Butchering Poems | Examples

The World When I Was Young

Why can't the world be like it was when I was young
    No one cleaning up dog-due dung

  Kids dying right and left of polio and measles
    Mumps running rampant like scorpions and beetles

  Fathers employing razor belts
    on recalcitrant sons and leaving welts
 
  Mothers teaching daughters to clean and cook
    poor-mouthing math and science textbooks  

  White folks lording it over illiterate Knee grows
    Butchering Espanol -- and a few unlucky amigos

  It was all so much simpler way back then
    Cowboys shot Indians on the count of ten  

  So, why can't the world be like it was when I was young
    Well, hey, I guess it is ~ English still ain't America's mother tongue...

Anger Mgt

I am an  angry man 
I considered butchering my mother 
So that the government could offer me 
Other accommodations away from her 
Just because she asked me to clean 
A pot in her house
She is so gracious 
My mom 
She accommodates me 
But I blew up shaking with rage 
Eyes bulging teeth bearing 
Voice raised saying all kinds of nonsense 
Earlier in the day I was angry again  
At my girlfriend for nothing 
I said  some hurtful things 
I must be a horrible human being 
Thankfully she chose to never talk to me 
But my mother my dear mother 
What choice has she got from me 
I even got angry at my dog 
When she was trying to sit close to me
I yelled at her even though 
She truly leans on me 
Maybe  I am all the evil yet to be 
What happens when anger burns 
All the love left for me in this world 
What will I do with the memories 
And the Ashes of what I had 
The  love I could not  understand
What happens to me when I die 
Alone starved and alone in the dark 
Will there be anyone to place a rose
Or sing a dirge on my final verse 
I need to stop being angry 
Or I will not be there 
To kiss my mother goodbye 
Because of all the shame
I carry inside me

My Mesolithic Find

Upon this Pennine peak
in stretch of wilderness,
where ground is silver grey
of moorland millstone grit,
a glistening piece stands out.
I take close look and see
small flake of shiny brown.
Curious, I pick it up.

This stone is not from here
and shows the hand of man. 
A thumb size crafted piece;
one edge neatly saw-toothed.

It is my first flint find.
A hunter's blade I hold.
It is a hide scraper
from ancient butchering.

Once used by Stone Age man.
I felt it in my hand.
A peculiar feeling.
Now something primal stirs
deep in my spirit core.
I feel strange connection
with folk of ancient world.

Stay-At-Home Pig - Nursery Rhyme

That little piggy who chose to beg off
going to market, stayed home with a cough.
   He bragged he was a cut above
   butchering, "when push comes to shove
I will always be king at the food trough."

While "king" was napping in the best mud hole,
roast beef pig tied his four feet to a pole;
      had-none pig slopped glue in his eyes.
      When "Come, get it!" the farmer cries,
stay-at-home pig finds out who's in control.

November 25, 2022

Sponsor	Eve Roper
Contest Name	Children's Limericks

Forked Junction

Lately a person begins to read between the lines 
how a network of human beings devalue another's worth 
battered and bruised internally exhausted at times 
they make you invisible shying away from the truth 
To hurt someone that only wishes to speak and correct wrong 
a violent nature lacks any respect to honour Justice correctly
certain groups have become hostile to straight talkers even violent 
Charity cases crying over sin and vices to be accepted as normal 
to carve the hammer into words etched on stone cold laid facts face 
The bully is enslaved by their desire to overturn God 
burning hate pretends to be polite sticking the dagger in 
lacking innocence it poisons the purity in defence 
You can be a murderer butchering defenceless beings 
but you can't be seen to pray without being insulted

Taking Him Apart Bit By Bit

Her blade was her tongue, sharper than any axe or hatchet
Her husband was the butchering block with slices stabs and punctures
Others saw it. He complained sometimes, but she had no ears.
Only a tongue that sliced and diced, 
taking him apart gradually one little chip and chunk at a time.

On Assignment

skirted, wind blown from afar  
I was not to be late for the affair  

bells struck midnight  
and there were two left in in the square  
twelve strokes to signal we were there  

we circled right  
looking for a place to disappear  
tongues tendered to the herd  
we kissed  
my bones bent to your will  
 
it was late  
stars begged us to stay  
the moon in her blushed  
less than casual rose state  
checking out as clouds ruffled by  
we were high  
and you, smokin'  
like you always do  
 
the time, the place, the memory  
the face  
fingers dancing as we knew the end  
much more than the beginning  
 
heartbeats pausing  
pleasing, my ears  
romance, encapsuled  
in the singing  
desire, a choir of one  
and we won  
 
thirty beats, pulsating  
blood in-between the bludgeoning  
a sense of belonging  
longing for days to never come  
 
nights slashing through the dark  
butchering arms  
grasping  
charred, bodies  
steam  
whistling as she walks away

Virus of the Absurd

Absurd is the business of disappointment with meaning
crawling to our knees in defeat
and panacea for healing that lasts
a full moment, before vanishing forever.

Absurd is the claim of victory over a raging battle
when one is in self-retreat and the enemy runs
rampant in the streets.

Absurd is the virus's real vocation
butchering us like flies and
then taking a breather before
resuming its onslaught.

Absurd is the cruelty of faith
in post-virus that carries hope
to self-destruction.

Absurd is the mercurial moment
of suspense between now and future
laden in ambiguity.

Absurd is the true essence
beating in the heart of darkness
enveloping the horizon.

Absurd is the light of 
enlightenment promising
relief.

Absurd is the nature of
humanity yearning for
what it fears most.

Unite To Peacefully Overthrow Trump Administration Part Ii

oft times brutal not so short, 
but nasty acknowledgement, 
(this anonymous, conscientious, efficacious...
frivolous gent writhes at bloody history), 
yet mindful premeditated how to be worthy, 
and now feels forced to be acquiescent

(as well other citizens might) calling 
(er...actually writing), an August 
aegis body vowing to be adherent 
to codas, doctrine, ethos...adjacent
with government sanctioned destruction, 
and indefinite adjournment

of peaceful coexistence with native peoples, 
who never accepted unfair (raw deal) adjustment
(most often forced with violence) preceded, 
and/or followed by admonishment
of aggressive, corrosive, deceptive...
indiscriminate butchering and adolescent 

women and children, 
an irrevocable Janus-faced advancement 
fate awaiting all aboriginal tribes 
fueled by advertisement frequently with bounty
fast forward to present age of affluent
price tag to lobby and or represent

deliberate gerrymandered voting districts, 
where trumped up agent orange 
iz new black aggrandizement
finds Donny Brooks saturing the media
with proclamation defamation of this very day 
stigmatizing valuable news as so subtly "FAKE"!

The Butcher Shop

Mohamed and Khaled
The best butcher shop in town
In the deception of silence
they butcher those with sound

Voices against their Kingdom
they fear and do not like
Raping their women with modern views
while butchering a protesting man

Both Prince, King and pork herder
Vehement denials throughout the land
Yes the color of red, proof of blood in their sand
In the shoes of Aysha, these cowards cant even stand

Intoxicated Salman, butchered an innocent man
as Trump applauds, the free press in a grave
situation... Tyrants kissing and holding hands
A thousand lashes, to the butchers of Riyadh

Prince Mohamed be damned

Zule

I, the end of man
The son of Mala
The offspring of Lamia
I care not for testaments
Ripping out the crimson hearts
They lie freshly dead
I kill all there angels
Crush their halo’s, falling fragments, down to the Earth
With Hellish hate, from my father’s seed, my mother womb
My perverse gallivant, spreads death
I feel ecstasy, I am voyeur with darkest dread
I, the pulse of existing burning fate
Crushing the skulls of sapphire lyre
I am the act of god
An act of a true god
Myriad morals shall fall in the unbridled dusk
As darkness grows, my craving for your demise becomes starved
The dead will surge
Nothing will ever collide with my throne
I am redefined nectar of massacre
The principles of odious made my flesh
Drowning life in my Imperium infliction
Butchering all that you can loose
I fabricate a graveyard of dead corpses
The cause of incubus and lioness genocide
Weaving the art of my craft
Tearing Heaven and Earth to asunder

Charadrius Asiaticus

White hair over there
Black eyes oh honey dear "dove"
Rainbow butchering!

Its Butchering Time

It’s Butchering Time
By
Tom Wright

I once watched a long-haired goat,
In a race for its life with a shoat
The goat stuck out his chin,
And by whiskers did it win,
And then had the audacity to gloat.

Returning To the Source

They are ashamed of what they are today;
butchering fellow humans, growing viruses in labs,
using "lesser" races as guinea pigs in experiments.....
Everything vile they have done is in black and white;
grace has put their remaining conscience and morals in life support  -
the only salvation from their own selves is Enlightenment.
The gods who made them from stardust are far beyond the stars
and time itself. The twinkling stars in the sky is the only memories
of them that the mortals are left with....
It is by becoming better than their previous selves that they can reach
the level of the gods, though it might take time....
"Let's gather the stardust of virtue, and make a bright image of ourselves,
like our gods!" the sages say.

Those Mortal Gods

Those mortal gods butchered them like rabid dogs,
And disgracefully hunted them in the pogrom,
Fueled by hateful grumpy grunts of betraying hogs,
As their vomit disgorged at their sacred forum.

Those mortal gods butchered them like condemned demons,
And their precious blood gladly gushed and showered
The homes, the exile, the battle fronts and even the dungeons, 
And watered those battle cries of freedom, and they flowered.

And the gods grumbled for granting them the dignified fate
And that though they faced the prison’s noose, they were brave;	
Willing to die, that the freedom that flowered, their brothers get,
Not minding the gaping and gluttonous mass grave.

Yes, with courage they faced those butchering morbid lot.
For even their deathly guns did not dissuade them.
They boldly had already embraced the martyrdom’s slot. 
And the butchering gods shrunk on their thrones in shame.

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