Best Gallows Poems
Gasping
rasping
clasping
grasping
condemned man's last gasping, rasping breath,
hands on the noose clasping, grasping- death
(* Tyburn was the site of public hangings in London from the 12th century,
executing everyone from Highwaymen to Clergymen, at what is now Marble Arch)
For contest 'write me a Tyburn', sponsor Kim Rodrigues
24th january 2018
Dedicated to artist N.
It was the spring so frantic that
even the ancient gallows at
the city square spawned a green sprout.
I read my poetry aloud
to you, my first, my awkward and
ecstatic poems that I penned
last night to sing your abstract art,
your cold and unresponsive heart,
your gray-blue eyes and the prune sleet
on my lone way home. Oh, how sweet
you are, young rhymes! Years later I
see that not fondness but those my
first trials of pen resulted in
my happiness, my gloom akin
to deepest hell, my grace, my curse,
my sleeplessness and this small verse.
You married a long time ago,
I sing of other beauties, though,
in spring the memories about
you still make ancient gallows sprout.
Walking up the steps to the gallows rope,
Hands bound tightly behind me, there is no hope.
The hangman, the preacher and the crowd all want me dead,
For what I’ve done or something I’ve said.
They haven’t given me a chance to explain,
Why I’m not the man who caused all this pain.
As they slip the hood down over my eyes,
It dawns on me as I realize,
Why I’m doomed and can’t go back,
Because in their white world they only see my black.
2019 Miracle Mile Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
2/18/19
on a sunny day
She visited the gallows
To see her loved ones
DUBLIN GALLOWS
DowN from Grafton Street near St. Stephen's Green,
I'd hear her cry sometimes til first of dawn,
the love o'me life, me lassie, me queen,
an' every blow that brought her cryin' on.
I'd give me own life to make her me bride,
but she married a scabber fit and mean,
from courtin' the lie an' winnin' her side,
though the truth was known near St. Stephen's Green.
Jack lent his strap in his warped state of mind,
to her back, and I'd feel it, every blow,
an' all Dublin knew, I was hard to find
reason why I shouldn't let me rage go.
They hanged many men in St. Stephen's Green,
not one of them more fittin' for the tree,
than Jack with his strap, for beatin' me queen,
but who hanged Jack's not part of history.
Sleep gently, me lassie,
tonight there's just the breeze
we'll hear til the comin o' dawn.
Sleep softly, me lassie,
I'll whisper through the trees,
I couldn't let your beatin' go on.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
The unruly mob beat me to death
In the dank filthy street,
Before the scaffolding had its chance
To snap my whiskered neck
Beneath the bone crushing force
- Of the proverbially,
(But still most certainly)
No less than lethal
Terminal velocity...Lucky me!
It was a real load off
My overactive imagination:
Finally, some good news for a change!
...I didn't even have enough precious time
To nervously vomit my last meal
Before being ultra-violently killed...
...So there probably is a God after all...
# Welcome to Gallows Humor 101:
If you don't already know and understand by now,
exactly what "gallows humor" is
- Then I highly doubt a God of any nature
can actually help you see the light before you've died
- But this is just my professional opinion as a satirical author,
who really should have become a medical doctor - If I ever wanted
to be able to afford a legitimate interest in women.
twisted branches cast their shadows
upon dusk infested gallows
slowly bringing up some shallow
hollow eyes, so full of fear
waiting out the fall and winter
with tighter ropes in wooden splinter
slipping into nooses center
taking lives away from here
captivated by death standing
a chilly hand all demanding
crowds have gathered, screaming, chanting
chants that rise into the air
guilty lined up, all are pleading
families gathered, crying, weeping
weeping for their loved receding
into reapers silent care
* still working *
…As a dragon I have soared,
…Regions ranging shore to shore,
…Great stories, great adventures,
…Great tales and greater pleasures,
…But as I recount my years,
…The dark specter of time leers,
…Reminding of days gone by,
…Spent without reason or rhyme,
…Now chained in murky shadows,
…Underneath deadly gallows,
…Upon which I killed all hope,
…Of better days down the road,
…A pitiful existence,
…Powerful and persistent,
…But then hope from this hell grows,
…Once the dragon met the rose…
Walked a wooded trail, suddenly unsure of my surroundings,
wondered had I'd become lost..
only a moment disconcerted, as dusk grew nearer.
I went over an old river crossed by an even older bridge,
there not seen and yet to see a small child oddity.
for no town or village folk walked alone on so cold a day.
Just as I chose to wave and hail a hearty hello
a calm little sound, uttered from within the vicinity, albeit echoed...
"Gallows now covered in hoarfrost and rime..
scarce to hear angel's plea as guilty beg.
Ever flawless, never just as in Time,
though Adam's rib, borrowed as spindly leg."
What my ears heard my head denied in meaning,
such a strange thing for a child to utter.
She turned toward the foot of the bridge I plied,
wondered at what trick, my eye deceived.
The girl grew faintly scintillating with lack of substance in the gloomy air
as a mist or fume of smoke. Aghast., I stood on trembling legs akin to the variety..
she had so oddly fashioned in her sing songy discord.
Now spirit of another world, would ask to let me pass by.
with pleasure would grant your path ease.,if you were same as I..
Plain to those of us in mortal realm, where feet grow tired and cold
yet still leave footsteps along the path I've found.
Your feet, as much can be described, bare and unfeeling of the shadowy damp..
and don't quite reach the ground.
And with this further insult meant as challenge the wraith like apparation vanished.
Couldn't move quickly enough through rows of hedges and over fences til my feet found the common road at last..
I could still faintly hear a child's sing songy echo in voice..
"Gallows now covered in hoarfrost and rime..
scarce to hear angel's plea as guilty beg.
Ever flawless, never just as in Time,
though Adam's rib, borrowed as spindly leg."
Happy All Hallows' Eve
A gallows stands in the midnight light;
The empty rope swings left to right.
The rotting steps stand bleak and bare
Though many feet had passed through there.
A shadow recalls the wretched waiting;
Of rusty bars and iron door grating.
A teeming mob and rasping cheers
And a little child who stood in tears:
“They’re taking his life, who gives them the right?”
“The people, Dear.”
Of a man in black and a tickle of sweat
And the feel of the noose around his neck.
The yank of the rope and the gasp of the crowd;
The thrill of the watching,
The heads that were bowed.
Recalling it all for the thousandth time
The morning rang out with silver chimes.
Melting away beyond the bridge,
He left us all this heritage:
A gallows stands in the morning light,
The empty rope swings left to right.
With death advanced in range and scope
We use much swifter means than rope.
You drew me to this open plain
And down this drain
And up again.
You drew me to this hazy day
And into the gallows.
You'll weep into an open vein
With deeper pain
Than lashes gained.
You'll tempt me with a chastised egg
And into the gallows.
You'll open up this waited cup
With honeyed tugs
And wetted tongues.
You'll drag me with a liquid drug
And into the gallows.
You'll rot inside my open mouth,
Inside this shroud
On sacred ground.
You'll keep my chalice pointed south
And into the gallows.
You push remorse to break the doors
That lead into
A heated course
Of closing walls with pleasing force
And into my gallows.
(This dark poem was written on the anniversary and in memory of the events of January 6, 2021.)
Gallows at the Capitol
By Mark D. Stucky
“Hang Mike Pence”
was the chilling chant
the day democracy died
on a gallows at the Capitol,
when citizens began rejecting
election outcomes they didn’t like,
and, to get their way, turned to
threats, harassment, and violence.
Denials of elections, ethics, and common sense
lead us ever further down a path toward ruin.
Democracy’s rough corpse is already rotting
as we now slouch toward another election.
(See also my poems "The 2023rd Psalm," "Bathing with Bathsheba," and "The Art of the Devilish Deal.")
(The image is a collage of two images by Andy Feliciotti and Johannes Blenke on Unsplash.com.)
Welcome to the gallows my friend
Welcome to your lifes end
You lived you life so fast and hard
So from life you have been barred.
Worshipping everything under the sun
Taking what you wanted with a gun
From state to state
You made your own fate
So Welcome to the gallows my friend
Your life will soon end
Life on the run
I know hasn't been fun
Stealing and forcing your way
Your heart getting colder each day
Those you hurt without a care
To them you were so unfair
Welcome to the gallows my friend
Welcome to your lifes end
Money and greed
Taking more than you need
The hate you did breed
Indeed
Lifes had enough
May sound rough
Hell does await
For people filled with hate
Welcome to the gallows my friend
Your life now ends
The gallows stand tall
Booming into the white sky
Wooden steps stand before me
Stairway to my death
My penance for being a man of faith
Belief in our father
Where is he in my time of need?
Give me strength
The noose swaying in the wind
Myself soon to replace
My robe falls to the floor
Exposing my skin to sunlight
Naked I stand in front of the bellowing crowd
Demanding more death
Forgive these people I whisper
The smell of woven old rope flares my nostrils
My crime is spoken aloud
Close my eyes as darkness soon to arrive
Contest name: LATE OCTOBER STANDARD CONTEST
Sponsor: Brain Strand
Date: 24/10/17
Nine months naked in the darkness eating drugs of malnutrition
How ironic in a cage today he shares the same condition
All the eyes that he has closed are nightmares of heaven's eviction
Damp with blood not of his own was proof that led to his conviction
Nine months naked in the harlots womb who had a drug addiction
Twelve plus twelve years later he is asked forgiveness for redemption
Years before the food was scarce his stomach starved into submission
Now rejecting food before his fate account of superstition
Time to him is upside down with fear a fact of no tomorrow
Mandrake plants become a path for him to journey to the gallows