Best Gores Poems
Wouldn't you rather~
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
Maybe shoot yourself in the head?
Over my dead heart, I'd never want to be a zombie like you.
The sight of your limbs are rotten all the time.
All synonyms say of you looks like a 3 legged swine.
Go ahead and do us all a favor,
hide and stash yourself away from all your neighbor.
I think I'd rather have my eyes stuck with glue
So I won't have to look at you
When it comes to family friends, you ain't got none.
You're always gonna be called the lonely retarded one.
Who could ever love a face like yours.
not even your mother see's pass your gores
No need for privacy when you pee
Go ahead and take a leak and drown yourself in the sea.
Don't think for one second you are irresistible
Love making with a zombie is impossible.
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head
The time to kill yourself is at hand.
Slicing your wrist is what we recommend.
Cut your tongue off, don't want to hear you squeal.
Blood all over, your face is no big deal
A sword or machete will only pick up the pace
I wanna see your guts pop out your mid-waist
Contaminated objects is a must
Anything to remove your face of disgust.
The easy part is the best
Once you are gone we will all feel blessed,
The flaw of your existence
Is what keeps us all in distance
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head
Close your eyes and die
No one wants to hear you cry
You said you wanted to be loved
believe me~ you're better off unloved
I say do yourself off
Anyways you've always had it rough...
Go ahead and scream
This is not a dream
Now see how you make me feel
All I want is for you to end your ugly ordeal.
I will praise this day of course
Knowing soon you'll be a rotting corpse.
happy valentine ~ TO: All My DEADBEAT X-es from Texas.
.
Dateless
One day, then date_
Twenty-four hours deadline
One formal needed, purchase cloth
Sewing
Contest:"Anything Handmade"
Sponsor:Nette Onclaud
Written by:Sara Kendrick
(When our oldest daughter was
in high school, she did not have a
date to the prom or military ball
so I did not make plans to get a
dress..She came in the day before
the event after school and said that
she had a date..That gave me twenty
four hours to come up with a dress..
I had only $20 left until next paycheck
and no credit card..I went to the
fabric store and got fabric and pattern.
The dress had 12 gores and it was floor
length..I stayed up until 2 am sewing up
a dress for her to wear the next eve..)
You comment on my poem; I on yours.
"Your rhyme, meter and wit are exquisite,"
I say. You reply, "Yours I revisit
on the net; love how your irony gores."
Now, seated in the bar our chat is light
for hours on synecdoche and stuff'll
spice up a poem and maybe ruffle
feathers. Suddenly, it's time for, "Good night."
And then it dawns on me, the irony,
that our poetry is not what our talk
is all about. Apt metaphors might walk
me through this, but I stumble on blindly.
"I've lots more to say," I say. You reply,
"Okay then; your room or mine." I sigh.
*I've not personally met a Poetry Soup 'commentator,' but I can dream.
Entered in Brian Strand's contest, 'Any Top Twenty Poem', February 6, 2012.
Unlike the newspeak of today the media rodeo plays the bull clowns chasing a scripted delay boxed up and ready to go fast food for the loll the upper end following the lower end Yet political satire's even keel will transcend while the real bull gores the clowns He can be ornery when being contained coming like a federal expess roaring down newsmail bringing the letter restrained the same package to every town the same package of the willing consripts freight in the End a older railing bull holds his own wieght
Have you heard
Of the ravaging virus?
That equal leveller;
That conforms everyone to the same corner
Some say it is the disease of the rich;
Some say it is for the poor,
Just like John 10:10
Its aim is to kill,destroy and devour.
Please stay at home,
Stay three feet apart
I do not want you to live six feet beneath
I do not want you to be laced in white
I do not want you to meet your fate somewhere amongst the cloud above
I do not want your family to be in deep grief.
Wash your hands without ceasing
Wash your hands without counting;
If you must count,
Like the number of time Mantis prays.
Like Wildfire in harmattan
Corona is but a wildfire
Suffocating,
Cutting into lungs like
An empty heartbeats gores into arteries
The rush,the spread,the death
I do not want your chest to be heavy,
Please stay safe.
The Sun will soon smile
We will all live.
The women is a storm-
she gets and she gores,
just before she warms,
because the the women is a storm...
Her lips are her pours,
her hips really should warn,
every sorry sore-
unabashed like the man in his core,
thinking he is the war...
I was up on deck of the USS Arizona doing the morning chores,
When another plane came along, so I just passed it by, gores,
Because they landed at Ford Island all the time, but this time,
It was strafing me, attacking me repeatedly as I was the prime.
So I ran forward to get under cover, and I did not get hurt,
But then another plane came around the same way, girt,
But again, nobody got hit, so I proceeded to go inside,
Back to my battle station, when a bomb hit where I did hide.
It knocked me out, ruptured both lungs, all lights went out,
And I awoke and picked up where I left off, with no pout,
Pearl Harbour was rank with warfare, bullets flew all around,
And I don’t know how long I had laid there, but I was bound.
I was intent on opening the water-tight door, not allowed,
In battle conditions to be entered, but I managed proud,
I made my way to the turret to assist there, and one said,
“Boy, you’re a good boy Carson,” they just needed me red.
There was no panic down there or anything, but much water,
And smoke, and they don’t mix, and then a commander
Told me to come on deck and help, but we were at a loss,
The ship was beat, and we then had to abandon and toss.
But just before I did, I ran into a friend, crying and dying,
Burnt, skin dangling off his body, very openly just hanging,
So I took his arm, but there was nothing that I could do,
So he died later, and its bothered me all my life through.
So they gave the word “abandon ship” and so I stepped off,
Not knowing how badly I was hurt, so passed out, did turnoff,
I went down in the water and it was peaceful and nice,
And then I saw this bright light, but something saved me, ice.
I got back up to the water’s surface, but burning oil,
Surrounded me in a complete circle, but, no more toil,
The next thing I knew was somebody’s arm on mine,
Pulling me out the water, and then I knew I’d be fine.
I made it to Ford Island sick bay but saw another there,
Whose intestines were in his hands, holding them bare,
And who said to me “War sure is hell isn’t it, shipmate,”
So I replied and just got up and walked out, straight.
Died January 14th 2001
A DEITY
Sonorous
Rhythms from the belfry waft
A call of our votive worship to give.
In your sacred tent we besiege you.
For, to you our exultation to dole and your
Mercy on us to cascade.
The tune of the harmonica, our souls with your
Aura harmonized and in revere towards you our
Knees bend, for a deity you are.
The
Torrent of your kindness
The scale cannot contain.
Hear the crow of the cock,
See the sun hastily rise,
Hear the nightingale sing,
See, the lilies to the luring melody
Of the wind dance, all in wonder of your mystique.
On you eternally the aureole will rest for a deity you are.
But
For the torrential reign of darkness,
In sobriety the votaries sit, for firm root
The heinous ones take.
See, the rivers maimed, the hallowed groove
Denuded and the cedar usurped.
Our joy darken and our hope vague.
See, a once tranquil earth an orchard of hope
Now a vale of nadir where anarchy reigns.
But in trance mother earth till doomsday you
Will not remain for a deity you are.
Our
Filial obligation we paid
An errant, mother earth you are not
For the knell of darkness, for you we wait to sound.
Wipe the gores of the proselytes, for runnel of tears
Your sacred tent they make.
Make a deluge of light our darkness parched earth.
For the dawn of your sagacity, mother earth we await.
Though the earth somberness enshrouds, mother earth
Enshrined your divinity is, for over you sullenness falls not
For a deity you are.
(Dedicated to the goddess mother earth)
Written for the people of the Amazon and coastal
regions(Niger delta) of Nigeria.
A Love Serenade
See how things have turned my dear
I was once concerned,lone and feared
With a trembling breath and lungs full of gores
Thought i was heading up the skies but then i fell
Summer has passed ,no winter but fall ...
And my hopes were marching upon those rustling leaves
Waiting and waiting with a shredded soul
But once you came you made me whole
Iv been as odd as those solitary lilies
But you were the sea that hugged them all
Changed their errant hearts into a holly tree
A tough one with an impermeable solid sheen
See how things have turned my dear
See how deep our sores could be
A cloud has passed to wash them all
But its our well that brought the concealing rain
And now i have found myself at last
And that palpating insane heart
I have found myself in yours....
You told me once im the blossom
But my dear you are the one that make me bloom..
wealth ain't luxury - jolting joy:
callous confetti crimson coils
kleptomaniac feelings kindled
blitzkrieg blaze, la-de-da nimble
wealth's everything but comfort:
salient sanity sucking nasty nectar
voluptuous zeal hoists hankering
taunted ton gores new labyrinth
wealth suffers moistened malady:
cruising complications birthed
sumptuous sanity's wreck wields foiled fortune
tactic turn, oddities commune
wealth is not often what it's called
it's a silhouette mis'ry sprawls.
'20:06:13:10:53
Note: of wanky wealth.
You have left me
to self-inflicted self-pity,
impasse of the atoms
cleaved asunder in the thalamus.
Seismic thermology, the scorch
of Tempus fever,
hacked clinic of the circuitry,
bypass of the thirsting valve.
To that which I aspire,
bitten copper of the stripping wire,
sick telegraph doves keel,
falling dead, snowdrops on asphalt.
You have left me
in this cage of dogs,
abandoned with the temporal spike
that spears and gores the
hounds of love to
bloodied, gestalt death...
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Greatest Love
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written:
With all my heart, and soul
I want to love like the One
who was beaten to within
an inch of his life.....
The One who
suffered bloody gores
that penetrated
his head from a crown
of thorns -
He is the One
that knows
what love is -
If only we would
follow his teachings
we would know
what love is......
With all my heart
and soul
I'm going to
walk with him -
The One who's helpless
body,
absorbed unlimited pain
from soldiers that hated
him -
Barbaric as it was,
they inflicted capital
punishment on an
innocent man of love,
and peace -
Severally inflicting gashing
wounds to his body with
whips, chains, and other
sharp objects, until blood
ran from his eyes -
After all this,
his accuser's spat,
and laughed upon him
as his weak body; barely
crawling, carried a heavy
wooden cross on his back,
up a steep brick street,
as mobs of pitiless soldiers
continued their relentless
assault on a helpless
(near death) soul -
By the time they reached
Calvary, just outside of
Jerusalem,
the Man who they called
"The Prince Of Peace,"
was nearly gone -
Still, the ruthless soldiers
showed no mercy, as they
dragged his body to the top
of Calvary hill,
They nailed him to a wooden
cross with eight inch spiked
nails through his hands
and feet -
Thus before the
crucifixion ended, he spoke:
"Father, forgive them, for they
know
not what they do."
He paid the ultimate price for
love -
I will always follow him -
the One who love's me,
He gave His life
so that I may live -
I love you - Jesus
fostered face etched'n
gaunt grave swept
dark dribbles dug
sassy syllables sung
song's gores gibe
meagre moan thrives
assembled books belched
cremating callous crest
kaleidoscopic knowledge crept
hoisted acumen hatched
voluptuous cramp crashed
sundry zeal stripped
confined fate fumed
by fury bruised.
'20:04:19:09:43
Note: Of pulpy picture.
patience is not an embargo;
eerie enmity oozing flows
gaunt gores, perforated pores pruned
fostering felon feasts - foiled fluid
neither is patience hoisted hay;
nocturnal nature chopping day,
smothered smithereens callous clips,
dark dribbles, moist mood, drizzles drip
patience is all but wanky wait;
taciturn haste fuming torn trait,
etched emotions lagging, joy foiled,
confetti of wishes - wit's spoil
patience's an ocean draped'n torrents,
amateurs savor waves' torments.
'20:06:27:12:20
Note: of pored patience.
Listen here: https://soundcloud.com/zuxian/reserata-carcerem-xxvii
skeptical swollen sore
garnishing gaunt gores
damped dungs dripping
flawed flavor fermenting
airy atmosphere puking
taunted translation trailing
burnished body brooding
felony fluid fiddling
dark desires dangling
scared emotions moistened
sumptuous sanity slackened
luminous lust darkened
amaranthine ambiguity flickering
vile vision smirking.
19:12:01:12:13