Best Sawed Off Poems
Once there was dingo, rabidly mad as he could be
who thought he was a Bruce of a man by how he spoke
But no man would call him their 'mate,' for you see...
he was a mongrel dog who pretended to be a bloke
The dingo who called himself 'Keefer,' was all talk-no bite
got caught chasing a galah (chicken) for want of a feast.
But ol' Keef got clawed by the rooster night after night
He was a drongo (fool) who thought he was a beast.
"Crikey!" I heard real men screaming from inside a bar
when they laughed at Keef wearing daks (male trousers)
He tucked his tail and ran from feathering with hot tar
"Get out, ya Hoon (hooligan)! We scorn rabble-rousers!
Keef was a loud mouth when he was blotto (inebriated)
Downing snag (sausages) and guzzling frothy (beer).
Tried to mate with a sheila (girl) but he'd been castrated.
Fair dinkum (that's true). He was neutered last year.
Some say he likes wearing female clothes, they swear.
He's such a hostile dingo, telling them to 'Rack OFF!'
But there's pictures of him in knickers (ladie's underwear).
and some of him before his little stub was sawed off.
I guess sometimes he gets to feeling clucky (maternal)
cuz he uses phrases like 'mother this and mother that.'
Looks like he'll end up some place heated and infernal
Dingo Keef's punishment for hurling all those brickbats.
A rabid dingo, that fool proved to be a fizzer (fizzled out)
His rants and threats to beat guys up were just a joke,
who was well-known as a bogan (hick) and a social lout
who accepted the truth. Ol' Keefer is now socially 'woke.'
Last I heard of him, he'd taken up with a mate called, Roo.
Another misfit creature roaming around in the outback
He played for hours each night, blowing into his digeridoo
because he couldn't stand Keef's braggin' and talkin' smack.
Roo felt relieved when the dingo, kinky Keefer disappeared
The one who'd been called 'the blunder from down under.
He'd mumbled for days about Milton Creek and Roo feared
that dingbat dingo would try to tear that town asunder.
The Old Oak Tree
For thirty-three years she’s been standing there,
With all her majestic beauty, without a care.
From a tiny seedling I had planted her,
The years rolled by swiftly, like a blur.
The decision was made, she must come down,
The old oak tree looked stately wearing her crown.
The tree surgeon, Jesse, came by that day,
Chain saw in hand, he didn’t come to play.
As each limb was sawed off, I felt the pain,
I stood helplessly as my big oak was slain.
Finally she stood cold, undressed and bare,
I felt so ashamed for my part in this affair.
I saw the surgeon cutting low on her trunk,
Then she began to sway like somebody drunk.
Finally, exhausted, she did a curtsy and fell,
A small tear came in my eye as I bid her farewell.
©2010 Lynn B. Glover
The last living light
Twinkles in his dead eyes
Alive a moment ago but now gone
Someone should shut them
A stare so lonely
Into a place that only he knew
He’s lying there on the floor
Bleeding hard from the head
Police don’t even bother
Just pay him his respects
It’s cold and lonely down there
Watching life go on
Knowing your no long part of it
Just a passenger who had made the final stop
It may not be where you are going
But it’s definitely where you will be
Somewhere down the line.
As he bled out no one stopped to care
He was nobody to them just a drifter
But even a drifter has a mother somewhere
His mother would have cared
Take him sweet Jesus and show him the way
He hath walked with the devil and a sawed off shotgun
Wrecked the lives of plenty a poor boy
Down on the wharf along the shore
Somebody cover him till darkness falls
Then we will carry him to Pointe Coupee parish
Across the river
And find his next of kin
Put him deep in that black gumbo
And let the devil do his work
For John Batiste was a man
Who needed no help
They’ll be frying up cracklin’s
At JP’s on Saturday night
Someone will crumble a beer can
And cuss John Batiste.
I'm aware that
They'll dare me to surrender when my burner's unkindled
And the barrel is empty
Since their whiskey is missing
But it's in our blood and baby it's trickling and
We're on a roll
I heard from her and her merciless curves
That the curse'll come first
Just 'fore the rebirth
It's a thought that gets lost when you pitch it with a cross
O'er a plate made of moss so
I'll name it Shell from Sawed-Off
As I paint Hell from Far-Off
Like the Seraphim cherishing the heart
Who can't turn from the art
Like embarrassing a perishing enemy
Yeah, one last taunt
When told to listen as though it'd fix it
Something went missing
Although I didn't miss it
A relation on a ship quite distant and
Slightly free
Where the ocean switched and the compass died instantly
Oh it's in our blood, baby we're tricky so now
Out that ship has sailed
Like the Seraphim cherishing the shark
Who can flip 'round the ark
Like embarrassing a perishing enemy
Yeah, one last taunt
And our sweat is slightly trickling
A whiskey business, the highest feeling
And the pressure is highly tricky
A risky business, a godly healing
My daughter is dying and as I'm praying, I'm pleading.
She has been stabbed and I can't stop the bleeding.
An ambulance is on its way but it may not arrive in time.
My daughter wouldn't put out so her boyfriend committed this crime.
If you're wondering how many other people he'll stab, the answer is none.
I'm so enraged that I blew his sorry head off with my sawed off shotgun.
My daughter just died and tears are rolling down my face.
She died for being a respectable girl and it's a disgrace.
(This is a fictional poem)
The rebel who came to town
In search of inner peace
She roams the American West
Specifically, the Texas Hill Country and South Plains
She keeps a journal of her adventures and fights
injustice where she finds it
With a revolver and her dead father's sawed-off
double-barreled shotgun!
They decry their gun birthright
is to defend their home,
protect what they own
A government tank might come rolling
down the road one day
New Roman centurions coming to take
their beloved metal sons away
Give unto Caesar the lobby coins,
and he will let you keep your guns
Ask for the AR-15 exemption too ...
get a death certificate of ownership for you
Have in your treasured collection,
the most coveted item
that can blow dreams away
Possess the wizard of war wand ...
keep it on concealed Oz display
What lies behind the magazine veil
will blow your citizen reticence away
AR-15 lying wonder:
Killing machine putting souls
six-feet under
It’s your American gun birthright
to have death by metal proxy
at your trigger side
Bumstocks and sawed-off barrels,
high-velocity bullets: metal projectile arrows
Second Amendment voice tools,
get pleasure in bringing the pain,
speaking with First Amendment lead liberty
Shoot first and ask questions later ...
The law of trigger-nometry rules:
the barrel with the loudest bang,
has the highest caliber free speech authority
Gun birthright zealous voices
speaking with hot impassioned impunity
Shoot first and ask questions later ...
AR-15 making serial killing noises,
silencing crowds with political immunity,
automatically blowing dreams away
Talk to the trigger hand they say: Shoot first,
and ask questions later on another day
The war it's cold with no signs of any ending, it's like adding another twenty years to a life sentence, even in the heat of the moment lies a cold kitchen, with lukewarm souls, in a dark prism, what's a prison to a free spirit, probably on the scale that some of us think we're worthy of Gods merits, here in the west we know nothing of true devastation, Christians over here see persecution as being verbally abused, the war is cold and that's what they claim their hearts are, but I know real saints who died for the cause real martyr's, and that's a real thug not the lames that holla thug life cuz they gotta brick and a sawed off, I wonder would you still die for ya block if they made you watch ya kids get their ligaments sawed off, the war is cold and everybody claim they gotta heart to match it, but wouldn't dare die for their comrades no full metal jacket, this cold war is heating up is enough ever enough, spiritual warfare is live and well enough bodies to fill up countless dump trucks, only the strong survive and by survive I mean live on in eternity, going threw hell on earth stepping outta that firery furnace with no wounds where the Messiah rains so fervently
I’m always loud. I was never really good at whispering
I have a love/hate relationship with people and animals
I suffer from bulimia and my vomit is sometimes deadly
I’m mostly an introvert, however, sometimes I can get flashy when I want things
Sometimes I don’t feel like talking
My past partners would say I have commitment issues but that’s just because they don’t treat me right. I don’t ask for much, just a nice oil massage every now and then.
I can be violent but it’s never intentional.
I often go off on people. It’s not my fault though. One time I went off on somebody’s daughter. Another time I went off on some bonehead idiot who just didn’t understand me, often using and abusing me. I’ve had scratches and sawed-off parts of me that I can never get back.
Again, though I can be violent, it’s never intentional. Just the other day a nice lady, grieving the loss of her son, wanted to ultimately put the blame on me! Can you believe this??? This happens all the time though. It never gets old.
I mean, let’s not flip out here. It’s not my will that your son should die.
The devil made me do it.
Anyway, that’s pretty much my life. How I came to be the fascination and ultimate goal of attainment for young boys in which they emulate immolating with such sadistic and satiating horror is beyond me.
I can only be myself.
The young trees weren't agog with winter snow
As the leaves chose to wither than grow,
Wafting gently its autumnal crocus to the frozen ground,
While the night birds carols in sonorous sound.
Yet it is garbed in prismatic glimmering ice
All over the street it dazzles the eyes
Of Dryad, then it heard a roar breaking the ambience
As if the wind was arguing with silence.
Then the sound lead to another, then another -
A cacophony deafened the air and shakened the order
A man with a chainsaw needs a Christmas tree
He sawed off the root and fissured it with glee
A young lad - a sentry was stationed by the way
He held his own star, lights and candies in a manner somewhat gay.
"Careful dad!" As the tree succumbed its teary droplets on dad
Before making a fall that made Dryad sad.
There once was a flexible stripper
got her nipple caught in a zipper
the fabric flexed
but she was vexed
It got sawed off in the gripper
There once a one-nippled stripper
she lost her nip in a zipper
but she’s still healthy
and now she’s wealthy
‘cause a one-handed fan’s a big tipper
There once was a one handed guy
who saw a loose nipple go by
at the Bada BIng
shoulda heard him sing
he caught the next one on the fly
Now the one-nippled stripper has money
Now the one-handed guy has a honey
you never know
how life will go
You might not miss what you lose ain’t it funny?
Lock me in solitary
And throw away the key
It ain't no different
Then what I've already done to me
Already told you once
You done got the best of me
Ain't nothin' left
But what I want you see
Ain't no use in trying
To fulfill your fantasy
Goin' plum crazy
Is my mentality
And I went all out
When I lost my sanity
Even my own family
Was scared to death of me
And they should've been
They were led to believe
In something that wasn't
Deceived without a doubt
By a few words
From my *****es mouth
I swear to God
Thats what it was about
She stepped up
Then started bombing
She went all out
Never stopping
Damn near put me
In my coffin
But it didn't
Cowboy-ed the **** up
After the attack
Thanked them for showing me
All that I lacked
Then started wildin' the **** out
Like you ain't never seen before
Kept a sawed off fully loaded
And opened up a store
**** a shop
Vowed to never stop
Till all my foes
Lost their souls
To the buckshot pop
Out the end of my barrel
Forever
Till my soul rots
sawed-off on the
crimson emerald from a cloudy sky
squeal
and, at times, the reason
low-slung why
sparkles of a pearly salver
modicum of encrusted damask mist
befuddles me
albeit
moon, amber, and opalescence
spawn a charming sight
the perspective
strikes each crevice of the flesh.
and psyche advise
shrouded in a cinereous cloud
hapless and helpless, a glum-blue wolf
growls out a bluesy bemoan.
creating a lacuna
of gallivant love touchstone
leaden wails of anguish
rhythmic echoed refrain
plainchants of auric yearning
reminiscent of challah
aiming for eleemosynary seeds
cahoots to germinate and thrive
2nd place contest winner
Written: March 20, 2023
A Strand No 1201 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I cannot show it. I have promised.
Building up in the shores of my thoughts and soul,
An overflowing ocean of emotions I'll risk,
To drown in my own sorrows and tears, in folds.
Tirelessly I longed but only in secret I'll whisper,
I am haunted by the essence of you, this fear sips deeper,
You crept everywhere in sight, endlessly, searching for her figure,
As those beats grew faint and this ocean grew bigger,
What of me, "Oh God! Please do your worst!
I will be far away in this ever state of Cursed,
Nothing said but I still feel this agonising thirst,
As my breath utter those words, in knives I immersed.
I'll hide in the abyss. I will keep myself hidden.
The truth. In infinity I will hurl.
Sawed off chains from your heart and set it to Eden.
I'll stay silent forever so you can have the World.
it's a song, but unfortunately can't find the link just now
My Baby Hates True Crime Shows
Copyright Corinne Curcio July 31, 2008
Every night me and my baby fight over the remote
She wants to watch election news
I yawn, "Not now honey
That just makes me snooze
I wanna see Forensic Files, Most Evil and Deranged"
She finds that scary and a little strange
Mutilated, decapitated, look at the brain splatter
I'm totally fascinated
Honey, come and watch
Hey - what's the matter?
But she runs from the room in abject horror
She likes Project Runway not Jeffrey Dahmer
My Baby Hates True Crime Shows
She cries Oh No No No
They have got to go go
It's not fair to me
I'll be having nightmares
From all of these True Crime Shows
Please have pity!
Torture Murder Mayhem, gooey pools of blood
Didn't the downstairs neighbor
Hear the bullet riddled body thud?
One guy gouged out eyeballs
Another sawed off feet
Some kooks cooked up Victim Stew
When they sat down to eat
Sweetheart, don't look Hide your eyes behind a book
Before they show where the headless torso lies
Put fingers in your ears, I don't want you to hear
How that poor old lady dies!
My Baby Hates True Crime Shows
She cries On No No No
They have got to go go
It's not fair to me
I'll be having nightmares
From all of these True Crime Shows
Please have pity!