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Details | In Cold Blood Poem | Create an image from this poem.

She was Saved

You read in the papers You watch on the news Our soldiers are fighting As the killing accrues In the theatres of war We lose many lives In these wars of man Only death thrives But every so often There's a turn for the good A life is saved They couldn't do what they could The lives of a family Murdered by cowards Shot in cold blood Bullets they showered But from this tragedy A life was saved It's of a little girl And a soldier who braved A Chief Master Sergeant In the USAF Allows mans humanity To kindly show face This little girl who was saved Who was shot in the head He stayed by her side For she should have been dead To see pictures like this In the theatres of war Maybe it's understandable To see what we fight for An alleged soldier In wanton family wipe What takes a soldier To become their type My heart goes out To this little girl And all the other children Caught up in this war ridden world Written on the spur of the moment after receiving a picture from Sara Kendrick. http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-4.php


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009


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The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier - Canada

We all know you now
You have fallen at our feet
You have guarded them all with life and limb
Noble and brave
Only to fall at a cowards last call
You have stirred the souls of the unknown heroes
Their appall shall seek the just dues of our defamers and saboteurs
Young lads who now welcome you in the hereafter
Shall haunt our enemies from near or afar
The drum rolls sound, as the rifles salute
The Unknown Soldier
You are unknown no more


Notes: In memory of Nathan Cirillo and Patrice Vincent both killed in cold blood on the week of Oct 26, 2014 by cowards in the name of Islam. Nathin Cirillo was standing guard at the tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Also in memory to the 1000’s of unknown soldiers, young men, who fought so that we may be free.


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014


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SAD Seasonally Affective Disorder

SAD Seasonally Affective Disorder

Some are prone to depression in winter when days get shorter when
less light enters the brain through the eyes and thoughts become darker

I am also affected and when news gets explosive when fighting grows
fiercer when smoke bombs and debris shadow the lands so much that
you cannot see dead men’s women’s children’ shadows no longer because
an outline silhouette of contours necessitates contrast when darkness prevails

Crying shambles when the world does not listen and some say that I’m a political
prisoner to my conscience so I must roar this loud and clearly to illuminate
my insufferable affection my sadness turned into anger and anger to shame

Surely not so many wish to dwell on sad seasons as not for unhappiness to
again and again contaminate squeaky clean order sequenced contentment
so it is clear as trenched mud that more stories on Syria Libya Yemen Iraq and
Palestine have come to be repetitious monotonous sort of a jejune boring
unimaginative overkill for common sense enjoyment if you pardon the pun

So its time for some older stuff not that far back as the Holocaust just a tad slightly
more recent some light easy reading on Genocide with some SAD thrown in for
good measure some Surely Antagonistic Disruption to relieve the depression

As a poet I have some habit of reading and while the sun stays higher up on the
horizon south of the equator where I live I leaf through dust ridden pages bound
in beautiful leather ex-cave from ex libris and smell musk and history and other
writings on the wailing wall of cacophonous silence in the comfy chair on the patio

Treblinka I promised to pass and who wants to really know about the slaughter
in Armenia a century ago that is only for google philologists experts of doom
Bosnia may well be too euro-centric for my African perusal and Cambodia too Asian
when othering leads to othering of dissecting racial segregation lines in cold blood

Not to offend American emotions when discussing chemically modified pardon mortified
well deader than dead Kurds gassed with chlorine and ignorance supplied by the West
I shall restrain myself to simple brutal killing with a view to extinguish on African soil

Kigali it is then where or thereabouts in three short months twenty-two years ago
and the figure is truthful 800000 Tutsis where killed by the Hutus which is I believe
to be quite a lot of shadows and plenty of sculls when machetes ground to the bones

It happened and was reported at the time in graphic detail by journalists and the
Canadian UN Peacekeeping General in Rwanda and was ignored diverted misrepresented swept under bloody rags of Realpolitik meaning that even the truth had been slaughtered

Billy The Kid Clinton was not even busy with Monika and her blue stained dress yet
so surely he could have had some time on his hands but nil nada nothing not a single
cabinet meeting on some Blacks slaughtering miserable Blacks ‘They do that all the time’
they stated in earnest ‘It will be like Burundi just 50000 or so’ and so the resolve at
that time was to withdraw the meagre contingent of blue helmets and hope that
the situation would settle itself which it did there was no rush to produce weapons
of mass destruction for either side as bicycle spokes and suspension springs would suffice

Everyone covered their lower backsides with brown stuff leaking out and nobody really
gave an excremental fart no concern no expletive in public just bleeding screaming silence

So as an afterthought and in plain effortless ease it might be prudent to remember
the odd slit open abdomen food for thought and summer night light contemplation
what to do and what not to just in the possible case a genocide creeps into your sphere



Written in Johannesburg some time in so called modernity








Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016


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Baby Samantha Pendo

  
The morning illuminated her face:
While deep in a sweet sleep she wondered why
She couldn’t see through the glowering darkness;
But in the morn she was amazed at the light –
Though she did not know that it was called light,
And where it did come from no one told her:
What does half year old baby understand!

Her eyes were beautiful heavenly stars
And her face was the morning eastern sky;
The patriots of our great country regarded her,
So the splendor of a future nation was greater 
For she would be the sun-smile of tomorrow
When today’s sun would set away.

The morning illuminated her face:
But, so sad, a bullet came from the heart
Of the jungle, from the mouth of a tiger
And burst into her half a year old head.
Hear all of you: so the babe died.
Her dead face was full of sparkling tears:
The tinsel on the lifeless face, was end of a future.

Notes :Baby Samantha Pendo was killed in cold blood in Kisumu City after chaos erupted following the 08/08/2017 elections in Kenya.


Copyright © HONESTY OIMBO | Year Posted 2018


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- Haiku X 67 - La Vie De Paris -



A pleasant evening
Romantic streets in Paris
Killed, done in cold blood


Picture as warzone
Music stops and ball rolling
A nightmares in live


The death in Paris
Fire with assault rifle
France close its borders








     * * * * * * * * * * * * * 


A definition of evil:  Goodness absence - No compassion
Are some people born without heart and becomes obsessed with the power of evil ?


Fear and crying
Gurgling stream of hate
My pain for the world
Give me your hand
Always by your side




14.11.2015 A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved



Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015


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Billy the Kid's Great Escape

*
Sentenced to hang in the town of Lincoln,
Billy made his bold escape.
Both of his guards died from thinking
that a shackled young boy couldn't break away.
*
I've often wondered what thoughts were going through his head
as he stood staring out that window chained to the floor by his bed,
watching the gallows being built that would soon seal his fate.
Was he planning at that very moment his greatest escape?
Did he already know that his hanging would never come to be?
Was he already aware that before night fall, once again he'd be free?
Whatever his thoughts, they were interrupted rudely
by Deputy Bob Ollinger, one of his guards while in custody.
"Word has it you said that if we ever met again 
you'd kill me on the spot. 
Well here I am Kid. Now's your chance. 
Show me what you've got. 
It's a shame that you'll hang in another week or two, 
because I'd love to be the one who gets to kill you. 
I've got silver dimes in the barrells of my shotgun. 
I'd love to try them out on you, but I can't unless you run. 
If I free you from those chains will you run for the door? 
Oh by the way Kid, your Ma was one sweet filthy whore. 
I'll kill you before you hang Kid. That's a sure bet." 
"Be careful Bob," said the Kid, "I'm not hung yet."
Bob thrusted his shotgun hard into Billy's gut. 
The Kid looked up at him in pain and said, "Now what?" 
"Don't do it Bob," Bell screamed angrily, 
"or you'll be the one who'll hang for sure 
for killing an unarmed boy in cold blood 
who was chained helplessly to the floor. 
It's time for the other prisoners 
to be escorted across the street to be fed. 
The Kid's not going anywhere. 
He's chained to the floor by his bed. 
Anyway, I took the prisoners last so now it's your turn. 
Go and have yourself a beer 
and I'll stay here 
and guard the Kid until you return. 
Bob Ollinger placed his shotgun into the gun rack. 
Before he left, he said to Billy, "I'll see you when I get back." 
No one can say for sure if the above scenario ever truly took place,
but one thing's for sure. 
Ollinger tormented Billy at a merciless endless pace. 
They were enemies who fought against each other
during the Lincoln County War. 
Ollinger was in the posse that murdered John Tunstall,
Billy's employer, friend and mentor. 
"I have to use the privy Bell," Billy said to the deputy. 
Bell kept his rifle trained on Billy as he tossed him the key. 
Billy unlocked the chains that kept him bound to the floor. 
Still in handcuffs and leg irons, Bell escorted Billy out the door. 
Billy entered the outhouse closing the door behind him. 
"Let's not take too long in there Kid," Bell said with a friendly grin. 
While in the outhouse, 
Billy managed to slip one of his hands out of his handcuffs. 
"You fall in there Kid?" Bell laughed, 
"You've been in there long enough." 
"I'm coming out now Bell," Billy said opening the door. 
"Sorry I took so long Bell. I must have ate something bad for sure." 
Deputy Bell then escorted Billy back to the jail cell. 
Once inside, Billy spun around and smacked hard Deputy James Bell. 
Bell lost his balance, dropped his rifle and was momentarily stunned. 
"Hands Up Bell!," the Kid yelled. In his hand was a gun. 
"Please don't do it Bell," Billy pleaded, but Bell tried to run. 
The Kid had no choice but to do what had to be done. 
He shot and killed Bell, then went and got Ollinger's shotgun. 
The Kid never found pleasure in killing, 
but Ollinger would indeed be the exception. 
Knowing that Ollinger heard the gunfire, Billy stood by the window 
and waited for Ollinger to appear in the street down below. 
One senior named Godfrey saw Bell fall dead down the stairs. 
The moment probably gave Godfrey a few more gray hairs. 
Ollinger ran out into the street as Godfrey screamed, 
"The Kid's killed Bell!" 
Ollinger looked up into both barrels of his own shotgun 
and whispered, "..and now he's killed me as well."
"Hello Bob!," Billy called out with a song in his heart 
just prior to blowing Bob Ollinger apart. 
He blasted both barrels into Ollinger's chest and face. 
Pieces of old Bob lay scattered all over the place. 
Billy smashed his shotgun in two, threw it at him but missed. 
"You'll never rifle me again," he screamed, "you son of a *****!" 
On the balcony he addressed the crowd whose jaws hung agape. 
"I don't want to hurt anyone, 
but I will kill anybody who tries to prevent my escape." 
In the office he found a sledge hammer
and smashed the chains of his leg irons free. 
He told Godfrey to fetch him a fast horse immediately. 
As he walked down the stairs, he came upon Bell's lifeless body 
and many eyewitnesses admit
that the Kid looked upon him and said somewhat tearfully, 
"I'm sorry I killed you Bell, but couldn't help it." 
As Billy mounted the horse 
the chains of his leg irons startled the beast. 
The horse bucked violently throwing Billy down onto the street. 
He was at this point his most vulnerable laying down on the ground. 
The crowd could have overtaken him easily, 
but none made a move or a sound. 
One might think that they were all too terrified to subdue him immediately,
but the truth is that he was so loved by so many
that they all just let him go free.
Once again Billy mounted the horse
and fled with the sound of his leg iron chains ringing. 
Many claim that as he rode out of Lincoln County 
that they heard the Kid singing. 
Billy had escaped danger so many other times in his past, 
but this was his greatest escape ever. 
It would also be his last.


Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2013


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Sarah Marie Johnson

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.


Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011


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Farewell to Mustafa Badreddine

Farewell to Mustafa Bad reddine

We salute you
Murderer of humanity
You have received your just rewards
Zulfiqar has sliced you to pieces
Mohamed spits on your body parts
On examination they saw
The sum of the parts has no heart
You tried to fell the great trees
The cedars of Lebanon
You failed

 Rafik Hariri now has you on a leash
You thought you were Daesh
Your army of hatred
Gives you Hitler salutes
While intellectuals feed you pork grinds
You are now buried
In hells fires with your fellow pigs
In morning headlines of the news today
We Celebrate
At the breakfast table
With bacon an eggs and coffee so sweet
Your death, truly was a treat


This man killed 1000’s in cold blood, Americans, Israeli’s, Jews, Christians and Muslims, for him blood was simply blood. That 1000’s attend his funeral shows you how we have yet to learn about humanity.

Rafik Hariri was the Lebanese Prime Minster killed in a car bombing in old Beirut, organized by Syria and Bashar al Assad and carried out by Hezbollah and Mustafa Bad reddine.

Zulfiqar = great sword


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


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LIBERATION

LIBERATION
I am still in chains
Slavery, colonialize and apartheid 
Are words you do not want to associate yourself with..
I know you have been emotionally stimulated that you are free
Just illusions, you are still in handcuffs, shackles in your ankles
Meaning-mentally, emotionally and spiritually incapacitated
   You are at liberty to walk and speak but still slaveries
Because you are mentally dysfunctional – 
Liberation only feeds those that are mentally liberated-so you still a vagabond
Honestly freedom starts in in your mind and spirit  
As the man thinks in his heart so is he  - yes freedom

I speak to real people-uncover your fake masks
I was trapped for days – FREEDOM was hidden behind a closed door
Thinking it was locked and never really opened the doors to my freedom
Country finally free but people still in bondage – we still buying people
   Slavery never left us, 20-50 000, 100 million countless, 
These were not numbers; there were souls that we dealt with  
25 years of FREEDOM, the NAMIB is independent 
   Promise that a moment of pain is worthy a lifetime of glory 
The joy come in the morning-just fight your way through the night 
Keep on, keeping on –because his presence gave hope, his purpose gave direction
His commitment gave FREEDOM and his death gave life    
They fought through the night  - we ran through the days
We matched through the hours –crossed the finished line
The NAMIB STILLMADE IT….

The journey to land of FREEDOM was such a painful one
Were like a women in a delivery room fighting through pain
 To deliver a baby called FREEDOM- we never stopped pushing out a life
Our dream of independence inspite of injustices and hindrances
  Which we were painted with–we almost fated with it, 
We were unfairly denigrated- our dear peace was murdered in cold blood 
And was reduced to ashes, our rights contracted a diseases called SLAVERY 
Because we had unprotected faith in people we thought were brothers
They were dressed in RACISM – our freedom was laying dead on our soil
Our blood was shade, running out like running waters 
They killed many of us in our land 
But they could not kill the dream to LEBERATION
The stomach of our immersions become so hungry for peace 
The dead bodies of our brothers declared victory  
The blood transmitted the information into our hearts-
We were rejuvenated within
Bruise and broken, we went on the chase for LIBERATION 
Which costed BLOOD NOT BREAD – FIGHT NOT Freight
Our independence was not a gift or a favor from the colonist - But our right
We were not granted- but we earned it, we paid for it, we suffered for it,


Copyright © Anthony Ngabwe | Year Posted 2015


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Thug Poets

Poets who spew 
Poets who haven’t a glue
Poets who use words
To intimidate and skew
Opinions twisted in division
Instead of healing societies wounds
When serving men are killed in cold blood
No matter my view
My heart bleeds for their families
Compassion is my vision
I am NO THUG

Notes: Dedicated to 2 police officers killed on duty in cold blood in New York City.
At the time of this tragedy, it is tasteless and crude to write anything at all that
Belittles men who serve. With all that has happened in the United States, concerning the police, let us remember, most serve and defend with pride, we must bring people together
Not divide and especially not spew hatred and falsehoods. God bless


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014


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Statutory Rape 101

Everybody knows that it's against the law for grown men and grown women to date all of the underage boys and girls,. let alone a 14-year-old boy or a 15-year-old girl. The law also states that any adult who tries to have this so-called "intimate sexual relationship" with any of the underage boys and/or girls would likely go to jail for a period of time and upon release, they'll have to be register sex offenders for the rest of their lives. It seems that those teen girls would rather date men in their 20's or 30s than guys their age and those teen boys would rather date women twice their age than girls their age, as well. but luckily, their parents (the mothers and the fathers) are here to prevent these so-called "May-December" relationships from ever happening, especially when they're protecting their teenage offspring from dirt-bags like these would-be pedophiles. But no matter what the parents do, no matter how hard they try, their teen sons and/or daughters, they secretly continuing dating older men/older women, even at night (midnight, 2 am, or 3 in the morning, e.g.). And the next thing everybody knows, their parents, they will have found out about it; thereby finding them in bed with the adults; their parents should make multiple police reports and pud the cradle robbers behind bars for good. Boy this is starting to look like an episode of "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit" (Season 6-Episode 19-Intoxicated featuring Danielle Panabaker) and an episode of "Snapped," especially when Sarah Johnson killed her own parents in cold blood because she was afraid that the late Mr. and Mrs. Alan and Diane Johnson would send this guy name Bruno Santos to prison or have him deported back to Mexico for statutory rape (by way of dating a then-16-year-old girl). There's no way that those teen boys and teen girls are ever going to get into a bunch of serious, intimate relationships with a bunch of would-be cradle-robbing adults. They need to concentrate on their education and they need to be with guys and girls their age. I mean, one teen boy dating a n adult female? One teen girl dating an older man? My God, their parents will be seriously upset about this. Who on Earth would be dumb enough to fall for an older woman or an older man? And if these would-be pedophiles in the form of grown men and women even attempt to rob these teen boys and girls of their innocence and whatnot, the parents are going to have a problem up in here.


Copyright © Brashard Bursey | Year Posted 2011


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The child within

Beyond smiling lips
carrying the sorrows of the past,
behind the eyes' sparkle
concealing the darkness of horrors still to last
stares a stranger, young and kind.

Yet she shows not her face
for the stroke of death's caress
extinguishes the aroma of her heart.
Not for any sin, but tenderness
so pure. For survival's sake, she died.

Now her corpse haunts the corners of thought.
Her laughter echoes throughout the years
like the singing bird clipped of wings.
Steel nerves creak with the rust formed by her tears
and audibly a cry from her coffin screams.

Perhaps her ghost will someday rest
when justice to her grave is done,
her tombstone placed to mark her existence  
and known in my reflection...

Yes, I killed her. I murdered her in cold blood still flowing.
Now she is vengeful, her dead heart still pounding.


Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013


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Today In Billy the Kid History - April 28, 1881

"Sentenced to hang in the town of Lincoln,
Billy made his bold escape.
Both of his guards died from thinking,
that a shackled young boy couldn't break away."

I've often wondered what thoughts were going through his head
as he stood staring out that window chained to the floor by his bed,
watching the gallows being built that would soon seal his fate.
Was he planning at that very moment his greatest escape?
Did he already know that his hanging would never come to be?
Was he already aware that before night fall, once again he'd be free?
Whatever his thoughts, they were interrupted rudely
by Deputy Bob Ollinger, one of his guards while in custody.
"Word has it you said that if we ever met again you'd kill me on the spot. 
Well here I am Kid. Now's your chance. Show me what you've got. 
It's a shame that you'll hang in another week or two, 
because I'd love to be the one who gets to kill you. 
I've got silver dimes in the barrells of my shotgun. 
I'd love to try them out on you, but I can't unless you run. 
If I free you from those chains will you run for the door? 
Oh by the way Kid, your Ma was one sweet filthy whore. 
I'll kill you before you hang Kid. That's a sure bet." 
"Be careful Bob," said the Kid, "I'm not hung yet."
Bob thrusted his shotgun hard into Billy's gut. 
The Kid looked up at him in pain and said, "Now what?" 
"Don't do it Bob," Bell screamed angrily, "or you'll be the one who'll hang for sure 
for killing an unarmed boy in cold blood who was chained helplessly to the floor. 
It's time for the other prisoners 
to be escorted across the street to be fed. The Kid's not going anywhere. 
He's chained to the floor by his bed. 
Anyway, I took the prisoners last so now it's your turn. 
Go and have yourself a beer 
and I'll stay here 
and guard the Kid until you return. 
Bob Ollinger placed his shotgun into the gun rack. 
Before he left, he said to Billy, "I'll see you when I get back." 
No one can say for sure if the above scenario ever truly took place,
but one thing's for sure. 
Ollinger tormented Billy at a merciless endless pace. 
They were enemies who fought against each other
during the Lincoln County War. 
Ollinger was in the posse that murdered John Tunstall,
Billy's employer, friend and mentor. 
"I have to use the privy Bell," Billy said to the deputy. 
Bell kept his rifle trained on Billy as he tossed him the key. 
Billy unlocked the chains that kept him bound to the floor. 
Still in handcuffs and leg irons, Bell escorted Billy out the door. 
Billy entered the outhouse closing the door behind him. 
"Let's not take too long in there Kid," Bell said with a friendly grin. 
While in the outhouse, 
Billy managed to slip one of his hands out of his handcuffs. 
"You fall in there Kid?" Bell laughed, 
"You've been in there long enough." 
"I'm coming out now Bell," Billy said opening the door. 
"Sorry I took so long Bell. I must have ate something bad for sure." 
Deputy Bell then escorted Billy back to the jail cell. 
Once inside, Billy spun around and smacked hard Deputy James Bell. 
Bell lost his balance, dropped his rifle and was momentarily stunned. 
"Hands Up Bell!," the Kid yelled. In his hand was a gun. 
Please, please don't do it Bell," Billy pleaded, but Bell tried to run. 
The Kid had no choice but to do what had to be done. 
He shot and killed Bell, then quickly got Ollinger's shotgun. 
The Kid never found pleasure in killing, 
but Ollinger would indeed be the exception. 
Knowing that Ollinger heard the gunfire, Billy stood by the window 
and waited for Ollinger to appear in the street down below. 
One senior named Godfrey saw Bell fall dead down the stairs. 
The moment probably gave Godfrey a few more gray hairs. 
Ollinger ran out into the street as Godfrey screamed, 
"The Kid's killed Bell!" 
Ollinger looked up into both barrels of his own shotgun 
and muttered, "..and now he's killed me as well."
"Hello Bob!," Billy called out with a song in his heart 
just prior to blowing Bob Ollinger apart. 
He blasted both barrels into Ollinger's chest and face. 
Pieces of old Bob lay scattered all over the place. 
Billy snapped his shotgun in two, threw it at him but missed. 
"You'll never rifle me again," he screamed, "you son of a *****!" 
On the balcony he addressed the crowd whose jaws hung agape. 
"I do not want to hurt anyone, 
but I will kill anybody who tries to prevent my escape." 
In the office he found a sledge hammer
and smashed the chains of his leg irons free. 
He told Godfrey to fetch him a fast horse immediately. 
As he walked down the stairs, he came upon Bell's lifeless body 
and many eyewitnesses admit
that the Kid looked upon him and said somewhat tearfully, 
"I'm sorry I killed you Bell, but couldn't help it." 
As Billy mounted the horse 
the chains of his leg irons startled the beast. 
The horse bucked violently throwing Billy down onto the street. 
He was at this point his most vulnerable laying down on the ground. 
The crowd could have overtaken him easily, 
but none made a move or a sound. 
One might think that they were all too terrified to subdue him immediately,
but the truth is that he was so loved by so many
that they all just let him go free.
Once again Billy mounted the horse
and fled with the sound of his leg iron chains ringing. 
Many claim that as he rode out of Lincoln County 
that they heard the Kid singing. 
Billy had escaped danger so many other times in his past, 
but this was his greatest escape ever. 
It would also be his last.

*

It was a few days after the Kid's great escape, 
when the following happened to Sheriff Pat Garrett's dismay. 
A stranger rode into the town of Lincoln, 
with the same horse that the Kid stole for his escaping. 
The stranger approached Garrett and said, 'Excuse me partner,
"Billy said that you would return this horse to its rightful owner."
.....just another example of the Kid's unique sense of humor.


Copyright © Billy TheKidster | Year Posted 2016


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BLOOD TAINTED MONDAY


Semi - collage dreams suddenly collapsed, 
While the chill of September's dawn crept into my veins, 
And the scent of the wind outside smelled with horror, 
Gunshots from ak-47 disturbed the airs' silence instead
Of the sweet melodies from cock's crows, 
Blood tainted streets of bombs and tanks turned the beauty
Of misty sunshine into a perpetual nightmare, 
This blood soaked Monday witnessed the gruesome strangulation
Of PEACE in the land of Zamboanga Hermosa.

From the small opening of our rusty gate, 
Astonished eyes stared helplessly, 
Streams of naked children running away, 
Going nowhere, 
But deep into the wilderness where they do not know
What lies ahead of their horizons, 
And they were just floating adrift on another river of bloodshed.

All around me were so many faces, 
Too many unfamiliar faces, 
Paled by the brutal yet senseless intrusion
Of the MNLF bandits, 
Hundreds of thoughts blown away, 
While the roaming savages seized women as hostages, 
Human shields, 
And prized items for ransom, 
hands tied men beheaded in cold blood, 
Bodies hacked into pieces by the moros' kris of greed, 
Raped young girls' dignities hidden under the shadow
Of the looters' flag of death, 
And the petals of the blue roses along the street of Sta. Catalina withered
Beneath the drops of blood from the innocent victims.

Crying mothers rushing everywhere, 
Clueless kids over their left shoulders, 
While packed clothes hanging under their right arms, 
An exhausted woman with eyes filled with bitter tears, 
A child on her lap asked intelligently, 
Is this the war for liberation? 
No Son! 
This war is all about a struggle for self glorification, 
A conflict armed with deceptions, 
An ideologically bankcrupt upheaval, 
Most certainly is a self interested business.

When darkness fell, 
With the full moon, 
Heavy exchanges of gunfires murdered the deafening silence, 
Trembling explosions tore every fiber of social justice on this broken land, 
Fires everywhere razed thousand of homes into ashes, 
Just like death that could steal everything from you, even your soul, 
And the night sky turned into hell, 
Illuminating the ugliest picture of war.

Underneath the hell of blood, 
A father's eyes kept on shedding tears, 
Kneeling before his burning house, 
While in his arms is the dead body of his son caught in a crossfire, 
Too helpless and numb, 
But to curse this moronic war.

Between the burning houses across the street, 
A child came out with her little teddy bear doll, 
Her face lined with anxieties, 
Constanly looking for her dead mother and father, 
She looked inside the burning window, 
Screaming the name of her sister burned alive, 
But a brave army soldier took her away from the war zone, 
While in his arms, 
She asked, 
Would this war be over tomorrow? 
He answered not a single word but tears, 
Because he certainly knows, 
As long as human greed exist, 
Then war would always be the chronic disease of mankind.


Copyright © gianni pansensoy | Year Posted 2013


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Overarching Genocide

Overarching Genocide

Noah built the wooden Ark in his homeland instructed by God
to save his wife three sons and their wives from drowning a life 
raft rescue boat of sorts with three decks and only one door and
two of each kind of animal species for rebuilding a habitat once the
floods had receded once the deluge had clearly stated its purpose

Lots of carpentry was involved and grafting and crafting carving out 
new beginnings no coincidence maybe that Jesus became a carpenter 
much later when he lived the Ark of the Covenant two tables of stone
commanding ten simple rules given to Moses telling us even today what 
to do and what not to especially not to kill come hell and high water

Noah and his folks were olden day refugees displaced involuntary
migrants with only one choice to live or to perish make the best of
the threats vagaries of existence the dire message facing extinction
They were given the task to start again from scratch on a fresh even 
footing to create new foundations not built on water not on quick sand

When the waters vanished the dust had settled and the door opened
wide the Ark is said to have balanced on the Mountain of Ararat or
maybe Mount Judi in South Eastern Anatolia close to nowadays’ Sirnak
a gruelling hot spot of guns and grenades tanks and fanatical killing with 
flash floods of blood commandments forgotten only a trickle of kindness

God’s message was meant to last with Christians Jews and Muslims all
telling the story of the flood Tsunami quaking of earth trembling in awe 
taking history and metaphor constitution of rights and of duties from
one place to the next from Ararat in the Armenian genocidal Highlands 
to Yerevan Auschwitz Phnom Penh Mosul Sarajewo Kigali and Allepo

God might say ‘told you so but you would not listen’ and so we are 
carrying on in our own wayward capricious intolerable disobedience
until we are swept away killing others in cold blood and also ourselves
when climate change melting ice carbon in ozone flood low lands
and self-righteous high grounds when God wants to save all of the lot

Could we not heed the call the signs on the tables life liberty and pursuit
of happiness ‘egalite liberte fraternite’ and apply those principles to 
all women children and men many of which are enslaved in hunger
instead loose houses arms legs and dignity and a simple place to be
safe and secure tend to their gardens and families and pray to the God

Who is kind loving and compassionate but instead a deluded torrent of fight 
and flight drives humans to give up the ghost or flee for their naked skin on
their impoverished backs in long death marches from Sirnak shelled and
not sheltered by descendants of Noah in dinghies over the seas to Greece 
Italy Malta and onwards to a filthy rich Europe that does not contain them

‘It was not me’ who stood by when Ottomans killed Armenian Christians
when Jews Slavs Sinti and Roma were gassed in genocidal crematoria
when Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge assembled mountains of torture and skulls
when Saddam Hussein applied chemical warfare and ethnic cleansing
when Sarajewo was besieged from the hills by Bosnian and Serbian Serbs

When Tutsis were murdered by Hutus in a rage of mindless systematic rape 
slaughter mutilation and covered in banana leaves to avoid being spotted 
by aerial photography supplied by a fig leaf of conscience draped by a world 
refusing to listen to acknowledge chose instead to ignore cast a blind eye 
Today it is Syria but let us not forget Yemen Sudan Somalia and the Congo

And ‘it was not me I am merely an innocent bystander’ covered in blood 
smirched and discredited disgraced and yet responsible at least by proxy
But who was and is it then failing to act in deed not only in words surely
it is neither Noah who shouldered the oceans who fled and took refuge
nor is it God who’s to blame ‘it is me after all’ who should build Noah’s Ark

Finalised on 27th August 2016 

Contest: Take That Dagger From My Heart Please II

First entered into contest 'Noah's Arc














Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2016


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Muted by Authority

They never predict the consequences 
Of their hurtful words;
To them, cruelty is a way
In order to make all pay! 

You all have witnessed how it goes;
No need to tell you how;
Just rewind in mind the old days
And try to figure why!

We think we had it all,
Reached the end of the road
And believing we should stop,
We miss ourselves behind! 

It should not block the path;
Life really does go on;
Yet, once it is all said out loud,
Can it be turned down once more?

She fired her comments in cold blood,
Kept stabbing with a smile; 
She never thought of hiding the venom
Of her so-called advice! 

He sat there stunned;
Aggravated by all means;
To him this was the final halt
Crawling with slow steps! 

You all may be wondering, 
And questioning about 
The truth behind the identity
The poem talks about!

I am the one who stuttered
And sweated with every breath
I know not why I stayed silent 
All I know that I was forcibly
Muted by Authority! 


© Guru Jad 2013


Copyright © Guru Jad | Year Posted 2013


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New Opinions

Not to die or to perish or to fall off a cliff 
Not to disappear from the hearts of others
Not to drowned, stuck in a submarine 
like a can of tuna. I never want to reek of tuna
or reek of cigarettes. I don't want to party
so hard I end up in jail, eating nutri-loaf.
Nutri-loaf is supposed to be nutritious
but it taste like pig-guts mixed with sawdust. 

Not to end up on the news because some racist
murdered me in cold blood. They could kill me
because i'm gay, because i'm black, because
I do the right thing and have progressive opinions.
I don't want to get in a fight with a half-goat, 
half-woman creature at a bar, but tyrannies 
are so prepared to fight. I swear all tyrannies 
carry pepper-spray and brass knuckles, which is why
I want to be friends with these people.

Do you know what an *** Assassin is? 
It's a gay man just like a **** Stabber 
is a gay man. Lesbians don't really 
have anything that funny to be called. 
Some people  call them Bean Flickers, 
but that only makes sense if they are Mexican.

Everything is so mixed up these days. 
Some people would say life is like a box 
of chocolates. You never know what you are
going to get. You might get herpes or syphilis
Pray to god you don't get AIDS, but that's not
as bad as it used to be.It's worse to get audited 
by the IRS. I don't expect much out of life, 
but i hope to get better health insurance
and maybe if i am real lucky a girlfriend.  



Copyright © Lyon Brave | Year Posted 2016


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A Haiku

Taken in cold blood.
Any means necessary.
Almost escaped law.


Copyright © Francisco Martinez | Year Posted 2011


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The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)


Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013


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Sound Of Thunder

Sound of Thunder 

My pain is real 
I cannot control my emotions 
I walk in a haze 
when I feel that dark days 
are ahead of me 

I would like to run away 
but my fear is like a storm 
fed by memories 
that crash like thunder 
stopping me in my tracks 

My past haunts me 
I am unable to forget 
forever lost in time 
Even my shadow shrinks 
and disappears 

I've always been a target 
never holding the revolver 
Bruised and beaten 
my expectations were always 
shot down in cold blood 

Tonight I wish I had 
the same liberty of youth 
Then the silence wouldn't matter 
and I could live like 
there is always a tomorrow 

I am that timid woman 
standing by the river 
surrounded by darkness 
I need to test the waters 
and plunge in 
Terry. 
10/9/2016


Copyright © Therese Bacha | Year Posted 2016


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Dusk

Dusk covered the land
Like a million blankets the sun blackened
The dawn of the fiends has come
The imps arise from black holes

Thick dark smokes engulf the land
Red rivers of marred blood run freely
Hyena’s laughs and cries so vivid
Flimsy hopeless screams fill the night

 Police sirens nowhere heard
All victims of the diabolic demons
The flattery head men are quiet
The dreaded gloom has no march!

The denizens of slums asphyxiated
The fierce fires devour their huts
Mothers and babies murdered in cold blood
Justice slapped on face with no utterance

Remnants of the paranoia, brave cowards
Would sneak and live to tell
Their seeds in songs and narratives
Who will burn the blankets of terror.


Copyright © ezekiel otiato | Year Posted 2014


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What Have You Done to Your King

A MESSAGE TO THE WORLD FROM YESHUA AT PASSOVER

My children
What have you done to your King? 
What have you done to your King? 
You allowed me to march off on a donkey towards Jerusalem
You stood by and lined the paved roads of the city 

They cheered me on so gallantly
 Mothers with babes to breast 
And sons interlocked with the hands of their fathers 
Excitement filled the chests of my followers

You stood by and watched them nail your Lord and Savior to a tree
I bled out all of my compassion upon the earth 
Until my veins were empty
 My face grew pale
My thorax concave as I drew my lasts breaths

 What have you done to your King as you stood by
Allowing them to murder me in cold blood? 
Do you see it had to be done?

My words are swirling around in your hearts now, children 
It is a perplexing time as you contemplate
The sacrifice of your King
I suffered much for you 
Some have suffered much for me
From the moment the last breath left me
The sins of the world were taken with me 
Away to paradise
Away to the feet of my heavenly Father 

My sacrifice was enough, he said
He too said, It is finished 
Son, you have done well by your heavenly Father
Come sit by My side
Come sit with me here for all eternity
For you are truly a King and the Son of the Creator

Now that a little bit more of my story has been revealed
What will you do for your King?
Will you stand up in public and defend me?
Will you go to bat for me when a defenseless person has lost his way?
Will lay your life down for your friends
In order to prevent them from going to the pits of hell?

I came
I walked
I conquered death
My first earthly breaths were in the manger stall
My last breaths were upon Calvary
What will you do for your King?

Written by Jesus/Yeshua King of Glory
4-12-14


Copyright © Gwendolen Song | Year Posted 2014


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Director's Cut And Paste

When a stranger calls

a star is born

within these walls

the shining

city lights

die hard

the searchers

don't look now

behind enemy lines

I walk the line

out of the past

roots

where the red fern grows

in cold blood

of mice and men

while you were sleeping

jaws

follow me quietly

home alone

where the sidewalk ends

forks over knives

shattered

where the heart is

frozen

dark eyes

guess who's coming to dinner

the day after tomorrow

the silence of the lambs

never cry wolf

in the heat of the night

my fair lady

dances with wolves

singin' in the rain

the illusionist

expelled

grease

cast away

what lies beneath

the notebook

can't buy me love

without leaving a forwarding address

back to the future

titanic

cries and whispers

tell them willie boy is here

from now to eternity

wild hearts can't be broken

before night falls

sense and sensibility

climb an angry mountain

to kill a mockingbird

we were soldiers

following

a beautiful mind

without a paddle

for love

the birds

take the lead

a river runs through it

one flew over the cuckoo's nest

when the cat's away

the mailman always rings twice

with a clean face

the empire strikes back

with a kodak

footsteps in the fog

paint your wagon

fifty shades of grey

for a little more money

great expectations

reign over me

boys don't cry

with your permission

save the last dance

for your eyes only

three men and a baby

cry for the strangers

gone with the wind

to have and have not

places in the heart

return to me

where or when

pride and prejudice

ran

to catch a thief

like water for chocolate

stolen kisses

smile

on the beach

it's a wonderful life.


Copyright © Juliet Ligon | Year Posted 2014


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A Bitter Gall

It was early on the day of his crucifixion and they drug him from his cell. Disoriented from dehydration. Disoriented from the pain. Eyes swollen shut and his feet bruised. The flesh on his backside ripped from his captor’s wicked devices. What would it take to make him cave in? What would it take to break his spirit? He continued to carry the burdens of the world with him. He knew his purpose in this suffering. His heart beat with the burdens of the world. He knew only he could deliver them for it was he who created them. To be crucified by the very children you created was his lot. Murdered in cold blood and hung naked on the cross. Hung in shame. Naked in front of his own mother and brother John. How cruel could his own creation be towards him? How much lower could they stoop to reign in the era of the Holy Ghost? This is our Messiah. This is the Christ. You don’t know suffering til you know THE COST that HE PAID FOR YOUR SALVATION. THIS IS THE PUREST FORM OF LOVE. THIS IS OUR CHRIST. A BITTER GALL.

Written by Gwendolen Rix
10-14-14


(Isaiah 53:5 But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed).




Copyright © Gwendolen Song | Year Posted 2014


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Whiskered Stranger in the Night



He stood there in the streetlight looking somber,
I didn't know whether to trust him or to run;
his eerie shadow stretched long on the pavement
I saw beneath his duster the glint of a gun.

The night air held a chill upon the breeze,
the blood within my veins came close to jell;
but warmth began to flow as his lips parted
and as he spoke I fell under his spell.

He told me he was a wanted man out west,
close to Pima County he was framed.
He said, "I shot a man in self defense, 
but gunned him down in cold blood, the sheriff claimed."

"Can you find it in your heart to help me out, Mam?
I need a place to stay to hide away,
I promise you I'll hit the road tomorrow
before the sunrise greets another day."

I looked into his whiskered face and stuttered,
"Just so happens there's a place out back,
at the edge of the field behind my house.
It's nothing but a tidy little shack."

He said, "That be fine, Mam, thank you kindly."
He jumped in back of my old Ford pickup truck.
I dropped him off at the shack and headed home
but I hollered back at him and wished him luck.

Because I figured that's the last time I'd see him
and I was right because no sign of him by dawn;
not a ruffled sheet left of his presence,
like a dream he was there and now was gone.

Fifteen years had passed before I knew it
since the whiskered stranger in the night,
I wondered if he might've been a phantom
and if that sheriff shot him in his last gunfight.


August 7, 2013

Copyright © 2013 H. L. Smith


Copyright © Holly Smith | Year Posted 2013