Best Mutilated Poems
Arousing opulence of ancient ballrooms
She creates her own make-believe world
Waltzing coyly in terpsichorean rhythms
Upon glittering stage where they sell love
Each time she caresses arms of a stranger,
Pretending to levitate in sultan’s harem
In glitzy appeal of polygamous mansions
Where she reiterates to sighs of ambivalence--
This used to be once the venue of glamour.
But her allegory of ardor quickly fades
As her disillusioned ego yearns for solace
When invisible bruises begin to ache
Having surrendered esteem to ruthless nights
Trading dead-feelings in lavish marbled halls
Where stench of alcohol, perfumes, and cigars
Traps perturbed anguish inside prison walls
From which, she knows, there’s no escape.
Initiation period for her was the hardest
When beauty and youth at height of apex
Squandered her magical Cinderella zeal
Abandoning fabled-castle her childhood built
Crying into that gutless, gruesome night
For lacking the force of fortitude to leave
Before she condemned her soul into abyss.
She’s worthless to the heartless crowd now—
A shriveled rose desolate in parched garden,
A discarded bottle of expensive scotch;
So, voicing contempt, like a caged bird she sings
About the wedding night she always fancied
Reciting lyrics, crooning spent feelings,
Whispering the names she picked for her kids.
Look closely at her, she has no chains now,
She can abscond easily whenever she wants
But, alas, no longer has she the desire to fly;
For her mutilated spirits relentlessly bleed
Ever since her own hands clipped her wings.
August 29, 2020
Placed 1st: Woman in chains poetry contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Inspired by Woman in Chains song by Tears for Fears
The jury was unanimous
Twelve cried out justice
Guilty
It was just before the changing hour
The hanging planned for quarter past midnight or so
The moon was full, the shining light exposing deaths dance
The grim reaper was ready, one more for his collection
I was ready for this moment
Ready to face my freedom and my death
Long ago, a mirror shattered into twelve pieces
Twelve faces who said I have to go
Twelve past the midnight hour
Sacred ghosts haunting twilight hours
Whiskey filling the soul soon to be departed
The hangman at the ready with a somber face
For his duties he did not so much embrace
This evening he knew the hanging would take all effort
Of spirit and determination
To send this one of to his eternal damnation
He was shivering and I sensed in fear
As I stared at him solemnly in the mirror
We both eye to eye knew this day would come
The hangman and me, conscious of the sum
So the note was neatly written
The whiskey bottle all alone, empty on the floor
I stood bravely or maybe cowardly
Upon the wooden chair
The rope I wrapped around I my neck
As the hangman in the mirror was in despair
I patted him on the back and said no worries my friend
This, you see is the end of it all
All that we ever both wished or dreamed
A week or two later
They found the hangman
A rope around his neck
Staring blanking in the mirror
A note on the bedside table
Told this story as you hear
A man with a broken heart
Hanged because of his own mutilated reflection
Rising from the desert sand
was a shimmering mirage
of a thousand shouts
Heated winds of fanaticism,
intense and blowing violently loud
Shrill calls to blood prayer seethe,
breathing fiery invocations
of a perverted philosophy
Screaming death to the infidels —
a scarlet smeared mirror reflecting
black cloth covered savagery
Crimson prayers are the daubed untempered mortar
which cements the foundation of this shakily rising kingdom
Whet the glittering scimitar swung grisly:
Beheadings are the blade’s
propaganda recruitment shock TV
Desert crisis ... dreaded carrion claws of ISIS,
oasis mirage bathe the sociopaths in bloody bliss
Mutilated bodies floating upon the desert sea,
a raised dark flag boasts of a fleeting victory
Prideful utterances of unspeakable barbarity
Contemned caliphate mercurial rising ...
now descending quickly below the horizon
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
The sand castle rise to power was ever so brief,
a pirated religion kingdom soon to end suddenly
Taking hostage your own faith,
now the proselyte guards are
fleeing from the palace carnage
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
Innocent blood spilled in the sand
will be your caliphate’s undoing
Crumbling desert kingdom,
blood reap the harvest of your ruin
Let your prophets of terror and rage
shout a false sanctum call to prayer
Intoning not this one truth: God will surely repay!
At the edge of town stood, a government research centre
It was heavily guarded, no unauthorised persons could enter
The authorities put down rumours, saying its just a research station
But word got out they were trying, to open an other dimension.
One night a massive blast took off the research station roof
If anyone doubted the rumours, here now was the proof
The gates of hell opened, with the sound of blood curdling screams
And out poured tall green creatures, only found in hellish dreams.
They were humanoid winged reptilians with eyes a blood red
The townspeople heard the blast, many of them were in bed
All the streetlights went out and the sky turned pitch black
Under the cover of darkness the creatures launched an attack.
They entered every house and mutilated everyone inside
There was pools of blood everywhere; hundreds had died
The police and army arrived and fired shell after shell
But they too were slaughtered by these demons from hell.
They kept coming out of the portal and went from town to town
They were annihilating mankind and they weren't slowing down
By the next day they'd invaded, across the world every land
No weapons could stop them, they had the upper hand
World leaders held an urgent meeting and agreed a strategy
But that strategy would mean, the end of humanity
The plan was to launch nuclear missiles, it was the only way
If mankind couldn't rule the earth then neither would they.
The countdown time was agreed and it was announced worldwide
Everyone told to stay at home, with your loved ones by your side
People were crying, religious leaders urged people to pray
Ten minutes later earth was vaporised on mankind's darkest day.
Written on 30th April 2021
A Poem of Horror Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Funom Makama.
December
knows the speech
to transcribe double-edged thoughts,
dried between cognitive spaces
of comets tattooed
with razor-sharp ink~
infused with cinnamon and clover,
emanating toxic perfume
of decadent desires~
as our love was an ice-storm~
beautiful, fleeting, destructive,
and promises we made are
like petulant paper-dolls,
misplaced in the wounded effervescence
of snow-covered sins, melting in vain…
Yet tonight, I taste the smoky
truth in tears of time~
trickling like muted waterfalls in mist,
as my insomniac heart follows faint
scintillas of soft sparkles,
stitched gently into skies
of sullen moonflowers and lilies,
soaked in raining memories…
For I am the eclipsed sun~
drowning in the afterglow
of poetic gloaming outlined with
amethyst embers,
while interlocked as ethereal tendrils,
intoxicated by the elixir of white topaz,
contrived from the musical starburst
of my anemic quill.
But amidst lines of twilight,
tailored with wolverine lies,
can you still hear our
songs in Cupid’s crystal sighs?
Or was it just a kiss in the dark
on winter’s lips,
swirling through neon ashes,
like frosted glows of
juniper twin-flames?
I remember your light,
the lunar lamp that refused
to cloak the image of us fading,
when the wind suffocates
the delicate stems that
home roses and orchids,
we designed to the silent hum of grief.
So let me rewrite the words
you used to say,
with the pointed tip
of this mutilated muse,
to compose a resonant requiem
with dahlia dust,
flowing as purple prose
within my cathartic bloodstreams
in supernova coherence…
Vacantly staring into the night sky
She saw big bellied clouds drifting away
Are they fleeing away from the luminous moon?
Or mercilessly driven out
After being robbed off everything?
Once again she looked at her expanding waistline
And felt the pulse of life beating within
It sent a lightning of terror through her
The chapters of her life flipped past her eyes
With several scenes reeling one by one
"You are my sky
The ascending star of my soul in the dawn
And the bough of my homing at night"
Those words that sent goose bumps all over
Now rattle in her skull like worthless coins!
Never had she thought she would be
Thus cruelly betrayed!
How she had once wished the time to stand still
Now she sighs seeing the needle of the clock
Crawling at snail's pace!
She thought the deserts of her life
Had been turned into grass lands
When did the cruel frost fall
To suck up all that was green, she fails to locate!
But she remembers clearly when she had fallen
From the perilous heights of the cliff
Into the precipitous depths of the ravine
It was in excitement, she confided to him
That his seed was growing inside her
Was it with disbelief or bitter annoyance
That he heard those words, not quite sure.
For days, she heard nothing from him
Though worried, she tried to light up hope
One day as a bolt from the blue,
She got a curt message from him
‘We now go our separate ways'
She felt drowned while diving for pearls!
With a mutilated heart, the star crossed girl
Lives on....
Without knowing, time winging away
And the curse of the dead albatross
Hanging heavily in her neck!
But she shall live...............
Clutching desperately to hope.
Live for the poor ‘bastard' growing inside!
The other day I sat beneath a sycamore tree on the court house lawn.
Old Glory fluttered in the breeze and to my eyes it was drawn.
It was tattered and frayed, I assumed, by the storms of many seasons,
But as I mused upon its state, could it have been caused by other reasons?
After all, it saw action in the Revolutionary War to create a new nation,
And suffered shot and shell in The War of 1812 ending foreign domination.
It flew over the Alamo and was drenched by the blood of courageous squads,
Who sacrificed their lives for independence, aware that they were against all odds.
Old Glory was unfurled for action in the Civil War in many a furious battle,
Mutilated by cannon fire and time and time again by the muskets rattle.
It was ripped by rifle fire as the Rough Riders charged up San Juan Hill.
To look upon it at their front must have given the Riders a comforting thrill!
It was torn asunder in the bloody trenches of France in World War One.
Though battered and torn it was held high at the battles cease for laurels won!
As its charred remnants were hoisted over Iwo Jima's blood soaked strand,
It unfurled to the cheers and tears of brave men who took a gallant stand!
Though the Korean and Vietnam conflicts and subsequent Desert Affair,
Took their toll on the old flag, it yet waves majestically with dignity and flair.
Though it has been spit upon and trampled on it still remains unfurled,
As a symbol of hope and a beacon of light for humankind about the world!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
It was the summer - August 4
When England joined the First World War
1914 the very year
Before wives and children shed their bitter tears
‘The war to end wars’ was the battle cry
Before there had been one widow’s sigh
The men lined up by the score
To enlist, sacrifice themselves to this bitter war
Friends and families made their mark
Pals regiments were formed in town and park
From factories, clubs, offices and farms
They became privates, sergeants, men at arms
And off they went through the streets
Not knowing that they were cannon meat
Cheered and applauded as they marched
Toward war’s verdant fields not yet parched
“It’ll be over by Christmas” came the call
“Get over there one and all”
No one of them, home or abroad
Had ever heard of “Total War”
Posters beckoned from every wall
Poets wrote of war’s enthrall
Songs and stories came thick and fast
Glorifying war and our heroic past
But very soon came the acrid truth
Millions dead - “Anthem of Doomed Youth”
Trial by ordeal and fire and zeal
A generation gone through war’s sharp steel
The sombre, bitter, vile death-calls
Quickly killed the tunes of the music halls
Wounded, dead, disfigured men
Many mutilated beyond any ken
At the end it was all for naught
That carnage in each battle fought
Kings deposed and Empires lost
But the worst thing was the human cost
One hundred years to this very day
Like then we shake our heads and say
Still in wars our sons and daughters die
To all that is holy, why? oh why?
Form:
In an audience of one,
He knows everything I’ve said and done.
Though I can try I cannot hide,
He walks with me right by my side.
When I close my eyes He is there watching over me,
He is my strength, this man who walked the Seas of Galilee.
He is the cup from which I daily sip,
He is the friend with whom I choose to fellowship.
He battled the beast to save my soul,
And offers me a mansion with streets of gold.
Just for my obedience and doing what I know is right,
He guides my path with His shining light.
He shows me the dark side of those temptations that call,
He carried me those times I would stumble and fall.
I praise His name to all who will hear,
His message to me has become crystal clear.
I wish to share His love with those who are lost and confused,
He alone took on all our sins as His poor body was mutilated and abused.
He gave His very life just to share Heavens bounties with each and everyone,
And rose from deaths tomb, to claim this victory, God’s only Son.
Serial Murder in Haiku
Murder one: Mary Lou
A prostitute dead
Motionless body cold blood
Killer on the loose
Murder Two: Stephaney
Body found in ditch
Brutally mutilated
Police have no clue
Murder Three: Erica
Another girl dead
Throat slit in dark alleyway
Body left no clue
Murder Four: Julie
Girl strangled in car
Hand prints found around her neck
Police have a clue
Murder Five: The catch
Murder of four girls
Sentence to life in prison
No chance of parole
Panicked people pour into the streets pushing past each other; they’re powerless
Against the awful atrocity unleashed by unknown armed assailants.
Normalcy has fled; so many in the debris are left lying dead!
Disarray, destruction, distress and doom! On screens around the world we see
Escapees emerging wounded from rubble. From everywhere, we keep watching
Madness made manifest by malcontents in the mountains of mutilated bodies.
Obscene and odious terrorism, now overflowing in the land -
Never before in my own lifetime has nefariousness felt so omnipresent, nor
Immoral acts so incessant and innumerable!
Ugly and ubiquitous, these evil deeds could be humanity’s undoing.
More noble souls are needed, else we become *All Devil’s Land!
Aug, 1, 2016 for John Hamilton's Pandemonium Poetry Contest
Oops, I had a typo on last line; hope I caught it in time!!
*All Devil’s land is the literal translation of Pandemonium
Version 1
Broken souls and disillusioned dreams. Broken toys and angels without wings
Weep for the fallen brothers and infants without mothers
Pained tears encompass the empyreal rays. Pompous worlds painted in a destitute haze
Transmogrified in the iron flood. Transmogrified in the spilled blood
Frightened children flee from the impending devouring wails of the banshees
Captured children drown in the seas for the coming spring's garden poppies
Choked whispers, within frozen forgotten tale’s, the phantom spirits lurking behind the veils
The strong beguiled yearn for their thirst, obtaining the hero’s, plagued curse
A solitary cane and an abandoned house assembled upon soot
A dying hearth and a trembling shadow with crushed raspberries underfoot
Greet the honor, greet the madness, beat the dishonor, win the chalice
Defeat the grandest, apparatus, acquire all the treasure's honored status
Version 2
Broken souls and mutilated dreams
Broken toys and angels without wings
Weep for the vanished fallen brothers
And children without hope or mothers
Pained tears encompass the solar rays
A pained world in a destitute haze
Transmogrified, engulfed by the flood
Swept away and drowned in the spilled blood
Panic children flee from shadows
Spoils feed the seas of young willows
Choking whispers, frozen buried tale
The phantom spirits behind the veil
Strong beguiled only yearn for their thirst
Obtaining the hero's plague's cursed
Wooden cane and the house build on soot
Dying hearth and trembling bloody foot
Greet the honor, greet the madness
Beat the dishonor, win the chalice
Defeat the grandest, apparatus
Acquire the treasured honored status
Updated 5/14/2019
Form:
Time travel has always fascinated man
Could UFOs be steered by human hands
Consider this premise before you say no
So called “grays” resemble human embryos
Evolution proceeds, gene pool depleted
Mind power expanded but bodies weakened
Future man looks back in a quest to erase
Effects of the technology we embrace
With smog blocking sun’s rays, skin has turned gray
Bodies thin as meat exits the food parade
Reproduction is challenged by low-grade genes
Sad Earthlings search the past and like what they see
Tan, healthy bodies adorned by hairy manes
Fertile women who suckle innocent babes
Men of great strength who clear forests with axes
Strong immune systems when a virus attacks
In sore need of genetic material
Large-brained grays devise a means for time travel
Abductees are beamed to aircraft by bright rays
Frightened while forced to donate their sperm and eggs
Time travelers say nothing, perhaps ashamed
To be stealing from ancestors in this way
Capacity for learning greatly enhanced
But the grays know nothing of sex or romance
When farmers find signs of mutilated cattle
Such evidence should not provoke a call to battle
If future man’s life is genetically revived
Meat may be required to keep humans alive
Don’t hide in terror when you see colored lights
Spinning in circles on chilly autumn nights
Close encounters, but abductees’ lives are spared
Returned to their homes by captors who care
Consider the fate of new generations
If you’re called upon to make a “donation”
Experiments grays perform may seem absurd
But they may be trying to save our own world
Smith and Wesson’s cool steel kisses my right temple. I cock the hammer. The slow clicking of the cylinder’s turn is amplified through the barrel into my ear. Finger resting on the trigger; and I reminisce.
Striking that young maiden and the bright red trickle from her cheek, giving my flesh the appearance of eternal youth. How lovely it was to immerse in the warm blood of so many young virgins sacrificed for my vanity. And being left to die alone in my castle. What a waste.
In my lust for recognition I relished in terrorizing the streets of London. What a rush it was to baffle the authorities, putting my handy work on display; artistically arranging the bodies for my twisted desire. They say it was around twenty women strangled and mutilated, if they only knew the real number. But that passion weaned quickly. In my urge for a grandeur macabre I overdosed on heroine in hopes being able top that in my next incarnation.
As Feuer of an entire nation the delegation of wholesale slaughter didn't quite measure up to the ecstasy of someone else’s existence being extinguished through my own hands.
The era of free love lent to an easy spree of killings in northern California. In my need for some recognition, I teased the authorities with cryptic messages; to this day and my great disappointment they have not been able to decipher. The most that came out of it was a marriage of Clint Eastwood and Hollywood in the name of Dirty Harry.
Hugging my finger to the trigger giving it a strong, swift pull I can’t help but wonder, how do I achieve a higher satisfaction than when I delivered the Kiss of Death, sacrificing the Son of God for just a few shillings?
"Everything Halloween Contest"
Another stab, another wound, another scar to bear
I wonder if my little heart will find the will to care
It has been mutilated; its fibers have been shred
By all the hurtful things that to it have been said
Its beating is becoming faint, its rhythm is disturbed
Brought on by the rejection that on it was conferred
The blood is gushing out, a never ending stream
Perhaps it will finally stop while I sit and dream
The murder of my heart, was done without a scene
By the outer evidence, the job was very clean
The murderer got away, he left no fingerprints
No one knows his identity, for he left behind no hints
I buried my little dead heart and paid it proper due
The gravesite is a mystery that I’ll not reveal to you
Don’t bother to stop by and place flowers by the grave
Your pretentious act of kindness, your honor will not save
A murderer you are and a heinous one you'll remain
For though I have no heart, I still feel the phantom pain.
Eileen Manassian Ghali