Best Murders Poems
I see the shadow on the wall,
my breath catches and hope falls.
He has found me I do despair,
The Axeman is standing there.
Hiding in the house all day,
waiting for the return of his prey.
In the pantry watching through the door,
night is all he waits for.
Silently he makes his way through the house,
silent as a deadly mouse.
Started with dad and mom in the bed,
I silently cry as they are dead.
My sleeping sisters and brother,
without their heads I did discover.
My visiting friends he also found,
he killed them too with a squishing sound.
If only the drifting Reverend did not stop,
invited for breakfast by my pop.
My family could have been saved,
now our future is a lonely grave.
He moves in for the kill,
swings his axe with lots of skill.
The flash of steel as all I see,
slumps to the floor is all that's left of me.
The wind blows through Villisca this cold night,
my family died without a fight.
A small and quiet town,
in the night our screams did drown.
Poked by aleera I did jump,
telling the true story that in the night goes bump.
I see the shadow of Kristy De La Keur,
Now her story you'll get to incur.
Thanks to John Loving III and the Haunting Poets,
the true story of the Villisca axe murders you do know it.
Sad the tragedy is too true,
not a fictional killer to go BOO!
2.
To be alive is to dance with danger.
Both hands off the wheel,
We fly down the icy plane of existence
Trusting our belief in a Right Order of Things
To shield us from the chaos,
The chaos that waits like a hungry beast
Just off the dim edges of waking life.
There is a poison which infects us,
Running through the deep channels of our minds,
Corroding our sense of self-control,
Rubbing raw the frayed edges of our common senses
Making us crave the deadly clarity of the irrational act,
Breeding a lust for the fearful appeal
That lies smiling in the hidden heart of brutality.
He comes out of his home early that morning,
His fiancee' stepping brightly beside him.
They climbed into their truck together
Warming one another with new lovers' looks
In the snapping cold November air.
When they felt themselves readied for another suburban day,
They began backing out,
Never noting the Hatchback's approach.
So, with a little jar and a little crunch,
Their vehicles met in a tiny collision.
Minor damages produced,
Enough for annoyance, no cause for hardship.
He got out to meet the other driver,
Prepared to dispatch with this unfortunate delay
Then move on with the day.
He saw the other driver walking towards him,
Then saw the gun.
In the space of one flashing moment
Another life met its abrupt end.
Without a word, the stranger lifted his gun
And emptied a full clip into his target.
9mm slugs opened round tunnels
In the stunned body standing before him,
Blood rained brightly, roses on new snow.
After the limp form of the newly dead fell,
The killer walked back to his truck
Brought out a fresh clip,
To calmly use it up on the body
That danced under the impacts,
A briefly animated corpse upon the tarmac.
As these things transpired the woman,
The would've-been wife of the bleeding ruin
Screamed in the cab; she screamed and screamed
Like a bird in pain,
Face a vision of horror.
That horror broke itself for a fleeting moment,
Long enough to let panic flood in
The would-be wife took off then,
In aimless, agonized flight.
The killer roamed free for days.
3.
Death, the Master, wears a thousand faces.
The white smile of the skull
Lies behind the 5 O'Clock shadow
Beneath, perhaps, those laughing eyes
Looking your way across the bar.
When the shock begins to fade I turn off the news.
I turn once more to the business of living.
To ponder overmuch over why such things happen
Is to invite the spirit to drain down to hollowness.
Before we cast off at night
Onto the uncertain seas and shores of dreamlands,
We might do well to take a long look down within,
Call up and kiss the swarming demons goodnight
While they stir in the strange shadowgaps of the long dark
Resting there on the fringes of consciousness.
Give ear to the language they speak down there,
Learn dark things from the rumble of their mystic, thunderous litanies.
Call for an uneasy peace with the Legions within,
Hold them back, if you can, with our talismans,
The magic words: Reason, Judgement, Morality.
Tumble then into a warm bed
Forget the Furies roaming just outside
Awaiting dead hours to do their work.
The deeds of the night
Will be revealed
When the mist wraiths steal away,
When the sun bleeds rose light
Across the white face of dawn.
I saw several plastic bags caught
upon driftwood, swaying atop the ocean.
A beer can or five lay scattered nearby
soon to be taken and kept by the tide.
I placed all trash in the bag I gripped,
holding other cans, plastics, bags for chips.
I could not fathom who would do this
and stilled my sad-mad trembling lips.
We cannot seem to fight corporate greed,
but must people also cause land to bleed?
Littering breaks my entire heart
within the spiritual eternal part.
There resides my unique “I am”;
a force that radiates a breaking spark,
that hurts and longs to understand.
What lays the ways of any living man
who nonchalantly murders earth-land?
All tangibles the careless now own
came from something nature grown.
I know this is a truth widely known.
The earth has a true heartbeat –
a pulse littering may yet defeat.
The oceans, forests and even the streets,
see me picking up trash in a sad repeat.
Despite my raw anger, I often weep.
I know God lovingly created planet art
because when I move the ‘h’ in earth
it conveys we reside in His very heart.
Do not, I pray and besiege this day,
kill His artistry with garbage this way.
Tragedy in Pennsylvania
October, 2006
I watched 34 carriages
and buggies snake toward
three empty hand-dug graves.
"Our lives are shattered," is quoted
as an entire nation gazes in horror,
and one church hosts a prayer vigil.
The iron wheels of a horse-drawn hearse
tracks the same route taken by the milk
wagon, and winds past the shooter's house.
One sister had begged, "Shoot me first."
Her younger sibling said, "Shoot me
next," hoping to save the others.
Hate-filled rhetoric spills over air waves,
thwarts picket plans of misguided religious
fanatics, and spares gentlefolk further pain.
Two sisters share a common grave;
a young girl is brought home
to die in peace.
Gracious, forgiving, old-world Amish
invite the shooter's family to witness
their daughters' final farewell.
Naomi Rose,
the only girl in an all boy family,
is laid to rest.
Violent offenders released without bail
a senseless reform, it unfailingly fails
Victims walk alone in dark alleys at night
then rant on the news 'bout the lack of streetlights
Movies at theatres feature a killing a minute
Hollywood's culture of death implicated in it
Crude rap songs glorify every nasty habit imaginable
blare from sidewalks and streets uninhabitable
Guns so easy to score on the meanest of streets
adolescents own more than the cops on the beat
Single mothers on drugs, absent fathers in jail
young kids left untended, what do 'values' avail
Do murders seem senseless ~ They're so often not
They happen for good reason in the society we've got
UNAFRRAID OF THREATS FROM HITMEN FROM DETROIT NOR JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY OBSTRUCTING JUSTICE IN ARSON MURDERS OF 9 HELPLESS PERSONS BY THE GARGANO CRIME FAMILY HIS PARTNER FIREMAN GENE KALINOWSKI BACK OFF STOP BURNING PEOPLE ALIVE
A woman convicted of fatally poisoning her husband with antifreeze and
trying to kill her daughter and frame her for the crime has died in prison.
Stacey Castor,48,died Saturday morning while serving 51 years to life at
Bedford Hills Correctional Facility for Women in Westchester County,
the Onondaga County district attorney's office said.The Antifreeze Murders,
was a series of killings and attempted killings within the Staudte family of Springfield,Missouri.Zafar Khan Supari killer chemical drink injection game.
I believe most Americans are appalled at the wanton gun violence in America today.
Surely the murder of young children is revolting to almost everyone and begs for some action.
But what can we DO about it? I mean REALLY - really.
Republicans want to arm themselves more, while democrats use these events to jerk-off to gun control fantasies that either cannot pass as law or will be struck down by the courts.
I’d like to propose a real, actionable solution.
We would announce this plan in every high school in America, propagate the offer in every morning announcement until further notice:
Any young man (or woman, let's not be sexist here) who, in their heart of hearts feels sufficiently motivated (kill-crazed) would immediately be sent to Ukraine where they could kill real Russians to their heart’s content.
They would only be trained if they wanted it, only be part of an organized unit if they desired it, they would be armed, on arrival, or they could bring their own initial arsenal if they have it at hand.
Once they achieved 200 certified Russian kills (this number is negotiable) they would be declared heroes and could either continue their good work or receive some sort of scholarship or cash.
This is just one, practical idea - you, my reader, are free to propose others.
This is not a joke, not sarcasm, irony or parody - let’s actually DO something, shall we?
Murder of the innocent.............
One door opens, another door shuts,
Drugs, knives, coppers, over dressed sluts.
Colours worn, weapons in hand,
Children dying in a blood tainted land.
No more hatred, no weapons to yield,
No more coffins in a mud sodden field.
Hatred now gone, no more youngsters to die,
No need for anger at the places they lie.
When the door opens, the door opens wide,
No more denying, no places to hide.
No time for distance, no walking away,
No children dying, no murders today.........
In memory of the victims of the British culture of knife crime.
Six people confessed to the murders of four.
Police detectives were consternated.
This many confessions had never happened before.
This was totally unanticipated.
Other homeless people lined the police station door.
Police said “Now, these jail cells are overrated.”
In a week the confessions numbered twenty-four.
Free room and board for all those who participated.
Kill kill kill
you that loves to
breath
but blocked
your brother's
nostril
Kill kill kill
you thats afraid
of death
but forced your
brother
to embrace the
horrors of it
calling
kill kill kill
you thats afraid
of pain and
torment
but forced your
brother
to lie where
pain's the song
torment's the
rythm
kill kill kill
you that can't
decide what
holds the next
minute
you that where
brought forth
the way not
different from
thy brother
kill kill kill
you that's at the
arms of misery
but pleaded for
mercy
at the lowest
soft tune of thy
voice
but showeth not
mercy
to thy brother
whom you killed
kill kill kill
you thats afraid
of death
The man you
killed was your
brother!!!!!!!!!
It's a whodunit
with mystery and suspense
right up to the end
Best Armed Mass Murders
America's mass murderers are best armed;
This is why many people they have harmed;
Injuried and died;
Then people cried,
And all of us have forever became alarmed.
Jim Horn
Alice, murdered by Dracula’s daughter
White rabbit keeps secret as he ought’er.
He sits on her throne
As Halloween gnome
Skulls laugh at the smeary night blotter
Striped legs and a red hair bow pretty
Dracula’s child morbid and witty
Secrets secure
Alice has no cure
Crying from the bowels of evil city