Best Massacre Poems
My mind opened releasing the remnants of Pandora’s Box
Revealing the wraths of a complete paradox
Eradicating the thought process like a mental massacre
Destroying your clarity until your notions are obscure
Slaughtering your expressions, total annihilation
Bludgeoning your lines, poetic eradication
Devouring your preconception, with utter devastation
Eliminating your disposition, enlightened extermination
Butchering your reason with a brutal bloodbath
Lyrics linger in limbo lost in the aftermath
Slaying your insight with catastrophic rhymes
Conscious collapsin' corpses fallin' with the times
A war of words, our philosophies collide
Verses fall victim to a vicious verbal genocide
In Boston they threw ice and oyster shells
As the British troops marched coldly by.
Till soon the streets were ringing with the yells:
“Lobster-backs!” the righteous raucous cry.
The troops retreated till they could retreat no more,
Nine men against one hundred strong,
Till suddenly the muskets made their roar,
Scattering hot lead amid the throng.
Ant though the Boston public howled in outraged hate
Someone softly spoke the soldiers’ case:
John Adams arguing their very fate
Seeking justice in that hostile place,
A patriot who helped us spurn the British crown,
Rescued six lost British lives,
Against the sentiment of his own town…
One more reason Adams’ name survives.
The snow rests red and heavy
through the valley and the glen,
with MacDonald honor lingering on
in spite of Campbell sin.
Give us crimson wool
to weave a plaiden memory
of the massacre at Glencoe
and deeds of treachery.
Let the stigma of a traitor
forever mark their name
as long as Scotland bears the scar
so recalled shall be their shame.
With her ragged breath.
She said she missed the sun.
As she knew they would come.
She heard the screams from far away.
Knowing the goblins had their way.
Straw-colored hair hung to her shoulders.
Her bright green eyes blended with the forest.
She had her trusty goblin sword on her side.
It was a matter of honor to carry a sword at one's hip.
Though Brannis was the only knight who truly had one.
An "Enchanted" blade on the side of his hip, I mean.
He received the sword from his father long ago.
Upon receiving his knighthood at age fifteen.
Though his father was glad to be rid of the thing.
An heirloom from a family of sorcerers.
Who said, they had no need of it anymore?
It had always made his father uneasy to wield it.
When he first received it, with the serrated blades.
And, imprinted with the word " MASSACRE".
Though, I always thought it was a handsome piece.
With its handle carved into a fire-breathing dragon.
True, it was not often a female joined the ranks.
I felt the silent need to revenge my father's death.
That was the whole point of being out here in the goblin forest.
Alongside the other new recruits, I had to prove my worth.
I was told this was my test, a test of strength, as the king put it.
I had to prove myself, I always kept my father's shield next to my heart!
I was tired, though I knew I had to keep going to get out of this forest.
As I surely don't want to come home as a mangled warrior.
Or even worse, become dinner for the goblin king!
Fri. 6/07 / 2013 12:30 noon
Early in the morning of 13 February 1692, in the aftermath of the Glorious Revolution and the Jacobite uprising of 1689 led by John Graham of Claverhouse, a massacre took place in Glencoe, in the Highlands of Scotland. This incident is referred to as the massacre of Glencoe, or in Scottish Gaelic Mort Ghlinne Comhann, or murder of Glencoe. The massacre began simultaneously in three settlements along the glen—Inverness, Inverrigan, and Achnacon—although the killing took place all over the glen as fleeing MacDonalds were pursued. Thirty-eight MacDonalds from the Clan MacDonald of Glencoe were killed by the guests who had accepted their hospitality, on the grounds that the MacDonalds had not been prompt in pledging allegiance to the new monarchs, William and Mary. Another forty women and children died of exposure after their homes were burned.
the air brisk
as it moves across the clover
rolling thistledown
heart tendered tears cascade
through, sacred sod of Glencoe
Oh bloody and evil Catherine de Medici.
The queen has acted impetuously.
Thousands have died because of her demands.
Witness her red bloodstained hands.
A wedding is a time of joy and jubilation.
Instead, there is death and devastation.
She thought the Huguenots would seek retaliation.
It started with an attempted assassination.
An attempt was made on Admiral Gaspard de Coligny.
He led the Huguenot protestant party.
Catherine took some Machiavellian action.
She wanted to eradicate this rebellious faction.
There had been widespread death throughout the land before.
Peace brought an end to civil war.
Margaret de Valois had married Henry of Navarre.
Once again, hostility permeated the air.
Killing spread from Paris to the countryside.
In just a few months, thousands had died.
No bloodier episode had ever been seen.
The culpable party was the evil queen.
I thank Wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the town
Not a creature was breathing, not one to be found.
Bloody hand prints swept the walls which once were white
Darkness overshadowed anything that had light
Little boys were decapitated and sprawled across the floor,
While little girls were skinned alive; hung as décor for every door.
Mothers had their jaws ripped straight from their heads
As their children screamed for mercy from their very own beds.
Panic and pain ricocheted off the walls
Pets were brutally butchered then stretched out in the halls
And Fathers were kept alive long enough to observe
Then their eyes were gouged only to dangle by an optic nerve
Fifty-six minutes is all the creature takes
To slay the whole town with its massacre earthquake
Agony rained something fierce this night
For this town was caught in the worst of plights
And the echo of dripping blood is now all you can hear
The stench swimming through the air is encapsulated fear.
To have dodged this slaughter would have been transmundane
For this monster, this beast was most definitely inhumane
It came through the windows and tore through the blinds
Grabbing any human or beast it could find
Then Slash the body! Gnash at the body! Bash them in the crown!
And Thrash the body! Lash at the body! Mash the body down!
Then it rips out your tongue and swallows it whole
This fiendish freak has a heart made of coal
When wondering eyes caught a glimpse of what did appear
They knew it wasn’t Santa and his flying reindeers
Not safe in God’s House
In trouble at the Schoolhouse
In danger at the White House
Especially, in our own house
We’re hunted like the old time
Prosecuted
And persecuted
Like breathing was a crime.
Too much racial hatred
This is a new, new apartheid
They want our blood, our sweat
For nothing, for pennies
They want us on our knees
Begging like a cheap pet
Like we have no self-worth
But we rather see early death
In lieu of losing our dignity
Our pride and our humanity.
Another sick and senseless massacre
Another day of mourning
Another day of torture
Our People are tired of suffering
Our safety is in jeopardy
No place to hide our heart, our soul
We can simply pray for a better journey
For better opportunities and a happier role.
We shall overcome
We are not afraid to fight
Until the last beat of the heart
Until the last bell of the bout
We will get Home
When we hear the last words
Of the amazing grace
We belong in this place
And this place belongs to us
We want Peace
But Justice first
We’re angry, hungry and athirst
To see the day when this nonsense
Will stop, will cease
Eating away our sense
Of Happiness
And Fairness
Like a Parisian cheese.
We shall overcome
Not safe in God’s Home
This is another day of sadness
Another journey of unhappiness.
Hebert Logerie
Copyright@June 2015, Hebert Logerie ,All Rights Reserved
30,000 Lt. Calleys - LEST WE FORGET
The My Lai Massacre - 1968
There's a sound in the dark
of a shot to its' mark
and it's ended a dream for good
for a boy in his prime
who's run out of his time
and he dies from words mis-understood.
There's a girl putting out
it's what her life's about,
and the only way she can survive,
but she gave all she could
more than anyone should,
then she's wasted, because she's not alive.
It's the land of the dead
and it' s pumped in their head,
anyone looking cross-eyed must die,
it's a license to kill,
you can bet that they will,
in the flash and the blink of an eye.
It's the dark. It's the cold.
It's the growing too old
It's the leaving of loved ones behind
to a peace never found
and a war all around,
though it's not any war they can find.
© 1995 ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Ongoing the 21st century's free style massacre
The horrible morning has started there in Myanmar,
Satan is tormented by theses and has come down
To learn the massacring styles in special gown,
But no one has yet directly protested the bestiality
So the massacrers gigantically speed up in cruelty;
So long the morning! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
The massacrers are devouring the breakfast for long
With soft bloody flesh and red soup again and again
And preserving the rest for the future want in time;
I don't know when and where will be the noon?
And then when and where will be the evening?
And then when and where will be the cursed night?
For the final maelstrom and the devastating fight
Or shall the morning cover the whole day only?
And then when will a morning start peacefully?
PLEASE READ PART 1 BEFORE READING BELOW
It was covered in black fur from its head to its toes
Its small eyes glimmered white like the sight of fresh snow
Razor, jagged teeth a quarter meter long
Its bite was considered to be bear trap strong
No lips, no ears, no nose on its face
Instead there were just holes, just a bunch of empty space.
The fingers and nails grew together as one
Sharper than blades which were forged by the sun
And it carried a sack, but in it were trolls
That would jump out to grab the tormented souls
The drawing of the souls was the vilest thing to see
They shrieked and moaned, then begged for mercy
But before this act the hearts were ripped out
And the trolls gobbled them up without a shadow of a doubt
But then a glare of its eye and a twitch of its head
The trolls jump back in the sack or they knew they’d be dead
And it shrieked the same five words as it left like when it came
A bellow from hell, you could say sounded the same
If you were to hear these words, you could put its reign to an end
So with its saw-like teeth, your tongue it rends.
And when it’s complete, with no time to stall
The demons dash away, Dash away, Dash away all!
It is said to come back every fifty-sixth year
On the night before Christmas like this time here
To repeat the bloodbath on a town such as this
Leaving them no time for one final wish
So sleep light on a night which is said to be merry
For you might receive a visit from the Massacre Fairy.
Please rate after reading both parts =0)
A ripe body of Adolescence, nuzzled by beauty
on which hair is polished by crystals and sapphire
but lacks in the garrison of virtues and patriotism
becoming blind to the significance of its own felicity.
So gullible is its owner, that Dorian Gray is her preferred suitor,
so false are her choices like bringing Tilapia to Canada to strive.
Protracted human disasters have not altered her Oestrus
yet barren even with the plethora of fertile males
she's an ignorant keeper and owner of a unique talisman
causing a huge surveillance from selfish sugar daddies.
In the midst of her turmoil, she stays ludic
inflicted with so much pain but cry so rhapsodic.
Swimming with the fast in pretentious avocation
entertaining in self deceit, through every dulcet move.
Well formed mouth without a beak and limbs with soft knees;
her metamorphosis should be complete, yet a chrysalis she remains.
A complete turnaround requires an economic Hasidism
for the existing gross mediocrity to be evanescent
then refined existence in juxtaposition between an idyllic present
to a radiant future would be once again fully established.
I came here only but once
And that was not long ago
Hunger had brought me here
And I went my way satisfied
And fully determined to return
When I walked up the stairs
From the parking lot below
I was hungry and I was thirsty
And it seemed to me a long
Long walk to the Food Cafe
Today I flew up to the third floor
And hid myself behind litter bins
For the devil, nay, for the devils
Had struck! And struck and struck
Mercilessly, recklessly, violently
And turned this man-made haven
Of happy, chatty, and even noisy
Citizens- children and old included
Into a brazen God-forsaken hell
With brazen Godforsaken devils!
For Shots rung from everywhere
And people fell, or crept or cowered
While others jumped to their swift end
Or broke limbs, screaming and shouting
As they sought to flee the assassins’ rage
Many lives have been lost, dear friend
Much blood has been shed, dear friend
Much pain has been inflicted, my friend
Much fear has been instilled, my friend
Much loss has been incurred, my friend
These lives, this blood, pain, fear and loss
Visited, as it was, on innocent peaceful people
On a day which the whole world had set aside
To celebrate the International Day of Peace
Was meant to do what to the people of Kenya?
If it was to divide us, please know
That we are more united than ever
If it was to instill fear and sow panic
We are more courageous and calm
Than you and your lot will ever be
For the God of this land and nation is a universal God
Who loves little children like those whose brains
You wantonly scattered to the four winds
Who cares for life which you took
In your murderous adventure
Which I know will come
To a close in the
Fullness
Of time!
Who loves
Justice which
You will face in
In the not so
Distant
Hour!
Unite
Heal
And conquer
Fearless
Kenya!
©2013 Gerald Kithinji
The policy of hate and date,
You may not like but it’s the truth,
The bitter truth mate!
Was it a lone wolf terror or was it a coordinated fight?
Who cares since it targeted souls
Despised by night.
But you are no God to legislate and
Decide on fate
An act that made an end,
To the destiny of a foe and a friend...
With no reason,
In a season of hate and revenge?
In Orlando like in Kabul,
A score of lives fell like flies,
With no respect to the being and soul,
Not to dare to compare the two,
You lunatic! You fool!
In Orlando like in Kabul, human tokens
From all sort of life dropped and stopped
Thinking, stopped moving and stopped breathing,
For some sick and dick, this was cool????
For others, this was a life crime!
But the difference, is that in Orlando unlike in Kabul,
Media and support were promptly presented and shoulders were
Provided to lean and cry upon,
But in Kabul you are on your own but not alone,
Blood called blood and this is a twin evil
To face and confront,
I know that all of us are divided and different,
I know for sure that our shaky unity in diversity is now compromised,
But human life is worth than principles of freedom and democracy if any
For sure God created Adam and eve,
Nay Adam and Steve,
But who cares now in this mega mall of globalised world
And as the oriental dictum goes, each sheep is hanged by its leg
And on its own,
And now you have all your time to grief cry and moan,
With your clan and tribe and even on your own,
Your acts reflect your thought,
Or maybe your act translates you hate,
Reflects you vision, your own vision,
That is your mission,
Terror calls terror and an eye for an eye is still on,
Reflecting an old Judaeo-Christian, then a Muslim law,
To celebrate hate at dawn
It’s your shared [Onus!]
Your shared fault,
And now you are harvesting together,
It’s now you shared a bonus,
Some of you still on the divine ship
Some of you still worshiping in deep,
You name Torah, Psalms, Bible and the Quran,
But some of you are still faithful to the [Cronus!]
March 16, 1968 Viet Nam
30,000 Lt. Calleys
There's a sound in the dark
of a shot to its' mark
and it's ended a dream for good
for a boy in his prime
who's run out of his time
and he dies from words mis-understood.
There's a girl putting out
it's what her life's about,
and the only way she can survive,
but she gave all she could
more than anyone should,
then she's wasted, because she's not alive.
It's the land of the dead
and it' s pumped in their head,
anyone looking cross-eyed must die,
it's a license to kill,
you can bet that they will,
in the flash and the blink of an eye.
It's the dark. It's the cold.
It's the growing too old
It's the leaving of loved ones behind
to a peace never found
and a war all around,
though it's not any war they can find.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa