Best Henchmen Poems
Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles
his soul still ravaged by devious dictators,
cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind,
but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium.
Reluctantly he ventures forward with
vengeance portrayed through embers
engulfed within his frenzied eyes -
reflecting his mother's irreversible tears.
He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker,
just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam.
His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes,
but struggles to erase his thoughts,
as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind.
Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords,
but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings.
Entering the kingdom of dry fountains,
where God has no influence,
he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air.
Charcoal clouds rumble,
before horizons shed unwelcome tears.
Before him platinum priests preach,
as court jesters dance with sly grins,
hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs.
To his right overfull hospitals have no beds,
as penniless patients plead to be cured.
To his left the self proclaimed vain king
sits on his cardboard throne,
throwing dollars into a blazing fire place.
To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen
hides behind her simulated smile,
oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires
towards her clueless imbecilic princess.
It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed,
which continues to breed nefarious creed.
Miserable masses attempt to break free,
but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen.
In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves,
merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams.
Sold to the biggest idiot!
His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy!
Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses,
as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle.
Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide,
which he empties into his delectable broth.
Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs,
perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall.
Beyond his childhood playground,
now with rusty swings and slides,
he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave,
kissing her untouched headstone.
Expressionless he walks into the distance,
as storms wash away weak foundations.
Silent One
25 July 2018
Categories:
henchmen, analogy, metaphor, political,
Form:
Ballad
Thus we follow little Puff Puff brave and true,
For the Castle of Magic was within her view…
She will journey far under the skies of blue,
When she gets there, will she know what to do?
The Dragon Queen was angered and sent her men,
To look for little Puff Puff for she had escaped again…
“No one shall leave the Queen” from her Dragons den,
Huffing & puffing letting loose a fireball now and then…
Yet little Puff Puff journeyed tranquil and quite serene,
Unknowing she had tempered her Grandma, the Queen…
She decides to rest upon a rock near a relaxing ravine,
She sees movement followed by a silent smoke screen…
“Hi” a welcoming smile, “I’m Heidi the holographic fairy”
Created by the Queen for the forest to be rather scary…
Over time she had become kind & gentle on the contrary,
Thus venturing together toward the Castle joyful & merry…
Just behind them the Queen’s henchmen Victor & Gershon,
Protectors of the land who would tickle you upon desertion…
“Stop! Now, by the Queen’s command, your exiling exertion”
The men being weary, asked to tag along in their conversion…
Off they went, now a foursome to reckon as happy as can be,
The Castle a stone throw away, with water above their knee…
Puff Puff & her crew decided to cross the water in their spree,
But it was too much for Victor & Gershon for they had to pee…
The Castle in sight, the drawbridge opens observing the team,
Slowly tippy-toeing in, huddled together they hear a scream…
Before them stood a magnificent creature out from the steam,
“State your business, for I am Illuminatra the Empress supreme”
...to be continued...with more characters!!!
Oct.14.2019
Composed by Winged Warrior
Background...Internet Composite
Two-Headed Dragons & Little Puff Puff...Illustrated by Winged Warrior
Background Music...Children's Fairy-Tales from the Internet
With a female virtual voice
The story is based upon Aklia, Brenda Chiri's beautiful granddaughter
Thanks to everyone for their comments & making this poem POTD
Categories:
henchmen, 1st grade, character, children,
Form:
Rhyme
God is greater than the crush that caused the crater
The liars that always said, "Not now but certainly later."
The promise of pay to the delivery of dust
The raising of hope...happiness turns into rust
Always another tall tale about tomorrow...about some sunny day
They're like metal to a magnet...stuck like glue
Scorched like moths...screaming in the flames
God is greater than those monstrous mind movies
Playing so savage in the static
Like toys in the attic with see through souls
Broken, bent and bad way down in bottomless holes
The cruelty of cowards...go along to get along
That same sad song
Sometimes you've got to stand even when there's nothing to stand on
Stretching my soul like a rotted rubber band...any second set to snap
Smiles of sarcasm leave their own sick stamps
Light a lamp or damn the dark
Time to bite and not to bark
Take it out of the park and out of the playground
Shine that spiritual light on the lost and never found
God is greater than any supernatural serpent
Any superpowered evil eyed murder and money makers
Treasure takers and twisted tools
Tragic fiends and terror fools
Friends and foes alike with multiple bad beliefs
Scarecrows made out of sticks and straw who think they're made of steel and stone
Flooded with fear they stay all alone
Lost in clouds of confusion...destructive are their delusions
Beaten and bruised...blackened and blue
No will to win...born only to lose
Consequence for the chaos
Come down to my knees as I take it to the cross
God is greater than any hellion or hater...any psychopathic puppet on paper
Any crime crusader or insanity invader
Nevermind this nightmare
This world of wickedness that's full of homicidal henchmen and treacherous traitors
Yeah, I know the truth and the truth has set me free
God is greater and greater is He
Categories:
henchmen, faith, father,
Form:
Blank verse
‘Twas in another century
On a desolate, dreary day
When something red from skies above
Wafted into the land of gray.
It slowly drifted in the sky,
Then lit on the head of a boy.
For reasons that are unexplained,
It filled his heart with joy.
But the land of grey - it had rules,
Whether they be written or “un-“.
Here every hat must be grey,
And exceptions there would be none.
The notice of the king’s two henchmen,
This violation did not escape.
They took it upon themselves,
The youth’s behavior to reshape.
Perhaps it bothered those big men
To hear that cap say, “look at me!”,
But who can translate words said in “hat”?
It could have screamed “I am free!”
The soldiers were dealt three more cards
And those were number, age, and size.
They grabbed and tossed up that red cap
Back and forth high in the grey skies.
The lad could not catch that dear hat.
Those brute’s mouths filled with laughter.
The tike was separated from his joy
Which he desperately ran after.
Why’d these bruisers enjoy their jobs?
Was it just control to maintain?
Or the simple joy of sharing
The pleasure of inflicting pain?
While we do not know the answer,
We know they hid the hat so trusty
And relegated that red headgear
‘Neath a chair, dark and dusty.
This once political prisoner -
Did he escape? Forgotten instead?
He performed his mystical magic
And is now sitting upon my head.
Categories:
henchmen, bullying, childhood, freedom, magic,
Form:
Rhyme
Attila the Hun was a kindly old soul
He raped and plundered the land
With the aid of his murderous henchmen all
A truly psychotic man
The kind of man you'd like as a friend
If you love to ransack and pillage
Hitler was another of these murderous souls
Marauding each town and village
Need more of the likes of Benito Mussolini
Such honourable leaders all
But I harken back to Attila the Hun
His exploits leave me enthralled
May seem like I've tumbled over the edge
But I blame it on dear Eileen Ghali
She poked and prodded me into submission
Could no longer dilly and dally
© Jack Ellison 2013
Dedicated to my dear good friend Eileen Ghali!
Categories:
henchmen, humorous, tribute, me,
Form:
Quatrain
Beneath the full moon's illumination, two darkly dressed
Figures are quietly digging, gentlemen collectors, of the
Cadavers of the undead, desecration's henchmen of
Greed’s loosened purse strings, murders of the dead flesh
Trade.
Grave diggers for hire, the fresher the body, the more
Coin is made, Burke, and Hare always say, cash only on delivery!
What will it be Sir Professor of medicine, or science, large or
Small we provided it all, young or old, care we not, just tell us
Your preference, money does the talking here, sir!
So what will it be than, what's your pleasure governor,
Say these the body snatchers, of Edinburgh Scotland!
Shadow hunters with clubs of diversions in hand,
Tempting the male with passions of the evening,
Alluring co-horsts, walk their living dead victims,
Into deaths pleasure zone, then flee as the fatal
Blow is struck, by their gentlemen companions!
The Doctor you see, pays better coin, if the corpses
Cadaver is still warm, smothered, bashed, or strangled,
It’s all for the betterment of Science and medicine.
These sadistic serial killers of the past, rightly
Believe, and joking laugh, in the cold evening air,
Of this city’s seeder side of the tracks,
We’re doing this for the just cause, of
Humanity’s sake, ha ha!
Criminals after all my good man, is a harsh
Word to use, is it not for the future medical
Professional’s must be taught with the best
And freshest material possible after all, right governor!
Times are hard for the working man, we have
To fed are own after all, Burke and Hare
Relate, so if one unmissed individual puts
The spoils into our cooking pot, what the ####,
Simply does it really matter!
Let the gallows swing high on their reckoning day,
For sixteen lives will these guilty men pay for,
In their dearest bloods shedding, but in an
Eerie twist of fate itself, their bodies will
Go to the same medical professional,
So you see the joke is really on them in the end!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
This is a true story, it happened in England, and these men were
Were eventually found out and hung, there bodies were than sent
To a university for the betterment of medical research!
Categories:
henchmen, adventure, conflict, dark, evil,
Form:
Free verse
Alchemy
What process need there be to make
of broken things – the real? Great
sorcerers have failed, formed molten
monuments to greed’s glory. I, poor
peasant that I be, had neither flame
nor Patron, nor desire to be purified.
Priests had tried to rid me of the evils
they perceived; prayed and chanted
waving wands and crosses to summon
the fire of hell or open the gates of heaven.
To their chagrin, I remained unchanged.
Alone in a world of twisted wreckage
I formed alliances with the aspects of
my being that had resisted the sorcery.
Realizing that I was an individual and
need not be party to the organized
incarceration of my mind and spirit.
I honed the edges of my intellect on
tools hand fashioned by experience.
Culled the detritus of past lunacy
and sorted carefully aspects that
might still be of use.
Fear, that mighty bastard, fought
to stay on the throne surrounded
by its henchmen – hate, rage, and
an ever present anger. My choice?
Flee the kingdom or take the crown.
I could no longer remain in exile from
my self but had my self-alchemy the
strength to approach the pseudo
King and challenge his hold on the
empire?
Thus did I, we, the many aspects of
my being, conspire to outwit and
outmaneuver a slow, entrenched,
inflexible imposter. Slowly the seeds
of truth took root, gave blossom to
integrity, trust, and a self-reliance
not based on self. Wisdom followed,
slowly, as is wisdom’s want. So did
the alchemy of youth give way to the
alchemy of growth, the alchemy of
ego to the alchemy of spirit. So was
my darkness brought into the light
my weakness into strength, my being
restored.
John G. Lawless
Categories:
henchmen, allegory, integrity,
Form:
Prose Poetry
RECIPE: "Poulet Roti" French Style - Le Chant Royal (Instalment 4)
(Note: Rhyme scheme of “Le Chant Royal” where capital “E“stands for refrain, thus – Stanza: ababccddedE, Envoi: ddedE)
STANZA III
The idea's to pluck the chicken naked dead
But to keep it alive so long as there's fun
Stick pins and needles all the time on its head
So that when the COQ crows you know the bird's done
Was Marquis de Sade Torquemada's agent
The Socialist Mayor now out on tangent
Wishing spindle glass tower turns ivory
To keep him in power sans democracy
Get henchmen to preach comeuppance damnation
Tighten screws on chicken spit sans clemency
Now that lame bird can't fly away sans nation
ENVOI
Vain Socialist pique harks back to idiocy
Lax morals sport with intellect's papacy
Skinned and spiked chicken calls for condemnation
Do Napoléons fear Waterloo or Holy See
Now that lame bird can't fly away sans nation
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Categories:
henchmen, anti bullying, family, father
Form:
Ballade
The Queen's henchmen penetrate professionally the porous perimeter,
as a Phyrric victory I pacified your Lady's legion,
for both in the open,like charriots missing riders,decentralized command,the measure,
I, like you maneuver behind the superior shelter of Praetorian's protection,
Levy the lurid seige upon my country's citadel as incensed infidels do,
your cantankerous catapaults wasting pawns like pebbles punched by a storming sea,
an officer sacraficed sardonically, intrepidly,
so to decimate the dormant foots encumbering you,
audacious as an angered asp the timely tactic was,will it hasten your demise to me?
Mandatory machinations amongst this moonlight morass,palpable being Death's caress,
a zephyer like a frosty scythe grazes gingerly our anxious eyes,
tethering the still strategy of mens' mentation,
advancing positions predicted but unproven, an apocolyptic inevitability provoked,
fostering inclement suspense,
justice is now beyond principle,virtue survives only on victor's blade,
incantations made in fire for fear's sublimation,
The common denominator of this prommenade of predation is relentless domination,
manipulating the opposition,perception taunted and haunted
as the fox dictates the chimerical chase,
a vermillion heartbeat,virulent,lucious,with a thin hum of vincibility
lures you to na spot of fragile dominion,
divided forces tend to scream like burning forest
when ambushed along trails of a tedious pace,
When the harp chords chortle tears of tucker from a skulless head,recall with dire dignity
that you were vanquished in strong purpose,
the memory of your egregious exploits will depend on the degree of quater
afforded by my soveriegnty
given to this proud harem of prospective sybils
rescued by a king's necessary nemesis,
J.A.B. - Part Three -
Categories:
henchmen, war,
Form:
Epic
I have wandered into a human stew of inopportunity, as my marriage/love/parental life have all come to an abrupt closure, noncompliance and final withdrawal from any real meaning. Am I dead yet? Not necessarily, but it seems that entity is not so remotely absent from my thoughts, as it once was given the supposed social tenure of our powers to control our nature, so now it seems "stupid" to even begin to engage a strategy, plan, answer to reclaim that "Lost Horizon" that will put me, us back into a Nirvanal state of eloquent bliss so aptly stated in the substantive, ****, vows we still take when we engage, marry, obligate, consumate, consecrate, and you know the rest. Grandchildren as quickly as possible. Forget the "Happy Couple" and all of their existance desires/wants/needs. Thank u socialization/domestication for ruining the fertile pastures of real love and affection. Feed the economy, we need workers/bosses, CEO's, sell, buy everything, produce, produce and produce. Keep us ever informed with all the trinkets which keep us isloated, unemotional and spur inhumanity to all that terse that tricky transient torment of T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z bytes, or in whatever compuscale u eat, that only serves to further the noncommunication life of our species. I only exist within myself in this space. Are my thoughts my own or just a reflection of what I receive? Do I exist? When I answer, am I being true or is it a stated recording of past sequences that are familiar in a patterened sense of my former being? My salience, remorse, continued presence upon this Earth is at best questionable? Meaningless? For me, the current standards of being have become to contentious; the stupidity, too overwhelming; the ignorance, too unbearable; the incompetence/divisiveness/poor judgement/antiquated/uneducated thinking/acting/feeling, our illustrious president, his supporters, henchmen, cronies, nepotism, DFA and their anything-but-a proactive approach to problem solving for the benefit of us all, leaves me in a lackluster quandry of whether, "To Be Or Not To Be? Believe me baby, that is MY question! My God, and I am not a religious person, but in the fin al analysis, you will reap what you sow!!!!!!!!! And I will laugh. I like "mushrooms" with my atomic grilled steak. No waiting.
Categories:
henchmen, crazy, death, family, goodbye,
Form:
Elegy
Gangster
Gangster, Gangster, ruthless cold-blooded killer,
Destroyer of life, take no prisoner for bountiful gain.
Business Man, Protector, racketeer of feared innocents,
Taking what you will, secured with violence and pain.
Who are you, what are you, who gives you the right,
Building Empires, from untold misery and blood.
Strong of character, fearing nothing and no one,
Victims revenge is weak and will do them no good.
Persecutor, executioner, henchmen do your bidding,
How can a small, malevolent Man, gain such command?
How many will stand together, to take him down,
None I fear, his domination has infected your land.
Gangster, Mobster, hoodlum or plain villain,
Are you a Capone, Luciano, a Blinder, Mafia or Triad?
Will your name be remembered in glorious infamy?
Or simply a cruel hearted crook gone mad.
Categories:
henchmen, corruption, crazy, hate, murder,
Form:
Rhyme
Above the roller-coaster rain clouds,
there's a moment when the wing tip of the plane
cuts seamlessly into serene blue as it banks
over Chicago. It's a layover in the sunlit limbo
of the hope island, its tranquil azure meadow afloat
with faux sheep, each one like 'ile flottante',
cotton candy, dessert of the day.
This is lofty communion in the Archdiocese of the Sky,
superior to that of Holy Name Cathedral where you broke
bread with shades of 1870s parishioners, consigned
to the company of of North Side gangster Hymie Weiss,
and two luckless henchmen, whacked to a nonstop flight
across the street from, not the First, Second, or Third,
but the Fourth Presbyterian's Gothic gathering place
where a cornerstone inscription on the church still bears
bullet marks of the murders. Masses of flowers
sent to the grieving widows. Nothing
"personal', you understand--Just business! Ah Yes!
American Organized Crime and Charity!
Outside Fourth Presbyterian's Gothic facade, its carved
stone tympanum a legless man sits in his stations-
of-the cross wheelchair, dispensing Sunday cheer
and greetings, no Tommy gun in sight. So much the pity,
leaving Chicago without violence, just churches, lore
of gangsters, a riveting river, and speakeasies.
As the plane banks into the marshmallow topping
over Minnesota in its descent to the Janus Cities,
the bird-head jet pods still face Chicago. Wind flaps
gape wide in a noiseless scream, and across the sky's
white flatland, ice castles rise in which live
the frosty angels of Yes and No.
Categories:
henchmen, places
Form:
Free verse
The fat director in his piggy mien
Sitting in opulent oval office,
Wearing costly French suit
A delicate silk bow tie,
While the buttons are straining to keep
The belly from bursting out,
In performing callisthenic of the bulge.
Telephone rag, he lifted two of several
Dropped and picked with Havana stuck to his pout
And spoke rapidly with cheek dancing:
I want them in my piggy bank
I want the whole, as my piggy position is concern,
I will take seventy five per cent of the piggy taken
Forget about them,
Leave the piggy bubble project uncompleted
I will meet you for a brunch,
Masses rendered impotent, swallowed and wolves down
By the pig and his henchmen
Raining down hardship and flooded hopelessness,
Wiping up suffering and slashing death,
They fed and sold selfishness
And leave many to immeasurable loses,
To wash and watch shame
Inside the sewage of the rich
Presenting dramatic performance of bone to bone,
And starring, the ultimate Warrior Kwashiokor
For nouveau rich spectators applause,
Waifs and beggars begged and flogged more
Expectation refused to manifest in globe
Yet those who have expanded chests came out
To yell protestation but, castrated in their ranks.
The robbed queued in supplication to Almighty
Ears from the nooks of the ghettoes
From the air every blessed hour,
Wailing mulimukun sobbed Allah
That of rabbi baritone Jehovah Rapha
Enough! Prostration to lead infinite frustration
And threw hands up,
And supported the jaws with fragile limbs waiting
Aluta continua! Drummed the repressed voices,
With boundless bundle of fists thrown up
To face the militant ants with all laser weapon
Punctured, battered and marched down
Until the rout were silent;
Real war is not wage on the battlefield
But on a space minute than head of a pin,
World is just a rounder
Which urchins kick about in the streets,
The rule and regulation, don’t bother
Whether pricked by volley
Or pretended thorns hidden all around
When permitting dribbling,
We are fools to the brim.
Categories:
henchmen, mystery
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Did oz turn its posterior, when Dorothy stole those ruby shoes?
Something over the rainbow’s smelling pretty ominous.
Opposites attract, like evil and good. a conflict’s brewing -
The west’s witch is rolling out her plans over a drag’n coffee.
The Rainbow Sun, reports a stirring, of the proverbial pot.
Manicure parlors and parades, shut down in Emerald City.
The horse of many colors has been dyed brown - his cover.
Wizard is wise, to the thievery ways of the “Jayhawker”.*
Glynda, “the goody goody”, sells lies like lemon drops,
And rainbow spectrum opposite, is “crazy” for green.
Dorothy, now “Dot”, begins a band called the “Polkadots”,
Promotion of forward movement, to take over Oz’s perimeter.
The “Ruby Shoe Movement”, an agenda to eradicate “good and evil”
Uses cursory verbiage, to rid the land of a “horde of witches” (two)
Flight line lights up, with soldier monkeys ready to attack.
Those who join the Kansan side, the Polkadots croon, while
“Rubyites” applaud, break out in rainbow song - waving banners.
The horse shakes his mane in dismay, a spy for the arcadians.
Amidst the Rubyites - a cowering lion, a heartless can of tin,
a befuddled scarecrow, and a toy dog. Excepting the dog,
All were acquired on the jaundiced road. It stretches between
The Emerald palace and the village of fisher price people.
Dot grew courageous, when she took a lucky shot;
She steered her cyclonic house, killing the witch of the east.
She swept the streets, greedily shaking hands with
Cheery munchkins. Pulled off the shoe heist like a pro.
Not a witch, she claims, but clicking the butane of her heels,
Catches oz by surprise, chaos ensues. “Get the balloon”,
The wizard blasts, “I will distract her and her Rubyite buffoons”
He sends them chasing after brooms in the gloom of night.
Fortune returns, delights in her prize – a melted wicked witch, and broom.
Henchmen throw weighted bags over Dot’s crew, retreating them back to Kansas
Categories:
henchmen, humorous, imagination,
Form:
Couplet
where the worm never dies and the fire's never quenched...foolish sinner souls stay
drowning and drenched in streams of blood,sulfer and sweat...there is no escape from eternitys snares,traps,and webs
like rats and roaches and mice and men in a volcanic river of rage
1000 times a day the ruthless and truthless get severed and slain
where the worm never dies and the fire's never quenched
earthly kings and queens turned into eternal slaves...once riding on the fence now they're screaming in the flames
their senses are invaded by the horrible stench...the misery and madness it just makes no sense
rich rulers and high henchmen stripped bare to the bone...they can't buy their way out because hell is their home
left in pitch blackness to think about their sins and mistakes
where the worm never dies and their fire's never quenched
maniacle millionaires sitting in electric chairs...savage succers stop and stare
they best beware and repent...put down that whiskey bottle,crack pipe,and mad monkey wrench
where the worm never dies and the fire's never quenched
the tide it keeps on turning and the nightmare is never ending
that worm of forever keeps bending and burning
mistaken and misguided they all swim in the fire...their memories get mangled as they long to retire
no hope for tomorrow and no fear of consequence
where the worm never dies and the fire's never quenched
anthony_beesley@yahoo.com
Categories:
henchmen, death
Form:
Rhyme