Go and gather up the known affiliates.
We're gonna build a village of idiots.
We gotta make sure this gets crazy.
"Getting out of hand" to me is just lazy.
Had our fill of tastless "pain et cirque".
Contorting dough into a shape won't work.
Hunting down cerebral stimuli.
We got the time to kill but it won't die.
Gonna paint this town the bloodiest of red.
A thin veneer of all the living dead.
Choking to death on the lives they've led.
Infected by the many lies wide-spread.
Blunt force persuasion you beg us to stop.
As we eyeball the pyramidal top.
It's "for the greater good" just "flattening the curve".
Please you must excuse our unabated verve.
Treating us like pets you got a whole lotta nerve.
We're the only cure you will ever deserve.
We got the hunger and we're coming for a taste
Won't be over until you resemble paste.
So we're disposable? now look who's a waste.
Editing the gene pool til your bloodlines erased.
Illuminati, elimination.
Very soon to be a not so Freemason.
More than welcoming your depopulation.
No political parties bring celebration.
The "ruling class" now holding no dominion.
Truly free no longer an unwilling minion.
what’s the bloodiest, the goriest
it’s what they’re really hoping for
but bread and butter routine falls
uninjured, aging vulnerables
just needing putting back to bed
or in their chair, their blanket days
with smiles as they’re left alone
strong but crying inwardly
the cold and lonely prison home
we drive away hoping that
someone will check up on them
and after shift when we’re in bed
thinking are they still there sat
where we left them hours past
have they eaten, have they ‘been’
that’s the toughness no-one sees
or wants to hear or gives a damn
or interested when they ask
what’s the worst call that you had
SENTRY
Be ever on duty, it is surely best
Never sleep, or even try to rest
Or risk losing some precious zest
No need to puff out your chest
So proud of the regiment’s crest
Yet by its history, not obsessed
But hope it might not be the test
Whether mere monitor or guest
Only if one is correctly dressed
Wishing visitors to be impressed
But on cold nights, the loneliest
We do simple jobs, I do not jest
Yet definitely not the bloodiest
Our desire to be the friendliest
the first cut may not always be the deepest ~ but it's the bloodiest
take a load off your fannie, Annie ~ but don't put your weight down on me
stumbled over a chair and broke my leg ~ while dancing with my eyes closed
put another dime in the jukebox, baby ~ or the music won't play
keep knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door ~ most of us will not call it home
Some say they dug up six
Some, it was only four
Each from a different conflict
Of that bloody and cruel war.
They placed each on a stretcher
Concealed under a Union Jack;
One they chose at random,
The others they sent back
To lie again with comrades
In alien contested earth.
The chosen was returned
To the possible land of his birth.
Housed in an oaken coffin
With an old Crusader blade,
Interred with due ceremony
In a grave especially made.
We only know he died in war
And was British Empire blood
A symbol of all those who died
For a cause few understood.
A truly Unknown Warrior
There lest we forget
The sacrifice war brings.
A lesson not learned yet.
That War to end all Wars
Now nearly a century passed
May have been the bloodiest
But was certainly not the last.
The world’s politicians
Still choose might
Secure in the knowledge
Others have to fight.
Some say they dug up six
Some, it was only four
Each from a different conflict
Of that bloody and cruel war.
A man wakes up with demons,
In his mind, he is conflicted with religion.
The Holy Bible and the Amish,
Have different views on,
Everlasting life in heaven.
He was paranoid.
He had mental illness,
He called the Bishop the Devil,
For telling lies about heaven.
All the Amish knew of his sickness,
Yet did nothing to help.
Finally taking him to the hospital,
Only to learn he was schizophrenic,
Yet was he??
No, it was later realized he had,
Chemical poisoning in his brain,
Caused by the cleaning engine fluid.
He was released with medication.
The next morning he killed his wife.
Removing her brain and disemboweled,
Her organs explaining that she didn't,
Understand that the Holy Bible was truth,
And the Amish was the curse.
This is a true story. The detective said,
It was the bloodiest and worse crime scene,
He ever witnessed. A man outside was,
Teaching him that praying will guarantee,
Him everlasting life.
The Amish only learn if they have,
Everlasting life when they die.
The Amish man found it confusing
And a curse.
Age's bloodiest showdown looms,
Or such it seems by its lurid form;
Spirit's sharpest arrows must fly
Swifter than is their agile-witted norm.
Now Armageddon's most savage sword
Cruelest aim of softest landings takes,
Though target's dexterous fightback
Its most foolproof arsenals stakes.
Thus unfolds time's deadliest flare
Under high heaven's beneficences;
Watching on with an eye dimly fair,
Umpiring blows with arcane mien.
And though its yet baffling to tell
What dismal odds in virtue's favor stand,
Eons of war-waging jurisprudence repel
Smiling wins for Gaol's tempestuous fates.
chaos, am i ... all that is not understood
poison, am i ... once on your lips, the taste of ruin
callow, am i ... a child's heart that beats erotic
obsessed, am i ... as the black coal scarecrow's eye
clement, am i ... friendship and love, embers of my soul
byzantine, am i ... tangle of wispy intentions, dreamed
singularity, am i ... Universe and atom - lepton and void
horror, am i ... warm darkness that whorls, obsidian fire
ocean, am i ... cold abyss - ebbing, flowing - pulled by the moon
heaven, am i ... of the dearest light ... the bloodiest weep
life, am i ... the lost ache for love ... the purpose, pure
death, am i ... but a tender ripple in the surface of eternity
timeless, am i ... naught but now, naught but never ...
naught but ... i.
Written and submitted on May 12, 2020
For the "I Am: A List Bio Challenge" Poetry Contest
Andrea Dietrich, Sponsor.
I teach History, you see.
But, I don't know what it is.
Just as Hollywood remakes classics
with new faces for new generations,
I suspect,
I do much the same.
I do try to sweep away
the old myths and lies
of History, but,
as each class, each year,
recedes farther from my age,
I wonder,
am I just replacing old myths,
with my myths.
Is there something tangible
that I can teach?
Have we evolved at all?
I sit here, just past the bloodiest century
since we left the savannah,
and I wonder,,,
Am I just another shill.
New myths for old!
New myths for old!
Come and get
your hot new myths.
I’m sitting alone in a nightmare again,
A dream that’s not of my choice.
Sitting with iced eyes drilling my skin,
Alone, here, without any voice.
And no one can hear my screams in the night,
Nope, no one can hear what I roar,
And no one can see the wounds on my skin,
I’m captive in the bloodiest war.
Often I’m trapped, unable to move,
Unable to break out of this room,
While other times I’m chased, chased in a hunt,
A hunt to my imminent doom.
I’m here, alone, to battle my sleep,
Imprisoned on this warpath.
My weapons are belief when meditating myself,
And, before sleep, running a hot bath.
OREKE
Oreke!
I've seen the brightness that comes with the sun
I've witnessed the moonlight defeat the darkest night
I've dined with the breeze exhaled by the ocean
Travelled on the back of the walking river
And fought and triumphed in the bloodiest war
But never behold a beauty like Oreke-lewa
Oreke!
A Nubia, she's beautiful
A lily, she graces the valley
An imagination, yet so real
A beauty-full part of God
Oreke-lewa
Precious like precious stone
Oreke!
She's not a soldier
Yet, around my psyche she lays a siege
She's not a sorcerer
Still, I feel enchanted by her magical gaze.
She's the aroma
That wafts from that delicious meal
That Rent the air and ride on the senses.
Her touch,
Like the sweetness of the intact-palmwine in the morning.
Oreke!
Let me end this race with you
Firewoods, I'd hew and split for your parents.
I'd be at your beck and call
I'd fetch and carry for you,
Oreke!
Skins are scraping all over his flesh smoothly.
Flows of blood are running through his body.
His arms are flipped like a scrambled paper,
Crowd is rushing like a powdered pepper.
His face touches in a gray dusty ground,
Everyone screams and makes a saddest sound.
Tears are running on my mom’s face,
Death is mysterious as it goes someone’s pace.
I remember how he really looks like,
Pieces of brains are thrown away from his motorbike.
His death is the worst thing that I’ve ever known.
I can’t stand why his bloody death is so unknown.
I almost faint in his bloodiest situation,
It frightens and heightens my weakest tension.
Bloodstains are obvious on his shirt,
His death is noxious and incredibly dirt.
They say, all is done to please the mightiest of Gods,
Then, why oh why, mankind is up-against such
Bloodiest of odds?
(C) Obaidur Rahman. Published in the poet’s debut book of English poetry titled “The Mystic Inferno” in 2012.
The Dark Horse rises
in the dead of night
to reap his gruesome prizes,
and deliver a terrible fright.
cloaked in the darkest black,
and the bloodiest red.
with his body of bone he's already dead,
and with his scythe he'll hack!
He comes for you
in the black of night,
and what a gruesome sight.
You'll feel fear anew!
He hacks your souls
with his scythe so sharp,
and with them you pay the tolls
to pull away the tarp,
of heaven.
If your souls are black,
and filled with darkness
for eternity he'll hack,
and you are defenseless!
So when the Dark Horse rises
in the dead of night
make sure his prizes
are clear of darkness,
and you just might
receive his forgiveness!
How I wish troops were withdrawn from the battlefield;
And peace talks were honoured and respected.
How I wish there was a time when guns were silent;
To end one of the bloodiest wars on earth !
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