Decapitations Poems


Premium MemberSmall Life

There are killings,
suffocation in gullet
hell holes, decapitations 
by mandibles stalking in shadows,
death pits at the bottom
of slippery throated flowers
and racked on a web,
a struggling moth
slowly turning into soup.

My garden is a slaughter
field littered with the leftovers
from deadly feasts. 
And the victims….what 
of their inaudible cries, 
the screams broadcast 
on wavelengths beyond
my ear. Do they plead
for mercy, feel pain 
register in whatever 
rudimentary brain animates 
their brief lives.

Help me ! Please help me !
does the moth cry,
feeling the spiders fangs
penetrate and pump poison
into its trussed body.
Or do I give such
small life undue significance
affording it compassion
when it should be exempt.
But where's the line ?
Size ? 
Its propensity for domestication,
its rank on an arbitrary scale ?

The perfumed beauty
of a single flower diverts
the senses and disconnects 
attention to the suffering
of small things.
We are blissfully unaware.
Does anyone hear them,
does anyone care,
or does life's little screams
fall into an uncaring nothingness
and if so, then what of our own.
Categories: decapitations, care, death, insect, violence,
Form: Free verse

Premium MemberNaught For the Faint In Heart

Naught for the Faint in Heart

Harrowing bloodcurdling decapitations, decomposing cadavers, and spine-tingling minions of apparitions, 
          that unravels in this gothic horror too spooky for the sane,
a haunted house wizard's necromancy as orbs creeps out the culled to unnerving extreme conditions,
          with levitations abound as specters possess those they drain,
a witch incantations o'er boiling cauldron with the eyes of newt, whorling bats, hooting owl renditions, 
          arched black cat hissing as the mangled mouse shrieks wane,
hair-raising tools of chainsaws, pitchforks, guillotines, scythe, thumbscrews, and fatal games of volitions,
          petrified palpitations immeasurable to read a pulmonary vein.

2020 October 30
*5th Place*
8 Lines of Spooky Rhyme
~~Tania Kitchin
Categories: decapitations, halloween,
Form: Rhyme


Today I Caught That Fat Rabbit

Today I caught that fat rabbit
Back again
Eating the daisies I'd planted.

Biting their sad little black-eyed Susan heads off,
Leaving the decapitations on my blacktop driveway.

He kept his head up and
moving side-to-side
All the time his mouth was ripping, nibbling.

And he held that wide-open stare.

I banged on the window,
he hopped and hid under the hastas. 

I checked the time,
and went back to my kitchen 
and my coffee 
and my Bronstein book
and hoped that no one catches me.
Categories: decapitations, animal, fear, feelings, how
Form: Free verse

Premium MemberThere Is Nothing To Say About It

There is Nothing to Say About It


There is nothing to say about it
No words to describe it at all  
There are no words at all to describe 
the mass slaughter of innocents,
the relentless malignant progressions of
the evil black-moving cloud of terminations,
the toxic metastasizing ooze of outright annihilations,
the blood-gurgling regurgitations, and
the blood-spurting decapitations.
There is nothing to say about it.
Nothing to say at all.
No words to describe 
the hopeless piercing cries of the infidels 
the whimpering terrified pleadings of the condemned
the silent gasping inhalations of the dying
There is nothing to say about it.
No words to describe it at all!
My heart at 62 years has not seen anything like this at all!
Never anything like this at all!
I have not seen this outrageous slaughter before at all!
There is nothing to say, except…
These are the days!
The days of this unkind hour; 
the days before the great onslaught!
Before this massive earthly descent to the lowest places,
the smelly dank places, 
the rotting miasma of the dead places.
There are no words to describe it!
There is nothing to say at all!
Categories: decapitations, war,
Form: Free verse

Normalized News

So, I'm listening to the radio
on the way down the road.
To a "local color" piece
about a some cowboys out west
and they're interviewing this
one cowboy,

"What's it like out here?"
and he responds "Well, we're
just rounding up some cattle
out here, bringin' 'em in and 
cuttin' their n(bleep)uts off".

For a split second I wonder,
then I realize, they've bleeped
out "nuts"...cows nuts obviously
an offensive term to burger
loving *****sapiens who might 
be listening over the air.

I think, "hmmm, ok so 
this is news normalcy, where
bovine killers are offended
to hear of cuttin' off cow nuts.

Yet yesterday when I was listening
and they spoke of gang wars
down south, and how teachers
were being threatened,

and how yesterday, six severed
heads were found in front of
a local elementary school,
but authorities were not sure
if the grisly discovery 
was gang related or not.

So, normalcy is when 
people's decapitations
for power control of gang
turf is not bleepable
to my sensibilities, but
cow castrations are.

Now I feel normal.
What the (bleep)!

© Goode Guy 2011-09-30
Categories: decapitations, introspection, life,
Form: Narrative


In the Garrison of Charon

Behind my sunken, shallow eyes
dissected phantoms draw themselves
and smeared perceptions comprise
a scheme to thwart the wicked spell.

Poignant screens of smoke and screams
lactate upon my lungs
where illustrations scrawl o'er dreams
of twisted eyes and cursive tongues.

And burning embers torture groans
in visual dreams like vocal hymns
the sound a scratch on chalkboard bones
a testimony of the grim.

The injured malevolent and destitute,
their pity played on sane despair;
decapitations done of gratitude
throw heads aloft the endless massacre.

The milk of tattered spirits wreath
the blades that Chaos thrashes round
and restless victims thrash beneath
unsettled graves, unholy ground.

I'd flee the bloody Styx and death
but taints of darkness linger on
enmeshed in sticky threads of Fate’s dank breath
I know survival would be a phenomenon

And as the oars of Charon paddle hours
I will not pray to reincarnate
for Life itself is damned and it devours
with wraiths of faith I cannot satiate.
Categories: decapitations, death,
Form: Rhyme
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