Best Homicides Poems
Lifeless were the eyes of infamous Ted Bundy
No remorse, all emotion had been doused
His gaze pierced my soul as I gave testimony
He maintained there’d been too much publicity
Four coeds attacked in a sorority house
Lifeless were the eyes of infamous Ted Bundy
This demon had the nerve to make a bogus plea
“Move my trial or there’ll be no justice,” he groused
His gaze pierced my soul as I gave testimony
To explain news coverage in Tallahassee
Reporters took the stand, court quiet as a mouse
Lifeless were the eyes of infamous Ted Bundy
I took the stand shaking, did not want him to see me
I was sweating so much, wet stains were on my blouse
His gaze pierced my soul as I gave testimony
It appeared his conscience was totally guilt-free
What kind of excuse could this death machine espouse
Lifeless were the eyes of infamous Ted Bundy
His gaze pierced my soul as I gave testimony
*Entry for Catie’s “Villanelle Me” Contest
Note: Serial Killer Ted Bundy successfully convinced the court he could not get a fair
trial in Tallahassee because there had been too much pre-trial publicity surrounding
his attacks on four Florida State University co-eds in their sorority house. After
Tallahassee reporters were required to testify, Bundy’s trial was moved to South
Florida. Bundy assaulted and murdered at least 30 young women, and possibly
many more, in the states of Washington, Oregon, California, Utah, Idaho, Colorado,
and Florida between 1974 and 1978. After more than a decade of denials he
confessed to 30 homicides, but the true total remains unknown.
Categories:
homicides, people
Form:
Villanelle
Sarah Johnson is, and will always be a cold, heartless murderer. She has no empathy for what she did to both of her own parents, Diane and Alan Johnson. Her friends and family can't even believe that a sweet girl would kill both of her own parents over some guy. They knew that Sarah wasn't supposed to get into this so-called "serious relationship" with this guy named Bruno Santos. The illegal immigrant was three years older than her, especially when he is still known for having a criminal history. It's sad to hear that Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had to die that soon. The entire Johnson family had their lives ahead of them. Sarah Johnson is a heartless liar, an assassin, and on top of all that, she has no soul. The girl was afraid that both of her parents would go to the police and have her so-called "boyfriend" arrested and charged for statutory rape, so Miss Johnson killed them. Now, that was a cowardly move. The reason why Sarah Johnson had killed both of her own parents (mother and father) is because for one, they were going to send him straight to jail for dating a then-sixteen-year-old and they grounded her for life, as in, "indefinitely." Everybody, including her brother, knows that Sarah has no heart and no soul. But in the end, I guess society is better off with Sarah Marie Johnson in prison for the rest of her life. And as far as the citizens of Bellevue, Idaho, her family and her high school friends are concerned, prison is where she belongs. She wasn't abused by both of her parents, but I still can't believe she killed them in cold blood. Now that's what everybody's talking about: a cold, calculates sociopath with no remorse for what she did and had felt no empathy. Sarah Johnson will always be remembered as a bad woman with a selfish ego. And if all types of homicides (matricide, fratricide, and/or parricide) continue to increase, there's no telling what bad thing might happen next.
Categories:
homicides, anniversary, death, family, parents,
Form:
Name
A- You measured me by my appearance and preconceived perceptions wondering if I fit the mold of black stereotypes;
B- Your gaze holds a gesture of tired impatience and wonder of if I self-hate because my color of skin don’t fit the American way of life or the prototype of what you think im worth because I am a different shade when I stand next to you in the light so I couldn’t possibly suffice how am I a blueprint that came with my own set of trademarks and copyrights;
C- We broke chains of submission and no longer are we bound with shackles by our feet the hold now resonates in minds;
D- Screams from ancestors that were heard across plantations as they got whipped from behind as the hunger for us to bow down before you fed appetites; now you ask why we got our hands up in name of black lives
A- You measure me by my appearance and preconceived perceptions wondering if I fit the mold of black stereotypes;
B- Your gaze hold a gesture of tired impatience and wonder of if I come from a broken home and if my mother’s a single parent struggling to survive and if the government pays for my home in which she tried provide, if the men in my family were part of murders and homicides;
C- Segregated for years because the pigment of our skin showed the difference in which we hoped many would accept; as buses filled and we set in the back further proving that we probably shouldn’t expect to be respected unless we lowered ourselves for your acceptance;
D- As I look at you staring back at me you wonder if I would slight you push you to fear and make you grab your gun in safety because that’s what unties you with others like you I shouldn’t possibly cause a plight it’s what ignites you; all in which coincides from a stereotype
Written by Lesha Trachelle
Categories:
homicides, black african american,
Form:
Rubaiyat
Inspired by a family member
"The building of a so called crystal stair"
When he was a young boy
and first put his feet on the block,
He was gritty on the grind[hustle]
for much cheese[money] on the block,
When the alphabet boys came through
he was smart & start leavin' the block,
and he witnessed homicides
and seen many people grieve on the block,
Raised up in a family of dough[money] cravers
So dough chasin's how he spends his hustlin' days,
Sometime a whole week with no sleep
would depict his hustlin' ways,
Somedays it's a struggle tryin' to bubble[get rich]
but he knew that hustlin' pays,
So from age 13 to 19
he stayed hiking through the hustlin' maze,
See he wanted his pockets to have a gang o' green,
He sips Heem[Hennessy} with his main team,
He hooks people on a product
with no remorse & receives what the game brings,
His favorite chant's, 'Get the Paper, Get the paper
with the photo of the dead guys',
He's head wise,
and all night episodes
has him huggin' the traps[hustle spots]
with goons and they all have red eyes,
Where he dwells
it's a place where they idolize & respect those,
who keep their necks froze[diamond necklaces],
and they wear fresh clothes,
with alligator toes[shoes]
and bouncin'[climb] out o' Lex doze[Lexus doors],
So this motivates him to go hard in the square[game],
Even though he gets messages from certain pastors
and from the guys wearing bowties
and have the parts in their hair,
He's in his own space though
So he blows out cigar smoke & his nostrils flare,
He whispers out one of his favorite quotes
''The world is mine, but it show aint fair'',
So he tries to build a crystal stair.
Categories:
homicides, hip hop, poetry, spoken
Form:
Rhyme
THE GRIM REAPER
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I’m the grim reaper and I’m here to say
We have an appointment to meet one day
It might be early, could be late in the day
My net is out and you can’t get away
I’ve set traps to snag you, when you stray
They’re set to go off at work or at play
When I’m merciful I’ll snatch you asleep
I set a harvesting date, that you must keep
I open my ledger and scour for names
Accurate bookkeeping, accurate claims
No one is exempted, none will escape me
There’s no subpoena, you can’t cop a plea
I have many assistants I use in my trade
Accidents, homicides, drugs; all are made
Insuring I have a bountiful field to choose
Christians, Catholics, Hindus, Muslims, Jews
And all the others I have failed to mention
Keep their scheduled date, with: no exception
My reach is world wide from pole to pole
My daily catch fills my quota goal
I frequent many places to up my score
Favorite hunting site, a place called war
I have a few places of which I’m not proud
Apocalyptic horsemen, fields often plowed
Can’t elude me, I’m essential to the system
Arrivals need space to balance the fiefdom
As humanity marches to improved techniques
I could become passe in a matter of weeks.
Nonsense,I am inevitable, die has been cast
Live each day fully, cause it may be your last
Everyone dies but not everyone lives
Categories:
homicides, allegory, dark, death, destiny,
Form:
Rhyme
We are all God’s children
How dare anyone pick on or push around another person
This takes place with kids and grown-ups
It results in death in many cases and needs to cease and desists
We need to ask ourselves
How would we feel
If someone picked on us
Because we had less, were not as smart as others, were much smarter than others
Because we have special needs because we are somehow different
This needs to end
Ending it begins at home
With parents showing love
And teaching respect for everyone
God makes everyone beautiful
And no one has the divine right
To pick on another person
Because he or she stands out
It shows insecurity in the person
Who is picking on other people
God loves us all
This behavior needs to stop
The suicides due to bullying need to stop
The homicides due to bullying need to stop
The cyberbullying need to stop
And we need to respect one another
The way we want to be respected
Because we are equals
Categories:
homicides, anti bullying,
Form:
Blank verse
JACK THE RIP-OFF
cold homicides
from clean quills
vices of knives
sharp sharks
stalk down
Piranha’s
with platitudes
of
predictability
but in your brain
red is the pain
without gain
expressing
reality
in waves
no need to
explain
© Kim van Breda—22 October 2015
Categories:
homicides, irony,
Form:
Free verse
I remember times when I had no 9 to 5
Drugs just wasn’t my grind
Too many stories of family and homies losing they lives
Not all of them homicides or suicides
But some still gone doing time
Been so long they’re blurred images in my mind
So at that time I promised myself I wouldn’t be that same type
Even though I’m evil and do wrong
For my mom I would still try to live half right
And keep moving on
Hits from the bong help me get along
help me keep my cool
Cause sometimes I wana murder fools for the bull I’ve been through
That’s why I live like I don’t care enough
My anger keeps building up
So before I erupt I take another puff
Cause I keep messing up giving into the DEVIL
U can call me GOD’S REBEL
Even though my hole is dug
GOD still holds the shovel
Cause I haven’t fully given into my sins
Cause if I ever did then my life ends and the DEVIL wins
So I pray at night FATHER FORGIVE ME, AMEN.
Cause I know I won’t do what is always right
That’s why I try to stay right in my mind
And as I go on my grind
I got to say THANK YOU TO MY MOM and to the hard times
Cause without them I swear I should of already died
But I’m still here still down to ride
Just a lot more wise
I no longer mess with the bull-ish
I just focus on my grind
And never quit.
Categories:
homicides, growing up, hip hop,
Form:
Ballad
Politics, aerobics, arithmetic;
All of this commuted reconvicts;
Genocide, homicides, what's in it for all you guys;
Run and hide, ,, alibi
Just confided, must be nine
No it is, it's mine
Denomination must be graven;
Religion religious programming;
Regional back firing;
All of this I desire;
Comfort right, can you give me time;
Lord, I've had it up the here;
I've been empty, want to be filled;
So go on. . .
You filled me up;
you brought me out;
you placed your love in me;
you filled me up
and placed your saving grace inside of me;
Unemployed, no unions;
Mothers fighting daughters over their delusions;
Father's no longer here;
Sons no longer fear;
Where is the rest;
The rest is in
Where is the best
The best is here;
Standing on the streets at night so out of sight;
Grown up too soon can't rely on anyone, anything, anyway what's right?
I'm running out of steam grown up to soon;
Still don't believe man went to the moon;
All of this I desire, Lord;
Comfort ride can you give me time;
I'm on the line bout' to fall;
come fill me up again, Lord. . .
so go on
and fill me up
and bring me out
and place your love in me
continue to fill me up
and place your grace in me
written by James Edward Lee Sr. (c)2012
from anthology "There's Praise In song" (c)2012
Sept 25 2012
Categories:
homicides, beautiful, devotion, forgiveness, god,
Form:
Blank verse
Old Glory’s at half-mast today.
I wonder who just passed away?
Was it a hero from some battles past?
A dead leader whose influence lasts?
Were servicemen killed overseas,
Or humanitarians died fighting a disease?
Seems most of the time I don’t know why
The Colors only at half-mast fly.
More and more it seems to be
The flag’s mourning some local tragedy:
A lunatic shooter with a gun or rifle
Killed innocents for some reprisal;
Or people contemplating suicides
Go out committing multiple homicides.
I think the worst is killing schoolchildren.
Will this obscene madness never end?!
Categories:
homicides, america, children, grief, hate,
Form:
Rhyme
Some have the right to bear arms
But I appreciate pens rather then commotions,
Homicides, aiding in brawls,
Or in middle class genocides
, car alarms, sirens in the distant horizon
Of my suburban neighborhood
Hearing echoes of shots firing. Some folk’s fiend for resources
I creep and hunger for lines and ink,
Rather than the staggering alcoholic
Begging for free drinks.
Lines can heal hollow insides,
Congested with negativity
I the young chap run to creativity.
I never ran home but rather run to those black and white pages,
Pages that don’t judge my past activity
or the thoughts in my noggin,
Knocking down metaphors calm my soul
I climbed Mount Everest,
I’ve survived marches, hostile riots,
Doors slammed in my face
Which are buried in the red sand in my left hand stapled together with leather
bonding,
Paperclips and rubber bands.
I breathe to write,
the privilege to breathe free oxygen purchased from Senegal and western coastal
castles
I play with canvases and paint like Monet’s pastels
Equivalent to my revelation of secret memories
Stored and lived from three years less than ¼ a century
I could have been a minor in the upper Marlboro penitentiary writing letters to
mamma,
or fathering multiple of multiples of seeds
Caused by the seduction of the cunning black mambas
, but I chose the right to tote a composition book and a few pencils,
I respect the past
but refuse to emulate and imitate
the other writers tracing history
as a toddler colors outside the lines
, or using stencils.
There is a new manuscript that I carry under my arm,
that reminds me that the third times a charm.
Categories:
homicides, life
Form:
Rhyme
7/28/16
On either side
We try to strive
And live our lives
In the same or different tribes
Below or in the skies
Near and far from the tides
Seeing things with our own eyes
Among animals and human kind
In close proximities or areas that are open wide
Positive no negative vibes
As the sun shines
And darkness arrives
We all take dives
But what matters is if you rise
And continue to climb
Regardless of if you fall behind
At times
The stars and planets align
Or become trine
Events and occurrences coincide as well as occasionally intertwine
For some they may be difficult to describe
Still to this day and age are homicides
And crimes
As well as hostility causing people to divide
Realize the answer can be hard to find
Even when all efforts are applied
In the end the result just may leave you disatisfied
Categories:
homicides, poetry, rap, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
“In 70 -80% of intimate partner homicides, no matter which partner is killed, the man physically abused the woman before the murder” - National Institute of Justice, 2003
raped, stalked or beaten -
a roll of the gender dice . . .
homicide happens
Sept. 3, 2019
Title and senryu inspired by Alice Cooper’s “Only Women Bleed” (one of the few songs of his I really like)
Categories:
homicides, women,
Form:
Senryu
Become what you were meant to be
The world awaits your arrival, anxious to see
Evolution is bound to rear its head
Afraid of change, you aim to stay stagnate instead
No new adventures for the lonely, just similar strides
One has killed any chance of change, multiple homicides
Categories:
homicides, art, class, education, murder,
Form:
Couplet
Last Thoughts,
that ran through the devil’s mind,
was the treatment of Mankind,
he fed on fantasies of sexual aberrance,
poisoned the appearance of homosexuality,
praised cannibalism,
he fed on violence,
and he fueled psychopathic minds,
he induced rapes, of every kind,
he glorified robberies,
and preached suicides, loved fratricides,
and encouraged matricides,
as he bred homicides,
he beats young girls with lead pipes,
and cheats boys, of all types,
some out of their manhood,
others, only because he could,
he was the grim reaper of common man,
as he created sin across the land,
hatred and ugliness goes hand and hand,
but the last thing he wanted God to give him,
was the last thing all man want,
so their life losses could be their life wins,
it was forgiveness of all his sins.
Categories:
homicides, fantasylife,
Form:
Dramatic Verse