Best Butchery Poems
Rising from the desert sand
was a shimmering mirage
of a thousand shouts
Heated winds of fanaticism,
intense and blowing violently loud
Shrill calls to blood prayer seethe,
breathing fiery invocations
of a perverted philosophy
Screaming death to the infidels —
a scarlet smeared mirror reflecting
black cloth covered savagery
Crimson prayers are the daubed untempered mortar
which cements the foundation of this shakily rising kingdom
Whet the glittering scimitar swung grisly:
Beheadings are the blade’s
propaganda recruitment shock TV
Desert crisis ... dreaded carrion claws of ISIS,
oasis mirage bathe the sociopaths in bloody bliss
Mutilated bodies floating upon the desert sea,
a raised dark flag boasts of a fleeting victory
Prideful utterances of unspeakable barbarity
Contemned caliphate mercurial rising ...
now descending quickly below the horizon
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
The sand castle rise to power was ever so brief,
a pirated religion kingdom soon to end suddenly
Taking hostage your own faith,
now the proselyte guards are
fleeing from the palace carnage
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
Innocent blood spilled in the sand
will be your caliphate’s undoing
Crumbling desert kingdom,
blood reap the harvest of your ruin
Let your prophets of terror and rage
shout a false sanctum call to prayer
Intoning not this one truth: God will surely repay!
(SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE 1917)
It’s just another starry night
all is at peace before the storm,
Yet so afraid am I, of the impending summer’s day
now the shadows begin to form.
Many silhouettes create memories
those in childhood verdant pastures aspire,
yet amongst this valley of planted souls
gives one many reasons to suspire.
I see a subtle portrait of mankind
an apparition suspended from the sky,
in waves of committed butchery
to fill one’s saddened eye.
Are they not also human?
those that dance between the lead,
like me, have they a reason to love
those that advance amongst the dead.
Yet still they come uninvited
like the surf on an inhibited beach,
same God! Same belief!
Our ascendancy, our spirit to breach!
Yet still, I keep on making plans for the morrow
my love I know soon to be all alone.
Oh! How I wish my finger tips to touch her face,
before one rescinds this life, this birthright loan!
© Harry J Horsman 2007
You're wearing the cap with the crooked cross emblem,
hoisting your neo-Nazi flag high
You dream of a revived Fourth Reich kingdom,
hoping that you see it before you die
"Hate your neighbor" is your rallying call,
it's the opposite of what Jesus Christ said to us all
Blacks
Jews
Muslims
Hindus
You hate them all equally the same
Refugees
Homosexuals
Homeless
Foreign nationals
You hate them all, no matter what their name
"Love thy enemy" is what Jesus Christ said,
you're the polar opposite, you want them all dead
Mark yourself an antichrist
Always wished you were at the crucifixion,
you would've nailed in the spikes
Consider yourself a true Confederate to the cause,
proud of teaching your children how to hate when they're small
Kill them dead,
kill them all,
That's the drunken song you sing
in your "Members only" beer hall
It's the Anti-Christ anthem,
it's pure ancient antebellum
You love to sing your favorite rebel rousing song,
you love to hear it being played all day long
Kill them all,
kill them dead
It's the bloodlust song always playing in your head
It's the Anti-Christ anthem,
it's pure ancient antebellum
Bring back the bygone days of butchery and bedlam
Whenever you hear the Anti-Christ anthem,
you pledge your soul to be a disciple of Satan
This poem is a re-post from last year for the situation is worsening daily.
ELEPHANT’S GHOST
I am represented as a trinket on a
Human's wrist.
I was bought from a vendor,
Sometime last September,
I remember the vendor, he was,
Approached by a man in the street,
This man had stepped out of the shadows,
The vendor to meet.
The man from the shadows
Met with two other men
Their march sounded like military feet.
Money was exchanged, someone
Pointed to a truck down a lonely street,
The poachers knew
This deserted, but well known beat,
In the truck were the tusks of us all,
These despicable people had,
Gunned us down, and one by one,
Including me we met our fall.
Our tusks were hacked out,
Some of us not quite dead no doubt!
But I haven’t lost hope,
It isn’t too late,
To stop our bloody, grizzly fate,
Because a trinket made from part of me,
Means that humans can visibly see,
And then ask, for goodness sake,
Can we not try and end this heartache,
This horrible butchery,
With which we can all agree,
That, trinkets made from the tusks of
An elephant like me, never ever be sold,
And become the past, a history,
That will then only be told,
As a fairy story about wicked men
Who killed elephants in scores of ten.
Elephant proudly is my name,
Please stop this greedy killing game,
I chose to have my ghostly say,
And look forward to the day,
When elephant trinkets no more be made,
And for them be paid
In a sleazy vendors store,
Behind drawn curtains and a greasy floor.
I now can rest,
And feel blessed,
I appeal to all who hear,
For I’ve whispered in your ear,
Please be my mouth piece,
Try and make this madness cease,
Let us in unison say,
Poachers go away!
Hells stone fury cannot find me here
The raging of the dawning light cannot be the one within us
I am perpetually hidden within this wound of words
And you…
Black rusted clean of fine rubbish
And I know you
A thousand deaths that took my life
And you still live
Blackened are the steps,
leading forward,
ever forward
A whirlpool of thought
And forward to oblivion
Searing flame burned them long ago,
for the begotten fools of Trust and Reason
saw everything
And know nothing
Nothing
Falling hands lift to smash the mirror
As the finished sound dies hollow
For me, the quenching rain will not come
Eternity tomorrow
Hell, standing on the face of the sun
By thieving Heaven
Butchery
Tomorrow will not come
Dedicated to Robert Lindley. Warning this tale is dark.
THE DOVE
A bloody stain upon the sheets, how cruel!
Soulless weight of the wretched beast who’d rule.
With his bare paws and downward thrust he’d crush,
Rake over the virgin, ignore her blush.
Her pasty-skin, red eyes that swim, unloved.
With his scepter and crown he’d beat the dove.
Dainty wings he pinned, imprisoned her light.
Tall shadowed tower, the terror of night.
The wraithlike scream of his anger he’d wage,
She cringes and clings to the walls, her cage.
His mother the evil queen nods, approves.
Wears silken-black, her shoes - cloved hooves.
In the distance a kinder soul, he sees
Her vomitus-plight - sallow of her pleas.
Not to be tangled with when purpose hails,
He prepares the strongest steed, onward sails.
The King he mocks, “You jest! Stay out of it!”
The hero’s strength in eyes, in frock and grit
Unnerve his goliathlike flesh, it crawls.
He shakes off the warning, his voice it squalls
With a torrential force, thunder, lightning
plenipotentiary frightening
And this illuminated stranger dusts
Off his shoulder the dope’s dander, thrusts
A chivalrous blade, toys with this mouse-king.
Meanwhile the slice of a whip, witch sings
As she tears up the back of the princess.
The sadistic royal duo ceaseless.
The two-edged sword, the strike faithful and true,
Butchery of the cattle and his crew
Done with precision, with no time to waste.
In his vision, beheld the “beauty” chaste.
With his steed, he races upstairs, hooks whip,
Drags the witch to window, releases grip,
Throws his white robe over dove’s trodden flesh.
She forgets - her dwelling brand new and fresh.
Awakened to peaceful serenity.
Wears royal white, dove of infinity.
1/24/2020
Written: March 28, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is a myth that time cures any wound,
It is merely what people say and sound.
When the wound was simply skin-wide,
No reply may occur due to decay sighed.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Feeling numb and wounded, sighs escape.
My heart churns—overwhelmed by a scrape.
Pebbles embed in my brain cortex.
Amorphous swirls provide a raw vortex.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Assessing a child's stomach on baking day,
Those smitten by love share anguish and decay.
Fail to express love or even heart grief.
Charmed in a state of anguish and relief.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
I perceive kismet as a formidable antagonist,
One could not despise his rival or protagonist.
That amazes everyone—upon slaughtering me,
Who slain me, or who carried out such butchery?
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live,
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Let's devote the night to the wounded.
Their bodies are battered—rise to be subtruded.
Whispered to no one, cleanse of their scars.
Wounded sigh in killer room as dusk dew parse.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Those who have been wounded by his arrow,
Those who were scathe sob in love, thrill shadow.
Wriggle on the rug with love and reverence.
Heal wounds themselves, hurting its severance.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Head over to celebrate with them tonight.
Love may seem corrupted—they cry fake sight.
If they shed fake tears—their love isn't divine.
Believers never act wildly or display mood signs.
Rise up young man
speak your mind
let your voice be heard
let the world know
what's inside your head
Rise up young man
tell the world what you think
let your thoughts flow
let the world understand
what you are thinking
Rise up young man
don't just sit idly
don't just watch and see
the butchery, the indignity
suffered by humanity
Rise up and take action
take your pen and write
go to the streets and protest
protect your rights and belief
it is inviolable and sacred
End the yoke of tyranny
end the yoke of poverty
end the yoke of oppression
end the yoke of corruption
end the yoke that prevents you from living free
That mad doctor wants to rip me open, head to toe, I just know it!
His scalpel is sharpened and hungry for a slice of flesh; it thirsts for blood.
"Just a 'nick'", he tries to soothe, cooing me as the chemicals combine to knock me out cold.
No nip, no tuck- just all out butchery!
He'll slice me and dice me with the sadistic pleasure only a surgeon understands!
Or "Jack the Ripper", perchance.
Getting so sleepy...so drowsy and sedated; I can't fight back.
The massacre is imminent. The scalpel shines brilliantly under the surgical lights.
Everyone is wearing surgical blue costumes, pretending to be nurses.
They look so macabre, with those surgical masks...or are they the kind of
masks one wears to a fancy costume party?
In my woozy state, I cannot tell anymore. I imagine them smiling beneath those masks-
large, gaping, toothy smiles, like the ones you see on crocodiles. They're all soaking in the preoperative excitement, the kind of excitement between first-time lovers as they undress not nearly quickly enough, wildly anticipating the impending debauchery with anxious delight.
My eyes are getting heavier and all I hear are the beeps of machines and garbled medical nomenclature...or are they instructions on how to properly eviscerate me?
"Are you ready, nurse?"
"Yes, doctor."
"Get my gloves ready."
"Here, doctor."
"Nurse, apply the iodine."
"Ready, doctor."
"Scalpel..."
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*having an outpatient surgical procedure today and am channeling my anxiety lol*
Feel the smoothness, wonder at the skill.
These delicate carved ornaments of delight
Pure white to a faint tan, each piece unique
To touch, to feel, brings senses alight
Priceless the gift, expert the hand
That carves these magical pieces
Priceless they are this bloody band
As their lust for money increases
“One of the most insidious forms
Of criminality in the world today”**
As nature is raped, tattered and torn
For animal kind, just fey.
A tusk for a gun, a gun another tusk
For a nose bleed and fever the cure ivory dust
Let’s kill an elephant for its ivory teeth
Kill a rhino for its horn for those that lust.
Who pays the price, the rhino, the elephant
The ignorant turn away should they even care
The wallets grow fat for the bloody decadent.
There will be no animals for grandchildren to stare.
Butchery bludgeoning death and decay
Over 90 thousand elephants annually bought to dust
Vultures strip elephant flesh, none keeps them at bay
Another gun, more coin to fill the poacher’s lust
The poachers hoard money with bloodthirsty delight
The sea of blood stains the land crimson red
White gold, blood lust, for this the amoral fight
For tusks and horn their money lust is fed.
© Amanda Tams 10/12/2014
** Quote from Prince William
Imagine the weight of the air in that house
which in the summer months would strangle you,
wearing heated gloves. Tough luck.
A gulf of emotion that is always a week ahead;
trying to claw back
a sense of permanence
as it lingers in a cold sweat. Windows
crack with discomfort; the place is dead.
All of those whispering memories
that remind me of my crippled crown
an accolade
of atrocities;
dripping with blood that is warm, not red.
Dried it looks a heavy brown, stiff as lead.
Imagine the ricochet of a drunken fist
that snuggles nicely between the nose and lips.
Impact dribbling
down
the spine and slapping the hips. The barrels
of my skull, those holes that whistle in the wind
a sort of lubricated lisp that rests on tears.
A sense of brutal butchery that batters
the borders of belief,
a false economy
to pray that some how, some day and in some
small way this tale will turn. Dismay,
this is not pain. This is not the teething
clamp of a hungry blade, the creasing
curve
through flesh and vein.
This is my reality, or at least it was,
why? because. The luck of the draw, the imploding
exploding, digesting, regurgitating ying and yang
of this universe - the gaunt keeper of humanity.
Sanctimonious,
a symbol of sellotape
that binds me perversely to my past. Manipulative
memories that need to be restrained, filed
with all the crap. A thrill, a subversive
all too serious sensational sense
of seniority,
capped with stark stupidity.
An intoxicated journey that reached an end. Your
choices scarred me; let's not pretend.
This is as philosophical
As keeping the count,
Binoculars trained
For a whale
That will never spout,
This is not the season,
Hamlet knew.
The Pilgrim knew,
As did the Wife of Bath,
This is discovery,
A poem on the Underground
By Sylvia Plath.
This is the season of butchery,
Bullfights without rules,
Lions shot with a precision rifle,
Selective breeding
On Noah’s ark.
This is as dark as it gets
In a daylight forest,
As stark
As one isolated note
From an aria,
As lonesome as one straggler goose,
Squawking, ‘take me along’.
I am in the entrails of rot,
A mock of the human mind,
A plea and a drain
I eat and I eat and I eat
The faith of the human heart
I rest in your dread
I am the starvation of reality
I will crawl you to the end
To the break, the butchery
I am the sole stabber
The giver of gore
You are open to me
And I close you forever
[I decided to draw a picture for this poem and that which you see above is what came out of my brain. You're welcome.... XD]
When death comes, sordid, scary
I shall not fret, as others do be
I shall not be shaken, not in the least measure
But will welcome him with utmost pleasure
He shall sit upon my crouch
And beside him, I shall crouch
I shall show him hospitality
I shall make the issue of fear, a frivolity
From the lack of meanness of purpose,
He shall, the aim of his visit disclose
Yes, when all is still and shrill
He comes but to kill
But from cunningness and sagacity
I shall, with pretence, make the issue levity
We shall hence drink from the grail
Until our limbs begin to frail
We shall drink of the sweet wine to stupor
To stupor, yes to stupor
We shall talk about our stupid acts
Acts we would in the future, please to retract
I shall say how I diddled
He, how he killed and giggled
Perhaps, I shall frown upon the mention
Mention of the butchery of a loved one, long lost and gone
From the intake of much wine, we shall get stupid
So stupid and our chat shall get insipid
Death himself shall bore and sleep
I too, shall plunge in the world beyond, deep
But before he arises, I shall gain soberness
A state of solemn body and mind togetherness
And lo! Upon the floor shall lay my guest, Death
In my abode, there upon the floor
Upon the floor, everyman’s terror
Unbelievably at mortal man’s mercy
I shall stand above him with wrath or mercy
To kill or to let, the death of many to compensate
The issue of dying and death, to obliterate
But much to the disappointment of many,
I shall not commit to any
For he has no life which I could take
For lifeless he is with nothing at stake
And for the time he shall be in slumber
I shall keep guard and no longer slumber
For if I sleep, he may wake
But no, he shall not wake
And all that would sleep on that night shall wake on the morrow
And upon the dawn of a new day
I shall see him off on his way
Much to the disappointment of my neighbor
The act I know he will deplore
But I shall warn
For to my abode has death come and gone
But to his, it is yet to come.
Slaughter in here, ethnics
Butchery in there ,politics
Souls from various creeks
For Charon to cross the styx
As cold as ice
Deadly storms won’t cease
Sweeping Tsunamis increase
Forest fires destroy Greece
Why not ask Nature for peace?
As cold as ice
Manmade four-wheeled slayers
On roads merciless killers
Toys for hit and run drivers
Highways innocents’ manglers
As cold as ice
Stand and watch
Human feelings do scotch
This is but a small blotch
Your heart door forever do latch.