Best Gore Poems
I would have a hundred spears go right through me
I would have a guillotine cut me up thousand times into thousand pieces
I would have every bit of me burn up in ashes
I still don't think I would feel anything
I don't think I would feel any pain.
I didn't feel any pain.
I don't see any blood
Lucifer's hell looks tame.
Come on Luci
Is this the worst you can do?
Thought you went straight for blood
Thought you were hungry
Thought you couldn't resist me
Standing with all the blood and skin.
Well here is an open invitation
Don't go easy on me.
It was war
Blood and gore
One by one they lined up and took their designated places
They stood across from one another with their war faces.
Battles are dark
I wear the mark
The General yelled for ammunition
Loaded and released without hesitation
His aim is sure
But less than pure
The wounded are removed from the field
Both sides are determined and neither yield
Young Teenage boys
Playing with toys
One side will win this hard fought battle
Bodies will fall and treated like cattle
Children maimed
No one blamed
The winners get one point for their effort
But both teams leave covered in dirt
Except for one youngster
Decides he's no soldier
Even in the worse of instincts lays hope
Not everyman smokes violence like dope
Our folly continues
With few breakthroughs
Playing high school football can be futile
So many young boys lie on a broken pile
That is the crime
Cut in their prime
One boy will be forever called wimp
As he bravely leaves with a life long limp
Just like war
Blood and gore
It comes back to me in solemnity,
and I wistfully wish it wouldn't.
A willful case of killing it was—
a hunter doing what he shouldn't.
Father had taken me deer hunting,
thinking to make a man of a boy.
I prayed we wouldn't see a deer.
and we didn't—not one—such joy!
Daylight was dimming to dusk
when he said our hunt had ended.
We started down a rocky trail,
and at a turn—we froze, suspended.
A hunter was positioned to shoot,
crouched, rifle cradled with skill.
Target? A shiny-eyed rabbit
happily nibbling a leafy meal.
"Oh, don't," I felt to cry out,
but then a c-r-a-c-k cricked the air.
The place where the rabbit had been
was as if nothing were ever there.
"He missed," my glad heart sang;
"the rabbit's alive and is all right."
But the hunter's face was fulsome
with a beastly, loathsome blight.
As we came by the spot, I retched,
the brush was garnished with gore.
Father's silence tracked the truth;
we wouldn't go hunting any more.
How to conceive of such blood thirst—
wanton killing as an act of gladness.
I trust, however, for those so cursed
civility will supercede such madness.
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —?
Was a boy who wouldn’t shut a door!?
Winter came in that year of yore-?
Sleet blew in and covered the floor. ?
Summer came with its bugs galore—?
Flies and gnats, cicadas and more.
?At last his parents, irked full sore,?
Shipped him away to Baltimore.*
*W. B. Rands Square—a shorter Victorian moral
*Mathematics&Poetry—based on a mathematical square: the number of syllables in a line equals the number of lines.
According to pompous Al Gore, he claimed to have invented the internet!
Well, I'm certainly delighted to hear that - we are forever in his debt!
I have rather serious doubts about that dubious claim, however.
My understanding (tho' not all that well understood) is that it was a group endeavor!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Lichens of lion's lore,
incipient and trying to score-
ditch it and die in the core,
stick it right in the horse.
Saša Milivojev - A CHALICE OF GORE
Silence bites
Below school's stairs
Trickling tears of fervent gore
From thy brethren's veins
Their cups to the rim they pour
All is shattered in the blast
Heavens echoing with silence
Dracula is licking his lips
Threading fingers through their tears
Pouring for his laughing friends
Ask why, if you dare,
on your blood they're feasting
you may lose your ears
the screwdriver your skull may be piercing
Chainsaw by the school
Truckloads of dead bodies
Buckets of ice of kidneys galore
Bloody lakes bear witness
Yet the World 's watching
Mercilessly
My torn heart
Still is beating
While a crow my heart is eating!
In that chalice of gore
Flows all evil of the world
In it glisten child's eyes innocent
Shattered by the blitz
Voiceless stone
Sing of malice
Of the stake
Of the rope
Never will it pass
Our torment's toll
Rivers of blood will forever flow.
Saša Milivojev
Translated by Ljubica Yentl Tinska
visit: www.sasamilivojev.com
Engines roar and planes soar
Across the beautiful sky's
Engines roar and SUV's tour
Across the fruited plain
Now some guy
Says to you and I
You must not drive and fly
But it's ok for me
To travel the world you see
I'm a special man
From a special clan
Who hails from Tennessee
Washing coffee-stained cups, greasy frying pans and big pots is a very simple chore;
leaving a pile when turning the faucet on may clog the sink and cause a messy gore!
I’m not affected by blood and gore,
Because you should love people for what’s in them.
Not for how they look.
So we should all rip out our insides with a hook,
So that they will have to love us for what is inside.
Screw you beautiful eyes,
All they do is persecute and lie.
We are all the same on the inside.
So why are we judged by what’s on the outside?
Because everyone wants to be the best,
and that means making someone the worst.
We all get stressed,
we sometimes have outburst.
But because you look different now I’m better.
And I see it all the time,
you’re acting like your struggle is mine.
Well that’s not fine.
You do not know what it is like to be me,
if you don’t start to open your eyes and see,
than you will never get the key.
The key that opens your heart,
so all the hate that should be love spills out.
If you could see inside me?
Would you have acted differently.
Gazing deep into your somber eyes
trying to get a glimpse within your soul
In the midst of a deep sea of lies,
to capture the truth in you is my goal
and now I'm hiding the pain
when I saw what's inside your heart
as I walk down this empty lane
I realized that we are now torn apart
but I won't accept any deceptive apologies
if it might pave way to a beautiful road of tragedies
You ruined my ego and my beautiful mind
when I thought I loved you, I thought you loved me
your shattered reflections was too unkind
to stab me and I'm blind that I didn't see
In our pictures, we're soaring on a carpet-ride holding hands
watching the moon fades through the night
dreaming we're sleeping on bed of sands
paints every image in a vision of light
It's not hard to remember the hours that we're together
when we are still friends or I might say lovers,
when I still watch the lavenders and roses you gather
Now I'm sleeping alone in this shallow bed
I'm with a secret vault of Colt Forty-Five
and voices around are whispering the words you said
but if I couldn't see your picture alive
If this would be the ending of this story
I'll not wait for you to come anymore
but I'll try to say I'm sorry
until you see the floor covered with ocean of my gore
Getting broiled in the daytime
And slow-cooked at night,
Could it be that
Al Gore was right?
The scariest monsters
Don’t lay beneath your bed
The scariest voices...
They scream inside your head
You’re afraid of your own brain
So you sleep beneath the covers
To shield you from the pain
Who’s that person in the mirror?
What’s that creature crawling nearer?
It’s no longer yourself
That you fear
You’re becoming someone else
Silently, Not-You sits here
Not-Yourself tastes your tears
Watching you within the mirror
Tilts its head
And smiles ear to ear
The vague shadows that
The moonlight casts
Becoming clear
And coming fast
This can’t be real
How long will this nightmare last?
But you refuse to see
Things are just as they seem
That man in the closet
The skeleton and his locket
Hanging by his neck
On a rope made of intestines
His body hanging limp
Within the darkness
There are others beside him
Four to his right
More to his left
You’re on the outside looking in
Watching as your eyes widen
Wasn’t-You committed these sins
It killed these people in your skin
You try to yell
But your voice belongs to him
To this creature from hell
He smiles at you
But Not-Your smile is so wrong
Were your lips always that long?
They stretch and split
Revealing bone
All you want is to go home
Not in your Not-Your house
Built from Not-Your stone
You want to wake up in your own bed
From your own pillow
Lift your head
Though you try
You can’t wake up
Your reality just isn’t there
If you can’t wake up…
Maybe it’s not a nightmare
Born as Lesley Sue Goldstein in New York City,
she grew up to be famous in Tenafly, New Jersey.
Leslie achieved great success in the music scene,
with her hit song “It’s My Party” at age sixteen.
Other hits include “Judy’s Turn to Cry” and “You Don’t Own Me”.
They were followed with “She’s a Fool” and “Summer and Sandy”.
She has had a life of “Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows”.
After all these years, her popularity still grows.
She was quite a famous singer in her day.
Record producer Quincy Jones showed her the way.
Her career as a songwriter continues today.
Thanks to wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Writing poems in the algorithmic sands
Washed away by rippling waves on unseen sands
hoping in my drowning one will save me
Or at least a kindly reader someday “fave” me.
John G. Lawless
©11/24/2022