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Best Murder Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Murder poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of murder poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Murder Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Murder poems are below this new poems list.

Murder Mystery by Ramesh, Gokulnath
I'm Here To Murder Mumble Rap, censored for Soup by Trim, Nick
Murder in Umu-Udo by Jumbo, Sandison
PROGRAM MURDER by Rodrigues, Kim
Small Scale Murder by Connell, Carol
Hatred and Murder by johnson, randy
The Murder of Humpty Dumpty by johnson, randy
Palindromic Report of the World's First Murder by Connell, Carol
RED RUM MURDER by Rodrigues, Kim

View all new Murder Poems

The Best Murder Poems

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Why oh Why Seren Roberts and Tim Smith

Why oh Why

A Collaboration between Seren Roberts, Tim Smith and Arthur Vaso

Poem inspired by Seren Roberts

Each poem written from a different view
The Murderer
The Murdered
The Mannequins who witnesses the crime

Why of Why
Lovers Die
Mannequins Cry

Sat, with his head in his hands
Remembering how love had once been,
Now, because of his stupidity 
He was on his own, solitary again

Remembering, how love had been,
Behind the bars he now calls home
He was on his own as before and again,
Realizing, he was such a petty bitter fool

Behind the bars he now calls home
His mind, aflame with tears of regret
Realizing he was an utter fool,
To have stabbed her to death in a bloody pool

 His mind aflame, with deep regret
 Why... did he buy a knife that day...why?
 To have stabbed her to death
 Cause she had given love another try.

Oh how he wishes, its he that had died

Lovers Die

I linger with the scent of flowers
cascading over what was once spring showers

Your red hands drip   passion
long since cooled
darkness surrounding you has lifted
and only I can see the light

Why couldn't you leave
a girl clamoring to be free
dressed in a burnt orange skirt
driven to the stake with your hurt

Words were written on the wall
but all you did was erase it all
Twisted   as the knife turns
in a cell    your hell burns

Mannequins Cry

We have no faces
We have no voices
You think we have no feelings
You see us as objects in commercial spaces

We saw the hidden knife unfold
We saw the young ones stabbed so bold
Pain is the emotion that frightens us all
Mannequins crying, tears running as we see her crawl
When the blood flowed
When the redness of hate showed
We with no faces
Shed tears at the human disgraces

Such young love so brutally robbed
By the jealous and lonely one, made us all sob
He regrets I am sure the hate that overflowed
Life's so torn it can't be sown

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Doctor, it's been 7 months 
The MEDs aren't kicking in

My dreams are getting stronger, 
The blood remains to run code red
It's getting harder and harder to get out of bed 
Dark images keep taking place inside my head 
The voices - The voices, are not all right!

I no longer lay laughing 
The screaming never stops
In irons,  my mind rattles 
Theses thoughts are all I got
In slow motion, my mind plans the perfect plot

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Counting every single second on the clock 
At first, I could not breathe 
I felt, I was left alone, 
Broken down --- Incomplete  
In your eyes, the schizophrenia spoke loud
In my eyes, everything is dark and gray

Doctor, now listen closely, open your eyes
While the walls slowly close in on you
I have my hands around your neck
Finally, I feel my arms, the needles are gone

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
The tightening of the chest is clearing
Today I possess a little more than yesterday 
Knowing exactly what needs to be done.

Was it all for nothing, the bloody wrist?
The faucet constantly dripping every night
The voices I call my friends

Deep, deep down,  
I'm still a child, painting  bedroom walls
Setting fires after my mother's death 
A crazy peril in its most threatening state

Doc, here you are again,
No longer will I allow you to waste my time
With your fetish lies, trying to make me better 
The problem is not me, it was always you!
Painting pink butterflies and white skies

Finally, I realize the sanity of this is perfect
Don't you understand  she's dead!
Pills aren't going to bring her back 
Padded rooms aren't going to help me,
Help myself --- grieve  the proper  way!
Straitjackets aren't going to restrain me, 
--- from wanting to hurt badly!
Psychologically, I'm perfectly sane 
Expressing my emotions a different way.

Doctor, you're not saying nothing 
You're not moving, 
You're just sitting there pretending to care.
Doc, I hope you aren't mad?
The voices explained it had to end this way
How else could I make you listen?

Finally, the impulse is gone 
Finally, I'm going to be alright 

       by: Pd

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2015

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The Spirit, The Water and The Blood

last thing I remember is the look upon his face
shot him dead right where he stood then left without a trace 
killed a man robbing his castle for some pocket change 
if I could I'd take it back my life I'd rearrange 


as I lie here on this prison bed I look up toward the sky
His Word says He still loves me though I can't help wonder why 
the man I am today is one He pulled up from the mud 
I've put my trust in these three things... 
the spirit, the water, and the blood 

growing up I never knew the man who caused my birth 
the only dad I ever knew destroyed my own self-worth 
the day he beat my mother was the day I thought I'd die 
I swore it'd be the last time this young man would ever cry 

as I lie here on this prison bed I look up toward the sky 
His Word says He still loves me though I can't help wonder why 
the man I am today is one He pulled up from the mud 
I've put my hope in these three things... 
the spirit, the water, and the blood 


looking in this broken mirror I see a man redeemed 
my newborn faith in God above uplifts my self-esteem 
the One who sent his Son to die forever set me free 
these bars that keep me locked up now will soon no longer be 
(I'll pay the penalty) 

the time has come the needle waits I find myself at peace 
today's the day to pay my dues before I find release 
forgiveness I have begged from Him for causing so much pain 
my hope is He remembers me and that I'll live again 

as I lie upon this bed of death I slowly close my eyes 
his family's all gathered 'round no need to wonder why 
the man I killed's dear widow helped to pull me from the mud 
(because like me) 
she's put her faith in these three things... 
the spirit, the water, and the blood

* this one re-posted for Lexi

** to be read with your best Johnny Cash voice

hear a sample of the song here:

Copyright © July Morning | Year Posted 2018

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Murder in Randolph County

 (Spenserian Sonnet) 

A flagrant man is Robert Brown, a swine;
his eyes glow red like ember coals of fire.
Will fate be kind or bring him bitter brine
and will his soul the evil one require?
Did in pretense he seek to prove desire
and rise to plant a kiss upon her lips?
He sliced her neck and watched his wife expire,
as blood streamed down and dripped from fingertips.
Yet rumor spread as neighbors came to grips
with horror of a murder in their town,
and newsmen raced to pen details in scripts
while lawmen flocked to chase the villain down.
          I held my mother in my arms and cried;
          her eyes met mine in sorrow as she died.

Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014

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Beautiful Disaster

Beautiful Disaster

There she is
Silhouette in the night
Lights glimmer, as fame simmers
She is all of my desires
She is all of my fires

Here I am wet
Flooded with pain
There she is dry
As a desert rain
Her beauty rouge bleeding into my soul

I wash my hands
I wash my meaningless life
Of sins and woes
Alcohol in the sails
As I fade to seas far away

She at my feet
Singing her lovers lullaby
Me in the wind
Of sadness’s despair
The air soon to confess a sin

All my life, no lover in the morning bed
No future for a chance to wed
There she is now so devoted
Yet here we both are so bloated
Throats cut and floating

On a rivers dream

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Empty Prisons

They kill a body and to prison go
Behind the bars with time they have to pay
A life that’s deadened with a life exchanged
So law and justice see the light of day

But tell me what of those who kill the heart
Who murder love and glibly walk on by
Incarceration is not their reward
The weight of guilt to bear, they do deny

A greater crime than this is yet to be
To kill a heart and form the living dead
Someone who walks and talks but is not real
Who shoots away the day and weeps in bed

Imprisoned they should be who now walk free
A murdered heart, a greater crime must be!

Jade Celeste

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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The Bell House Tower

We saw a dim light upon top of the Bell House Tower
a scream echoed out and then a dark shadow slipped 
by the light, in the midnight hour.

What was that? I asked my friend, I don't know
she said, but it sounded as if something has met
it's end.

The wind was blowing with such a strange howling
and all the city lights were off making it dark for
mysterious prowling.

A loud, maddening laughter rang through the air and
stood on our arms, every one of our hairs. We ran like
crazy down the alley way and never looked back until
the light of day.

The next morning a crowd had gathered at the Bell House
Tower and every one was shocked to see it was the bell
ringer who rung the bell, hour upon hour.

Not a sign made anyone sure of what happened, but we know
what we heard in the midnight hour, mad laughter from upon
top the Bell House Tower.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2014

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Slaughtered Innocence

The hideous and the humble
Blood peppers falling snow
As world hurtles to the tipping point
Life chokes on ignited air
Wrenching love from hungry mouths
Stars fall without sound
Some weep helpless, day through night
Ever wondering how
Never knowing why ...

Copyright © Patricia L Graham | Year Posted 2014

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Lift the Knife

See the darkness that surrounds us
You are safe from all your crimes
Lift your knife
Oh and take your sweet little time my sweet

     Stab me, stab me, blood flows, are we free?
     Stab me, stab me, love glows, are we free?
     Dance around my dead ghosted white body
     Life was no better to me you see

See the knife, as I look into your eyes
All I see is dead dead skies
I try to speak of broken promises
You slit my throat, for once you tried

     Stab me, stab me, blood flows, are we free?
     Stab me, stab me, love glows, are we free?
     Dance around my dead ghosted white body
     Life was no better to me you see

Raindrops of death pour over me
Your blank stare, my blanket of eternity
My blood flows into your hate
I now am bloodless; we are of but one single fate

     Stab me, stab me, blood flows, are we free?
     Stab me, stab me, love glows, are we free?
     Dance around my dead ghosted white body
     Life was no better to me you see

See the happiness you never found?
You lost it like the my blood lost in the killing grounds
You thought you could slay my lovesick heart 
I laughed and laughed as you lifted the knife so sharp

     Stab me, stab me, blood flows, are we free?
     Stab me, stab me, love glows, are we free?
     Dance around my dead ghosted white body
     Life was no better to me you see

My heart was lost long ago
When you stopping loving and bringing the rose
From then on my heart you see was froze
Exiled to your bondage, I stared at the knife

And accepted my fate

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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The Craigslist Thrill Killers

Elytte and Miranda Barbour murdered a man just to get a thrill.
It is always very stupid and senseless when people kill.
They said they killed him because they wanted to kill someone together.
If you're wondering when they'll get out of prison, the answer is never.
They pled guilty to Second Degree Murder and other charges and got life.
Elytte will never be able to kill another person and neither will his wife.
When Troy LaFerrara answered the Barbours Craigslist ad, he didn't know he was in danger.
While in court, LaFerrara's loved ones were very furious and they expressed their anger.
The Barbours are only 22 and 19, they're young enough to be my kids.
If they were my children, I wouldn't forgive them for what they did.

(This is a true story about Elytte and Miranda Barbour who murdered Troy LaFerrara.)

Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2014

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Urban Legend

Picturesque town on the edge of nowhere,
residents just living 'the life.'
Suddenly subject to media glare-
reports of the mayor's missing wife!

Search parties, rescuers all on the scene
with rumors of mischief afoot.
People keep asking, 'What does it all mean?'
Some lock their doors and stay put.

'Over here,' someone yells as the hooting owl hoots,
'I see something under the brush.'
The ground shakes and rumbles, heavy with boots,
the now gathered crowd in a hush.

There on the ground as I cowered in fear
lay the poor gal's head, facing down.
The body was searched for until it was clear
they'd covered the whole flippin' town.

The mayor of the burg remarries so soon,
suspicion on everyone's mind.
But with nary a witness except for the moon,
the law stops pursuing in time.

Ten years have passed and the story's still told-
the horror of what we had seen.
I was a kid just eleven years old,
the images still haunt my dreams.

To this very day I've never gone back,
avoiding those woods at all cost.
Something transpired, unholy and black,
our innocence that day was lost.

But what they don't know and perhaps never will
is the way that my stepmother died.
With hatchet in hand and a thrill for the kill
I swung true and never once cried.

Eleven I was and a daddy's girl too,
together we made such a team.
And I'm happy to say no one has a clue-
as for me, I'm livin' the dream.

And if you should ask where the body's been hid,
I'll tell you, but don't tell a soul...

Copyright © July Morning | Year Posted 2018

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Ten is the number to begin
Early in the garden
Gathering herbs, foxglove and more
On her face casual grin

Nine are the ingredients here
Placed in beef stew to simmer
It will be tender, succulent
For his eye will grow dimmer

Eight minutes sear the stew beef 
Add some herbs like lemon thyme
Pour in beef broth to simmer down
Let it stew half a day's time

Seven is the count to cook some rice
A soft bed to nestle
Colors a great contrast appeal
Beauty, aroma will settle

Six add carrots, red and green peppers
The slow simmer, leaves crunch
Perfect in shape, color and taste
He will munch, munch, and munch

Five memories of his abuse
Threats, terror, and betrayal
Guns pointed to head even loaded
To public opposite portrayal

Four ladles of stew removed
Add some oleander
To stew on range, and let simmer
Stir the pot, leaves meander

Three flowers from pretty foxglove
Maybe this stew he'll love
Hear his truck come down the drive
Everything's quiet even dove

Two ladles served upon white rice
Her's prepared set aside
Upon a plate over white rice
Stew served that she contrived

One ambulance pulls quietly away
Rushing to hospital
Entirely too late to save the day
A crime? Really Committal?  

I watch TV crime stories..LOL

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2017

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Miss American pie has a dream -
whipped cream of tijuana brass.

Groovy tunes quit on smoking grass.
Frisbee LP like steaming saucers crash.

The homecoming court is plastered.
What could possibly be the matter?

Moon rockets in flight, rock me all night baby.
There were stars in my eyes, as lala land denied.

In my crib the beatles rock me to sleep,
while Tate’s fetus stares at the Helter Skelter light.

Chosen song: American Pie

Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2017

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Mill Wheel

The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring
And still  today in thought a chill it brings
The vision of the ice upon the lake
That time in passing still can not erase

That mill wheel in the grip of winter's breath
Stone cold and still ... a lifelsss wheel of death
When on that morn there in the ice appeared
Beneath its surface there a face of fear

Whispers ran through the town from door to door
Whispers that Charlie Winters killed Lenore
Frozen streams of blood there on the wheel
Found on that morning... by old man Mac Neil

A long lock of flaxen hair...gathered there
Beneath that wheel...a weight to much to bear
Oh ! How the broken vows of marriage weep
Ice melts, revealing secrets wheel creaks
Behind these prison bars I pass the years 
Finally stripped of anger by my tears

July 15, 2018

Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2018

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Murdered by my Own Shadow

Cold misty clouds rise above the grates
The streets only illumination, tossing shadows like pennies
Faded street lamps at each end
The cold is biting, as I roll the collar over my neck

I received a call earlier that day
A new client, who insisted not to meet,
At my office
Just fine with me, my office scared its fair share
Of prospects away

So glancing at my watch I waited
Under the street lamp, I lit a ***
To pass the time
Where was the dame?

I was beginning to guess this was some kind of hoax
Worse still I was missing a poker game over at the Pig&Bath
The tube was a few blocks away, and sooner rather than later
I should part company with this particular street lamp of no desire

Not a soul in site, I decided I’d been played for a fool
A pretty voice, that will get ya every time
As I sauntered away looking bored in case anyone was watching
I heard the click of my own shoes on concrete

I also heard an echo?
Was I being followed?
I crossed to the other side somewhat on edge
I had enough blokes that didn’t see my good side
Not that I ever saw much either

I quickened my pace
Whoever was behind seemed to quicken their pace
I turned the corner and now in a very fast walk
Ran for the main street, passing an alley that had seen better days

Something or someone grabbed at my trench coat
All of a sudden, here I am, pulled into a dark alley
I feel the punches, and what seems like a pipe
Hitting me repeatedly, yet I see no one

I cover my head, and try to keep silent
No use humoring this lug with the pleasure of my pain
On the ground, I feel the kicks into my ribs
Blood starts to spill from my mouth, 
Or who knows, maybe my nose

No concern of mine
As I wont have much of a face after this brutal feast
I hear the faint wisps and grunts, as I lay wounded
Whoever did this sure fancies himself a professional
I would like to say more, but I think is time for dreamland

No idea if I am unconscious, dead or dreaming
In a puddle of my own blood
I lie, in agony looking above at a strange face
My god, its my shadow!

He spits on me in disgust
Laughing, he says "finally I am free of you"
You rotten son of a Birch tree
At that he parts, off he goes to the land of the living

Walking away with some woman that I feel I should know
They laugh together, as I lie inside my own turmoil
The garbage pickup at dawn
Will dispose of my bones and dreams
Some PI I turned out to be

Murdered by my own shadow

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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A Ghost's Testimony Co-written with Jack Horne

*NOTE:  Jack and I wonder how many of you have heard of the Zona Shue case – 
an American murder victim who had revenge in Virginia in the late 1800s.
Zona was killed by her husband, Edward Shue, who then took elaborate steps to 
cover his crime.  In an attempt to disguise Zona’s broken neck, Edward dressed her 
corpse in a scarf and high necked dress, stuffed her coffin with pillows (to support 
her vertebrae) and refused to allow even the doctor near the body. 

     However, Zona appeared to her mother and revealed the truth. Following 
exhumation and an autopsy, Edward was found guilty of murder.  It was the only 
case in American history where information provided by a ghostly apparition was 
admitted as evidence for consideration by jurors.

     Jack and I are co-sponsoring a contest on ghost poems.  Our co-write "A Ghost's 
Testimony" below will give you an idea what we're seeking in entries.

"A Ghost's Testimony"

"She must have fallen down the stairs:
A tragic accident," he said.
"I've washed her body, laid her out -
Oh, Doctor Knapp, my Zona's dead!"
       "No accident!  Shue broke my neck.
       Mother, please hear my ghostly plea.
       Take him to court and make him pay;
       It's murder in the first degree."
“I’ve dressed her in her high necked frock…
Thought pillows by her neck looked fine…
 She’d want to wear this scarf,” he wept.
“But no one touch the corpse - she’s mine!”
       "Thanks, Mom, for bringing this to court.
       The autopsy was not done right!
       With malice Shue cut my life short.
       Exhume my body; shed some light."
“Her mother wants to see me hang,
But she can’t prove my guilt,” he fumed.
“She claims the body sheet turned red, 
And wants to have my wife exhumed.”
       "The judge disagreed and allowed
       My spirit world testimony.
       Shue, my killer, was not so proud;
       A death in jail for this phony!"

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

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The Neck is Broken

The Doll Collection

The necklace scattered: all into little pieces
Another quiet doll for my collection
I twisted her throat until her eyes shown dead
Into the night they stare so very red

I stand her up, on a small doll chair
Crafted with loving hands that freed her from breathing air
They are all in a row, so pretty they are, staring at my wife
She is paralyzed you see, her neck would not even tear for me

I collect dolls, for my loves doll collection
She doesn’t move, only stares in murky recollections
Small pieces of deep anguish leak from her eyes
She recoils at the new dolls I give her as a surprise

They sit in chairs; the doll house is so pretty
With amber and gold, I wrap a necklace around each
Such pretty dolls, that me and my love keep
Each doll face is my path towards guilty redemption

No one knows the secrets we have hidden so deep
No one knows the dolls that we collect and keep
No one knows I have saved them all, they shall never weep
No one knows my wife, paralyzed; so shall never speak

That fateful night she refused to die
Her necklace so beautiful wrapped in blood so dry
In our doll house, my shrine devoted to her
Her tears rain down her face mercilessly clear

Notes: I had just purchased a book called “The Doll Collection” a compilation of short stories edited by Ellen Datlow. For one purpose, I was sure it would inspire me some poetry, of course on the dark side. Then I read a poem by Andrea Dietrich called “The Necklace Broke” From that I had my idea and off I went. I borrowed a few words from Andrea with her permission, and did so on purpose to pay tribute to another great poet here on Soup! Even a poem is so completely different, I think its wonderful that reading other poets provides such great inspiration. I would also ask that people read her poem, and here I provide the link!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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My Only Son

I woke last night, with a heavy heart,
miles away, and world's apart,

sensing you...  sensing you..

All through the night, and into morn,
headless fears and shadows form,

so forlorn...  so forlorn..

Feeling scared, and knowing why,
seeing nightmares in your eyes,

over there...  over there..

Images of ruthless foes,
dressed in black, from head to toe.

Jagged blade, held to your breast,
evil serpent, puffs his chest.

my only son...  my only son.

Hide my soul and blind my eyes!
Precious son, I hear your cries.

Brutal boots, and shattered bones,
taunting jeers, and heavy stones.

A thousand lashes to your flesh,
hidden under prison dress.

Gagged and bound, they drag you out,
Infidel! they cruelly shout.

Forced to kneel; so hate will rise!
Dagger falls..... alone he dies.

A life of honor, and good cheer,
taken from you,  with a sneer.

Heart of gold; at heaven's gate,
my precious son, in glory waits....

Copyright © Kimberly Shaw | Year Posted 2014

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My Tell-Tale Heart- Twist on Poe

It wasn’t that I’d done you wrong
I'd welcomed you into my heart’s home
I'd cherished you
and I had fed you 
I'd protected you
I had let you dream your dreams
in comfort
in safety
and I had loved you:
You were my own

And yet….
day upon day,
you waited for the opportunity
to confess
knowing it would kill me
knowing I would bleed...
you had a perverse pleasure
in planning….
the murder my heart
and I never had a clue
I trusted you

You planned…you observed
and all the while you smiled
acting sweet and caring
checking on me
making sure my needs were met
And then
out of nowhere
like lightning
you struck my unsuspecting heart
rammed the dagger in deep
and twisted
to make sure
every drop of blood was spilt

Satisfied and sure of yourself
you hid your gruesome work
underneath layers of indifference
or.... so you thought
but every now and then
you hear it
I know….I can see it on your face
You hear the beating of my heart-
my tell-tale heart
it still beats for you
It’s still ALIVE!
You try to deaden it
the noise
It’s driving you mad
as you wine and dine her

You try to make love to her
more vigorously than before
more often
more intensely
but as she is screaming your name
begging you for more
in the crescendo of passion
You hear it...

It's the beating of my heart
It drowns out her voice
It drowns out everything
It pounds in your head
My love is not dead

You can’t go on
enraged, seething
you leave her wanting
as you run out of the room bellowing…
I hear your cry
I killed your love
Why do you still haunt me?”

Beat after beat after beat after...b..e..a..t....
My heart is still alive
You feel it
You are drawn to it
She notices
They notice
You are agitated
Something is driving you mad
It’s me
You remember my goodness
My scent
my warmth
That pounding in your head 
is desire

It gets louder…LOUDER
As you walk over to where I stand
with each quickened step
the pounding intensifies
Surely everyone must hear it

You come closer
the indifference gone from your face
I hear the beating
thundering in my own ears
my love for you

You are closer
you put your head on my chest
as your tears wet my blouse
I run my hands through your hair
pressing you closer

I whisper…
My Tell-Tale heart 
Is still beating for you!”

For Tommy's Poe Contest
A remaking of the Tell-Tale Heart story

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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Love went to the liquor store
She bought a bottle
Drank until the bottle was dry
Walked on over to the hardware store
Where there she bought a hunting knife

Love sliced open my chest
Her hands grasped my heart
She had a hearty meal
Dropping her knife
She walked away in the dark

Love stole my heart

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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Dead Poet Dear Lord

Dead Poet

Are you a poet?
Are you a good poet?
No you can not be
You must be dead
In poetry DEAD is good
We can read and NOT listen to the dead ones
Silence is golden
One day I am sure
I will be a good poet
With all my cheering fans

Dear Lord

Dear Lord, please don’t take me now
Let me here awhile longer
Dear Poet, I will let you there on earth until you
Compose the best poem ever written
Oh Dear Lord, bless you, bless you

Are you all hippopotamuses?
Some one was asking , not me

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

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Beautiful Monster

Beautiful Monster 

(Removed for publication)

Copyright © Israel Curtis C. | Year Posted 2015

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The tigress' mark

She prowls the night
with clenched jaw and pride,
nothing able to smite
her remorseless stride.

The ominous reflection of moon 
shines forth from devouring eyes
of a nocturnal beauty spun on the loom
of the Creator's bid and sighs.

Grace moves her every limb
and she precedes an enraged scream
caused by ruins of a forest now grim
and held alive by all but one stream.

Her claws prophesy of vengeance 
though her heart yearns for reconciliation.
Yet now there would be no leniency 
for a soul's annihilation. 

Now on journeys through lush valleys and ashes
she will embark
until all that remains after furious thrashes
will be the tigress' mark.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013

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Paris in Turmoil

held the
hand of a 
stranger lying 
face down with flying
bullets spraying the room, 
killing, striking so many
innocents frozen in terror.
As I fled I realized she was 
dead from terrorist's merciless melee.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Note: I wrote this about a recent story on the news that 
touched me deeply. I am praying for all those who are suffering.

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015

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The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015