328.
The Shriek of the Decapitated Hydra
Iiiiiiiii…It hurts! How hot is the amputation…
Committed by the blade of your bloody weapon?!
But watch out for the result of your transgression?
Wiiiiiiii…Witness! Here it grows again! See my recuperation!
Now double your trouble! Double your damnation!
Hahahahahahahahaha! Poor Hercules! You've got a harder operation!
Iiiiiiiii…Intolerable! Another chop! Another daring action!
Don't you know it'll be the same situation?!
Grow! Grow another head! Let's move on!
Iiiiiiiii…Ignorant man! What a stupid person?!
Do not be blinded by your own illusion!
You have no match for this mighty creation!
Kiiiiiiii…Kill every source of his inspiration!
Let's end his brave, impossible mission!
He's nothing compared to our raging union!
Iiiiiiiii…Impossible! Why can't we carry on?!
Aha! One by one he's putting us into incineration!
Alas! Oh Lerma! Hear this Shriek of the Decapitated Hydra – a melting iron!
-02/03/2015
(Dumarao)
*Fallen Myths Collection
A Friday,
a plane crash,
a phone call,
all it took
for your whole world to shatter.
You never got to tell them
how you’d follow in his footsteps
in his wing span
You never got to tell him
that you only wished to follow
in that Cessna Skylane
one three-pronged tragedy
became the axis
around which the rest of your stories
would turn
one sorrowful night
changed who you were
forever
and by the time I came along
all your fire
ferocity,
passion
had crashed into electric wire
erupted into flames
had been decapitated
and so it is left to me
to honor your mother,
and your brother
in ways you never taught me
but I learned anyway.
And I will ignore
the memory of Grandpa George,
because he crashed that damn plane
on purpose…
or did he?
I ain't normal, not even close
not even as a child, played with dolls
and paper cut-outs but I always decapitated
them (do you remember mother?)
finding the head of my sister's Clarabell
doll floating in the utility sink in the
basement but my tedddy, my teddy how I beat him
until he came into my young child's dreams to
seek revenge and you destroyed him for me mother
you used a kitchen knife to cut him to pieces and
made me watch (do you remember mother?)
it was so sad, so strange watching teddy's
stuffing falling into the wastebasket
He was my only friend and you killed him, MOTHER!!!
At 22 you had me sent to an asylum because I (you said)
threatened to kill you but I couldn't/wouldn't do that
because you killed teddy for me (do you remember mother?)
He was my only friend
A nurse was decapitated,
a wire had been strung over
a dusty road that led to town.
A youth robbed her mangled torso
took her motorbike then rode away -
a pretty girl behind him,
singing sweet love songs.
I wonder if he is an old man now
with loving grandchildren?
At times, Satan Himself
still rides a Suzuki
just like mine.
Farewell
I'm tired of Portugal
this small country, not bigger
than a hamlet in Spain
their worldview is what
is seen from an Olive cops
small-minded
and deceitful, bewildering
where the Arabic influence
lingers
decapitated by Christianity
I have family in Spain
who read Cervantes
I don't know why
it could be they are working-class
they value me as an elder
in their clan
I even have a brother
I have never met
he lives in Chicago
the whisper is he is a gangster
The Portuguese is based on
avoiding the truth
at all cost
No matter how long you
live in this fantasy land
they will treat
a foreigner with hidden contempt
Yes, it is time to leave
this country of sheepherders
and lawyers
where the people still hanker
for the days
of dictatorship
In a sunlit corner
of the garden
a large, proud cactus
stood tall in a green pot
in front of a gilded mirror
admiring itself
resplendent
in its armor
of long spines
and crowned
with a purple flowering hat,
until yesterday
when it toppled over
decapitated
by a bug
who was hard to see
and had dined for days
on the gooey center
of its
swollen vanity.
Cackles were heard from down under on a hill far away
fifty little saucy spiders scurry helter skelter out to play
A hefty witch stirs her cauldron next to her Bagoon
snake eyes spoon an evil mush as feet dance around the room
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead
The stars in heaven grow fangs and the moon wears a skirt of thorns
chainsaw demons flee the sky with decapitated scorn
Oh my oh my Halloween frights are here, although the night is young
old smelly garlic garlands have been strung,
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead
She's here to petrify, terrify, horrify and glorify her trade
when they get here they will drink purple blue Kool-aid
Oh Gee Oh Gosh she has lost her pompadour galosh
perhaps its hiding in the pumpkin squash
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead.
I was the age when your parents give you and your siblings all the same haircut. The same age when you first discover the joy of smashing dandelions, a formative time for any child. I preferred clapping my hands around each flower, prying my sweaty palms apart, slow as a secret, to reveal each white stalk I caught. My sister, however, with our bowl cut bangs shifting with effort, preferred the stick. She was a swordmaster, a force with dead branches, a miracle to me. In a matter of seconds, twenty dandelions decapitated with eight-year-old grace. Their lithe, skinny green bodies fell to the earth as their soft skulls filled the air like snow on a summer afternoon.
The king was fair but he chose his wives in a haphazard way.
Subjects of his kingdom said king would one day “rue the day”.
It happened after wife number seven, an awful mean queen.
The ones who watched it happen, said it could not be unseen.
She wiped the throne room with the king’s decapitated head.
Who did that? Asked newcomers, but no one already there said.
For the red queen was a terror, who loved mopping the floor.
With others emotions, and she had more devilish deeds in store.
The bishops and knights ran off to other kingdoms, over the lawn.
There were no rooks in sight, and one crippled horrified pawn.
If chess was the game, I guess the queen had won, but not fair.
The last time I saw her she was climbing high on the stair.
Silly things often play around
in my head like the amputated leg
of a roast chicken laying
on a plate with gravy, potatoes
and peas suddenly penetrating
my mind with a pang of conscience
reminding me
that I am about to eat what was,
a few days ago, part of the housing
of a living mystery
that is now unfortunately dead
and no longer has anything silly,
if it ever did,
playing around inside
its decapitated head.
Decapitated turkey
Heart attack on a drumstick
Thanksgiving dinner
Bad for everyone
We try not to think of the head being cut off
or where the cooks hands have been
For a mere twenty-two dollars you can buy one of these.
I turn to see decapitated doll heads; some have blood dripping from them.
They have cacti and other plants growing out of their hollowed-out heads.
I can barely believe my luck. Only twenty-two dollars?
I'm transparent as someone who doesn't hide
In the shadows...
As the leaf of a decapitated tree...
It's facile to find me, I always live under the sun,
or in sleepless nights...
In every book of poetry I am...
Don't confuse me with men,
simple mortals... I am content and sad,
cosmic brother and friend of life,
I'm a poet !
A flower
disheveled,
fallen into the water...
Wait for aid from heaven...
Since it doesn't come, attempt
to be a fish... needs to move...
but the water is what moves it...
The finale of the day comes, the flower
decapitated almost powerless
agonizes... !
A lifetime ago
Before age caught up with me
I walked Palatine hill
Skirting decapitated sculptures-
that speak of beauty and
Graceful arches a joy to see
Elegant ruined temples-
retain a sense of mystery
Spring grass hosts colourful wildflowers'
Together their perfume's a narcotic fragrance
Opening portal to erstwhile time
Faint whispers torment as -
Atmospheric breath sweeps hillside
Giving rise to the supernatural
Formless and soft gossamer air
Wherein twilight ghosts reside
My senses and mind are gently invaded
Willingly captive to distant past
Memory savored of a bygone world
Living the moment on Palatine Hill.
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.