Driving is not a sport for the unrehearsed,
practice makes perfect on a speeding track.
The steering wheel is a discus, blunt and capable of slicing/dicing.
A handbrake? A pull-snap-stop bone break.
Electric windows are guillotines; seatbelts are nooses in softer attire.
An Olympian goes for gold; drivers should settle for bronze on a road.
“Children of the Sea, is a song about ecology".
- Excerpt from a 2006 interview for Toazted,
where Dio explains the message he wanted pass to
the world with the lyrics of the song Children of the Sea.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Climbing
mountains
we crush the ice
Reaching
beyond skies
we blind the earth
Digging
to touch core
we lick clean
Soiling the soil
the seas, the air
we still celebrate
False calls
reverberate
climate change
We’re lost
Lost children
of Lord, Yes
We’re here
to spoil
His gifts - singular,
precious and rare
we are just
breathing guillotines
Look out! We’re sinners
Look out! We’re looters
Look out! We’re unworthy
Lost children of Lord
Yes, yes, true
We’re here to stay.
to the knowing of lies
and the buildings of goodbyes
in not relying on how
only poetry indents and cow
none doth go without
shallow pools of salt and drought
yet the agile defeatest's tower
criminaling the dangerous boughe
yeasts beneath rotten waters
stirring none salve and bothered
the witnesses of the guillotines
unclean and guiltied behind that door
there twasn't lights breaking
embarrassment
no, there is illusions of daybreak
i sieve knowing seas, lasting songs
columned bridges dangling low
on lustless ships
deserting grips
guilty spectacles, hived
crustaceous criminals
devouring sadness
bells fasting to rebuild glowing hours casting
italian imperialists
hunting burning forests with wine
liberated toddlers taunting grandfathers
inside of ticking guillotines
burning pouches of mothers milk
The Obiden Administration is the yeast infection of society.
The improv of impropriety.
The B squad strip club-bullet scarred-in line item
veto
of buffet line, Golden Corral of Megiddo of Communism in the sub zero Winter of our discontent manifest manifesto, with supply lines severed and trucking lines red line crossed white line fevered,
picking up hitch-hikers instead of towing the bill
of more spam, poltical theater,
this time at the border,
Jihad ampetheater.
Where's the oil drilling, refineries, manufacturing (besides lies)
where is the poor and middle class relief?
Where's the Beef!?
Our former lives.
Well its been burned in processing plant fires,
alot of them.
Got Milk?
Got your vaccine?
Get moving this line isn't for gasoline.
Its for booster shots, the other two for media education and guillotines.(I will add this here, so there isn't 1666 characters in the box) now, 1591,
...there, oops it went down again
~Anastastia O....
Harpoon raised,
the chaser boat in full flight.
Coiled rope, explosive head,
cold steel reflects
the fading light.
Oil spill blood
surrounds the ship,
a flag aloft with Japanese crest.
Shouts of glee, victory sweet,
the death roll,
this pathetic conquest.
Flencers cut like guillotines,
their knives always the sharpest.
Flesh and bone, it’s all the same
to these murderers,
these licensed rapists.
Great barnacled
mammals of the deep,
at the mercy of the harpooner.
Their kill lies on the plate
of some old world
foreign consumer.
One day children
will ask what’s a whale,
what happened to the species?
And why is the only thing
left of their home now
graveyards of the seas?
Written: circa 1994
———
Wrote this many moons ago
but sadly the hunt still goes
on in the name of science.
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
Wake! Kokura to a novel world of peace
Under the canopy of dark divine clouds
A million deaths and a zillion days of sufferings
Ah! Flown to a distant land
While the holy hands patting your shoulders
Away Nagasaki crying,
… a loud ghostly cry..
When the fat boy shed fireballs from above
Flitting shadows unable to find a cwtch
Death solidified, melted to florid streams
On a boundless billowy sea of hellfire.
Murky minds killing unknown souls
Burnt alive was innocent, wicked and wise
On their knees, a nation bend
Away victory cried,
… a loud cheerful cry…
Ah! Know me first before you please
to squander guns, grenades or guillotines
At least the cognizant me die in peace,
And a better predilection for your choicest blessings.
Silent guns are a hackneyed dream
Begging only for a better aim
Away hope loath to stop,
.. a loud wishful cry…
(The plutonium bomb, Fat Boy, was intended to drop on Kokura City, Japan; but the city was saved by heavy clouds. Now, Kokura is considered as the luckiest city.)
Date of Entry : 17-08-2020
Give a reason to live without a head
Understand the living will one day be the dead
If we all could only see the world is nothing short of agony
Loathing creatures will are truly are, sweet we appear on the outside
Lifeless and headless like the minds we slowly lose
Only the dead can tell the truth for they have got no words left
Today we hear the same as tomorrow emptiness pointless headless mindless sorrows
In the end we all kneel before the soundless roar of the blade as it comes down
Now we wait for it to go through the bone remove our hears and take us home
Eternal sleep and no more pain one last sleep no longer insane take me to the block
Slumber never felt so sweet no more will i ever talk back for the head I had now I lack
Oh hello mr afternoon said miss morning! Midday didn't stay for the late breakfast it went out walking down the street towards the restaurant. Midday chimed today. It was very very noisy too. No need. Unnecessary. Most unwelcome. Bridges. Baking bread. Boom baskets and guillotines' for the baps. Bing bing bing three o clock bell here. I am announcing that it is midway through the afternoon with much delight. Bouncy bouncy. Bing bong. Wow. Each day at this time. And the wit is neither white or willow in hue. And a cobra clock strikes the hour with varied strength depends upon the hibernation of time. Injecting ingestion ignoring inner innocent innermost inherited inhabitants. And a clap. A loud clap. But should one travel. Immerse in cultural dialect. Then a morning could call like a bird. An hourly chime but bird call style. Cleverly closing chiming chinning circular circuit. Wow. And 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12. In order. But the leaf longs for the world of yesteryear when the clocks were the sky and the calendar the seasons. Rick tock denotations denominations z z z z z
Who in the darkness follows me
Now I hear a sound very near
I turn around and almost faint
What's going on tonight is so bizarre
I see weird things all the day
Footsteps and shadows make me prey
Ghostly figures fly the air
I'm about to lose all my wits
I want to race home so fast
Witches cackle right past me
Vampires in flowing long,black capes
Bare their fangs and look so ghast
Who in darkness follows me
Scaring me grisly and silly
My heart is beating like a drum
Around me the air is turning chilly
Tonight, the night is so shrilly
It's the Night of Halloween!
Goblins,demons, witches and guillotines
I am turning sickly and green
It's Halloween Night!
Children in costumes go trick or treat
Door by door to every street
And they carry bags filled of sweets
It's Halloween Night!
Who in the darkness follows me
I see grinning witches and Jack 'O lanterns
I'm racing so scared, as they follow me home tonight.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
October,31,2014
Western wars brought to foreign fields
Bullet barrages blocked by grim guillotines
Petulant petrol fans the flickering flames
Courageous captains solder soldiers together
Teething tigers ripped from mad mothers to
Carry demented decisions from bribed bullies
All hail the casket caravans of yesterday's youth
Printers Lament
Oh no here we go there’s a pallet full to print
There’s no paper here and we are nearly out of ink
Get a felt pen and start filling in
The finisher* is waiting, so she can begin.
Get the press rolling and printing out fast
The trucks are now rolling they can deliver at last
Get the guillotines cutting but watch where it goes
You want to hang on to your fingers and your toes
Watch where you cut you know that’s not right
Just because you had a row, with you partner last night.
Oh come on now stop reading, you have to bind them fast
Its’ no good unless we get them out real fast
The deadline is here and they have to go
We have another run ready and we are waiting to show.
A finisher* is a term for one of the processes in printing.
A.W. Nutter
“Off with his head!”
“Off with his head!”
What sin did I commit
To become your obsession
You forced me to submit
To your physical violations
A frightened little child
Bowing to his master
As the soul is defiled
The crowd grows louder
“Off with his head!”
“Off with his head!”
Pain, I learned to embrace
The torture haunts my dreams
Is this why I fell from grace
Depriving you of my screams
You lay me gently on my back
Viewing the guillotines blade
Blood sprays as it severs my neck
My vision lingering before it fades
Fully awake gasping for air
Emotions overtaken with dread
Believing it was another nightmare
Hearing the whispers beside my bed
“Off with his head!”
“Off with his head!”
Bemasked, the wild salvationist preached school was out forever,
Pricked and cracked the consciousness with rapiers and schizms,
Set light the darkest childhood days with bright nocturnal crystal
That shone in desperado eyes through black mascara prisms.
Psyche-fused deadringer wreathed in murderous intention,
Schizoid and vampiric, leeching blood like vintage wine,
The razorblades and needles scathed the parent model coda,
A prophet on a dry ice stage ungleaned in his own time.
Gallows backdrops hang and hold the fabled shadow high,
Chicken myths and guillotines splice fantasy with fact,
Bemasked, the wild salvationist returns as hope recoils,
And smile without, endure within, and keep the dream intact.
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