Best Slaughterhouse Poems
That night, in a strange place
I was like a fly
Circling a street light
Reeling…Reeling!
I felt so alone
Fear wrenched my throat
Couldn’t predict
When I would be charred to death
I had heard,
In the cover of dark
Everyone was a robber
Or a masked assassin!
Without a roof over my head
I was like a mole
Smoked out of its hole
And exposed to blaring light
Had it been my own town
Where I knew
Every nook and cranny
Like the lines of my palm
I wouldn’t have minded
Being so helplessly stranded
Or left in the night
At a distance….
I saw the faint silhouette of hills
Like dreadful dinosaurs crouching
Also the outlines of buildings
Reminding one of the medieval haunted castles
Stray dogs, mangy
Were raiding the trash bins.
I don’t know why then
I enjoyed their company
I could hear the falling hooves
Of cattle, led to the slaughterhouse,
And the lash of whips falling on them,
Echoing the shrieking of a banshee!
Saw an auto lying upside down
Fallen unwary in a pothole
A line of tanker lorries
Seen halted by the roadside,
Like the bogies of a goods train
And their drivers went home,
To sleep with their mates
Behind the cover, I saw
Two figures leaning;
A man and a woman
Night owls at a mating serenade!
I closed my eyes,
Covering them with my palm
In that unearthly hour
An eerie fear gripped me.
Tension was building inside,
Like a balloon being bloated with air
And how my mind longed
To slither out of that hole
To curl up in the warmth of my home
Far… far away!
The surgeon generals
are scalpel meeting once again
Fear doktors of war
are planning to raise another mar
on Earth’s topographical skin
Pigmented epidermal cells
are being prosperity lullabied put to sleep
under the celestial lights
Souls with eyes and minds closed —
their ears tingle lustily,
hearing cash pillow talk on poverty sheets
But, the gorgeous planetary patient
has no operating room human rights
Oh, such an awful terrestrial plight!
Yet, the view from the firmament heights
show another picture
of love from above
No stitches are seen
on the sky blue-eye, brown skin beauty
Regal global queen,
daughter of the Lunar tides,
your disfigurement is a cosmic shame
Moon princess,
Snow White seasonal changeling,
the galloping Four Horsemen are coming
upon the dispossessing gale wind
to trample upon
your perfect facial contours again
Hazel spring eyes,
with a cerulean crown
over her cloud-colored wedding veil
She wears such a Polar aurora adorable,
pristine mountainous gown
But the Jekyll dogs of war
are viciously on the shadow Hyde, waiting
to gnash another canine needle
into your verdant cheek vale fertility
Upon an evergreen face
does not one strand of virgin
forest hair
stand out of winter place
Until the anaesthesia bombs needle drop
to pockmark your oasis skin ...
and the monstrous dissection begins
Bloody butchers bullet love
slaughterhouse flaying
Stitching border sutures ... raised-flag lines
that are ever changing
As the summer fruits of world peace
are no longer autumn falling
Cris-cross scissor map marks
have so money land-lust sullied your timeless beauty
A planetary Bride of Frankenstein
is now your geo-political, laboratory scarred destiny
And I’m afraid to experimentally speak:
more stitches are soon forthcoming
Yet, from high above,
tho’ I hear
the negotiating table scalpel scrapes ...
I see no ugly stitches
on your indigo beautiful oceanic face
Michael Myers is hiding because I'm holding my pen
The horrific poet full of emotions and sins
You talk like you've seen madness
Well you're in for a shock when I create all of this Halloween havoc
The psychotic poet is right here
The only one who can cause Freddy Krueger to have nightmares
Find me a spot to write and you'll die there
Daydreaming about me will leave you alone at night scared
You want to play games well get your quarters out
I refuse to dress it up or be watered down
My pen needs new paper to torture now
You can meet us at the slaughterhouse
Jason's mask is hanging on the wall
Turn your phone off and don't be asking for a call
I had a rocky start but now I'm Ivan Drago
I'd sell all of my exes to the devil if I could marry Demi Lovato
I won't buckle when the pressure's on
I've battled and beat demons the size of Brock Lesnar's arms
Battling depression taught me about war and pain
Instead of dressing up, how about you be yourself for a change
Jason Voorhees has gone into hiding because I'm holding my pen
The horrific poet full of emotions and sins
You thought you'd seen madness
Well now you won't forget me causing all of this Halloween havoc
Light minded people say I’m an uppity darkie
They color me bad,
with a black face, felt pen Sharpie
Vanilla voices downright don’t like
the audio sounds of this mouthy darkie
They say I’m way too uppity,
don’t know what my proper place be
Snow cone hats say they gon have to teach me,
there's a painful cost for thinking free
They wanna call the fascist calvary and give me
some old-fashioned triple Kord rope justice,
by them good ole boys neo-Nazi vigilantes
They say my strait Nazarene speech
borders on treason,
that it needs to be muzzled
But I’ve always given king Pharaoh Caesar
his required slave taxes —
His printed paperweight metallic tribute ...
so what’s the dispute?
My Herodian enemies want so bad
to reach into their torture trick bag,
and gag my mouth with a gasoline soaked rag
Then lie in wait for my muffled words
to set that tri-colored cloth on fire
Red cheek coconut meat,
dressed in blue uniforms pressed neat,
wanna beat, kick, pound
some patriotic sense into me
Giving thinly veiled warnings:
saying ship that ghetto talk back to Africa
Carting rice-colored evil thoughts
that are Balaam Iscariot store bought
Walking weeds in the Goshen grassroots,
wearing bloodstained slaughterhouse coats,
got indigo disdain for this uppity darkie
They wanna sell some
strange rotting fruit hanging from a tree
Hating me because I stood up
in the open free market place
And declared with Lion of Judah boldness,
they were selling the people rancid red meat lies
wrapped in waxy white packages
And giving State-Don’t-Care samples away
of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer bottles of hate
I ain’t nothing but a pseudo-smart, intellectual wannabe
It’s what my rabbit ears detractors say ...
yeah, that’s how they regard me
As just another trouble making uppity darkie
"While many are silenced by authority, some are voiceless as they have no courage to protest. But some prefer voicelessness for convenience sake which is a graver offence" ~ By Poet
In a world of much noise and cacophony
Some are fated to remain voiceless,
Due to reasons forced or voluntary.
Raising no protest, they yield to their fate
Watch the meek docile lambs that move,
Behind the shepherd to be huddled inside
Food and shelter are all they need,
And they abide to be shorn with no dissent.
Silent are the beasts that trot along,
Miles on end through rugged tracks.
Blissfully ignorant of what awaits,
They stagger lamely to the slaughterhouse.
Mournful is the voicelessness of the slaves,
Flogged and beaten to bear the yoke,
Stifled is the cry within their throats,
Never once let out to break the calm
Heart rending is the voicelessness of the dumb,
Trying in vain to utter fleeting thoughts,
Through signs and gestures crude to view,
Lisping and blabbering in broken sounds.
Fierce is the silence that lingers on,
The ones subdued under stark threat of life,
Gagged and tied unable to moan or move,
While looted of all that is hoarded in life.
Silence turns golden for the sober man,
Who remains sedate when taunted or abused
And shuts his mouth with great restraint,
To prevent a brawl from brewing up
Voiceless lies the dead beneath the sod,
Actors who once rocked the stage,
They exited out from this turbulent world,
To be shrouded within crevices dark.
In the lobby of the courthouse
People’s demeanor
Are such a telltale
Casual and comfortable
The secretaries
Determined and debonair
The lawyers
Focused and unperturbed
The judges
And then the others
With scowls on their faces
Nervousness and concern
The weight of accusation
The slow ominous pace
Of being led directly
To the slaughterhouse
posted on July 16, 2019
From my younger days as a prisoner of war,
to my last days on the planet Tralfamadore,
with my traveling through time, I have no control.
Both good and bad episodes have taken their toll.
I am passing through time as easily as air.
In one moment, I’m here, and another, I’m there.
Please tell me, why am I being tortured like this?
My capture, plane crash, and wife’s death I reminisce.
I live through the bombing of a German city.
My wife dies while she is on her way to meet me.
On another world, I’m in a menagerie.
A beautiful, but dumb, woman is matched with me.
We live and love together. She has my baby.
I’m killed by my adversary, Paul Lazzaro.
The cause of my problem is what I want to know.
The dilemma I’m in has been causing me strife.
I would give anything to live a normal life.
Based on the novel "Slaughterhouse Five" by the late Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
If I'm to be the neck
you fit inside a noose,
then spin me up a soul.
When you can define it -
and find it -
you let me know.
Until then, Mother-Father
fix your own malfunctions.
This universe
is your slaughterhouse.
I just work here.
It happened many years ago, just after World War ll.
When I was just a little girl with lots to see and do.
A visit to my cousin's house, ten miles northeast of town,
Would cause the frown upon my face to flip flop up-side-down.
I stayed for just a week or so and shared her saggy bed:
Told silly jokes and giggled, as sleep hovered overhead.
Then came that awful morning when we took our country walk.
The day would start with sunshine and much childish, girlie talk.
Mowed stubble in an open field, each bare foot placed with care,
As well as dirt road trod upon, with stones and pebbles there.
But what we were to come upon, while meandering on our way,
Is not a sight that any child might come upon today.
An old shed there beside the road, not even tucked from sight.
A charnel house with death inside: bad dreams to come that night!
The hog and steer hung upside down and both were split in half.
The pig above a rusted drum, prepared for scalding bath.
Their innards heaped beside the shed, a pile of sickening gore.
Two heads with glazed and staring eyes, would view the world no more.
A slaughterhouse for all to see while happening to pass by.
Run by a neighboring farmer who did butchering on the side.
We stood transfixed and watched him work, his lips pursed in a whistle,
As he dunked the hog in the scalding drum: later scraping off the bristle.
And sadly we took a closer look at the face of that old steer.
Two days before we had patted him in a field not far from there.
That gentle old beast in a pasture, unknowingly chewing his cud.
Now a dead and lifeless thing, defiled with sawdust and blood.
We trudged home in solemn silence, our innocence badly bruised.
The world, though still an open book, had new . . less pleasant rules.
A lesson in our lives to come of the callousness of men,
With many more lessons to follow, before this world will end.
Now when I see children learn about death, while watching pretend CGI;
Two little girls will still come to mind, and the old steer that made them cry.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
comets strike terror
bombing nations rapid fire...
a slaughterhouse roasts
spiked towers pierce flesh…
drenched with blood of raw corpses
like clotheslines on trees
from skies tainted black
grounds crumble into thin rust…
world in drained sandbag
then, God says enough
angels swoop to tend remains…
guarding earth anew
.......... . ..
Gail Doyle's Contest
End of the World Armageddon
because life is limited
men measure the length of life
using the rulers marked to their own standard;
some cry, some sigh, some worry to death, while others,
tremble with uncontrollable rage; yet they struggle to stretch
their life as long as they can and hold onto it, though they know
very well life is misery
the poor kneel down at dawn in front of unknown divine spirits,
offering freshly drawn water and begging for relief from
dire poverty and for a better life;
the rich are hanging onto the elixir of eternal life,
which was tens of thousands of years of constant exertions to discover;
but the ends are the same, every one most go someday and that’s why, though not of own will, but with closed resigning eyes submit to death
and that makes me wonder why pathetic life is not worth
stretching or reincarnating though, everyone is hanging onto
an illusory hope that is thinner than a spider web
agonizing to extend it;
no matter how large sum the money you spend
there is no miracle drug warrants for eternal life;
no matter how much you cry at the top of your voice
there is no spirit would hear your cry;
every life, poor or rich, must go one day
why doesn’t anyone admit themselves that every life is destined
from birth to die? all are dwelling on this side of the river
for a while and time comes most cross the river. they step on
the stepping stones that extend to the eternal world laying
beyond yonder horizon. even though this world may be a challenging place to live for a while.
last night, I saw many souls crossing over the stepping stones
to the other side of the world, they looked so pathetic because
they were dragging their feet with drooping shoulders as if cows
taken to a slaughterhouse
I am vulture
My soul case may be repugnant,
However, I have every sawbones decimal
On my speed dial
Before any croacker decrees justice
On a soul case,
They confer with me
My logbook contains a docket
Of every Golgotha and slaughterhouse on the planet
I am on first name basis
With every casket maker, mortuary Steward and proprietor
I am the fiend no soul case wants to see,
Hear or dream about
My name send's shivers down the spine of mortals
I am a friend in need and indeed;
I am the curator in every country
Where war and conflict thrive
No one thinks of me
And no one want's me as a pet
I am the dark one; the dark continent
I am vulture, the patient one
roast beef (rare) had looks beyond compare
his face was rosy and blush
without a trace of stubble or gristle
he was suave and clean
a beef lovers dream
hard and lean a macho machine
gleaming
dreaming
scheming of a way to seduce Phyllis Filet
roast beef (rare) met Phyllis filet on a gray day
the were standing in line at the slaughterhouse gate
small talking
awaiting their fate
as the inched their way closer to endeavor the cleaver
they felt so much lust they were encrusted in fever
burning to escape the date of their fate
they devised a plan
a slaughterhouse scam
they executed the plan with lightning force
Phyllis wiggled over and started flirting with a horse
she glowed
her words flowed as she took him for a ride
roast beef (rare) felt a swelling of pride
he knew when Phyllis caressed the horses tail
that there'd be no way that their plan could ever fail
that they'd soon be romping in greener pastures
both of them getting just what they were after
they flung on a fling
high
low
every which way but loose
Phyllis the poor dear conceived a papoose
a bouncing baby beef to be or not to be
that was her dilemma
after she found out that roast beef (rare) was infested with salmonella
Johnny’s got an island
In the Surrey countryside
It isn’t very long
And it isn’t very wide
It’s got a little duck house
There’s a tree upon the bank
And on a summers evening
You can smell the septic tank
The views are truly stunning
To the south, the railway track
The slaughterhouse on one side
And the gasworks at the back
But the most outstanding feature
Of this pleasant little ait
There’s no water to surround it
Well, not now at any rate
Everyone knows where the key is….
Yes, the key to open the door that separates
vile darkness from ordinary darkness,
when the lights are out.
No one wants to open the door.
No one is brave enough to open up a history
that ought to be undisturbed,
in its pristine state.
The exorcists have blessed water,
that they intend to sprinkle on the room’s walls,
which once was sprinkled with blood,
akin to a slaughterhouse. The room smelled
of blood, death and violence.
Whenever they get close,
the walls groan,
as though they are alive. Disturbing mist
envelops their feet, as whispers
ooze out.
The room seems to insist
it wants to be locked….forever!