I felt like a butternut squash.
Squeezing my nose like I have one.
A landing pad of a person.
Who has hearing like run away frogs groaning.
I have a key that’s almost as dirty as used armor.
And a hatched up plot.
I felt like a butternut squash.
With no teeth.
Butchered with plant based entrails.
That’s all mine.
O Israel—
your hands
drip
with innocent blood
in Gaza.
You have butchered
women,
children,
and men.
You have destroyed
their homes—
and their hopes.
The Middle East,
once at peace,
now stands
as a bloodbath
since your arrival
in 1948.
O Israel—
you have taken
more innocent souls
than any nation
upon this earth.
In Lebanon,
your violence
has struck
the defenseless.
A land
once peaceful—
now turned
into hell.
In Syria,
your brutality
is known.
In Iraq,
your cruelty
is not forgotten.
In Iran,
one hundred and seventy-two
women and men—
lost
in the name
of greater Israel.
Because of your deeds—
a nation
once favored,
once loved
by the world—
now stands
among the most hated.
Saint Paul warns:
“Do not be deceived—
God cannot be mocked.
A man reaps
what he sows.”
O Israel—
your sins
are now
too heavy.
A Soul besmirched of its might;
Pummeled into the abyss,
A disconsolate plight;
Left with void, with butchered bliss,
Ostracized, by its own allies;
For now their fidelity surely dallies;
Oh! The revered one, what lures me behind
Show me the path, I shall grind
Forbade my blasphemous thoughts,
Reverberate my echo, to a thousand knots!
Once a connoisseur, with grandeur and glory
Now, an abdicator with a story
Your divorcing words rip at me.
Like a callous young boy
who tears the wings off
of a butterfly,
then throw
Its butchered body
into the air
and yells "fly".
Although I still my my limbs
my days and nights
are no longer beautiful.
The tower dark and cold, a conquest for the brave.
My hands shake, a sign.
The bed unmade, Mother’s throne.
My cheeks lift, freedom.
The jougs bite, a bit looser.
My talons reach for it,
Click. Thud.
The crickets and wind sing, a perfect recipe.
My limbs remember the weight, stillness lingers.
Hunger gnaws where helplessness once slept.
Instincts awaken, survival bound.
"Mother could not keep me bound forever."
The trap is set, candle in the window.
Bread in the oven.
My brave knight, come rescue me.
The song rides the wind, siren slick.
My hair, golden destruction.
A noose spun long.
The pig comes, snorting vows and steel.
Exhausted, he falls, butchered clean.
My hands steady, my stomach full, sleep calls.
The jougs returns, familiar, a crown.
Mother must never know.
For she will do to me.
As I do to the brave.
A bedroom door that never locked,
Footsteps heavy like thunderclocks,
Mother's wine glass, cracked and red,
Words that bruised more than fists ever did.
A closet full of whispered screams,
Apologies lost in fevered dreams,
Father's belt, a sermon preached,
Love, a language never reached.
A dog buried in silence deep,
Secrets traded instead of sleep,
Schoolyard eyes like hunting knives,
Laughter echoing butchered lives.
The smell of ash, of plastic burned,
Lessons no one else had learned,
The joy of breaking dolls in two,
Just to feel a shadow move.
Windows rattled by unseen guilt,
Churches built where lies were spilt,
A hand too firm, a voice too loud,
Praise withheld like poisoned shrouds.
The grin he wore was not his own,
But stitched from pain he’d never shown,
And in the attic of his skull,
He catalogued what makes life dull.
Not born of hell, nor born insane,
But carved by years of steady pain—
And now the world must guess his name.
KERATIN is extracted from
cows hooves to make to
make foam for fire extinguishers.
............................................
They butchered the shank
to make disks
to serve with beef cheeks.
the wine sauce would be cooked
separate and and made of
wine
chicken feet
thyme
bay leaves
cayenne
carrots
garlic
onions
sun dried tomato's
3 anchovies
we would need
15 pounds of cheeks
20 pounds of shanks
6 pounds of chicken feet
( to make chicken stock)
the oniony, tender
meltingly beefy
goodness of meat
served with vegetables
and creamy mashed potatoes
ah- God
Mercy on these
people!
The make shift area would be chicken wire two sides
with sand and cement mixed with a cob material
and plastered
to create walls
with a tin overlapping roof.
Colour my soul black,
Tonight with your hatred,
Colour my rose black,
Tonight with your fate!
You were the rainbow,
I looked up to
You were the light;
the hope I clinged to!
Colour my dreams black,
Tonight with your brutality,
Colour my hope black,
Tonight with your insanity!
I loved you,
I cared for you,
I sacrificed myself for you.
But you broke my trust,
You stole my beliefs,
You butchered my faith,
And threw me off your life!
You coloured my days;
With unending darkness,
You coloured my life;
With endless despairs!
Night after night, images flicker on the tube
Horrific images of ‘the enemy’ dying
Dying ‘Agent-Orange’ deaths
~ Seems America can do no right…
Night after night, images darken the screen
Palestinian women and children
Starving, dying in droves obscene
~ Seems Israel can do no right…
Night after night, viewing the horror of war
Provide no context for what came before
No videos of Communist Vietnam’s brutality
No memory of Israelis burned and butchered, October 7 fatalities…
Watching a steady stream of ‘enemy’ deaths
Viewers become exhausted, out of breath
Gradually they identify with the foe
Cheering on Ho, (Ho, Ho Chi Minh)
Jeering at Bibi and (Genocide) Joe
‘Truth’ is only on the screen, or so it seems
~ History projects a wider beam
Mother did not bake apple pies,
but she drank strong cider,
which baked her brains.
Dad had a sharp tongue,
he picked his teeth
with its forked tip.
We were a one child family,
there was a miscarriage.
I recall we butchered the stork.
Mother roasted it,
for us all
that Christmas.
O bipolar, harass me nevermore!
Depart from me! For Easter Sunday's here,
a comfort which transforms this time of year,
and gelds you like oxen for evermore.
O minotaur, you cursed bull! Whether more
man than beast, for you I'll not shed a tear;
away from me, fiend—never to come near!
Be gone, creature! Leave me ever the more.
So, one day, very soon I'll know new life
(though, like a captive in your hellish maze,
a labyrinth and scheme of puzzling strife,
despair, gloom, confusion, and dark malaise,
I languish like prey butchered by your knife)
as hope arrives, freeing me for endless days!
I want to kill my classmates she told me.
You don’t mean that, I said.
She shakes her head up and down. I would love it if they were slaughtered.
I am surprised, she is an innocent looking six-year-old.
You probably are just upset today with someone I suggested.
I am upset with them all, she said. I want them butchered.
Her vocabulary astounds me; she is not your usual first grader.
Let’s just make friends with them, I suggest. Let’s slay them, she replies.
I discover later that she plays violent video games nights and weekends.
Such violence she has heard in these games. Games for much older people.
I am not sure I am old enough to play these games, and I am seventy-one.
Story of Century
Of how our fathers lived in penury
And the powers promoted prejudice
They came with promises of paradise
They turned themselves into merchandise
Selling our own like stacks of rice
Wives and daughters raped to coma
While the men kept in chains by the corner
It was a sad story of the centuries
Our hearts still bleed from the injury
The chains caged our warrior's fury
And the jail sentence by the crook jury
Killed, butchered and never sorry
Tied in chains and piled in lorry
Ferried away to the land filled with gory
This is our story
Story of the century
I've lost touch with the divine feminine.
Women in my life I have trusted with my heart and breath for years have struck me down.
My trust, the sanctity of my body, the truth from my lips, my open heart...
Butchered in front of me.
I stand.
Disconnected
Hurt.
Mourning.
For the feminine connections I have lost
That which have choked joy from my throat.
But I will find her again.
In the gentle curve of the crescent moon
In the alluring scent of sun warmed blackberries fresh from the vine
In my own face framed by overgrown bangs and uneven smile lines.
He will restore the years the locusts have eaten.
And she will restore the love lost from my lips.
They were butchered in Bucha
Victims of unprovoked aggression
Wrapped in body bags of wickedness
Like chicken preserved in the cold room
What a world of brutality
What an act of bestiality
What a display of man’s inhumanity
It is man’s basest depravity
Let the world rise against this insanity
And bring the blood thirsty scoundrels
To the path of accountability
The world is watching
The God of the defenseless is taking stock
To mete out punishment
To perpetrators of crimes of war
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.