Long Abattoir Poems
Long Abattoir Poems. Below are the most popular long Abattoir by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Abattoir poems by poem length and keyword.
Dark evening not even a star
Wrong night to be coming home from the bar
It’s an awful long walk to your car
Me thinks your door’s been left ajar
Is there even any gas in that reservoir?
Everything seems so creepy and bizarre
Something's eyeing at you from afar
What’s that noise? Could it be a jaguar?
Or a farm animal being led to an abattoir?
Might it be a monster or a wakened avatar?
Or just some old lady in a peignoir?
Isn’t that an arm sticking out of her armoire?
Me thinks you might get the old feather and tar
Aurevoir
Arrgh…
AP: 2nd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on October 11, 2020 for contest HALLOWEEN FRIGHT sponsored by CAROLYN DEVONSHIRE - RANKED 2ND
and on October 19, 2017 for contest BOO - MONORHYME sponsored by ALEXIS Y. - RANKED 1ST
Who says that I should read Dante
To summon up visions of Hell?
The charnel houses of the Holocaust
Are but distant memories of a race
Pinning their memories on a distant Star!
I need not go to an abattoir
To get a stink of Death,
Or to the city morgue
To see mangled corpses of men!
Do I have to envision Hades
As described by Virgil (or Homer?)
Does the gore and gristle of a Gothic
Compare with what’s next door?
Charon waits on my doorstep
The Grim Reaper is too busy to come.
You need not be dead to take passage
On Thanatos’ ferry, for sure!
The winding streets of my world
Are tributaries to the Stygian river –
Lost souls abound in the bye-lanes
Longing for a Paradise called Death!
Pursuit for elusive prey
teases yours truly
into treacherous catacombs
dangerous mentally
challenging pitfalls,
sets small hairs of back
on camp creeks edge
of night, where dark shadows
evoke outer limits
of twilight zone
prompting me constantly questioning
purposefulness, qua hair raising pursuit
embarking these modern roman times
all for naught,
nonetheless I chide self
failing to heed
emotional, mental, psychological...fallout
in sum re: springing Jack in the box reflex
to sally forth and earn kudos,
asper potential Prince Valiant.
Thus situated with blank computer screen
capacious external Lenovo for myopia
(and incessant squiggly floaters to boat),
this literary glutton for punishment
feverishly fixates to plumb depths
measuring mor'n 10,000
leagues under the see
ming lee impossible mission
to ensnare nearly extinct
fluttering, lyfting, shutterflying...
smarts to outwit unsuspecting
beak henning quest
tendering, tasting uber victory
quivering crossbow
targeting yawping
zoological discovery - channeling
primed with taut fletched arrow
on high alert for stool pigeon
cautiously optimistic kickstarting
another futile attempt dagnabbit
experiencing prestige,
oh...and by the way...,
no animal harmed
regarding made for video poem
gamely capturing quarry scotched,
nor gruesome scene
synonymous quasi abattoir
representative bird den sum
bloodless coup deeming
endeavor par excellence.
Fingers madly scramble
to poach skittering idea
fry day most ideal
omelette ya know,
aye feel yolked to defeatism,
one after another faux
promising brainstorm egging
quickly flitting inaccessible
potential flash in frying pan
just as fast dashing
into bajillion pieces
shell shocked scrivener
scribbling lame as duck
goose laying golden egg...
dropping immediately out of sight,
maybe best resigning forlorn
inchoate never albumen,
albeit quite linguistic stretch for
(all be human success story)
prospects beyond reach
ova this wretch
New York Times
bestseller author jinxed
forever dooming yours truly
grinding poverty my ill fate.
They won’t stop
I mean my friends
May be, we won’t stop
Think that is better
But for my Gunner friend
Charming light-complexioned
Fine boy, we all know
A smooth talking orator
An Engineer with a rare wisdom
With a posh car to cruise
Heaven was let loose on them his preys
A Gunner indeed,
Lost count of his prey cousins.
Cock barely crows
Before he landed on this day
Defying the heavy down pour
To come to a friend slaughter-alter
Smiling radiantly . . . un-endlessly
Suddenly became nice unusually
Why? Oh! He came for his prey cousin
She it who is at a friend’s wedlock.
His prey cousin whose name I know not
For her, he salivate . . . savor to Romeo
But he already has a Juliet
The one he ringed five moons ago
A dark-complexioned Queen
He ignited with a protruding belly.
Oh! On this day for the prey
He looked sportingly smart
In a Jean, T-shirt and a fez cap
He waited endlessly for his cousin.
Feigning to be calm
But obviously not cool
Despite heavy clatter of water above
For he desires desperately
To run gun shot on his cousin
What kind of cousin is this?
He paces round the Abattoir room
As her voice echoes in his ear
“I’m sorry, I’m coming
Please, wait for me love
I’m still in the wedding”.
Perturbed, yet pretends not disturbed
For there was no sight of her
He hissed countlessly
It was five hours past noon
Before I yawned twice
Time ran off me like a wild fire
Darkness took over the firmament
It dawned on the Gunner
No cousin prey to gun down today
A brighter day for the potbelly Juliet
It was a bad day for the Romeo Gunner.
The silence of the ewes
He helped run them up seven sheep for the slaughter
got them into the truck, taking them to the abattoir
in a pen outside, they waited and bleated nonstop
Dim-witted perhaps, they didn’t expect a happy result.
In circles, they ran, but one by one, caught and
brought into slaughter.
When it was the last sheep’s turn to go into
the room of lifeblood and gloating men in caps
the sheep had stopped bleating following its
captors in and offered no resistance.
The men in bloodied overalls were silent
this was unexpected, yet the axe fell
In the night, the boy had a dream he had stopped
the slaughter of the seventh sheep, together
boy and animal walked to a green field
to a place where the sun does not ever set and
the sky is deep azure.
The boy held on to this dream for a long time
believing it to be the truth, but finally, he had to let go
He was as guilty as the men with gore on their hands
simply by being of the humankind
distortions of grandeur and praise
infect me and make me your slave
tranquility is but a phase
the sullen, the meek, the depraved
like shying fleece on the barter
delusions of ardor misplaced
inject faith that enmity made
in truths, she lay undressed, defaced
the maiden, the sheep, the dismayed
lead me across the graying plains
she'll be the bliss beside the pain
i lie prostrate in surrender
herd the weak into paradise
the needle is my new shepherd
stain delirium onto their eyes
like naked lambs to the slaughter
these are the pastures
the fields of mourners
the grass of beggars
meadows of paupers
here grow the anguished
the mired, the famished
the livid brackish
the passive tarnished
lead me beneath your rusting staves
these veins ache for the blight you gave
watch the child playing on the altar
dancing methamphetamine shivers
acceptance
deliverance
i am your sheep
this world's an abattoir
i am your sheep
feed me;
this mind is yours
On the first part of the journey,
I’m chewing nice toasty bread
all my toys down below me,
dog’s ripping them to shreds
This new world’s a mixture of fun,
stitched together between dread
And with happy ever after endings,
hard to see any troubles ahead
Days appear to get longer,
empty space grows and spreads
Old people I know disappearing,
as monoliths pop up instead
Time for a proper education,
my hands are swollen and red
Teacher beats me badly each day,
says be better if I never bred
Carpet frays beneath my feet,
so I decide to follow the thread
path’s becoming ever clearer,
like all halfwits I’m easily led
And the priest keeps on rocking,
I think he’s glad Elvis is dead
Dad shouts your getting a job,
lazy bastard get out of bed
In the abattoir each morning,
I spilt blood til my fingers bled
DANGER! sign above the kill box
no way the cow’s could’ve read
On my way home at twilight,
a bomb goes off inside my head
Stroke of luck your right vision’s left,
the optimistic doctors said
Time heals all except aging,
chairs turn into curved sleds
Rocking away on the porch now
unaware about being misled
But I don’t care cos I’m happy,
a side effect of miracle meds
Sublingual strips, work wonders,
journey’s over, again spoon fed
By
David Kavanagh
have you ever heard the devil whisper in your ear?
the acrimonious voice instilling guilt and fear
a satanic chauvinist who cherry picks your thoughts
as you abdicate morality for something you should not
have you ever felt a choke while you were asleep?
fighting unseen forces that often made you weak
have you ever tried to kill yourself and shove a knife in the belly of your gut?
have you ever heard the murmuring of the crowd whispering "youre nuts"?
have you ever watched the news and seen death and destruction?
realizing human sacrifices still exists relating child abductions
the devil plays his part in the abattoir of the human mind
but within this construct of our reality his powers are undefined
his deception and his manipulative motive is to abscond from the truth
but to clarify his powers is to expose him using proof
he has thwarted love in many ways and conquered the weakest soul
he has recruited wicked men to join his bilious abode
have you ever walked the potters field and felt the presence of those who relinquished the light?
have you ever heard the breath of disembodied spirits feasting in the night?
have you ever seen a ghostly figure like your eyes was glazed with smoke?
have you ever swallowed pride and felt like you would choke?
have you ever wondered why people pull the trigger and slice their loved ones throats?
its the sacrifice to the devil insted of sacrifices goats!
have you ever blamed a creator for the mistakes that you made?
and turned your back on him for every losing game you played
knowing the devil is complicated to understand
because no one knows what its like to be a bad man
endless story
I have tried to tell a story of a rat that fell from the ceiling
It landed among drinkers in a café I ran,
Never had I seen a café emptying of people in two seconds
flat; the rat escaped too.
I also want to talk about the woman who had been sober
for ten years, a safe hand in soothing drunken men.
I also wanted to talk about the eccentric drinking law
allowing me to sell beer between five and ten o’clock
but the customers had to eat first. Usually, a sandwich
After that, they could drink as much as they wanted.
I will tell you about the rat plague when they pull down
The old abattoir, but I will leave it for now since I can’t
get the beginning right, I dislike, rats they are vermin
and I can hear one eating ink in the wastebasket.
Twas daybreak as this bright morn I rose
Greeted at breakfast by my darling Rose
A brief time together as by seven I've left
Out to the garden, the street and then left
Along cobbled paths where the dogs bark
To work as the foreman, my order to bark
The abattoir workers tirelessly cut up the meat
Despite the condition, smiling at all they meet.
Chopping and cutting up every small piece
Awaiting a break for a rest and some peace.
A cup of water then back plucking the fowl
Some people can't hack the smell is so foul.
At six the work ends and the whistle is blew
We wash up our hands they are black and blue
Home via The Dragon for a jug of the best ale,
Men's medicine, a cure-all for what they all ail.
Back home to Rose, my drink she would pour
A simple life, you make the best if your poor
We huddle together watching the embers in the grate.
We make thanks for our lot, and what makes England great.