Best Handgun Poems
It’s raining in the corner
Stripes upon the floor
Bloody knife in a barroom door
Drinking whiskey
From a hollowed out gourd
Full of wasps
That rage in my core
Old man Mason
Got a smile upon his face
He knows the fire
And now I got a taste
Can’t stand up
Can’t lie down
Spinning room
Going round and round
Lipstick so red and thick
Devils eyes are on my hip
Right hand of the devil
Is a handgun son
I’m shooting dice
I’m shooting everyone
Woke up in a Philippine jail
I’ll sail for Hong Kong
Once I make my bail
They’ll never find me
The only evidence to tell
Is a tattoo of a broken heart
And a rusty nail
Water trickles on her wrists
Wiping away the blood
Wiping away the pain caused by so many others
The voices in her head are screaming for her to kill herself
Telling her to forget about the small amount of hope she still holds on to
For that hope is the only thing keeping her alive
She feels as if everyone around her don’t see her
They see her as broken, something that can’t be fixed
But everything can be fixed it may not be perfect
But it still holds value
In this case the value of a person’s life
Someone who didn’t deserve the way she was made to feel
She had people tell her ‘I hope you die in your sleep’
Or people saying she was better off in a coffin
These words she started to believe so after so many years of hoping she gave up
She gave in to the voices in her head
That night she went in to her father’s study and took out his handgun
She held it to her head and with tears streaming down her face she pulled the trigger
Her parents woke in a fright and ran to the study
To find her limp, cold body lying on the floor, hoping that what they saw wasn’t real
That there baby girl wasn’t gone
They blamed themselves for not seeing how much pain she was in
For not noticing her when it mattered.
She came to me this dark sad day, wanting to go but ordered to stay. Locked
behind these cold metal bars. I long for the day to count the stars For I can no
longer walk these lands For ending the life of another, by my own to hands. From
his body the blood did spill. From lapse of judgment I proceeded to kill. This
crime will haunt me so. To the land of death and shadow I shall surely go...
For this my seventh year, his eyes I keep seeing in my dreams. For un
forgiveness the thing I fear. Living alone inside my cell, I pray to the lord God to
save me from the fierier Pitts of hell. I remember the day I took the life of another;
being only eighteen I received the rage in the eyes of his mother. They say
murder is an unforgivable sin. If I could go back in time I would do it again...
For the courts allowed him to go, no punishment for abusing my only child. After
the judgment I grew wild. Vengeance had completely overtaken me. Blood was
the only thing I could see. Each and every night while I lied in bed, to kill that man
was the only thing in my head. I was ordered by the courts not to talk to him and
to stay away. I go to visit my son's grave; my blood boils hotter each and every
day. I know now what is needed to be done. I decided to go to the pawn and buy
myself a handgun.
Now these uniformed men have handcuffed me and are leading me down a dark
hall. Each footstep as loud as a thunderclap at each fall. The priest that walks
beside me is telling me to ask forgiveness and the lord God shall set me free.
For now I am strapped to this stainless steel table. Placing a needle in my arm,
moving I am unable. Then I hear a whisper from above, my child I have forgiven
you. You have received a father’s love.
For
those who dream.
The Darwin Awards are a posthumous honor, recognizing those who have improved the human gene pool by removing themselves from it by their own foolish actions.
In a robbery way out in Long Beach
Elliot's handgun misfired in the breech
Down the barrel he took
A quite scatterbrained look
Then made it more than a figure of speech
There was a foolish fellow named Gary
Who gulped gasoline over near Cary
The fuel made him gag
So he fired up a ***
And now smokes in the state mortuary
"Look, no helmet!" Phil proudly decried
In the headgear disobedience ride
He stood for his rights
Then put out his lights
When he flew off his Electra Glide
An impatient Korean got miffed
And was ramming the doors of the lift
Then went a bit daft
When he got the shaft
But his ride to the bottom was swift
References:
http://jdgroover.wordpress.com/2013/08/20/the-2013-darwin-awards-are-out/
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2012-03.html
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2011-03.html
http://www.darwinawards.com/darwin/darwin2010.html
The Gray Queen
She sleeps in between
Dreams and awakening
She is always there
In the early morning light
In the deep darkness of night
She won’t cede her reign
Over the grayness which she rules
The grayness of despair and depression
She never lets you sleep
And keeps happiness from your door
She is the queen of the doldrums
She never smiles
And never leaves her chambers
That is drawn upon your heart and soul
She is the Gray Queen
And there is nothing but pain in her heart
Sleepless nights and dreadful mornings
Are her dominion
To rule your life with sidewalks
And rainy days
The gray mist is her dust
And the cold handle of a handgun
Her wand
She is with me all the time now
Like a ghost I walk hand-in-hand with her
Knowing there will be but one end
For the Gray Queen cannot be trumped.
Hate infiltrated Orlando's Pulse Club,
morphing into an instrument of Death.
And innocent men died in pools of blood
as a madman's anger stole their last breath.
Armed with both a handgun and a rifle;
a radicalized Islamist, slew gays.
For this closeted wannabe gay was
attracted and yet repelled by their ways.
Shots rang out as gays danced to their music;
creating a surreal killing zone.
And ensuring that few would leave alive;
bullets, mercilessly pierce flesh and bone.
Satan applauded this demented soul;
smirking at the notion of gun control.
My friend, how did he go so wrong?
Funny and jovial, was he, as happy as one can be.
Then, Paul shot his wife to death, mercilessly,
Beneath their family Christmas tree!
Leaving behind, children...three.
He never had a harsh word to say to anyone.
What was he thinking, this man of fun?
I shall never, ever know...
I wanted to scream and run.
Strange how life twists and turns at
times in unhappy and vicious ways.
I worry for women and gentle children.
Praying, they are never abused by men.
That was the saddest Christmas Eve of
my life.
A husband with a handgun, oh such pain
and unforgettable holiday strife.
~Biographical note~
This, indeed was only one of many brutal attacks, I
experienced in my life. Later, a fellow teacher blew
her husband way. Life is not always kind to so
many unfortunates.
My take away from events like this, is to recall how
beautiful life is. To value it, be grateful. Above all,
to communicate with each other openly. Be kind.
Be supportive.
If you are in an abusive relationship, get help or get
out. Your life depends on it. Don't let any poet here
smallify or degrade you, ever!..Panagiota Romios
Internet abuse is not acceptable....
July 15, 2020
7pm PST
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
A lone woman visits the graves,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
She speaks, but her words are not loud,
She whispers and calls them by name,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds.
The deceased has grown to a crowd,
She speaks tenderly to the dead,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
With the handgun she kept her vows,
As her victims entered her net,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
They came strutting and oh, so proud,
And many more will find her web,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
Her name is Danielle of the Marsh,
She hides her real name, Black Widow,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
©December 18, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton
The drovers' hearts were beating fast
When our grueling drive was done.
They'd had their fill of dust and beans,
And the only thing they wanted now,
Was a long, hot bath, and some cow town fun.
They loaded up the holding pens
With bawling, longhorn beef,
Then spurred their horses into town,
To seek out recreation--
And give their lonely hearts relief.
Dark moods and headaches followed
A long and lusty night.
The cattle town was lifeless--
Billy Barnes was taut and mean,
And the Kansas sun was blazing bright.
The boys ducked into the general store
Out of the noon-day sun.
There, Billy saw his heart's desire--
Beneath the glass of the counter,
Lay a blued steel, Colt, handgun.
Against young Tom's wise counsel,
Billy laid his money down.
With the heavy Colt tucked beneath his belt,
And feeling nearly ten feet tall,
He stepped out on the streets of town.
That evening found the bosom friends
In a dimly lit saloon,
Where the cost of rot-gut whisky,
And painted good-time gals
Left them busted much too soon.
Out in the steaming, summer night,
On the cattle town's boardwalk,
Billy's mood was dark and somber--
While Tom McQueen, as usual,
Was full of fun and nonsense talk.
--continued...
I ‘m stuck here were sometimes the sun never shines and my only relief is a drop of
rain from time to time, I fear someone may step on me and crush me into the
ground…my pedals tremble as people pass me by. I return every year around the
same time every year, only to witness man’s inhumanity to his fellow man. Yet I hear
them proclaim he is my brother and then the next day spread his brains across the
concrete and stones with a single shot from a single handgun. As mother leaned over
his lifeless body with tears of dreams that now are deferred falling down her face,
her once lovely smile replace the face of a man whom had been lost for nearly fifteen
if not longer. It was her last time to say good bye to her only son. But for some
reason she just started looking at me…her eyes all glazed and empty. As the police
pulled her off her son put him in the ambulance… as she scream at the fireman and
the cops who held her back from being able to get one last farewell or a single last
embrace. I didn’t cry, but a single drop of water did fall off my pedal as they covered
his face. This place that I’m in, I once heard someone say, “This is ghetto you better
get use to this place.” how can people live in this place? I then fell a tug at the base
of my stem…as his mother pluck me and later place me on his grave. As she laid me
there on his casket and said, “A lily for my baby, a sign of continued life in uncertain
place.”
A Memorable Senior Moment
By Elton Camp
Old Mrs. Jones reached her car in the parking lot
Oh, but what an unwelcome surprise she then got
For two strange, rough men were sitting inside
With sudden anger, the elderly lady then cried
“I have a handgun that I know exactly how to use.
Get out of that car unless it’s death you choose”
The two men immediately fled with the greatest fear
For the old lady made her intentions perfectly clear
Mrs. Jones opened the car door and took a seat
Attempts to insert her key with failure did meet
She looked around with puzzlement and surprise
A pack of beer and a football caught her eyes
She realized her great mistake and quickly found
Her own car that was parked two spaces down
She drove to the police station there to confess
How it was she had created such a horrible mess
The officer laughed because he had to retort
Two men had come in to give a scary report
“A crazy, gray-haired old lady hijacked our car.
Please go after her, for she can’t have got far.”
Proud and fearless they await the blank handgun
Olympic battles have just begun
Endurance and persistence have been the least of fun
Motivated and being cheered on, by each and everyone
Failure has been the best way to learn
Overall respect is what they had to earn
Raising their flags up high, is what all athletes yearn
All the sleepless nights and fears
Tears of joy paid off the fruitless years
Heart and soul they’re in the game
Letting them rise to glorious fame
Enjoying every minute on the track
Thoughts of failure, they never look back
Excellence achieved, with trophies in hand
Shining stars singing the anthem of their proud land
07 September 2021
Choice: the synonym of free will.
A crucial piece of the human puzzle.
If a human being was a handgun:
Choice would surely be it’s muzzle.
A machine has never died for another.
No machine has ever chosen, for who they bled.
Choice is the thing that separates,
the living from the dead.
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I recognize they spot my back I undeniably do
Running keeps you in shape, when you’re stressing run, and my watch signals time to escape
When the handgun is fired you dash off leaving the opposition thinking what is he up to
Say goodbye leaving them high and dry my back spells FORSAKE, yet they stare at me with rage like I’ve made a mistake
What to do, untie my shoelaces, are you anticipating on an undo, or anticipating on a screw-up for you to try to outdo
For the sake of a snake, what do you hate, what’s the motive to be fake
Over a plain pair of twins my running shoes
That’s been gruelingly traveling nature even uncommon icky lakes
I can dip into your conscious picturing you with a hatchet waving for my shoes, but you calculated clumsily slashing both my ankles saying,” Timber.”
(Piles of Saliva Blew)
Your grin of achievement you acting as if you accomplished so much striking your chest like an irate ape
I get right back up, lace them back up, my ankles are as exceptionally as new
You jump up in a cold sweat in disbelief nagging your dreams for a remake
Was in arms reach of me but I flew, can’t grab me out of your hair like lice and shampoo, the loser mentality is a severe flu
Running through each state has my opposition on skates, I can notice the pearly gold gates and in my eyes view it’s straight
My spirit is renew, something bout me withdrew, and my feet is like whereto
What running has done for me is added a great deal of hate on my plate, have me up for debate, and beyond all this negativity I remain with a similar understanding that running is great.
- Loverboi
PLEASE CANCEL THAT MEET AND GREET
Instant insanity insinuates itself repeatedly but not on me
You know who they are because of their unconventional thinking
It’s the paranoid pathetic people as per that which I see
And those are the ones I blame for my drinking
Craziness comes crawling and calling too many times for me
And these people walk around saying “poor me-- this ain’t no fun”
Lunatics lay in wait for me to prove that which I see
Well these people ain’t sane so pour me, poor me, pour me another one
I cannot escape the inescapable
My time ain’t worth their’s or anyone
Especially not with the mentally incapable
And then these people want the right to register for a handgun
No, they want to argue to demonstrate what they are
In front of an audience on my home, or the street
So I run to the nearest liquor store, best friend or a bar
Hoping upon hope that I don’t run into any of the people no one wants to meet
Phreepoetree