Long Disemboweled Poems
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[Intro]
[Verse 1 - Vocalist]
Down on Jason Street, where the shadows creep
Past the neon glow, secrets that they keep
Freddie's Fun Palace, a grin upon its face
Hiding something old, lost within this place
[Pre-Chorus - Vocalist]
Are you ready, Freddy, for what lies ahead?
Whispers in the dark, filling you with dread
[Chorus - Vocalist]
Oh, the Dallasite Parasite, it feeds on the fear
With a calloused heart, malice drawing near
Cow town loud, but the silence screams so deep
As the howls begin, from where the nightmares sleep
[Verse 2 - Vocalist]
Every corner turned, a shiver down your spine
Looking for a sign, a reason or a line
But the air is thick, with a heavy, bitter taste
Another soul consumed, in this forgotten waste
[Pre-Chorus - Vocalist]
Are you ready, Freddy, for what's coming next?
A story etched in blood, a fate that's truly vexed
[Chorus - Vocalist]
Oh, the Dallasite Parasite, it feeds on the fear
With a calloused heart, malice drawing near
Cow town loud, but the silence screams so deep
As the howls begin, from where the nightmares sleep
[Bridge - Vocalist]
No place left to run, nowhere left to hide
As the truth unfolds, from deep inside
See the bow disemboweled, a twisted, grim display
The price of all the fun, at the close of day
[Outro - Vocalist]
Ready, Freddy...
Dallasite Parasite...
Howls...
Loud...
It may appear
that I've lost my writing edge,
less poems expressed here
on display opening my heart and tears;
but surely, you must know
my words do flow
along some journal lines
releasing the feelings and emotions I find
harder to express and reveal
along with the poetry soup's appeal
incapable to openly portray
the visionary images that slip away.
Oh, for lack of inspiration to sweep
the cobwebs of old age as it creeps,
nearing eighty now
strength and enlightenment disemboweled,
if only, time was on my side
this inner self
might no longer hide
in the spaces my soul denies,
as it appears.
Ideas Trapped By An Inactive Mind
Your mind is hidden in darkness
Thoughts trapped in deep crevasses
Their screams echoes through deathly shadows
Attacked and strangled at their every move
The struggle against invisible shackles
Drawing blood as they fight their captor
Demons search for ideas ripping them apart
Stripped skin strewn across an evil world
A world created from depression and mania
Leaving the ideas disemboweled in the frenzied heat
Blood, skin and guts boil under the demon’s breath
Screams of torture and pain fill the void left by random thoughts
Still alive they choke on the stale sulfuric air
Waiting to die while hoping to be saved
A quick mind lights the darkness
Giving new life to near dead ideas
The strongest fight while the weakest wither and die
The rise through the darkness
Rising into the light they look back
They see the lost ideas dying beneath them
They care about what was lost
What ideas will never see the light of day
And they grieve as they come to light
And they will be told and retold
For that is what ideas are meant to be
Shared by the entire world not killed
Murdered by an inactive mind
My best friend was on the phone,
laughing like a great aunt who had lost her mind
“Joe thought it was dead, but then he saw it making reservations with the dog,” I informed her. “We have a bunch of mice here, many pregnant.
Joe is sleeping outside in the car.
Yes....
My husband of forty-eight years is a bit prissy about small black rodents
full of diseases that run over his foot.
I was in the attic now, a dreary place where I barely dared to put down my lemonade for fear bats would be dive bombing into it or disemboweled entities would be spooking the dog who was crying at the bottom of the steps she cannot climb.
Scritch. Scratch. Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.
I could not tell which pile or garbage bag was making this curious sound.
Raccoons in the attic? Large insane squirrels? A homeless person living with us for the last sixteen years?
“I have to go,” I told my friend. “Family emergency.” I clicked her off.
My friends are okay with my rude ways, choosing to love me anyway.
The noise kept coming.
My attention was suddenly in a corner of a large wiggling garbage bag.
A mouse popped out of the top of it and ran toward me.
Then sixty-two more, a fountain of mice,
running in all directions.
I went downstairs and told my husband there was a black bag I could not lift.
I wandered to the kitchen to fix myself a light lunch, my favorite, a peanut butter, Miracle Whip, lettuce sandwich. I had to scoot two mice off the top
of the peanut butter lid.
But I said "excuse me" of course.
I nearly dropped a gallon of milk when I heard his scream.
I imagine he scared every last rodent out of the house.
Joe is my go-to-man.
It’s been ten days, the Easter Bunny is gone with hardly a trace,
The Missus is inconsolable- an Easter basket-case,
Evidence in plastic bags, some fibers and some fur,
The family suspects foul play, the police, they do concur,
This once pristine meadow has senselessly been fouled,
Safety and security has now been disemboweled,
“Mark my woids!” Bugs cried out “Sample that bastids’ blood!”
“No one hates rabbits more than that twisted Elmer Fudd!”
“You’re paranoid” Rodger snorted “the one who murders for kicks...
is that obvious cereal killer, the rabbit from the box of Trix,
“Wrong again” sniffed Uncle Wiggly, “you’re no kind of private-eye”
“But speaking of tricks, when you see her next, tell Jessica that I said hi”
“You can’t just point your finger and tell the police to slap on the cuffs”,
You’re so afraid of your own shadow; you’ve filled your pants with cocoa puffs,
Peter leapt up “A demented rabbit killer, it’s McGregor that’s plain to see!”
“He’s got my clothes on a pole in his garden, hanging in effigy!”
Wiggly shot back “…or is it gang related? Their alibis are somewhat frail”,
“Exactly where were those thugs, Flopsie, Mopsie and Cottontail?
“Hanging around Thumper and Br’er Rabbit; I tell you they’re all the same!”
“Do I really have to remind you all how Thumper got his name?”
Borrowing their hole deeper and deeper, down into that rabbit hole
Theories and explanations, none of which could console,
It will make little difference, because now there will be no Easter
The debate will go on and on, as scared rabbits talk out their keisters,
In a squalid little burrow on the wrong side of the rabbit tracks
Amid the empty red bull cans, lies a bloody axe,
On the handle of the door a “do not disturb’ sign is hanging
And in the bedroom is the Energizer; but it’s not his drum he’s banging,
There the recent widow is doing what bunnies do best,
Meanwhile across the field they are laying her hubby to rest.
March 5 1012
A cow is goaded roughly, into a big steel box,
Eyes bulging from sockets, nose puffing snot,
Butcher pulls a lever, trapping its head tight,
Takes out big heavy pistol, aims it right,
Presses it BANG between, the beasts eyes,
A bolt shoots out, no time for cries,
Cow hits the ground, like sack of flour,
Blood pumps from its head, in a shower,
Pulls release handle, No messing about,
Immediately draws his knife, bleeding it out,
Slicing throat open, draining blood of life,
Puts a long spring into head, fits just right,
Rams it up and down, to snap the spine,
Cow kicking like mad, until finally supine,
Body goes limp, puts shackle upon hoof,
Head is scalped, then decapitated aloof,
Hoisted up along, now ready for the rest,
Skinned and disemboweled, to request,
Already another one, waiting in the box,
Can see it’s fate, eyes bulging in shock.
By
David Kavanagh
My eyes screamed as the blinding yellow light latched itself modest self upon me.
Why?
It happened so fast—so unexpectedly.
At first, my mouth watered as the taste of peppermint fermented on my tongue and the scent of jasmine danced in my thoughts. I was so happy, and I am still so happy.
But why do I lie here on the ground, drawing a sweat as I have to consciously pump air in and out of my lungs! Why do I stare at the ceilings at night thinking of nothing but those tormenting demons who scream me lullabies at night! I am so happy!
The days are blinks, and the nights linger like the smell of a rotting opossum disemboweled on the turnpike. My bed encases me, and my sheets burn my wrists and ankles as they twist around my unwilling body.
“Help me, please!” I will silently scream. “Please.”
Hours go by and my eyes burn from the salty crust forming around them. Even blinking took too much strength, for the night devours my will, my hope, my time.
So here I am. Happy. I truly am happy. But I can’t explain why the nights love me so. Maybe it’s because I might not love myself as much as they love me.
A man wakes up with demons,
In his mind, he is conflicted with religion.
The Holy Bible and the Amish,
Have different views on,
Everlasting life in heaven.
He was paranoid.
He had mental illness,
He called the Bishop the Devil,
For telling lies about heaven.
All the Amish knew of his sickness,
Yet did nothing to help.
Finally taking him to the hospital,
Only to learn he was schizophrenic,
Yet was he??
No, it was later realized he had,
Chemical poisoning in his brain,
Caused by the cleaning engine fluid.
He was released with medication.
The next morning he killed his wife.
Removing her brain and disemboweled,
Her organs explaining that she didn't,
Understand that the Holy Bible was truth,
And the Amish was the curse.
This is a true story. The detective said,
It was the bloodiest and worse crime scene,
He ever witnessed. A man outside was,
Teaching him that praying will guarantee,
Him everlasting life.
The Amish only learn if they have,
Everlasting life when they die.
The Amish man found it confusing
And a curse.