Best Time To Kill Poems
Wouldn't you rather~
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
Maybe shoot yourself in the head?
Over my dead heart, I'd never want to be a zombie like you.
The sight of your limbs are rotten all the time.
All synonyms say of you looks like a 3 legged swine.
Go ahead and do us all a favor,
hide and stash yourself away from all your neighbor.
I think I'd rather have my eyes stuck with glue
So I won't have to look at you
When it comes to family friends, you ain't got none.
You're always gonna be called the lonely retarded one.
Who could ever love a face like yours.
not even your mother see's pass your gores
No need for privacy when you pee
Go ahead and take a leak and drown yourself in the sea.
Don't think for one second you are irresistible
Love making with a zombie is impossible.
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head
The time to kill yourself is at hand.
Slicing your wrist is what we recommend.
Cut your tongue off, don't want to hear you squeal.
Blood all over, your face is no big deal
A sword or machete will only pick up the pace
I wanna see your guts pop out your mid-waist
Contaminated objects is a must
Anything to remove your face of disgust.
The easy part is the best
Once you are gone we will all feel blessed,
The flaw of your existence
Is what keeps us all in distance
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head
Close your eyes and die
No one wants to hear you cry
You said you wanted to be loved
believe me~ you're better off unloved
I say do yourself off
Anyways you've always had it rough...
Go ahead and scream
This is not a dream
Now see how you make me feel
All I want is for you to end your ugly ordeal.
I will praise this day of course
Knowing soon you'll be a rotting corpse.
happy valentine ~ TO: All My DEADBEAT X-es from Texas.
There is a time for poetry,
a time for petals as metaphors.
There is a time to sing,
a time for lovers to serenade.
There is a time for music,
a time for harmonic symphonies -
and there is a time for silence.
In the world today,
there is no need for hypocrisy,
nor lies from judgemental minds.
In confusing times,
crows grin, as clowns and jesters
fight for imaginary thrones.
It is not a time to kill your voice.
As wolves imitate shepherds,
now is the time for peace.
A time to reignite the muse,
a time to douse the fire,
a time to express, a time to speak,
a time to write, a time to sing,
a time to play, a time to rise!
It is a time to write,
a time to breathe,
before it is time to die.
Simple Musing
Silent One
16 December 2018
“There is a time for each season…
To everything made…
There is a divine reason.
A time for purpose under
the heavens above…
A time for meaning from a God of love.
A time to be born. A time to die…
A time to farm the ground
under the beautiful sky.
A time to kill. A time to heal...
A time to tear down and
to build up with a passion and zeal
A time for weeping. A time for laughing…
A time to mourn. A time for dancing.
A time to keep...
A time to throw away.
A time to tear. A time to make amends today.
A time to get. A time for losing…
A time to keep. And to give
away at our choosing.
A time for silence. A time to speak…
A time for each hour
and day of the week.
A time for love. A time for hate…
A time for war. A time for peace at your gate.
How will you spend the time
God has given to you?
What is your choice? What will you do???
May this be a time living in
God’s purpose and design.
He created you and made
everything beautiful in his time!
By Jim Pemberton 05/22/10
Read Eccl. 3:1-11
Here the sun shines soft and warm—
Caressing all in vales and on hill—
It gives a glow to every inherent form—
And reveals for every eye a thrill.
Of here they never get their fill—
For this is Bliss, an endless treasure—
Where our dream is the Lord’s will—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
The garden is a lush, green platform—
Big blooms with the fluffiness of chenille—
Songbirds’ music raise a storm—
Their feathered robes fill the bill.
Wings spread they fly away at freewill—
Along the curvy course of the river—
They seek the Lord’s grace with skill—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
The dream cottage, fancy for the norm—
With a stone paved path to the doorsill—
A neat little shelter from the storm—
Has a spice garden for basil and dill.
And there’s a gazebo for time to kill--
For when gardenwork calls for leisure—
Or even for the blessing of a drizzle—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
To some this vision may instill—
A yearning for the bliss in nature—
But the Lord is sovereign still—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
The dawn sky throws a spear of vivid red
lancing the fir treetops, but not yet me
with my bag of bread.
The wheel is still asleep, the water still,
seems today we all have time to kill.
Scan the surface with imagination's eye
waiting for Excalibur to rise,
but no- just an indifferent pair of Swans
gliding softly through the mist to Avalon.
Reverie broken,
canned laughter from the ducks
their squabbles shatter the mirror
Dragonfly tries to referee.
I look down and, for a split second,
see another me.
I wonder if he's happy
March 15th 2015
(enjoy the puns)
I happen to be a busy bee
always racing with time
since time how it flies for busy bees
Ah wish I could just lasso it
like a cowboy does his horse
and thereby bring it to a standstill!
And if I don't waste this valuable Time
I think I could buy me some extra time
For time is money it's said
Ah wish I could just catch it
in a nook or a noose
as it flies by at will.
For at this rate the clock is ticking by
like some never exploding time-bomb
while I'm forever running out of time
so I wonder then how still
others just take their time
or be killing time coz they've time to kill!
For I can't be killing this precious time
I don't have any spare time on my hands
And it is but challenging to make a chum
out of that swinging pendulum
Time is racing, it's outpacing
For me it seems time has never stood still.
Thus I'll merely have to resign to the fact
that I could never ever tie down mr. Time
for time and tide have waited for none
It's never going to cease, that monotonous chime
even when ceases to pen, a poet's quill
If the battery in thy clock stops
other clocks would be working timely still
So if you lag behind and don't make it in time
you can be sure there are others who will.
So I better let my time-old
venerable grandfather clock
go on with its carefree
dutiful but devil-may-care tick tock
Yah, let the time do the talk
and still tell it it's simply brill!
I made a firm commitment long ago
to read great novels frequently, not just
when I had time to kill or took a class
in college, for then reading was a must.
I love suspense involving clients, laws,
and litigators. I have come to see
the ones that hold, for me, the most
are found in the library, Section G.
I've a confession. I first read a book
by this great writer twenty years ago
when an associate whom I esteemed
convinced me his is work that all should know.
I learned of what inspired him early on:
his decade as a lawyer, Harper Lee,
and hearing a young girl speak of her rape.
His passion for the truth would be the key.
When I read Grisham's novels, I'm enthralled
with every plot and subplot, those details
that loop and wind, connecting when the time
is right. Each ending's smooth. He never fails.
His characters could walk right off the page--
the saints and devils, all those in-between.
The themes are realistic, relevant;
the settings, sometimes places I have seen.
His novels often make me laugh out loud.
That's right--these books on graft and other crimes!
The funny parts just underscore the theme.
His sense of humor shines so many times.
Best sellers have long been his claim to fame,
but he has other interests as well.
He campaigns to set free the innocent
who languish in the jails and prison cells.
This Christian former Legislator's love
extends to baseball, home, and family.
Our state is proud to claim him as our own;
and his success, we're truly glad to see.
I included some of his novel titles.
March 9, 2019, entered in Kai Michael Neumann's Book Worm Contest
~Springtime Once Again~
(LaCharta)
The days are turning rather hot
It's spring, but you'd think that we'd got
Summer, because it is so hot.
It's so warm need find a cool spot
Rather like weather when is cool
What want now is jump in the pool
Springtime is so lovely indeed
When rains more cool weather we need
It's a nice time to plant more seeds
Also time to kill more those bad weeds
Beautiful roses we see grow
Spring is when nature seems to glow
Hear many birds sing from the trees
Mother duck with her chicks now just see
Children play and just laugh with glee
Many games to play on land, sea.
Enjoy spring, 'cause her days go fast
Spring sadly, for too long won't last.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
December.02.2015
~Author's Notes:
"The LaCharta" is a poetry style created by Laura Lamarca.
Thursday morning
So much follow-up;
Check To-Do list
~~~~~~~~~
Airport drive 7:15am
Terminal 2 Departure;
Brunei trip for one
~~~~~~~~~
Morning psalm
Prayers for peace;
Come Holy Ghost
~~~~~~~~~
Old car resting
New car on-the-road;
Workshop service job
~~~~~~~~~
Waiting time
Hours and minutes;
Poetry on the wing
~~~~~~~~~
Tea and pastry
Morning communion;
Snacking on verses
~~~~~~~~~
Thoughts juggling
All things possible;
Poems oozing out
~~~~~~~~~
Swirling sounds
Order in chaos;
Food centre devotional
~~~~~~~~~
Waiting rituals
Time to kill time;
What a waste?
~~~~~~~~~
Roadside vendor
Newspapers proliferate;
Random customers
~~~~~~~~~
Snack in hand
Tea and iPad screen;
Sanguine persuasion
~~~~~~~~~
I sit here
Alone with odd feel;
Strangers for company
~~~~~~~~~
Curious old ladies
Stare at me writing;
Sneaky intruders
~~~~~~~~~
Humid heat stalks
Overhead fans pour;
Hot air and sweat
~~~~~~~~~
And when I look
Do you see me?
Transparent feel
~~~~~~~~~
Hot tea scenario
No additives;
Swirling brown brew
~~~~~~~~~
Noisy surroundings
Fish market ambience;
Order in chaos
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
28 April 2015
Singapore
When I was a lad about nine or ten
Summers were long school holidays great then
I played in our street we had so much fun
Me and my mates in the warm summer sun.
We felt really safe as we played in our street
We respected the bobby as he walked his beat
Cricket and football in the street we would play
My mate smashed a window we all ran away.
The girls played skipping with their hair in a bow
We would rather play fight , climb trees you know
We would play marbles and conkers make paper planes too
Me and my mates found plenty to do.
We even built a trolley using wheels from a pram
We chased all the girls they squeled as they ran
The days were so long much time to kill
I remember playing roly poly down that grassy hill.
We tried to build a raft with some oil drums tied to a big plank
We took it to the river guess what it sank
I had so much fun growing up as a lad
I was bit of a rascal but good times we all had.
Bobby is a slang word for a policeman
A trolley is like a gokart but made of wood
A conker grows on a Horse chestnut tree. You thread string through the conker stand facing
another person with one and take turns hitting each others conker until one breaks off the
string
I'm the water in the well, captured and still
Dwelling as I get my fill of infinite time to kill
There isn't no flow or nowhere for me to go
I can't even trickle, or meander slow
Stagnation has set in like a darkened sky
No one leans over wells these days to cry
And if you want to speak about far falling tears
I've not seen my wooden bucket for years
A Prophecy
John Grisham was rejected by 28 publishers
Before he sold “A Time to Kill”
But because he didn’t say “What the hell”
His books have sold over 275 mil.
Maya Angelou was once a whore
But she wanted to write and sing
When haters were speaking she wasn’t listening
And in 1993 she sang before a king.
Paul Laurence Dunbar was the son of a slave
Wrote his brilliant masterpieces at the elevator door
Determined not to listen to the white man because he wanted more
Now he is an example of greatness for the writing poor.
Tyshawn Nicole Knight was once a mental case
She wrote poetry on the floors in the psych ward
But, she never gave up, she struggled and worked hard
Now she is a publisher and her writers have gone far.
Sunlight at an angle dancing through colored leaves
Cool nights to snuggle beneath the sheets; warm days of ease
Last of gardens harvest; goodbye to summer's bees
Joyful time fo harvest soon days a breeze
Pumpkins, winter squash, turnips, and peas
Food in bounty stored away for many days
Christmas will be upon us in just a very few days
The yard will have to be raked again and again to rid of leaves
Those garden vegetables will stored and put aside a cooking of peas
For right after Christmas comes New Years Day's fare with ease
The howling winds will blow and it won't be just a breeze
But now all the bugs have disappeared_ gone are the bees
On New Year"s Day we will have those delicious peas
We will float into spring with all ease
On the day we will not have to worry with yellow jackets or bees
As the nights grow longer and shorter the winter days
Those indominable buds show forth on the trees and soon leaves
March will come in bringing its strong breeze
Joy, oh!. joy and joy again with spring's green leaves
Just lying around in the hammock with all this ease
Newly hatched from hiding places comes those bees
Soft and gentle comes a blowing spring's warm breeze
In the newly planted garden_those early June peas
These wonderful times _joy of longer days
These times in life are just fun and a wonderful breeze
Then summer comes with the picking, shelling, and freezing peas
But there is one less chore now for there is no raking leaves
Out in the garden and in Pampas Grass thick with those bees
These times are wonderful long sunny days
Afternoons in the lazy hammock oh! what ease
How thankful that we have those great peas
Even if the pollen draws those hungry stinging bees
Summer still has lazy days with ease
Soon those longer sunlight hours sunny sunny days
Begins to slowly fade then the change in those leaves
From the west and north come a much drier breeze
Old man winter slips in with ease, now we'll eat those dry peas
Blow wind with swift breeze, time to kill all lingering bees
By th warm fire spend our days, soon snow covers all those leaves
I burrow in silence locked in the depths of a grave.
I need no more guidance as I dwell in my hollow cave.
Unknown whispers…they creek and moan and I am left breathless
trying to pick up the pieces of my last transgression. I’ve been here before. I’ve gained and I’ve lost and somewhere in between I remain
unstable. I want to dig a deep hole to bury my head. It would be
covered in soil and would reek of regret.
Above the grass yet below the trees I live in a cavern made of clay and hard stone. It shadows each memory and releases all the reasons
why I hate myself. Please...no more thinking about the reasons I
need to stay alive. I ask the cold stone why I am left to
starve in such darkness made by my own hands. He tells me I forgot
how to be sane and my mania needed to take a break. I created a
world of flashbacks leading to my miserable life. Each
flashback contains less joy and each time of joy makes me shutter
in ugliness. I am undeserving of such things.
Under the brink of my life lies understanding of why I have been abandoned by everyone I know. They all say I am worthless and mean
nothing to them. I agreed with them and left as soon as the twilight hit midnight and before the dew spread across the land. I cry
out to the constellations and ask for forgiveness of my
mistakes made intentionally. I am nothing but a sorry cause ready
to take flight on top of a black dove. White doves are pure and innocent. Black doves are a reflection of my poor soul. I have seen the depth of this
cavern for so long I think I am turning into a man without
a thought. No eyes to see inside a home of obscurity. Murky and
dusty I feel so alone that I wish to breathe no more. It’s so stuffy in the
shadows. The fog outside tries to shield me from the bitterness of my resentments, but it carries not enough strength to achieve such a goal.
I have nothing more to give and no more reasons to live.
I have so much to forgive and please one more sedative.
I have no more lies to spill and no more time to kill.
I have no more cries to thrill and no more rhyme to quill.
-there is no more hope inside your soul when you’re a caveman.
Caves Contest
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Date Written: August 3, 2016
We all know it does not rain everyday,
And Winter's cold does not forever stay.
The cloak of darkest nights always retreats
When dawn unfolds the sunlight that it meets.
Seasons change and do not forget to leave,
Men all grow old, none permanently live,
Nature's law says all matter turns to dust.
Tears and joy are but cycles that don't last.
We live each day, strive to give it our best-
Then take our exit to that final rest.
Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~03.10.16
--------------------------------
"There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace."
Ecclesiastes 3:1-9