Best Strangler Poems
They once met upon a poetry site,
shared romantic words by computer light.
His poems of rose pedals and floating doves,
her verses of broken hearts and jilted love.
Those touching comments soon lit a fire,
innocent flirting now burning desire.
Their public secrets fanned the embers
and played out before all the members.
Alas unable to contain their lust,
to finally embrace became a must.
Soon they soupmailed their secret plot,
to meet in the nearest Wal-Mart lot.
What happened next no one can fix,
for her light was turned off at Motel Six.
It seems her tall dark poetic stranger,
turned out to be the "Trailer Park Strangler".
1/4/19
In the dead of this cold foggy night,
is this the spirit of Jack the Ripper
or the Boston Strangler prowling
the silent streets...
or someone’s imagination running wild?
~11/16/17
~Pic Motifs Contest by nette onclaud
~Word count:29
All around, smoke ribboned from ashtrays
and mushroomed on the stained ceiling.
There, in the corner, F. Lee Bailey glared,
like a father watching his ill behaved children,
but, as children do, they ignored him.
Irving Kanarek leaned on the far end of the bar.
He was equally ignored,
as barristers sought their pecking order
in a gaggle of egos.
Over the bar a sign hung, "The Bench",
where ironically, the bartender, in jest,
would be asked to "judge" the winner of some petty spat.
Conversation was tediously interrupted as night progressed,
"Objection your honor,l he's badgering the witness"!
"Objection sustained" would ring out from behind the bar,
but amidst all the pseudo legalese, a pall hung ~
draping down the walls like smoke.
They must laugh for sanity but
the killer set free, who would kill again
became the dragon in the room
that would follow them home...
Note: F. Lee Bailey defended the Boston Strangler. OJ Simpson and others
and Irving Kanarek defended Charles Manson
I wear a veil of iron mesh,
it sheilds me from sensation,
it's like the one that Jackie wore
after Jack's assassination.
I was just a youngster then,
but, deep inside, I knew,
that with that act of violence
came the end of Xanadu.
My childhood innocense was gone
along with Camelot,
Pandora's box had opened wide
because of Oswald's shot.
Our world came tumbling down that day
an avalanche of evil,
it mowed us down, unstoppable
and crushed the souls of people.
The event was filmed and broadcast
and showed repeatedly,
until the images were burned
forever, indelibly.
The coal-black steed was riderless,
a boot in stirrup reversed,
the symbolism so powerful that,
to this day, it hurts.
And John-John with his little flag,
oh, how we ached with grief,
the look on Lyndon Johnson's face,
stunned with disbelief.
Our world received a lethal wound
still gaping to this day
and evil wrapped its tentacles
and many were lead astray.
Oswald shot on live TV!
The man who killed those nurses!
The Boston Strangler whistling,
the Devil loosed his curses.
Shots rang out from campus tower,
they slayed the Reverand King,
and then they killed poor Bobby,
he would never see the Spring.
But Spring would never be the same
once evil was unleashed,
gone were the days when we were safe,
our innocense was breeched.
Then wars broke out and haven't ceased
and millions have been killed,
and poisoned minds bring guns to school
and hearts are hatred-filled.
Innocents abducted,
babies raped and slain,
mothers drowning children,
the world has gone insane.
Don't turn to church to save your kids
so priests can then molest,
the Devil's even infested them,
he's made the church his nest.
Trust no one; lock your doors at night,
don't let your kids run free,
for evil has ensconced itself
and erased humanity.
Far away from our little village
In the middle of green paddy field
On the small mound the banyan tree was
Beneath calm and sweet shadow of green leaves
On the lap of this old giant tree
You and I were only there for our twin loving soul
Strangler figs were spreading all around of us
Flock of sparrows and tailor-birds were came to play with figs
Through the chirping and far loving speech of flute
My head was on your lovely lap
You cared my black silky hair by your soft finger
You drew fingers line on my face
Your lips penned best graph on my lips
My nose smelled fragrance of jasmine, tuberose, gardenia from you
And now
In this house you and I are alone
Balcony touches the green leaves of coconut tree
No parrots, no nightingales, no sparrows are around of us
Cacophonies of crows make us tired
My bald head is on your lovely lap
Now your old loving fingers care my white beard
Although no hair of juvenescent
The head and shrunk face still get your love
Kiss comes with tears of old age
As if we live as cast away dove
-October 22, 2018 Chattogram
////
written on the sense of my old grandparents
Flies past my window
As if I am a strangler
Is that the new way home?
Peers through the window panes
Of my innermost contemplation
Could that be my ignoble double?
Florida Everglades Wind by Mark Mazzarella
Trolling over the deep backwaters of the Everglades,
turtles snapped and alligators sunned on banks, still as statues.
The lush landscape was quiet except for the occasional
splash of a wading bird searching for its breakfast.
As morning sun ascended, light beamed almost as bright
as Dad’s face in anticipation. Heat rose from liquid sky,
melting our reflections in widening circular ripples
on the surface of black waters brimming with life.
Near the edge of swaying sawgrass, I cast my line slicing
the canal in two, and Dad did the same by the far bank.
The largemouth bass of his dreams swam beneath us as we
drifted westward and farther from civilization.
Eventually, we would reach his favorite spot where
the waterway forked at a mahogany tree that towered
over the sabal palm, strangler figs, and cypress.
Here, he was happier to help me reel one in, always
encouraging me to get the fish in the boat myself.
Here, he caught and released more than I could count.
Here, I honored his request and scattered his ashes
to the warm wind with a prayer, many tears, and many memories.
Written 7/3/20
Contest - In Loving Memory
Sponsor - Regina Riddle
somewhere along the evolutionary spectrum
some wires were crossed &
when s/he realized their utter disgust for humanity
coupled with an urge for blood & guts
(all the things that whip up a snazzy b-horror film),
alas,
it was too late---
it was too late because the momma figure
she took him/her to dance lessons,
after all s/he wanted them for so long &
wouldn’t you know it,
s/he was a natural!
so come those long nights in the teenage years
when the hormones ran wild &
the moon being full,
s/he threw on something of a cat-burglar kind of outfit
to ramble throughout the darkness
with the hands up behind said victim of prey
ready to strangle the life of them
away.
but in one of life’s little bits of irony
the woulda’ been
coulda’ been
shoulda’ been strangler’s hands,
could not stop moving &
like it was “west side story” or perhaps
the worse form of arthritis had already set in,
s/he just twitched all around until said
victim (who really wasn’t) just turned quickly
asking what the jazz hand strangler was doing
while simultaneously laughing her/him to
shame.
after several attempts at gaining some kind of
respect
within the serial killer community,
the jazz hand strangler saw the writing on the wall &
hung up their hands (so to speak),
walking back to a rehearsal for some off off off
broadway,
with their tail between their legs.
I'm holding in my anger
Knowing I'd die to be the strangler
Of his sour-little coward-brittle throat
I'm just mad not literal
But when your dad's a criminal
There's a minimal amount of father hope
It doesn't bother me no,
But it keeps haunting me so
I will keep wandering not knowing where to go
No Padre in my home
What an odd-way to be grown
I guess God made me to be alone.
While you and your dad are sittin fishin
I'm visitin my dad in prison
My only mission is too inform you what you're not missin
Because while your parents are laughing and kissin
I'm starin havin to listen to my dad share his caring "wisdom"
The song of the soul is not jazz
Lowliness crumbles beneath the bruised conscience
Its a new day but the world is still the same
Pajamas can create a riot when they are not washed
Dirt and disorderliness of the furniture can be really peaceful
But who would know that?
The unexplained-ness of the haywire life
one leads teaches the weary soul of the need
Of noise, more than harmony
Its like the unraveling of obscurity
When the whole world doesn't understand you,
You feel victorious
The destructive novelty blended with the
Stupendous childishness of ideas
Alienate...
Increasing the loneliness but helps in shaping up the mind:
Its like a strangler
Choking is pleasure when in an adventurous mood
And the zeal in discovering whats beyond logic
Puts imagination before facts
Yes, I'm dying
This time
I like it more than ever.
Punk !
Back then we knew what it was
T.V. screens were not our choice
But we sold ourselves
To a fashion
Said it was
Individualism
Just more colourful than the last one
First came the music
And then the love
But Punks were all disillusionment
Trying to change the world
With spit
Even though we owned street corners
Our dangerous traffic masks
Of spikes and colours
Dared to laugh
At the brief cased pinstripe
Clean shaven but still
Breathing the twin set and pearl
Of air pollution
Opened up by violence
Came the rebellious
Tubes of glue and alcohol
The graffiti we didn’t know
Wrote our demise
In the commercialised
The raw heroes
Compromised
In the death of Syd Vicious and Johnny Rotten
The driving guitar and screaming beat
Strangler music went on
But we went forgotten
All those early punks
A fashion icon
Began in “ The Vortex “
On the streets of London
“ God Save The Queen “
A safety pin
Comes undone
Our revolution
Back then
We knew
We had no choice
Accept to spit
With another voice
Like the music
Like the hippies
Turned into a cult
They watched us all
On T.V.
The future never comes
The past is never done
The junction is where webs are spun
Then duly sewed undone
The frequency, where the free can see
Doesn't arise from your eyes
Nor vibrates down the road
Or learned in code
Or spoke nor spake
Nor eroded, loaded, coated or devoted
In the wireless web
Draping over each atom's head
Where nothing's said or dead
Lies the wheel
Spinning out secrets concealed
Where nothing is revealed
I don't know how it all started
Or how it ends
I'm older now
Then I will be then
When the web unwinds
And the weaver resigns
The train of time
Plugs along in our minds
As if it never happened
To some it will madden
To some it will gladden
The fabric is untouched
A glossy thought
A hollow crutch
The strangler of our steps
An overseeing clutch
Forever underway
Him
Some indecent evening you may see a ferret strangler
While he’s baying at the moon
Horse farts seem a little angrier
If they cannot keep in tune
Ponce across the withered lawn
While the first new bindei stings
Bloodshot eyes hung over, mourn
Angels flop without their wings
Don Johnson
POLITICALLY CORRECTED
Ironic is the field of play
Pawns do fall in disarray
Minority groups dictate the word
Intelligence diminished so absurd
Changes made the law they say
Correct political stupid day
Don Johnson
AND YOU THOUGHT I WAS CRAZY?
Sliding down the concrete canyons
Staggering onward evermore
Is the whiskery bloke the Banion
Might just get it at the store
Street kids pelting cricket balls
Swerve to dodge em once or twice
Off the footpath sideswipe walls
Scratch me head dislodge the lice
Frats aplenty in the city …………….
Plonkers sucking green paw paw
Bowels a churning ity bitty
Sucking eggs a haw haw haw………….
Heading homeward slightly frazzled..
With me ferret in his cage
Don’t want any crap or hassle
Feral ferret wants to rage ….Don Johnson
The Frog Strangler
(Idiom for a torrential rain)
Miracle Man
5/2/2022
With little variant, rain came straight down,
winds whisper was so faint it couldn’t be heard.
Bar ditches, now so full of water a frog could drown,
but by this rain my spirit remains undeterred.
Though frogs are amphibians much unlike a toad,
the old story has it that they do often strangle.
Yet I find no remains where high water has flowed,
just another mystery for my mind to untangle.
In our 2 acre yard, low spots, “like ponds” stand full,
when will someone be able to cut the grass once more.
Our rain gauge now appears to be nearing brimful,
thoughts exit strangling frogs for a mowing chore.
This is my story, the strangler untold.
I, Al DeSalvo strangled 13 women totaled.
I struck within the night of day,
leaving not one clue astray.
Confessing to these crimes brought me fame,
but burdened my family with unending shame.
Sitting in my prison cell,
deep inside I hide a secret only I can tell.
People everywhere still have doubt.
Is the strangler really in prison, or still roaming about?
Murdered in my prison cell,
my secret I can now never tell.