Long Decapitated Poems
Long Decapitated Poems. Below are the most popular long Decapitated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decapitated poems by poem length and keyword.
My favourite song is in play which moves me even when decapitated
shocked not to know where I am
nothing recognizable only my clothes, myself and the song
when about to begin its dance moves
a flash of time and space sweeps away.
My favourite song is in place- unbelievably in a car
with a girl I dated more than a decade ago
same face, same smile, same voice but on a bigger anatomy
and mammary glands I never had an idea of
resisting her urge to follow in dancing
the growth of the anxiety of my lost exacerbates.
My favourite song is in play- both of us freely seated
and none driving a car in full speed on the highway.
A truck coming to give a head on collision,
so much screaming opens my eyes
to realize but only my favourite song in play.
Oh that favourite song!
Translated into my dreams from the alarm
Marriage of thorns and I just got pricked
Seeing the blood makes me sick
The red , so much anger
The pink of my exposed flesh
Yet he can't even say sorry.
A beautiful rose he Was, so full of life
But it seemed not all his petals bloomed
When they did they left me deep wounds
He was beautiful on the outside ugly everywhere else.
I put on that dress on a gloomy,rainy day
Doubt in my heart and in my mind
Sure, he smells sweet, but rotting on the inside
As I walked the isle my bouquet held tight
Straight to him, to my death? Or my life?
He smiled so calmly , so sweet , so pure
My mind was elsewhere out that church door
When I met him I only got pricked , sticked
Now that we are married I'm almost decapitated.
"Legal Fiction "
Black Skin, dark desires.
Lewd behavior and carnage,
thus we do not achieve?
Comprehend why we are loathed, we inherited voodo that placed a hex on the moon.
Our heroes were never heroes simply zeroes, the dream of Martin Luther King, the nightmare we live in. Malcom X was a terrorist, the lies he preached terrorised the nation.
Lesions left by the whips that tried ed to discipline and tame the beasts within us.
Slavery was an intervention to free a nigga from the demons that make him a leper and an abomination to God's green earth, therefore he should be chained, victimized and eventually decapitated.
The vague patrolling recollection
sits like a fat white swan on her nest,
cuddling the unborn nakedness, fragile, soundless!
He caresses her wings,
she beats them frantically
as his cold old lips meshes and folds.
Dragging, he goes, she crackles
to the red-stained woods, painted
lovingly with millions that entered before.
His touch blackens and grips
She feeds on youths she hid in her thoughts,
Their time winding down, seconds after seconds.
And with the rage of Moses’s staff,
the loud shed quivers and her incantation feathered gown
sweeps in the red wind. Done, revelation!
The decapitated fowl runs in the eye of a God.
The red man ascends like Lazarus
coming, coming for the next victim of his plague.
Inside my coldness, I feel warmness,
I feel restfulness, I am papery and ready
for his touch of death. Thanks giving to clouds.
The Charcoal Man; Part Two
She went as silent as a night with petrified crickets. It blinked. Then before any of us could comprehend what was going on it swiftly grabbed her by the arm and pulled. She dropped the chalk from the other hand, her tense body hitting the board.
The sound was as harsh as getting a dozen rocks stuck inbetween a lawnmower blade. The pressure from the pulling seemed to have stopped. ''Is the worst over?'' I thought to myself. I must've thought too soon, because as she turned towards us blood poured accross the room like a Jackson Pollick. She mustered up what seemed like a faint squeak saying; ''Help me.''
Right as she finished her sentence we all saw two hands this time emerge from the doorway and grabbed her by both sides of the waist and propelled the woman out of this realm. Ripping her in half from the velocity. We all saw an ominous new world before us through this doorway.
The thing didn't stop there though, it slowly brought back it's bloody hands and opened them up to reveal the entire class. The thing had no face, no nose, no muscles. Yet, just decapitated a grown woman like a pretzel. It's teeth were enormous, it's smile becoming greater with each child it saw before itself with its red glowing eyes.
Cohen and i tried to nope it out of there, but it snapped its fingers and the door locked. ''Bro we're screwed, I don't wanna die in front of you after a scream like that!'' Said Cohen.
We're not gunna die alongside that deadbeat teacher i'll tell you that much, I said. So without saying a word I bolted for the windows and went straight through, like a hollywood movie smashing sugar glass. Cohen ran too but decided to grab the chalk first before jumping awkwardly over the hole i had just made in the window.
As soon as he did i heard another *SNAP*. In an instant the windows had cast iron bars to block the others students off. The glass mustn't have been sugar glass however, because a shard went straight through my calf and I could barely move...
The horrors we saw next as the chalk board opened completely and the Charcoal Man emerged, will haunt us for the rest of our lives. We had never seen a classroom re-painted entirely red in that of thirty seconds.
No more creativity deemed on
the exercise of rotten faculty
Nor burning intelligence’s
penalty
Nor repression sold as
suppression
Nor dissemination of distortion
I shall be content at dawn
To take my leave
Subjugation’s tyranny’s ambition
It’s combat?
Humanity’s mission
Submission’s antithesis is
faction
Behold as protest is deemed
agitation
As justice refuses man’s
gratitude
Take my head be-header
For this truth you shall never
erase
For I am decapitated but not
capitulated
Speak not of blood ties when
you only bleed lies
Repression is a passport to
humanity’s extinction
I’m neither angel nor devil
Nor saintly nor evil
I am human
Striving for what’s right
Enemies call me cold
I belong in no shelf
I put no labels to myself
Save to say love is my way
When walls brought stuffy
indoctrination
And repression funded mental
assassination
Humanity created a blowing
wind
I climb beyond the human
heights
When I'm telling the truth
Explosive in the extreme
I’m called subversive
When i’m only creative
They call me kinky
When i’m only inky
I raise an objection
And get a rejection
When the best brains become
exterminated
And purity poison to
contaminate
For if the worst doesn’t come
to the best the sun shall
rise in the west..
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.
You cut me out of your life
I’ll butcher you out of mine
Chop chop chop chop
There go the memories
The images
With one fell swoop
I've decapitated your smile
CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP
There go the words
Torn away like extra slabs of fat
Oh…yes, there go the juicy chunks of
sentiment
I had for you
Those I didn't chop
Those I sawed away...
Chainsawed
So the blood splattered everywhere
And made me sick
To the core
What a fool I've been
Slice Slice Slice Slice
Deep into the red meat of the heart
Slicing away every reminder
Of your touch
And every word
Every look
That made me smile
And go weak inside
YES….blood drenched and gory
I pick up what’s left of your image
And douse it in acid
…………..
I nearly suffocate in the fumes
Tit for tat
But I did better than that
I didn't cut you out of my life
I butchered you out of existence….
Ah…much better now!
I’m smiling….
With blood red tears
Rolling down my cheeks.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
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
Not criminally responsible
In a few seconds it was over, Tim never had a chance.
He was killed, decapitated actually. The police arrested the killer
with Tim's head in hand. The trial judge ordered a psychiatric exam,
and it was determined that he (the killer) was schizophrenic,
and at the time of the killing was experiencing a psychotic episode.
The judge declared him to be NCR (Not criminally responsible)
and ordered him to go to a medical facility for treatment for an
undetermined time. After a few years, it was observed that the killer understood that he needed his medication to be able to live without
being a danger to himself or to society in general. After eight years
the killer was released back into the general population, under minimum supervision. Tim's mother was distraught at the news, and was rendered speechless. Was justice served?
December 19,2018