Best Execution Poems
Sat in rows dressed for summer, we convene to talk about winter and death. There are four screens in the room.
one in front
left right
and behind
that/reflect my face and body. I feel like an angry dog, wishing, anxious, snarling, wanting to claw at the animal. In the tomb of my ancestors, carefully collecting pieces of cream porous bone to dash out my brains, asleep and awake and dreaming—a staircase, with its finality!— The spirits that track scum within my veins (The professor says that Loneliness creates Weight) are restless and full of impure intention. Relieve me of dogs, winters, ghosts. Let me catch myself upon the concrete wall and maybe I could grasp what it is I’m supposed to be thinking about. Anchor me against the day, forlorn with torn, torn nails. It were
as if my plastic chair was wood
and the ground before me scattered with
locks of a girl’s hair, every few seconds
I am executed. My brains fried
beneath the metal dome, cold
and shining like the hand of God.
Twitching, extending outward, I
release
foam from my mouth
wishing to feed someone’s children
baby, baby birds. My executioner
asks again if I had something to say,
and always, I will say
continue.
What happens to a poet
When all their words are lost
Head upon a writer's block
Praying their sword will drop
life is a broadest and deepest bears ever conception
till absolute definition is not given and not there
even after up to date knowledge we do share
adding best words there to by taking whatever care
with required proper finest perfect and pure devotion
having every kinds of material and immaterial's solution
at last fixed in constructive education how much's got
means a life's there only where there's wisdom's execution
The loss of Sourthern Sons
Submitted by Serendipity on Wed, 2015-04-29 06:28
Today,
wakes to a red dawn punished
and sprayed in the blood of repentance,
compassion had begged in the
before, days turned minutes,
eternity now cradles repented
sons of the Southern Cross
They were more than death,
with courage they leave us
hope erased from the eyes
United over oceans and
long confused with desperation,
the silence of the fall
echoes across the Never Never
they are no more or less,
cloaked in a mantle of darkness,
far from our red dusted roads
and silently still
this mourning rains with
mute cries bled from two families,
agonized with the same torture
In the clarification of shocking
of reality, eyes gaped silence
this grimace of horrified truth moves all
they have taken lost sons found
whole again in confession and prayer
In this act, the numb
cold hand of death
touches us all
evermore cloaks their eyes
as ours are opened with truth
and to this new world bereft
of the gift of compassion
Blown loose from the world,
they asked for the boon of life
pleas from the world were,
Denied clemency !
Denied !
Denied !
Denied !
the empty soul of a foreign despot
raised the paper fist of a mute king,
a retribution of bullets severed
all the ties that bind
The shattering of mothers hearts
kills the light of the sun,
they are forced into infinity
this deed cant be undone
Outrageous power hangs
above our heads,
another world
foreign to true liberty
Sons of the southern cross
rest in the long sleep,
within the grace of home
their souls will find peace
As eternity kisses their lips
and the lilies begin to weep,
know they are there waiting
for us to join them in sleep
RIP - AC and MS 29th April 2015
The story behind this poem ...
http://www.news.com.au/world/breaking-news/bali-nine-pair-executions-set-for-3am/story-e6frfkui-1227325790962
My execution
A condemned prisoner was I,
Hours before my execution,
I was at peace with myself,
Thence came the short shrift,
for confession and absolution,
That brief penance,
Decree post judgement,
for me to confess the crime I never did,
Should have been for the judge
for pronouncing a wrong verdict,
As a sharp edged sword
Inhumanity pierced my soul,
Those men armed with daggers
must not have caused as much pain,
As here the unsympathetic attitude did,
Farther to the cruel world
ready I was to travel beyond,
Where all sins get a pardon
Will innocent not get respite ?
And there I live for all eternity !
Written July 21st, 2015
For contest "Short shrift" by John Lawless
~Hands behind their heads
Drop to their knees pray to live
flash backs fill their minds~
~Think of family
wonder to them self's is this
where it ends for me?~
The Execution of Romeo
by Steven Cooke
They came in the depths of sleep
Dream eaters to plague my darkness
Troll whisperers taunting my love
Their poison running through my veins
My soul in chains and on trial
I plead to the jury for love
I plead again only silence
The voice of love, lost in a sinners scream
In the balcony weeping angels,
rain teardrops of salt onto my bleeding arms
In this dark nether world
I see the cold light of a distant star
The last refuge of my dying soul
My only comfort in this realm of Fear
Phantoms sit at my table to deliberate
While dining on lonely hearts,
And drinking promises made in the heat of passion
Sweet as unicorn blood, the last deceit
Hecklers at the windows
Mocking silent poems never sent
A life never to be.
The verdict guilty as always
My beating heart the last bastion of my love
I kneel in sacrifice to the Gorgon
Love is lost, and so am I
Behind the eyes of the beast
I see grief not of this earth,
Pain beyond any dying planet
And yes love, in my executioner
For even the blackest heart
Needs love, for this is the secret of all existence.
And as I die a distant star waits
For the next lover to find this truth.
You see love cannot be chained,
Nor can it be selective
It resides in the pillars of good and evil
And it will be with you
Even in your darkest hour.
My epitaph, Romeo.
For western civilization, is this our contribution?
The king is staging another public execution.
Even though blood will be shed, it will get plenty of attention.
It will happen in the middle of our summer fair.
The executioner’s block is right in the public square.
They consider capital punishment a deterrent to crime.
I think witnessing this thing will hardly be sublime.
I know the executioner’s name is Max.
He has his black hood on, and he is sharpening his axe.
Another poor fool will be losing his head.
Living in this place, I think he will be better off dead.
Calm sits a valiant man inside of a dungeon
In Darkness sits a monk inside of a Monastery
And On this night they both share the same thoughts
how long God untill I am free from here
Footsteps resound down through the hall
They Listen as the sound goes back and forth
The Valiant man awaits his execution
The monk has been put in charge of reading his last rights
Now we hear the murmur as the crowd gathers
They are laughing and joking with one another
The Valiant man smiles because he too finds his death enjoyable
It's relaxing I must agree with him
And why is the monk so scared of death
The Final bell is rung
And There dressed in black
under the black hood is the executioner
He runs his finger down the blade of his ax
He looks up here comes the Valiant man
And for the first time on the job
He is faced with fear
His composure faulters
His finger slips and droplets of blood
Fall from the fresh cut
Now there's a battle fuaght inside his mind
Because he knows
that this execution will torture him forever
Silence falls over the crowd
This proud look of this mighty warrior
Commands respect and they observe it
The Monk stumbles but he does not trip up when he speaks
My Son are you ready to make peace with your Maker
Thank you Father, but me and God have never been in opposition
The Monks says You"re what the prophets wrote about
When they wrote about Valiant men
Son forgive me I am curious
How many men did it take to capture you
He say's I don't know i killed them all
Father look around, I killed every man in the King's army
And I would of did it a long time ago
If i knew that they was going to reward me by sending me back to my Father
Let the peace of God be with you Monk
And with those words This worthy man falls to the ground
The Executioner can't bring himself to raise the ax
And this Valiant man taunts him in the face of death
Please do it! I never ask a coward for a favor
THE DAY OF HIS EXECUTION
(The Musings Of Doctor H. H. Holmes)
By Roy Merritt
I had the devil in me since the day that I came along
I could no more stop killing than the poet inspired to song
I built my murder castle and I killed just who I please
The need to kill others was in me, in me like a disease
I killed maybe three hundred, maybe even more
And I would have killed again and again, killing was in store
I did it for the money, insurance and otherwise
I killed and killed and killed the money was but a prize
A prize I awarded myself as the White City rose into the sky
I enjoyed hearing their terror when they begged me there and cried
Oh how I lured the pretty young women there to my side
I promised to love and cherish them they thought they'd be my bride
But the day that they met me they sealed their certain doom
All that awaited them was death, death ah coming soon
My voice it was charming a glib fellow I surely be
Disguising my real intentions the real person that be me
I told them I was a physician the one and only Doctor Holmes
And they followed me like a puppy as they close by came alone
I double crossed my partners no matter what they thought
And killed as many as I could before I was ever caught
They said I was the first one the first one in this vein
The first serial killer truly mad, insane
But that's not my diagnosis a doctor educated
You see I loved the killing humanity it was I hated
And whether I was caressed by the Devil or God made me this
I am like a plague emerging, emerging from the mist
And who cares if it was the Devil or God who made me as I am
I did what I must my friend I am a killing man
I'm not the only one either I'm not even the first
History is replete with those like me and thus sorely cursed
Who find satisfaction in carnage and what I've callous done
"So open the gates of hell Devil here I come!"
Oh wondrous Devil I certain be your son
....Unfolds
.............Plea Holds
You're ill dressed,
I must confess.
For your date with destiny.
I hope your grime,
was worth the time,
you'll spend with me.
~Victim 7/20/2015
Here they come
the frequent trespassers of this terrain
in their tattered truck
The heavy black boots
step down
Their helmets on
and safety glasses
their ear muffs
thick face shields
and Kevlar chaps
Forward they march
with calculated steps
There she stood –
a lone giant Lizzab tree
an old green fortress –
as the gang approached
They sized her up
they measured and marked
and then
the keen chainsaw
whirring
whining
grinding
until the mountains
quivered with dread at
the cracking
the crashing
the crunchy bone breaking
You and Police and execution Plan
Aren't you belong to the same Clan
Target killing and fake encounters
Ransom and extortion money
This is not funny..
He laid his neck upon the block,
The axe man standing to his side;
The crowd began to jeer and mock.
Although he’d always had such pride,
He wished he could run and hide,
But trembling, tried to mask it.
A blinding light as he died -
Then his head stared from the basket.
Jack Horne for Nette’s Hutain This One.