as celebrity causing conversion of RTR into park?
Oh, Ustad, what a huge fan following!
The envy of our netas and film divas will be following.
Look at the explosion of protest for you in social media;
Your fans have set twitter on fire and outraged all media.
Log in and read tweets #jesuisustad, #boycottRTR# and #BringUstadback,
Back to back debates, arguments, and shouts, your roar they back,
From UAE to the US and Australia
And even from the land of queen Alia!
The anchors in BBC, Al Jazeera and The Daily Mail too carry your story;
They all back ownership of territory, your ‘man eater’ tag not a worry.
Never has humanity seen a beautiful tiger like you;
Never had they photographed any primate like you;
Even the matinee idols dream of a swagger like you
And your curves and swerves; none is admired like you.
If at any time you plan to retire, lend us for a day your roar,
With which we’ll still the post-modern horrors the globe abhor.
When God created me He said Rhino
I want you to stay away from people
For they will fear your horn so much
They will kill you before you kill them
So He decreed that I should dwell
In the thick bushes of the savannah
And there have my being and fun
Feeding off shoots, grass and leaves
Look after your horn, He said to me
I have been doing that for millennia
Till one day man came looking for me
He had a loaded rifle, arrows and a saw
Before I could say hello something hit me
As I narrate this I am hornless and dying
Tell that man that I was created by God
So that man may enjoy a day in the wild
Tell him if he does not stop butchering us
God will send men by far more powerful
And better armed to hunt him down, yes
To hunt him down and bring him to justice!
For God has given him enough weapons
For his ego and his selfish self indulgence
If he cannot engage in a sustainable utilization
Of what God provided him he is truly doomed!