Long Killing spree Poems
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Here we are in the village of Morristown, New Jersey.
It is September the sixth in the year of our Lord, 1833.
French immigrant Antoine LeBlanc went on a killing spree.
He took the lives of two rather prominent citizenry.
Antoine murdered Mr. and Mrs. Sayre, and their servant Phoebe.
The citizens of the town considered the deed so dastardly.
It only took twenty minutes for the decision of the jury.
With overwhelming evidence, the defendant was found guilty.
LeBlanc was afforded all the formalities of a fair hearing.
Judge Gabriel Ford handed down the sentence of death by hanging.
A crowd of about ten thousand are gathered in the public square.
Witnesses have come to see the execution from everywhere.
A rope around LeBlanc’s neck will propel him into the air.
Until he is dead, Antoine will be hanging in despair.
“That’s not enough”, cried some of the witnesses in their fears.
They wanted LeBlanc’s skin tanned and made into souvenirs.
Wallets, purses, lampshades, and book jackets were fashioned from his hide.
That is a gruesome fate that certainly cannot be denied.
Here is something else that I have to say:
Some of those relics of the infamous criminal still survive today.
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and the website of Weird N.J. for information I obtained to write this poem.
I know I have killed
Hundreds of thousands of flowers
I know I have grilled
Hundreds of thousands of showers
I know I have singed
Several million lungs
I know I have left
Many a song unsung
From your beautiful eyes
I have sucked up all water
Your green heart I have rendered
Increasingly arid and hotter
I understand I am a monster
But was not so genetically
It is technology’s wild laughter
That invites the killing spree
You, the policy makers of nations
Please plan to restore my nature
Or else you will kill the good earth
You got to live in quiet composure
Take a decision this environment day
Will throw pollutants all away
Will get back to the pure sun-ray
And make our earth a rose bouquet
6/5/2015
Who knows who are the casualties of war?
Are they the wounded, maimed, and all the dead?
Who counts the orphans, widows, those displaced?
The untold truth, a light on this can shed
I also am a casualty of war
My soul is wounded by the grief I see
The war is raging here inside my head
I am held hostage, longing to be free
Survivor guilt is ravaging my nights
The blast of bombs, a morbid wake up call
Though I'm alive, I feel so dead inside
Like those cut down by hate, I take a fall
Destructor's cravings are insatiable
The sites destroyed include those of my mind
My tears pour down with that of martyrs' blood
Like refugees, a haven I must find
A lesser casualty, yet I am one
This war is altering my very soul
I am ashamed to claim a numbered place,
Yet war affects the country as a whole
Aggressors will not stop their killing spree
The toll of death goes higher every day
Who counts the living dead, devoid of hope?
The shroud awaits the ones this war will slay
These casualties of war exceed belief,
and trauma rages on without relief
The apostate looked out his window, and started to believe
As genuflecting pylons sent ramifications through the trees
Chaos questioned reason, hoping for an early plea
but the world was too far gone, so began the killing spree
The Crier rang his leper bell: “Our town’s a godless apparition”
Filling hearts with envy of a once-dreaded condition
Now the King prayed for calm, in a pagan act of contrition
After his son died at birth, he had proscribed all religion
Atheists came from all around, excommunication filled the air
Roots faced horizontal, trying to feed off despair
Anxious to leave town, fallen gargoyles block civic square
Steeplejacks grow disoriented, looking up at their disrepair
“That hole’s not deep enough,”winked the jester to the knave
He could never resist a shortcut, even digging his own grave
As the madness continued, hermits set fire each other’s caves
Shedding light on the void, by burning alive its willing slaves
With the apocalypse gathering pace, populations slowly died
Some genius came forward a real madman in disguise
Said, “We need a scapegoat—a martyr, an ultimate sacrifice”
He was crucified for being too clever; they much preferred no advice
And whilst writing this story, that apparently makes no sense
The queen was in her chambers, hanging herself from suspense
Children butcher themselves gaily, having learned how to fence
As for putting fear of God in us, the wicked come crawling to repent
At last when heaven reopened,
an eclipse tried darken that day
Never to see man overcast again,
sun went nova, boiling all life away…
Mid Eastern Tales 5
Curtis Johnson
Long, long ago,
before Greece, Rome, or Great Britain,
there lived a queen of relatively short duration.
She would not survive today’s penal system because
her fellow inmates would deem it unjust to be near her. She was neither sweet nor tender, but cruel and depraved.
She was the mother of the king.
I suspect that she was simply an evil seed.
It seems she acted out of an instantaneously
depraved mind. Perhaps she was already planning an evil plot sooner, or later.
There was in the Region another evil queen before her; but if one had to choose, what a challenge that would be!
When Queen Athaliah learned that her son the king had been murdered, she immediately went on a killing spree of her own. She hastily killed all her grandsons. I agree. It’s sickening. By so doing, she became the ruler of her troubled country.
After 6 years, her ruler ended abruptly when it was discovered that one of her grandsons had been hidden by his aunt. The authorities then crowned the newly found 7-year-old king. Though justice was delayed, at the end it was well served. They quickly surrounded and captured the evil queen and sentenced her to death.
10232016 cj Bible, 2 Kings 11
Late wee hours
Pregnant darkness morphs;
Eerie sculptures lurk
~~~~~~~~~
Early morning call
Sleepy eye shades blink;
Edgy drowsy sleepy
~~~~~~~~~
Twin eyes stare
Blankness sits well;
Strange as fiction
~~~~~~~~~
Coil and recoil
Bullet echoes kill;
Inhumane pact
~~~~~~~~~
Season for plunder
Carve live hearts;
Violence breeds terror
~~~~~~~~~
Vile violence pox
Think out-of-the-box;
Mad beyond detox
~~~~~~~~~
Hurt upon hurt
Sad violent times;
Death by dynamite
~~~~~~~~~
Decadence wills
Proud peacock petty;
Mindless killing spree
~~~~~~~~~
Madness aspires
Demonic attire;
Vengeful as fire
~~~~~~~~~
Fear is wrought
Zero as naught;
Faith knows better
~~~~~~~~~
Love beyond hate
Succeed wise fate;
It's not too late
~~~~~~~~~
Strange days here
Cheer lingers near;
Hate lives in vain
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
20 January 2016
Singapore
I built a living creature with every body part that I could find.
I had no idea that I was giving him a psychopathic mind.
He has a flat head, green skin and bolts in his neck.
He escaped from my lab and he's on a violent trek.
He has killed ten men, eight women and even a little boy.
The villagers are after my creature because he must be destroyed.
When I stitched him together, I didn't know that he would kill.
All I wanted to do was create life and now misery is what I feel.
My creature will continue his killing spree, there's no doubt.
Surprisingly he just returned to my lab and I blew his brains out.
It's great that he's dead because his carnage was as deadly as a disease.
I'm responsible for my creature's murders and I'll surrender to the authorities.
Myriad the masks in violent times,
Fear sets to task such crazy crimes.
Witness harsh rut of fear that fears,
Such scenes now jut madness most *****.
Where is the good in violent acts?
The killing mood signs evil tact.
There is no peace in killing spree,
Hate will not cease in violent seas.
Fear and terror breed suspicion,
Hate reaps horror in destruction.
There is no cure to blind reason,
From evil hearts come mad seasons.
Death by violence breeds karmic sway,
Pain reaps sentence in tragic play.
Sadly we see a world gone mad,
Now who can free comic gone bad?
Feel and see now mad games of hate,
We know not how violence marks date.
Justice cries here as horrors stream,
Evil times spear the decent dream.
In times like this, pray for kind grace,
Yield to a bliss that floods all space.
Leon Enriquez
07 May 2016
Singapore
Dr. Clement Moloch professes in torture.
He is always accompanied by Claire, his sister.
Moloch performs clandestine operations for governments.
He is responsible for the torture and death of insurgents.
Holland is journalist Jorge Hidalgo’s friend.
Holland learned Jorge’s life came to an end.
The doctor killed Jorge with high voltage electricity.
Senor Hidalgo was another victim of the doctor’s killing spree.
Hector Lomelin informs Holland of the predicament.
Lomelin attempts to talk Holland out of retirement.
Holland refuses, but later changes his mind.
Dr. Moloch is someone assassin Holland must find.
Holland learns Moloch and his sister are in Central America.
Moloch has been hired by the government of Guatemala.
There are several bodyguards protecting the doctor.
Moloch even has the aid of the American ambassador.
Holland takes out his targets one by one.
He is very adept with both the knife and the gun.
If you are wondering how this escapade will end,
all I have to say is, “See the movie, friend”.
Based on the 1984 film “The Evil That Men Do”.
we are throwing stones today
we are impervious to the blood we painted the floor with
our anger combined is like an emotional avalanche on a killing spree
it is brand spanking midnight, and we are far from done
we have been hiding behind our smiles and greetings for much too long
we have been making false progress reports with every stroke of our expressions
we have been makeshift clowns on an untrustworthy pedestal
now all the weight of life and reality has all come down on us
the only thing left in our arsenals is lashing out
we choose to yell, blame, scream, throw, punch, curse, and shout
the next chapter despite the snapping sounds is so unclear
the devil has taken over for sure because there is no way that God is here
we lost faith somewhere between year five and the first ten lies
we lost hope somewhere between year ten and all ten versions of each disguise
everything is tainted but we eat it all up anyway
everything is tainted but we soak ourselves in it everyday
the love is still there but we know that we just may have to leave
sometimes the best medicine in life is the prescription we do not want it to be