Long Carnage Poems
Long Carnage Poems. Below are the most popular long Carnage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carnage poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun descends this cloudless night
A moon for howling, full and bright
A moon by which the bats take flight
And wolf-men and the undead bite
Stretchered in, a bite mark cruel
He won’t heal but must refuel
But medics’ blood runs warm and free
In this midnight A&E
Devour the sick by full-moon light
Bed by bed and bite by bite
Amid the carnage and confusion
A foul unholy blood transfusion
A werewolf with a stethoscope
Takes his patient’s final hope
Blankly eyes his victims’ notes
And slashes their inviting throats
Werewolf docs and Vampire nurses
Send their patients home in hearses
That my friend is not the worst
They go home with a raging thirst
Home to guzzle son or daughter
Wives bring priests with holy water
Silver bullets, wooden stake
Cruciform her fingers make
Vampires drinking O-neg smoothies
Snarl, “You’ve seen too many movies.”
Hurl away depleted kin
Snatch the priest for one more sin
Bloodied canines catch the moon
Glinting as the werewolves croon
Shed their clothing in the mud
Sniffing out the virgin’s blood
Through the night they drink their fill
Bite or slash their every kill
Wounds the Gods will not let heal
Seeping blood that can’t congeal
Policeman wary, raps the door
Slashed, undead, he hits the floor
Spurting blood he blinks an eye
As a glimmer tints the sky
Then as lupine pelts recede
Kindred canines cease to feed
At this dawn’s first gasp they flee
To that blighted A&E
Hot the lost lovers rage
Walk within pantheons of gilded brigades
The passions roar as idolized lost sages
Of some immense meaning
In supernatural things
Without rhythms or reasons
Of a fathomless being
Walking destiny’s configured trails
The streaming of consciousness
The breaking deluse, the midnight furor
Of these dreams that spiral
In the palm of his hand
God conspires grander plans
He is robed in the tempest of storms
At his heels Hellborn legions swarm
Liquid steel towers as it rises
I spoke with the lightning as it strikes
as it burns the night
Lighting the blue living white light
Glittering in chroma
Theory of furies mechanical is the beast
Dark winds come from the lost eons east
Turning across the vacant rooms of vast lands
In something now past the seams
It seaks, pondering rage
A love so strong that carries an age
Its spires the engines of hearts carnage
The foundations are wrought
Feel his furies in the aftermath
Cooling in a man’s Crimson bath
Hot with the lost
Pantheons burn
Gilded in chrome rooms
It demands infinite being
Has divinities seen the walking man
Naked and afraid traveling distant lands
A coil of this labyrinthian, parade
Marches to the metronome
Something promenades
In the shadows of methadone
Monolithic in spires shadows
Cast as the time expires
Expiring in the aftermath of yesterdays
As the pantheons burning bright
So to ends this night
A coyote howls amidst the blackscreen
of the woods as unknown silhouettes
crawl on earth's crust ,
rainstorm ramming on muddy soil.
The cry of doom threatens each being
when the monstrous hour screeches
to gather a crew of newborns
and within every vomitting breath ,
weak infants tumble over an abyss
of carnage... without resistance.
Mothers wail, yet sharp hands
blackened by thorny nails
grip the fresh bellv of kohl twilight --
Nearer and nearer
hooded spirits so humongous descend ...
their green eyes breaking the window chain,
moving closer for a more macabre feast
while babes wiggle like worms :
I turn the screen off in a dark, dark foyer
my heart throbbing in throes of angst,
hurrying to view if my young son
lays on his crib... dreamily asleep;
my mind wrapped in thrall... where is he?
storm clouds relentlessly
crashed on rock bottom
with the only crack dragging
wreckage and carnage through
a trapdoor into oblivious fog
gruelling sediment confined
a rotten Self of incarceration
the stakes were high
for being impaled
a sizzling cauldron
waiting for a sumptuous feast
manna from hell and a spell
on the barbed wire walls
just behind the firing squad
gift of despair cajoling
hope from the darkest
of abysmal recesses
a balancing act on a
thorny yet slippery cross
one road leading to nowhere
the other painful but promising
no middle way to be had
between death or surrender
fear of the unknown certainly
better than certain demise
Phoenix just be aware of
of the message of Icarus
then the moon will be
waning and waxing
in perpetual motion
dancing into the light
As an ambulance medic on call,
I’m paged to a school bus accident.
And I rush out to the location,
personal emotions set aside.
I found a scene of bloody carnage,
small bodies, terribly disfigured.
And I approached a badly burnt boy
screaming in agony, who was dying.
I knew that I couldn't save that boy
and though it hurt, I had to leave him.
For I was too busy with others,
to give him any more of my time.
Despite his torment, I left him there,
for those who had a chance, needed me.
And among the screams, I shut him out,
determined to save other young lives.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder
a police officer found my son.
And led me to a sheeted stretcher,
and the corpse of that burnt little boy.
My heart shattered, I wanted to die,
I hadn't even recognized him.
And his death will forever haunt me
for as he cried out, I walked away.
(Blank Verse)
July 1, 2018
What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to Kill and Plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
NOTE: The biblical book of Revelation says that Jesus will murder children himself for their mother's sins, in the letters to the Churches. But he won't stop there, according to the writer of Revelation, because after all the earth's creatures have sung the praises of God, a third of them will be destroyed in acts of bloody carnage, along with a third of human beings. That's trillions of animals and billions of people. I can't believe the compassionate Jesus of the gospels, who had table fellowship with prostitutes and refused to stone an adulteress, is going to suddenly start murdering their children and become the greatest serial murderer of all time. And how can the man who taught us to put aside religious differences to practice compassion in the Parable of the Good Samaritan not follow his own advice? Jesus reserved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, so wouldn't he have to live up to his own teaching?
Wooden crosses weeping their peeling paint
broken and fractured by time
Stood like remnants of carnage from a civil war
signposts of man's ugliness from within
Silent in death, guardians of their cause
left in the farthest corner of a small cemetery
that held no importance
even to the church that owned it
Who used goats to graze the wild grasses
It was profoundly sad
to the eyes of a young boy who looked and wondered
About this cemetery
of etched, buried marble and wooden crosses
that moved with the wind
Someone should have laid flowers
Perhaps it's age, the crumbling crosses
Maybe... no one was alive who cared for this sacred ground
Not even the church
Fire lust of the angry clouds doth cover envy
To fork the stars upon my ever-changing view.
The crestling being i endure to hold of many
Foreign thoughts to translate a bonafide rue.
Carnival of lights leave me starstruck
In a haste no more than that of my gloom.
No one who knows of this life are stuck,
In a waste of bittersweet cloves that bloom.
As I sink down to the combers of lies
Nevertheless leaving my soul to him.
This monster of foreign carnage dries
To a crisp, no longer able to freely swim.
Finally feeling a soft touch upon my flesh,
Where is this pale longing rose of red I dread?
This flying repent of lustful notions is all I thresh.
Please let me fly with you in this land of the dead.
Denies of my request shows to me how I feel,
Still though, carrying me much higher and higher.
This resentful flock of gloomy encumbers peel
My skin I weary of angry clouds doth burn a fire.
I woke up this morning knowing I was in a dream
Near my Indian village beside the running stream
My people went about their day like days they did before
Not knowing what's to happen, that will fill my heart with sore
Although on our reservation, put there by the whites
Once again they use their power now witnessed in my sight
Lines of marauding blue charge down on the young and old
Another day in my short history as another massacre unfolds
I lie hidden in the reeds whilst there's carnage all around
Hearing through their screams, swords in slicing sound
Airborne crimson life now lands and stains our soil
How many of us will be left, another tribe left to toil
I woke up this morning knowing I was in a dream
Near my Indian village beside the running stream
I'm one of the few whose left, and I still carry the sores
Although I'm now in the future, I'll always remember what went before
The awake awakened with wide eyes wide-opened.
Calls of the screaming sea, calling calls ceaselessly.
Pound-pounding ears attend, weakening abandon,
wend sea claps yonder, and then only beyond then,
toasting impacts extend hosting eyes to pretend.
Gestures the forgiving, bestirs the towering,
ceaseless battering and charging colliding send,
the onslaught incursion shape equal dispersion.
Sea cliffs under pressure free stiffed asunder sever,
cast in watery graves caused by tottery waves.
Assembling forethoughts resembling onslaughts,
the battered is scattered about,
and the shattered, splattering doubts.
New roles, the lesser deep as guardians o'er a wet scrapheap,
shorn from tempestuous holds ...
fragmented carnage neath ruling waves rolled.