Best Disemboweled Poems
Ideas Trapped By An Inactive Mind
Your mind is hidden in darkness
Thoughts trapped in deep crevasses
Their screams echoes through deathly shadows
Attacked and strangled at their every move
The struggle against invisible shackles
Drawing blood as they fight their captor
Demons search for ideas ripping them apart
Stripped skin strewn across an evil world
A world created from depression and mania
Leaving the ideas disemboweled in the frenzied heat
Blood, skin and guts boil under the demon’s breath
Screams of torture and pain fill the void left by random thoughts
Still alive they choke on the stale sulfuric air
Waiting to die while hoping to be saved
A quick mind lights the darkness
Giving new life to near dead ideas
The strongest fight while the weakest wither and die
The rise through the darkness
Rising into the light they look back
They see the lost ideas dying beneath them
They care about what was lost
What ideas will never see the light of day
And they grieve as they come to light
And they will be told and retold
For that is what ideas are meant to be
Shared by the entire world not killed
Murdered by an inactive mind
It’s been ten days, the Easter Bunny is gone with hardly a trace,
The Missus is inconsolable- an Easter basket-case,
Evidence in plastic bags, some fibers and some fur,
The family suspects foul play, the police, they do concur,
This once pristine meadow has senselessly been fouled,
Safety and security has now been disemboweled,
“Mark my woids!” Bugs cried out “Sample that bastids’ blood!”
“No one hates rabbits more than that twisted Elmer Fudd!”
“You’re paranoid” Rodger snorted “the one who murders for kicks...
is that obvious cereal killer, the rabbit from the box of Trix,
“Wrong again” sniffed Uncle Wiggly, “you’re no kind of private-eye”
“But speaking of tricks, when you see her next, tell Jessica that I said hi”
“You can’t just point your finger and tell the police to slap on the cuffs”,
You’re so afraid of your own shadow; you’ve filled your pants with cocoa puffs,
Peter leapt up “A demented rabbit killer, it’s McGregor that’s plain to see!”
“He’s got my clothes on a pole in his garden, hanging in effigy!”
Wiggly shot back “…or is it gang related? Their alibis are somewhat frail”,
“Exactly where were those thugs, Flopsie, Mopsie and Cottontail?
“Hanging around Thumper and Br’er Rabbit; I tell you they’re all the same!”
“Do I really have to remind you all how Thumper got his name?”
Borrowing their hole deeper and deeper, down into that rabbit hole
Theories and explanations, none of which could console,
It will make little difference, because now there will be no Easter
The debate will go on and on, as scared rabbits talk out their keisters,
In a squalid little burrow on the wrong side of the rabbit tracks
Amid the empty red bull cans, lies a bloody axe,
On the handle of the door a “do not disturb’ sign is hanging
And in the bedroom is the Energizer; but it’s not his drum he’s banging,
There the recent widow is doing what bunnies do best,
Meanwhile across the field they are laying her hubby to rest.
March 5 1012
I fight inside myself
but I am a paper warrior
rock and scissors had their way with me
cut up to shreds and pulverized to bits
I fight inside myself
but always hold the white flag
crying as rockets fly around me in the night
helpless and under-skilled
I run serpentine and aimless
bullets in crossfire
I fall into a hole
mud sucks at my shoeless feet
I scratch as I am climbing
the enemy surrounds me
laughing at my plight
I fight inside myself
and always lose the battle
defeating both sides
in simultaneous seppuku
laying on the ground
swords of truth buried inside
disemboweled with head hung in shame
I lost at my own game
I fight inside myself
but I am a paper warrior
rock and scissors had their way with me
cut up to shreds and pulverized to bits
He hated his brother
Because he practiced another
Men of same wombs
On each other, inflict wounds
The free thinker; their observer
And he saw; eye sores
Men beheaded… burned
Women disemboweled
Bombed
Drug traffickers and the mafia
Show more angels heart
Men obsessed with religion
No place free of them
Hold this illusion
Four virgins and a mansion
For just one man in heaven
So die a martyr
And make it even
In the beginning, was this so?
When men die, do they go?
PLEASE: give me no fairy answer
Except self proven ponder
On the other side
I heard Christ died
Men turned it merchandise
One name, many voices
As the voices, so the vices
Repent. Be baptized
Or die ostracized
Yet in sex, their leaders
Abuse youths and feeders
Adultery in the upper chambers
Sucked the poor dry
So the rich benefits and not die
Name not names
Lest you give them more fame
The free thinker; their observer
And he saw…eye sores
Grieve not alone in chest
It’s same in north; south; east; west
I heard God has his own powers
And he for himself mighty might
So why do for him men fight?
I heard also, the goat can bite
When pushed to the wall
Be that so,
Then there is:
The goat-
The applied force-
And the wall.
Who is the Goat? Man
Who is the force applied?
Circumstances against man
And who is the wall?
Religions against man
A. W. Nutter
The lump grew larger in my throat
As I stared down the darkened path
The safety of home seemed remote
Was I going to feel the elders wrath
Two steps away from hell on earth
Tempted to flee into the unknown
Echoing screams haunted my birth
Emitting from the altar of stone
Wandering alone is a sinful violation
Never should have left the encampment
A blood sacrifice needed for atonement
To purge the sin from the congregation
Running steadily through the woods
Had the priests noticed my absence
Pulled from the path by men in hoods
Paralyzed by their sudden appearance
Clothing torn away by their rough hands
Secured to the stone, they ring the bell
Sheep following the religious commands
Mindless fanatics, under the priests spell
Eyes of the flock looking on in disgust
Sentence passed, I'll be disemboweled
The knife begins its downward thrust
As I cry out for mercy from the crowd
Blood sprays across my supine form
As the priests head falls to the ground
The executioner now dead and deformed
My legs and arms were quickly unbound
Harm this boy you will feel my blade
An innocent child, you'll leave him alone
Your King declares blood payment made
Removing my sins, saving me from the stone
Equilibrium of Delirium
Strolling alongside my casted shade,
the forlorn rememberings have stayed
in this far-flung antipode of a star-lit glade,
where the skin of my self was flayed.
Though the butcher vanquished,
I was doomed to wander
across plains where thought languished,
and utter chaos loomed yonder.
Yet there beneath a gnarled old Willow,
lay the Sandman’s very pillow.
So down, down below I ventured,
to the primal dark: ‘o ultimate solace,
where the mind cannot be censored,
and logic becomes weary and nauseous.
My mortal makings now dismembered.
The last of my humanity disemboweled.
Yet what I once was shall be remembered,
as I abandon the heresy I had vainly howled.
My thoughts now echo aloud
in abyssal depths of a timeless shroud.
Ever deeper into the depths I implored,
wavering over my early erected cenotaph,
while olive branches whispered the deplored,
and I could somehow not help but laugh.
And so my being went to and fro,
into realms as would the newborn doe.
Though in this murky orchard,
not even light permitted me to see,
and as my vision was further tortured,
I stumbled blindly into what I was to be.
With neither sword nor shield required,
the dweller on the threshold quivered
as I ended what he had conspired,
and into Truth was I delivered.
For my brittle bones are embellished
by gems which Kings have relished.
My muscle boiled and rose in steam,
precious organs torn at the seam,
and all the while ran a red stream,
as I basked in the sweet Void’s gleam.
Alas, the final vestiges now fade,
surviving only as dirt on the Sage’s rusted spade.
My withered feet now freely skipping
down a strangely familiar cobbled road,
while the thoughts of doubt slipping,
and a sense of serenity seems to forebode.
Downward once more goes the stone path,
as I climb into the canopy of a pale tree.
And as I leave behind all feelings of wrath,
I am given anew the ability to see.
Now here have I arrived,
though no mortal survived,
at last at the Divine Equilibrium
of this flawlessly Chaotic Delirium.
A man wakes up with demons,
In his mind, he is conflicted with religion.
The Holy Bible and the Amish,
Have different views on,
Everlasting life in heaven.
He was paranoid.
He had mental illness,
He called the Bishop the Devil,
For telling lies about heaven.
All the Amish knew of his sickness,
Yet did nothing to help.
Finally taking him to the hospital,
Only to learn he was schizophrenic,
Yet was he??
No, it was later realized he had,
Chemical poisoning in his brain,
Caused by the cleaning engine fluid.
He was released with medication.
The next morning he killed his wife.
Removing her brain and disemboweled,
Her organs explaining that she didn't,
Understand that the Holy Bible was truth,
And the Amish was the curse.
This is a true story. The detective said,
It was the bloodiest and worse crime scene,
He ever witnessed. A man outside was,
Teaching him that praying will guarantee,
Him everlasting life.
The Amish only learn if they have,
Everlasting life when they die.
The Amish man found it confusing
And a curse.
Imagine this.
I belong in a cage.
Imagine this.
I’ve escaped.
Imagine this.
You’re to blame.
Imagine this.
I know your name.
Imagine this.
I live to kill you.
Imagine this.
I crave to still you.
To leave your body on the ground,
Bloody, destroyed, disemboweled.
Imagine this.
It will be slow.
Imagine this.
Blood will flow.
Imagine this.
If you can
Imagine this.
Your head in a pan.
Your organs, bones, fluids and glands,
You’re staring at them, in your hands.
Imagine this.
When your vision fades.
Imagine this.
The snick of my blades
When away from this world you bade,
Serrated, rusty, home-made.
Imagine this.
I belong in a cage.
Where what kept us alive
Was our fueling rage,
Where you died vision went hazy.
Wouldn’t you too go crazy?
With psychopaths, schizophrans,
Where the taste of blood was like the back of your hand.
Where I happily stacked bodies in a circular henge.
Now imagine this.
I want my revenge.
Turning the parchments pages
Of this tearstained scroll
Bombast tales, never, have I ever spoke
The writings of palladians life, unfolds
Beyond the reasons and beyond the rhymes
And beyond this once somnolent night
In front of the crowds, I have stood
Bowing toward these everbearing eversions
These sombered encores, for the disemboweled
Deafened ears and emptied eyes
The hues, of crimsons splashings
Gasping for breath, these souls of the plight
Blinding foreclosures, of what might have been
Sprinkled and shattered, shards of images
Dreams, that once were, now, splattered in red
Palladians parchment, of a ghost with no home
"Forever lost"....this light, this plight, this night
The night, of the living dead!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
......The Scroll.......
My eyes screamed as the blinding yellow light latched itself modest self upon me.
Why?
It happened so fast—so unexpectedly.
At first, my mouth watered as the taste of peppermint fermented on my tongue and the scent of jasmine danced in my thoughts. I was so happy, and I am still so happy.
But why do I lie here on the ground, drawing a sweat as I have to consciously pump air in and out of my lungs! Why do I stare at the ceilings at night thinking of nothing but those tormenting demons who scream me lullabies at night! I am so happy!
The days are blinks, and the nights linger like the smell of a rotting opossum disemboweled on the turnpike. My bed encases me, and my sheets burn my wrists and ankles as they twist around my unwilling body.
“Help me, please!” I will silently scream. “Please.”
Hours go by and my eyes burn from the salty crust forming around them. Even blinking took too much strength, for the night devours my will, my hope, my time.
So here I am. Happy. I truly am happy. But I can’t explain why the nights love me so. Maybe it’s because I might not love myself as much as they love me.
My best friend was on the phone,
laughing like a great aunt who had lost her mind
“Joe thought it was dead, but then he saw it making reservations with the dog,” I informed her. “We have a bunch of mice here, many pregnant.
Joe is sleeping outside in the car.
Yes....
My husband of forty-eight years is a bit prissy about small black rodents
full of diseases that run over his foot.
I was in the attic now, a dreary place where I barely dared to put down my lemonade for fear bats would be dive bombing into it or disemboweled entities would be spooking the dog who was crying at the bottom of the steps she cannot climb.
Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.
I could not tell which pile or garbage bag was making this curious sound.
Raccoons in the attic? Large insane squirrels? A homeless person living with us for the last sixteen years?
“I have to go,” I told my friend. “Family emergency.” I clicked her off.
My friends are okay with my rude ways, choosing to love me anyway.
The noise kept coming.
My attention was suddenly in a corner of a large wiggling garbage bag.
A mouse popped out of the top of it and ran toward me.
Then sixty-two more, a fountain of mice,
running in all directions.
I went downstairs and told my husband there was a black bag I could not lift.
I wandered to the kitchen to fix myself a light lunch, my favorite, a peanut butter, Miracle Whip, lettuce sandwich. I had to scoot two mice off the top
of the peanut butter lid.
But I said "excuse me" of course.
I nearly dropped a gallon of milk when I heard his scream.
I imagine he scared every last rodent out of the house.
Joe is my go-to-man.
For I can not write
In this trance state of mind
Words die withering out of hand to pen
Like love’s lost bloom, wither to die
For I can not love
Grief’s strife, rips through my body
Disemboweled love
As the one heart I loved
Hand in hand we walked
Forever no more
My sorrows are for myself, silent to all
Screams of pain, bellow outward
I find myself silent and still
Caged in a violent loss
Love transcends
Sealed upon my lips
Are the crimson stains
Of words and sins
Unravelling in my
Soul
Are secrets pressed
Upon my lips
That only God
And I have known.
Too many confessions
For a priest to shoulder
Absolution mingling with
My prayer beads
Eating words that
Form from the Gulf
Of my soul
With The unspoken word
The fear of utterance
I've become
The Embodiment
Of Sin's disemboweled
Fragments
Hand in hand
with death's cause.
Unless I dare
Speak my own
Hidden truth
From deep within
The recesses of mind
And Soul
I surrender my power
to defeat and all
That Source has
Promised to me
In my beginnings
Becomes void.
Source Declares
To
Speak Your Truth
Empowering All
That resides
Within the Human
D.N.A.
Spoken in time
Unraveling
144,000
Truths
Aligned with
God and I
To become One...
11:11
Kevin Guru©2016
Speaking Parallel Truth.....
The light show erupts with a fulgent blast.
Fractals zooming out clash fast, aghast!
Ears pulsating frog-marching to be in tune,
with lights blinding, flashing a sonic boom.
It's a psychedelic reverie, a kaleidoscope of screams!
My head hurts, my brain implodes with dreams
spued up from explosions in surround-sound streams.
I want it to stop, but I love the extraordinary
Way I'm stretched, spaced-out, ablaze and glary.
Reflecting the chaos on my face and body
that's contorted to a gaudy, bawdy, disemboweled anti-body.
Living life less razzle-dazzle
Trine binder you whine
Delamination determined separation
Zero settled for clarity
Woolly winder Dominion me
While you carry impunity!?
Sliced high and decidin’
Four more years Biden'
Swung hard disemboweled
Swamp slider social divider