Best Decapitate Poems
Glimpses of you…
An image so mesmerizing, I bask in shame to rely on these bedazzled eyes
So full of wisdom and heart, your globes keep me glazed
Grazed on the swift-shotted bullet of your gaze
Do not let him see how he drives me mad
Get your head out of space, decapitate this case
This spell of ever-turning lust crumbles me to dust
For this love both devastates and fulfills me
Makes a monster out of me—strong-wills me!
I ache—god, how I ache
As I reach for a touch of your glorious existence
Darting through the crackled splinters of resistance
It is a throbbing pain pulsing in my brain
Wetting the corners of philosophic peaks
To discover your roots are for another
I drive down underneath
Take a shot of your toughest glass
And turn your head away from the lure
Push it aside that his intentions are pure
Find a path towards the sycamore
Focus on the tree’s gallant twists
In life never succumbing to the neurotic mists
She grows toward the sun like she needs no one!
Worrying not of the bullets—for she is the gun
Stand tall amongst the majority’s dream of original
Your heights will keep you satisfied
For in lust we only die
The sun’s strong rays provide the hope for better days
Yet still at times the branches twist and rest upon his gaze
Darkness gathers in
a raucous cloud of wings
to swell in trees, a seething mass
of movement like a maggot ball
hung high in a canopy until all
subsides into a folded quiet.
Air then becomes the domain
of the silent whose
wings beat in whispers
and are cloaked in stealth.
My mind paints a picture of an owl
swooping low with talons
drawn to hook an unwary
mouse. Raptors are no threat
to me.
I fear those other wings
let loose by man that my eyes
cannot see, but slice the air
on the edge of hearing,
can fly clean through
the center of thought
and decapitate a feeling. These
wings kill or leave wounds
that weep and never heal.
Gentle rain.
How patient it is,
working delicately
all through the night
with its little fingers,
hand in hand
with gravity,
to decapitate a rose
Chicken Head
Your a bird, with no wings!
Your soul is lost and lives in the streets.
Why sell your body the way you do?
you least can get your son some new shoes.
If you going to sell your body,get what you can get.
You have kids, you need to get a grip.
Do you really want your daughter to grow up like you?
To flag down cars for every man that comes threw!
Why are you selling your last food stamps?
To pay a cell phone bill that has laped.
This is no debate, your son lips is cracked from being dehydarted.
Why do you make them suffer for the things you do?
Look into their eyes. thats the hatred for you!
Your baby is crying tears, for you can hear.
Crying to be loved by you,
You can really fix the things you do!
Each child is a gift from God, A bright shining star.
Look inside your heart,
and ask your self is this is what you want to be.
A chicken head that stay in the streets.
Ask God for help, when you lay down to sleep.
Pray the lord your soul to keep.
If you should die before you wake,
ask him to help take your kids pain away!
Some one should decapitate you,
for all the pain you put your kids threw.
So stop having kids just for someone eles to raise them.
I guess it's for the best, because you really don't deserve them!
They cry for help, they beg of you!
Your a lost soul, and only God can judge you!
May We Make Love At The War Front?
May I Know You While Iron Leads Flies Over Our Heads?
May I Know Why Our Bodies Tangle In The Grass;
Soaked By Bloods, Sweat & Tears Of Soldiers Of Love?
May We Thrust While You Trust Me To Be There With You Till The End.
May We Kiss While Canon Balls Decapitate The Heads Of Men?
Shall I Dip My Stick Of Life In Your Deep Shallow?
May We Tumble & Flip As Men Scream In Pain & Regrets?
May I Burrow My Nails On Your Flesh While War Cries Announces The Beginning Of Massacre?
May We Make Love On The Dead Bodies Of Fallen Men Of Valour?
May I Know You While Men Are Dying For Their Land And Families?
May I Get You Pregnant Whilts We Loosing Our Men?
May I Feel Your Love Tonight Before We Bid Our Farewells?
The Headless Greenlandic Horseman
A Meditation in 6 parts.
Avalanche
I.
The sky is starry
The night is scary
I'm very afraid
of the living dead;
On a mission; or Fugitives in the city
II.
The headless Greenlandic horseman
speaks Kalaallisut very well indeed,
plus Dansk and English! What a man!
A polyglot he is! Yes, sir! Although he
Is evil and wants to behead Mr. Donn
Oh! How horrible! How horrible! The
reason being, Donn owes him plenty
of money. More than 500.000 bucks!
Camera Obscura
III.
Mikko Donn (whose dad is Finnish) is a fugitive in the city
& Hansen, the cowboy from Kalaallit Nunaat, is his hunter;
500.000 U$ is that debt's figure, folks;
Oh! This is horrid! Truly horrid for sure!
I contemplate upon this very jittery and jumpy
Oh, I am scared! Oh, yes! I am scared!
Donn's head is at stake--because he's a debtor;
Another headless man? And multilingual again?
Isn't that whimsical? A headless man wants to
decapitate another man and both speak many
superb languages! That's admirable! Yes, sir!
Spasmodic Apostrophes
IV.
Ave Hansen, Morituri te Salutant
anthropologizing, vexillologizing;
Well, Donn's head is still extant.
Though, I dare ask, for how long?
Equestrian Interregnum
V.
Fear is what Donn feels
even down to his heels;
He feels he's gonna puke
even though he is a duke!
The philanderer's philter will save him no longer
The Greenlander and his plug are after him;
There's no escape--the event is rather grim;
He is doomed. Period. Good-bye, fishmonger!
Hurkle! Hurkle! Hurkle!
VI.
Donn's head is safe now. Why?
Because of my idea; Donn is a fish vendor
and has a friend who is a surgeon;
Therefore, I suggested "What about implanting
a fish's head on Hansen? Wouldn't it be nice?"
Donn okayed what I said & called his friend,
Mr. Sherry, the surgeon. Hansen accepted.
They made a deal. Besides the fish's head,
Donn has to teach Hansen Suomi, a
perfect language. And that's how this tale
ends. Hansen and Donn became friends
and ate partridges together.
for under 10$ an hourly wage
you too can be the lucky one
who rides around on the back of a pungent & filthy green
garbage truck for ten hours a day
hopping off and then back on at a
breakneck pace
in order to empty those large cans
filled with all the disgusting refuse that one can imagine,
but did you know about the action adventure life that comes with
this
profession?
the garbage man sees all
starting at 4am,
he is often greeted by inebriated women in robes
stumbling out to molest them on their lawn
even if it has begun to rain---
the garbage man needs to jump off the back of the truck
quick like a bunny
when the truck slides too far to the side of the road on hard terrain
almost hitting traffic signs
(which might very well decapitate the garbage man in question)---
the garbage man finds all of the little erotic nothings
which people throw away in their trash
but which end up tearing open in the dumping &
it isn’t hard to find out the existing realities,
those old men with **** libraries that are purged biweekly or
those couples who are trying to save their sex lives by
incorporating
sex toys &
bondage apparatuses---
he can be greeted by those who do not pay their bills & whose
garbage does not get picked up
by loud profanity,
sometimes people will even throw things at him if they are so inclined.
he is out there heaving your waste come rain or shine
with the garbage reeking in the hot summer sun
or with his fingers & toes freezing in the winter---
he’s tramping through the snow banks
with his hands double-gloved &
no lunch break in sight
as the truck runs on a strict time schedule---
he’s out there
doing another job that you won’t do yourself,
making less money than you &
scrubbing off the remnants with lava soap.
I drink poetry and excrete it in my imagination to the taste of soup, inspiration in my gutter of sky, the farces run the barn of wood crawling fingers, digging deep into the fury velvet twilight map the location
Entertainer decapitate loyal crew to the kingdom of kingpin round morning blessing brother meek of submerged answers never to be repeated to the third person singular, but lukewarm of appetite detached morning mum.
Line of angry dull pin the sharp hap to the loot of moon pointing straightforward to the faded Antilles, Western Indies scruffs of limitless anchor of my days to that thwart of subliminal good to go.
Smiling moon to the center of the sky peep into my prison of imagination, padlock to the gallows mistake shaking the dignity of arrow to the cloak the tempest banana republic to repugnant whistle sound
The kilos of rhythms backed up my pant of pain to till sunshine yet to blame the belated from the bereave lure to deputizes the post of ray to tray of mishaps, the din of lion claws of fun rub truth leaning side by side sip the peg of life to the smile of hyperbole.
The sharp thoughts quick under my pillow from voices of an Island crying to trembling hawk jog of bug nails sound decontrol of hail night and the root of thief.
With the smiling Fajr to the East, I remember the clipping of toes from side to side with the solemn recitation of the Holy Quran. The imagination of Allah’s mercy boils in my heart, the fence of success glows the microphone loud our voices and increases our concentration.
The canopy of congregation, the sound of Al-Fatha and the rolling of Aameen, erects the hope of building fence of success. The devil vows it arrows to decapitate the souls of humanity to fickle night. The sign of success suckles it breast each morning, my alarming clock cannot be ignored to ignorance.
The flash of Fajr is a new beginning day; it builds gardens of gold to the circle of fallout. The Almighty defends me. From the hijacking of my soul to disavow the Fajr in the morning to epitomizes my forefather’s footsteps.
The glory of ablution thrills me to trillions of hope; I regret all the days I dashed responsible to the failure of my soul for the past uncountable time inept to put my forehead down on the ground before my creator. I lament for those times I setback from purifying my soul to solid hope, no amount of regret is justifiable to the fable mistakes and the rogue that rocks my life to florescent beep.
I citadel glowing candles to win the wind on my knees as a base to the realization God is with me. The Praising of Allah on the knees erects my hope to kiss the sky lamp to bubble gown. I lament all the gowns of prayers I never wear as official duty upon my life.
I regret the poor accent of reciting the Holy Quran, and aura night I regret the sleep I slept as they were empty of prayers. The Mosque is the only place I must fight to defend five times a day, seven days a week and the rest of my life.
They're trying to decapitate the hood magistrates,
with fabricated reasons for treasons
It's the season that we evaluate and saturate,
All those who maneuver with a false mind,
Hood occupants are tee'd off like it's golf time,
So your game needs to be up to par
because to the jails and cemetaries
too many people have lost time,
The government is microscopic on the popular,
They possess new world order style binoculars,
They're building plantations and camps
in the form of penetentiaries
to house and be the spots for the,
Most corrupted, those abducted,
from society in a variety of flavors
because misbehavior leaves us stuck with,
A bunch of years on tiers to joint suspension,
We stay inchin' through tention,
and in this hard knock life comprehension,
we discover that we're losing
in their systematic intervention,
They know that the hypnosis from dollar bills will rule us,
In a cess pool of,
deceived individuals who tryin' to glisten like a jewelers,
Metals and precious stones,
Yes it's on,
We brave enough to test the throne,
The quest is long,
And we fight until our flesh and bones,
Dissolved into the earth
We were born to die so who's next to go,
Our lives are far from festivals,
We're surrounded by people
who perform acts that are unethical,
attempting to reach the pinnacle,
Because the hood fame will excite us,
We search for the cures to hunger-itis,
What we really need is the wisdom from the providers,
Who serves the mind food
because the government is killin' us,
They're sealin' our fate with each plate to get rid of us,
They lable us outlaws, so we turn southpaw
and fight for our rights from the left like P. Whittaker,
It's hard suvivng inside their GENOCIDAL SYLLABUS,
So before you get tossed like a javelin,
Stay sharp and keep your eyes and mind travelin'
While you're in the systematic maze
to keep your life from unravelin'.
God Bless America
For all her flaws
current Republican claws
what a lady
eloquence from France after all
A land of all lands
people made up of all peoples
there will always be the extremes
magnified by social media screams
No matter imperfections
our freedoms sing across the seas
as China flaunts human rights basic laws
stand as one and ignore the birdbrained fringe
Countries like humans are not perfection
carry deep in your heart empathies reflection
decapitate the voice of those spewing vitriol
hold hands not to agree, simply to love humanity
Soupers quiet down, quiet down, dakarai cobb is in for a shock.
I'm gonna smash this clown, so let me metamorphose into the Poetic Warlock.
Soupers put your hands in the air, and chant my name to the sky.
You poets can tell by my demonic stare; dakarai is about to die!!
Give "you" some ammo? dakarai, a true slammer would have his gun cocked and
loaded!
You are such a "lame-o," for I read your comment - clearly noted.
Soupmail after soupmail you begged for a piece of the Poetic Warlock.
But a certain poetess had me under her spell, because of what she did to my c#$k!
You are not a worthy opponent for me, because I only battle the best.
I know you intend to "bite" my poetry, for you notice how I do in each contest!
Matter of fact, do you ever win? Do you ever "place?"
Let me show you my diabolical pen, and what I will do to your face!
First I will staple your lips, then super glue your eyes shut.
I will strangle you with a bullwhip, but not before I kick your poetic butt!
Dude this slam is giving me a raging hardon, tell your girlfriend I said "Hey"
I gave her the nickname "Jaw-bone" and still have her purple negligee.
You called my open challenge a joke, dakarai you just have no clue.
My poetic gun will smoke, and I'll gladly annihilate you!
My poetic vault is filled to capacity, and after I'm done, I'm sending you to the electric
chair!
You have the audacity to ask for ammo for your gun - punk you're not even ready for
warfare!
You're a child playing a grown mans game, and I'm putting you in checkmate.
These soupers are chanting my name, and your "head" they wanna see me
decapitate!
I will take off your ugly head, and defecate down your throat.
You will end up dead fighting a poetic heavyweight, and there is no antidote!
Note: I will enjoy slamming you back to back to back - can you keep up? After I'm
done with you, you'll end up cutting your wrists. lol
Pain was something that a man loved to inflict.
He had four daughters and he was very strict.
He demanded control of his wife and daughters.
He had two Son-In-Laws who he slaughtered.
He murdered his first Son-In-Law for the life insurance money.
And he got twice as much cash because it was Double Indemnity.
When he blew off his hand for the insurance money, they wouldn't pay him anything.
So when he decided to decapitate himself, it was all for nothing.
He was eventually brought to justice for the evil that he inflicted.
But he wound up not going to prison even though he was convicted.
He staged his death to look like murder but he actually committed suicide.
He was a very dangerous and evil man, that's something that can't be denied.
The things he did were too horrible to contemplate.
He left this world at the age of 54 in March of 1978.
(This is a true story)
The tremendously strong
grizzly bear, tooth and claw
will tear you raw.
You hear
a echoing and harrowing
roar, what's in store?
You
contemplate your fate.
Razor sharp claws that can
decapitate.
A thirst for blood
one drops enough, he'll track
you down with a snarling frown.
He cant stop now in this final
hour, he wants you fully
devoured.
Form:
I've come to take a life,
and I'm searching for a certain Poetic Parasite.
Blood drips from my poetic knife,
and I'm placing him in the soup spotlight!
You know how I slice and dice,
So you can call me Michael Meyers!
Lay on my pentagram and be my sacrifice,
and feel my poetic fire!
I love how you run and hide,
chasing you on this site is such a thrill.
You better not commit suicide,
I want the satisfaction of this kill!
This site will be like Crystal Lake,
Dismembering this poet like Jason!
Talking about the Butterfly was your worst mistake -
So you better call a freemason!
You told me to burn in hell,
LOL, I'll gladly do so!
But I love having you under my spell,
So let me hit you with this TKO.
Stop cowering behind that woman's skirt.
Stick out your d#@n neck,
I swear it won't hurt,
Your head I've come to collect!
Look into my handsome face,
as I decapitate your head.
I'm placing it on my trophy case,
and this is gorier than "Night of the Living Dead!"
I want to eat out your heart,
kinda like Jeffery Dahmer!
I wanna blow your whole being apart -
So call me the una-bomber!
Remember when you called me a worm,
as you lay bleeding at my feet.
I've come to rid the soup of your germ -
So Trick - or - Treat!!!
Soup Family Happy Halloween - kids be safe!