Best Massacres Poems
I gaze beyond
the silver winged
heart of
twinkling twilight,
lost within metaphors
in warm cashmere
bows of midnight.
Whilst lava lamps
for lost souls
f l i c k e r across
a maze of melancholy,
ghosts of past whispered
surreal sagas through
subtle mists~
silky snow that
d r i z z l e s
in the shape of crescent,
slowly trails
my moon-kissed skin.
If only the stars
of scarred silence
spoke the voiceless
truth raised from
the arms of trauma~
not every glowing
ray is destined
to be your wish
come true,
I was sculptured
in hailstones
of burnt ice,
and my ivory nails
drowned in the color
of your fire blood.
I am the throned
mistress of massacres,
a walking black storm,
that strikes onyx lightning
upon pearlescent
roads to hyacinth healing.
For everything
I touched
became frost,
when heavy clouds bled
to paint the skyscape
in citrine powder.
Perhaps, there is
no need of stretching
your fingers in gratitude,
as it shall
soon abandon
every lucky charm,
like the death of poetry
within inked
pages of
an accidental poet.
Yet, I still see
the unwritten
verses in your dewy eyes~
unsung
poetic confessions,
written in
diamond and rust;
“you’re the poison
I’m willing to take”
Like how romeo
died in the name of
a forsaken tale
told by the infatuated
soul of his Juliet~
Cupid’s bow still
is adorned with her
love-struck tears
that emanate
unshed truth.
So let, the alchemy
of dreams concoct,
a perfumed potion
from black
quartz rain,
to ease this caricature
lifetime of memories~
chasing sonnets
contrived in sorcery,
to seize the stories
of
misplaced prophecies.
whilst hope is flying
on paper wings
of a dark
horse carousel,
where my past self
was crystal-gazing,
to see the crown
carved from rhinestones
of shattered glasses,
piercing through
my honey mane.
But, this immortal
heart will remain
in a museum of
Monet’s garden,
where sorrowful
serenades linger
above thornless roses.
For I am heaven
and hell for you,
in everlasting awakenings
transcribed in turquoise
topaz till tomorrow…
“You don't lose if you get knocked down; you lose if you stay down.” Muhammad Ali
I've been struggling to exist,
since the day I was born.
A dehydrated butterfly
in a garden without rain.
A white page, an inkless quill,
a silent poet without words.
But when eyes feel fuzzy,
head a little dizzy,
and the pills don't work,
we fight the confusion like a
gladiator without a sword.
a knight without a shield.
Every time we get a bit of respite,
it's time for another fight.
Sometimes like an old boxer,
we get knocked to the ground,
but like a fledgling I resurface.
What other choice do I have?
I'm no mercenary,
no militant, no martyr.
I'm a wounded samurai
under a cherry blossom tree,
bloodshed blade by my side.
I drink pain like a glass of water,
embrace agony like a lover,
suffocate sorrow until it's over.
Pain is a reflection of my existence,
my wounds a reluctant legacy,
written from massacres of warfare -
but there is no purpose without struggle.
I always keep hope for tomorrow,
but live for today.
Life is an advent of adversity,
we win, we lose, we learn.
We are all warriors,
as life is one constant conflict.
We are forever fighters.
Written after one of those terrible murderous massacres of children in what is supposed to be a safe haven … SCHOOL!!
A cruel sea
a raging storm
calm returns
for lands reform
life breathes on
for death we cry
in every tear
we're asking why.
A cruel mind
hidden away
a million victims
run and play
within our midst
one will die
in every tear
we're asking why.
Acts of God all natural
volcano's, quakes are factual
do what we can to help our brother.
An alley in a city street
a body's found, dead near a week
little said when one man kills another.
A turning back; a hardened heart
is quickly softened, torn apart
through misty eyes quietly we cry.
Children are our loves resource
a massacre will frame a force
uniting tears and asking …
Why?
Another prompt, just another poem,
but are these genuine feelings I'm showing?
I think of past versions of my existence,
changing with each season without resistance.
But now I'm too fatigued to study myself,
so leave me alone on a dusty bookshelf.
Sitting upon the edge of unread distant shores,
soul sighs, tired from being a misunderstood metaphor.
Sometimes the inner child loves to run wild,
try to be patient, he forgets how he once smiled.
I can't keep blaming those ghosts from childhood,
but it disturbs the mind when all I see is graphic blood.
I'm trying hard to control these red mists of rage,
to start a new chapter with new verses on a page.
I search for avenues that lead me to chapters of purity,
but this facade hides behind deep suppressed insecurity.
Low self esteem massacres my confidence,
I'm just a man who sometimes lacks common sense.
My outbursts of slaughter are just a means for defence,
apologise in advance if I caused any offence.
Forgive me, I can never take back the sorrows I caused,
but is that any reason for love to remain paused?
You won't see any tears, but they hide my fears.
I've seen through the years that torment never clears.
Encrypted musings of my heart hide behind pain,
Sometimes the wounds reappear and still strain.
I close every door to find silent solitude,
but these devious demons begin to intrude.
Ranting and raving as the Devil joins the queue,
wanting to take me to a darkness that I once knew.
Toxic vampires sucking at my bleeding empathy,
compassion goes out of fashion lacking sympathy.
I try to explain but my views only frustrate,
after a while it seems my opinions are out of date.
Then you wonder why I refuse to communicate,
ignorance of my emotions isn't up for debate.
Silence seems to be the best form of narration.
No one is listening to the angst of my damnation.
I'm content in the deep depths of isolation,
don't summon my soul without an invitation.
Silent One
23 March 2022
[ credits to LAURENT YVAN from France who read my poem ]
Launched over ages of primaeval forces
my nomadic ancestry calls out to me
winds howl driven over rolling hills
atop a ridge of rugged mountains
beyond vestiges of the long silk road
the Mongolian empire looks back at me
the spirit of the great Genghis Khan
runs feral forever through my veins
Mongolia and its harsh wilderness
its barren lands its haunted past
drumming echoes of summoned spirits
unleash the wrath of heaving heavens
I’m more than hoodlum with a vision
I’m a rebel at the helm of my said destiny
My brothers and I are born of a lineage
that’s jagged ruthless rich and proud
fierceness and freedom integral to our dna
we’ll defend our land and way of life
with brute strength and sheer intimidation
in spilled blood we write our history
come hell highwater feast or famine
the spirit of the great Genghis Khan
runs feral forever through our veins
We’ll round up the horses
and harness voracious winds
go out protect and safeguard at all cost
wave our swords and in hearts instill fear
cast our thunder over hills and valleys
earn respect for our ancestors’ inherited land
a kingdom conquered piecemeal by our warlord
father to our people and to our nation vast
A deep longing larger than life compels me
to preserve my legacy against betrayal and conspiracy
dark alliances with sights on pillaging and plundering
no more brutal bloodbaths and massacres
neo-medieval Mongol tribes and clans united
The spirit of the great Genghis Khan
feral through my veins forever runs
and that’s the Mongolia that calls on back to me
Read on air by invitation ~ May 30, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 2nd place 2025, 2nd plance 2022, 3rd place 2020, Front Page Pick 2022
Submitted on May 26, 2020 for contest BRIAN'S CHOICE V sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
Come hold my hand and tell me lies
Infuse the hate and woe betide
Tooth for a tooth, pluck out their eyes
A soldiers duties exercised
Let's kill the child, from the inside
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight
Not for the strong, to sit upon the fence
Let's take the hate and killing to their door
Self righteousness screams out in our defence
Christ knows it's hard to take this anymore
The spirits of the netherworld
Scream loudly to be freed
Within this world of politics
This cage of hate and greed
I'm right you're wrong
You're wrong I'm right
Whose turn is it to die tonight
A bloody ****ing massacres
The only end in sight
Mirror silver clad she stood, upon the lakes dark shore,
A spectral icy vision , that chilled me to the core.
A vapour’d hand she raised to lead, across the sheet glass lake
With racing heart and awestruck eye, I traced its misty wake
A cold dead air, that chilled my soul, now held my senses keen.
For there among the darkened woods, I saw what can’t be seen.
Like unlit candles stood a host, of mournful waxen dead,
In decaying desperation, with the fixed stares of the mad
My pounding heart so close to fail, beat faster at the sight,
As gliding ever closer drew, these sentinels of night.
What fearful power, what dreadful fate, hath drawn them from the
grave.
Whilst I transfixed upon that shore, my sanity I craved.
Then turned the lady of the Lake and fixed her steel grey eyes,
then pointed once again to where, the darkwood secrets lie.
My fading gaze could scarce suppose the horrors there replayed,
Whilst spectre ranks, in silence viewed with countenance dismayed.
Upon my knees, through fingers splayed, and terrified to see,
the horror there unfolding, between those witness trees.
I saw the bloody massacres, heard shocked and dreadful cries,
I felt their fear, and died their deaths, with terror in my eyes .
Each wicked deed, each evil act, each thrust assassins blade,
of every dreadful murder done, within that forest glade.
With screams of death, and cries of loss, the misty shore resounds,
To haunt my soul and flay my ear, upon that hell struck ground.
In faint I fell with senses lost, afraid to look again,
as words she spake in whispered tone, ‘Remember when you wake,
these unjust works, these sinful acts, leave vengeance thirst unslaked,
thus you must tell of this darkwood, beside the silver lake.’
in my life-
some have tried to murder my spirit-
to assassinate my soul
with their single-mindfulness
nincompoops mean and nasty
torture brutal massacres relentless
running home for love
mothers arms
and kisses
from childhood to a young woman
I have found my ink
and I send poems wide and far
my soul bleeding
my crime for those with tunnel vision
I am part Ojibway-
in a world ruled by white
always different but not in poetry
except for some-
who come to kill my words
slaughter my poetic soul
murder what I love
nincompoops mean and nasty
sometimes I am befuddled
I stumble
crumble
crumple
puzzle
words are weapons
leaving forever deep scars
my house may be weather-stained
my garden ravaged
but the wheels of time have rolled
now, I have a strength unfathomable
a pride no one can kill
or slaughter
those who have words of misery
stay in your tunnels of hate
with your tunnel-vision
for I am an Ojibway girl proud
with flowing hair like a streaming river
and poetic spiritual soul
and the grandfather spirits in the sky
will ever and forever be my protectors
and I fly with eagles . . .
_______________________
January 28, 2021
Poetry/Free Verse/words are weapons
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1324-456-28
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Murder in the Tunnel
sponsor, Kai Michael Newmann, Judged 02/12/2021
Fourth Place
Cries of humanity
Cries of war
War that kills
War imposed upon kids
Kids as pure as a Mother’s love
Kids with million dreams
Dreams that are shattered
Dreams destroyed by weapons
Weapons unleashed on living beings
Weapons that spare not even trees
Trees that make the air clean
Trees look pleasing to the eyes
Eyes which are blinded
Eyes that can’t see the plight
Plight that is very alarming
Plight of Earth’s humans
Humans were meant to be kind
Humans should've cultivated love
Love that looks but just a word
Love is leaving this cruel world
World witnessed many massacres
World but kept producing bombs
Bombs snatched kids from moms
Bombs even burnt butterflies' wings
Wings gained by the little kids’ souls
Wings carrying them to the God
God is there to hear their complaints
God shall ease their pains
Pains are being Inflicted even on animals
Pains are what the Earth now feels
Feel the ache of the oppressed
Feel these problems in your heart
Heart always deep down knows
Heart always craves peace
Peace only should rule the Earth
Peace like the words of grand-mothers
Mothers never have to cry
Mothers should always smile
Smile that men deserve too
Smile can only be brought by justice
Justice is crucial for survival
Justice can eradicate occupation
Occupation is a barbaric act
Occupation must end
End of the Earth is drawing near
End should not bring happiness
Happiness is all we need
Happiness brings peace
Peace...
Need...
_______________________________________
Paghunda Zahid
They took an inch
They took a yard
They colonised without regard,
Whilst they took they couldn’t see
That human beings are they, and we.
Hence they made the greatest error
Filling souls with shock and terror,
Claiming country they had found
All upon old sacred ground.
And how she cried when blood was spilled
For all the people they had killed,
Many mocked and many lied
Hope deceased when dreams had died.
The Massacres were heartless cruel
And after one they had more fuel
To slaughter more of innocence
To build a home to build a fence.
To scoff their pork, butter, cheese
With rations small to only tease.
Still, they laugh
Still, they scorn
Still, she cries when we mourn...
Still, they thieve without remorse
Too sinister to know the source.
Though her time is nearly here
To smash them all and into fear,
And they shall learn to respect
They shall learn to protect...
All of her, and hers they wrecked.
Villanelle: The only game solution to the human condition
The only game solution to the human condition
“Don’t nobody move a muscle” and hold your breath
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
In a billion years men will pass babies with their motion
And suffragettes will be the toothless kind with bad breath
The only game solution to the human condition
Our girls will all live up to receive the Nobel unction
While our boys will all learn to shoot crap in stealth
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
Lao Tse said “Reduce the size of the State and the population”
Border guards made him cough up The Way in lieu of wealth
The only game solution to the human condition
Time somebody put an end to this unfair competition
Girls have only from fourteen to barren fortieth
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
Naked ****-stars roam Holy Woods far cry from titillation
Chain-saw massacres take us beyond deep-freeze death
The only game solution to the human condition
Stop having sex with the opposite sex in motion
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Native Speaks Truths
She's not your princess or your squaw;
She is respected clan mother of the Chippewa.
He's not your chief, buck, or redskin:
He is a proud warrior of the Algonquin.
We're not your fashion trend or mascot;
We are the original peoples, have you forgot?
Racism comes to us in many ways;
Often disguised with passive aggressive praise.
You demand that we forgive and forget;
And with your good book you preach and beset.
You say to stop living in the past;
But continue to treat us as social outcasts.
You claim that you've learned from what your ancestors did;
Yet you repeat it world wide and the truths forbid.
You judge my frustration and anger with ease;
But continue selfish ways and to do as you please.
You celebrate men who massacred my tribe;
Your holidays confirm your need to inscribe.
You cry that you are the current day victim;
That reversed racism is your affliction.
You moan that we don't understand what it's like;
But your greed has caused the mistrust and dislike.
All the while you refuse to admit;
That what you ignore is what you permit.
Are you so different than those that turned away;
While my people were the cavalry's prey?
How much have you really changed;
When history repeats and so much is still the same?
Perhaps you only wish to silence my voice;
Because guilt today can be a weapon of choice.
Does white privilege still exist today;
Do you still want us to assimilate and obey?
If I am bitter it is with good cause;
It is because you continue with hypocrisy and faux pas.
Should one day you learn that all lives truly matter;
I will consider forgiving the lives you have shattered.
When you can learn to love the brown, black, yellow, and red;
I will then forget the broken promises and the massacres you've led.
Until that day do not patronize me with lies;
I will only believe what I see with my own eyes.
When colonization is no longer forced upon;
We can then let bygones be bygones.
By: Darlene Doll Smith
Water drop
Anguish
Cries
Out
Did I need to taste your sorrow?
She drowned me
While screaming fixated curiosities
Why I would not return
Oblivious to the obvious
Dilapidated wonder-wall
dripping concrete uncertainty
The fusion of incomprehensible dependency
retarding mass exodus of heart
As she cries all over again
I become a ripped towelette
thrown over her tattered neck of loneliness,
rushing into enigmatic corazon
I embrace familiar barrier
blocking out ultraviolet massacres
speaking subdued tongues,
another floating perdition
needing
a new painting against recycled canvas
Sweet dreams made
of
nothing
Did I need to taste the desolate madrigal
that I see running towards conundrum's savior,
still ready to love me tomorrow?
This heart is full.
I remove her weeping moon
searching for crescent bounds,
riding precipitous eclipse
My ears lie against vertigo's throat of irregularities
As she begs for the liar to return home
Because I always mattered
in the end
Allegedly
© Drake J. Eszes
"Forever will a scar remain upon broken ties. Memories serve to both assure and ruin in my eyes." -Anonymous
The Devil
Genocide Srebrenica and Žepa
The monkey of chetnik
Blessing guns
Killing nuns
Calls himself a priest
While performing massacres discreet
A Serbian ape
Dressed in holy cloth
No one is fooled
The old man is a sloth
Crimes against humanity
Vojislav Carkic is the devils hate
An old man in a garden at deaths gates
Flowers bloom from the devils blood
This satanic monster in a holy collar
While his victims raped in pain they holler
His erotic desires are never of love
He is happy when killing, for he hates white doves
The old fool still wishes to slay
He hates the Ukraine, the old Serbian fool should pray
Sadly with his disguise of the holy
He is still in the mood to kill
Notes on Soup Blog
Dar es salaam where I live means heaven of peace
But to me she has proved as well to be a haven of peace.
A peaceful place for any peace-loving person or race.
Atleast selfishly from here seem faraway all warring feuds all bloody massacres.
For here we simply catch sea and fresh water fishes
instead of getting caught up in goddamned skirmishes.
Oh and I live in a land of seven wonders and I stay in a mansion of seven windows
Each of them overlooking a different view
Guys, seven wonders to be exact
but be ready here for both fiction and fact
For I present to you these seven wonders of this land
as if I could view 'em' all from where I stand.
Ah and though I've settled down trying to be content with Tanzania.
A major part of me will always belong to my beloved India.
Well, well my first window has a view of Mount Kilimanjaro
the highest mountain in all of Africa
Rightfully named, the Roof of Africa.
The 2nd window overlooks
Lake Tanganyika
and fishermen with nets and hooks
in the 2nd deepest and longest lake in the whole wide world.
And from my third window can be seen
the famed, fabled and very pretty
Natural park known as Serengeti
Nature's celebrated celebrity.!
The 4rth window affords a view of the wide Ngorongoro Crater
Just as rich in wildlife
Throw some fish to the 'gator
even if it's such a ruthless predator.
The 5th one it overlooks
The great game reserve Mikumi by name
no less in fame
for a choicest variety of game.
As for the 6th window, from there you can see
Lake Victoria too
and I play peek-a-boo
with a marvelous maribou
and cheerily say 'karibu'
from the largest lake in all Africa.
The seventh, the last window gives me a view
of the dry lush gold-green sea of Savannah
Teeming with favorite flora and fauna
Here a rhino, there a hyena
and hee hee 'hear' that mynah
So now it's up to you to plan a trip, a Safari
to this land of precious Tanzanite, the land of the Maasai
.Aha, mind you only the mansion overlooking all that is fictional
and every other detail is soo real and factual.