Best Knives Poems
I feel their knife in my mouth,
As they carve out my tounge.
I feel all of the words I dare not say,
Stain my lips alongside the blood.
I look into their eyes and smile,
Knowing I could never truly hate them.
No matter how they silence me,
Or bruise me with my words.
Because my type of sickness has no boundaries.
They beat me, break me, and cut me,
But no.
I will always come back.
Like a sinner to a chapel,
I will come back with my palms up.
Asking for blessings,
But knowing I will get struck down, once again.
I am their's to break. I always have been.
Their blood runs in my very veins.
And no matter how many times I let it ooze out,
It's what makes me live.
I am indebted to them.
Forced to live in the shakes they forge,
Out of the hate they don't know reaches
My ears.
I am exactly what they hate.
What they fear.
I am what they fight against.
But I will never tell them.
I will always stay silent.
my tounge carved out.
I can't feel the pain.
I'm already in pain from their words.
But I stand there smiling,
In a pool of my own blood,
As they are ignorant, not knowing,
I am the thing they fear most.
I'm Sore
From The Knives in my back
Not put there by your hands
But by your
A c t
Twilight, the phantoms of the past cavort
Willow trees bending to the winds of change
Eternity in the darkness of autumn nights
Never knowing whether I shall live or die
Tell me why my blood must feed the piercing thrusts
Yell and scream at me, I no longer fear my demise
Forever young, I dreamed of love
Over the waterfalls my dreams were tossed
Under the bridge where the evil gnomes live, dreams died
Running over my heart, the cold dark water to entomb me
Killing me they seem to feel, will be a pleasure
Not for me to speak up, for I desire it
Insight and realization that for me, illusions exist not
Visions of my body, torn and carved, replay in my head
Ever and ever and round and round
September’s knives shall slaughter me into the ground
Killing my soul was an easy task
Intended kisses you knew could not last
Luscious dreams turned into cold heartless nights
Licking my wounds and weeping in fright
Intense horrors, as the knives dig deeper
Nowhere to run and hide, no hideout for the forsaken
Gone are the hallucinations of a lover’s paradise
Memories of the 24 knives of September
Entwined in blood I shall take them to my grave
They say that success is a sharpened blade,
And I whet mine each day so carefully.
In the steel my reflection ever ablaze
My eyes glint with blunt functionality.
Slicing precisely—a delicate process
of practiced strokes sliding back and forth
each gesticulation into the pith causes
the blood to gush under the traumatic blunt force
and to splatter upon—ever so faint
the bleached cutting board, collecting the bloodstains
and the inscriptions of countless knife strokes.
Relics of the grind—the daily rituals—
—Wherein I often lose myself, and become like this blade
more and more dull with each passing day.
NIGHT OF THE LONG KNIVES 2
To your mind's eye, I lay what I may choose
to be the only way you'll ever find,
you'll never have the choice to win or lose,
but go the way I put into your mind.
What evil lurks? You'll never feel the grip
of what I only say between each line.
To lead you on, the vagrant of a ship
of soul, but destined to the will of mine.
Forgotten Swastikas still fly at night,
protected by all time and Horsemen Four,
they'll soon be loosed again, in all their might
and feed upon man's need for time of war.
And I will put these things into your head,
to change it all, from life, to living dead.
Democracy is what God's given you,
and you have loved each minute in your haste,
you'd have it all, yes everything I do,
your treasure chest is overflowed with waste.
And you've forgotten how the world is burned,
night of the long knives never comes to mind,
forgotten in the past you never learned,
the history is there, not hard to find.
I am the master of what is your fate,
in social dominance, I claim it all,
and you will never see until too late,
Intimidation's made the way you'll fall.
And I have changed all things there in your head,
to bring about the life you'll live to dread.
© Ron Wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
NIGHT OF THE LONG KNIVES II
To your mind's eye, I lay what I may choose,
to be the only way you'll ever find,
you'll never have the choice to win or lose,
but go the way I put into your mind.
What evil lurks? You'll never feel the grip
of what I only say between each line.
To lead you on, the vagrant of a ship
of soul, but destined to the will of mine.
Forgotten Swastikas still fly at night,
protected by all time and Horsemen Four,
they'll soon be loosed again, in all their might
and feed upon man's need for time of war.
And I will put these things into your head,
to change it all, from life, to living dead.
Democracy is what God's given you,
and you have loved each minute in your haste,
you'd have it all, yes everything I do,
your treasure chest is overflowed with waste.
And you've forgotten how the world is burned,
night of the long knives never comes to mind,
forgotten in the past where you've not learned,
the history is there, not yours to find.
I am the master of what is your fate,
in social dominance, I claim it all,
and you will never see until too late,
Intimidation's made the way you'll fall.
And I will change all things there in your head,
to bring about the life you'll live to dread.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
The scene was set in zoom
Knives were at the ready
Was dragged into the room
Hands really were not steady
Was to film the ritual
Camera in hand
Looked to check if all ok
Would rather sit than stand
The executioners walked in
Looked at the corpse on the slab
Picked up the knives began to cut
Was then ……………………………….
Was then my alarm went off
I woke up all a tremble
Hands a shaking as they cut open the head
Brains spilling all over the table
Was my first day at an autopsy today
My reaction was calm and serene
But when I went to bed last night
That was in my dream.
Waking up from such a nightmare
Makes me shiver whenever I’m asked
To take some ones picture
No longer a simple task
dated 29/11/2012 Penned by Seren Roberts
I’ll make ya feel it and make ya throb it
and I’ve been known to cut it and lob it.
So before ya get sliced
ya might wanna think twice
cos no one cheats on Lorena Bobbitt!.
Written: December 2015
Knives
This is the point of a kinife
A very sharp blade?
To protect?
Received Honorable Mention in Dr Ram Mehta's Quinzaine contest
Written for Dr Mehta's Quinzaine contest
Threatening Boy With Twin Knives
The latest shocking video clip in What'sapp is going viral ....
Featuring an angry little boy facing off his grandparent...
In his hands were a pair of kitchen knives, one in each hand....
He screams in frustrated anger directed at his grandfather...
Standing his ground in a most obstinate manner...
As the old man tries to disarm him with a long bamboo pole frayed at its end...
This is a very extreme case of a family with gadgets and money aplenty...
Electronic gadgets and computer games as baby sitters...
Unlike old times when TV was the live-in maid and baby sitter...
But TV dramas, movies and series are approved for viewing audience...
Unlike all the violence, blood and gore in addictive electronic games....
Seriously, if there is no violence or criminals elements...
No way such electronic games will have a captive playing audience...
So many games promote senseless slash, gore and kills galore...
Try watching, you will be shocked at trigger happy violence and more...
The electronic human player is denied healthy human interaction that's available ....
Only if they get off their butts to indulge in physical games with buddies ....
Little wonder these grandparents are confronted with this boy monster ...
Whose character has been digitally altered and social values distorted...
You see the anger inside him, and in the obstinate stance in him...
And the adult folks are left wondering if there is something wrong with him...
Little knowing that the major fault was in how they have raised him..
On a diet of excessive and unfettered access to electronic games .....
That has molded and shaped his very character into an anti social monster...
Like humans have a life,
Although people don’t face a murder charge
For hacking them down.
Like humans indulge in strife
But don’t wear their animosities like a barge
Nor noise them in the town.
Like man, parade a breathing mechanism,
Though it is carbon dioxide they cherish
And like him answers an organism
Granted that they don’t oxygen relish.
No tree ever halts the knives
About to be driven into its bark
Nor mourns their piteously lost lives
To axes operating before dark;
Scarcely panicked by wanton disturbance,
The very contrast of African Presidents in countenance.
Above King David cutting gallantry
That earns a subject panegyric commentary…
The monarch by his Absalom was mortally scared;
The barks of all trees are to their enemies bared.
NIGHT OF THE LONG KNIVES
To your mind's eye, I lay what I may choose
to be the only way you'll ever find,
you'll never have the choice to win or lose,
but go the way I put into your mind.
What evil lurks? You'll never feel the grip
of what I only say between each line.
To lead you on, the vagrant of a ship
of soul, but destined to the will of mine.
Forgotten Swastikas still fly at night,
protected by all time and Horsemen Four,
they'll soon be loosed again, in all their might
and feed upon man's need for time of war.
And I will put these things into your head,
to change it all, from life, to living dead.
Democracy is what God's given you,
and you have loved each minute in your haste,
you'd have it all, yes everything I do,
your treasure chest is overflowed with waste.
And you've forgotten how the world is burned,
night of the long knives never comes to mind,
forgotten in the past you never learned,
though history is there, not hard to find.
I am the master of what is your fate,
in Social Dominance, I claim it all,
and you will never see until too late,
Intimidation's made the way you'll fall.
And I have changed all things there in your head,
to bring about the life you'll live to dread.
On those long days
when it was too hot to ride
or run, a boy would find
an island of cool beneath
a tree and sit there
with his pocket knife
to whittle away time
and a piece of wood.
A good blade could shape
the hull of a model boat
or thinly peel an apple
or carve a name clean
into the smooth bark
of a spotted gum.
There was a world to make
with a pocket knife,
mine a pearl handled beauty
with two folding blades,
short and long.
It was beyond the mind
to think it a weapon, only
a treasured possession
of pure utility, a tool
for hands to bring forth
a creation or to cut free
a form from its binding.
Finally,
years saw its blades become
blunt and spend less time
in my pocket, more languishing
at the bottom of a drawer.
It's still preserved with
a nostalgic reverence.
Nowadays, whittling
has become a lost art for boys,
pocket knives tarnished
by a new age and drafted
for duty in the service
of fear. On those long days
when it is too hot
to do anything much,
hands still crave to carve
things that substitute
for a piece of wood,
twitching away
in the cramped solitude
of an air-conditioned self.
speak. your words. blue birds go SCREECH! as i meet the sirs, and madams, crab jam jelly in my belly for the
aqua king, cause everything stings fast, it lasts, my future, past, masked by the fact that i laugh when you say,
danger.
I opened my hand to yours.
Greeted by knives.
The hidden agenda of a parasite
wanting to feast on the likes of me.
Infectious poison coming from your cold, blue lips.
Lies masked by my attraction to your curvacious hips.
My mind taken in by trick after trick.
I pull you closer as the time passes.
Soon will come a time that you will pray to forget.
Your lies penetrate my flesh like knives.
Cold, steel insertion.
Your poison preys to infiltrate my veins to destroy the body.
Like knives your kiss, I'm swallowing your lies, your words slicing up my insides.
Time after time.
You bury yourself and your wicked ways inside me.
Wishing to clog the arteries.
You've punctured my skin, I've allowed you in.
Inside my body.
You are making your way into every square inch of me.
You're the stones that have taken the place of my kidneys.
Like knives, you lacerate yourself into the depths of my appendix.
You're the black cloud covering my lungs.
Like knives you slither to sliver my liver piece by piece.
You're so captivating.
I digest you into my intestines.
Permanent damage.
You have become every bit of the fluid that circulates through my body, my veins.
Like knives, with each stab, each puncture, each wound.
I have become every bit as responsible for what's about to happen as you.
Cuz you've carried these knives since you've come into my life.
Now it's time for me to end your time.
Become the sandman.
I've been strapped with a pistol since the beginning.
This isn't a fairy tale ending.
I bet now you wish you had brought more than a knife to a gunfight.