Long Murder Poems
Long Murder Poems. Below are the most popular long Murder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Murder poems by poem length and keyword.
Cain was so angry with Abel
His face expressed a downcast look
God noticed his countenance at once
Told him that tone would make him a crook
Cain called to his brother, "Come".
Then said to his brother (thinking bum).
"Let's go out in the field my domain,"
Then in anger, Abel was slain
Anger, jealousy, and greed fueled
Negative emotions inside.
Cain was ready to fight a duel
Repentance would have calmed the tide.
Why do men kill each other this day?
Revenge, frustration, hate, money
Greed, sex, jealousy roles all play
Personal vendetta not even funny
Forgiving and asking forgiveness
Clean and clear the heart every day
God is a meriful God who forgives
Ask him and repent when you pray
Contest: You Say You Want A Revolution
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzie
Partly based on Genesis Chapter 4
I never saw where Cain said he was sorry for what he did only that
he was sorry that his punishment was so severe..
Turn on the telle watch wives with knives
Murder on CCTV, victims lose their lives
Turn on the telle, no one write a script
There’s a post-mortem in a darkened crypt
Cops chasing crims, drunken street fights
Nothing to entertain what a load of ****
Turn on the telle, comedy nowhere to be seen
Instead, Botox tarts and live sex on your screen
Let’s turn on the telle, killer by the sea
A victim in the lift on secondhand TV
Let’s turn on the telle, Katie’s dirty mansion
Faces of the dead and worship of Charles Manson
Let’s turn on the telle, bound to be something good
A serial killers voice over, dating in the nud’
Let’s turn on the telle, bodies in black bags
Dumped in the river, by a couple of psycho lads
Let’s turn on the telle, see how he cut her throat
Battered her to death, on his flash speedboat
Let’s turn on the telle, get some new ideas
How to maim, torture, kill, down through the years
Let’s turn on the telle, see how the Kray's ruled
Sixty-nine channels of murder, has it got you fooled?
David Cox 09/02/22
The words written in the past are gone
Nobody will ever read those words
Some would have struck a nerve
Some might have thrown u 4 a curve
My words were knowingly spelled wrong
But they all came from the mind of a poet
There r 2 previous chapters 2 this story
It's been so long since they were read
My lost teenaged soul has been dead
I have not thought of myself as a poet in over a decade
Between my mind, my hands, & the wordz was a blockade
Not anymore! This makes Part 3!
The mind of a poet is lost
Ambitious (4 a month)
Ridiculous (a couple times a month)
Ambiguous (my mind is free, you know what I mean)
Meticulous (when it suits me)
Adventurous (A fancy way of saying lost)
My writing is unique
My style is perfectly imperfect
My grammar is not correct
My words r real
If my words don't rhyme, kick rocks 4 real!
My soul lives on lost pieces of paper
Those words can never be recovered
This chapter is tamer than the other(s)
No sex, no drugs, no alcohol, no murder
Knowing that makes me wanna say, mother f#%ker!
Give me another piece of electronic paper!
This is the mind of a poet, reborn!
Are you ready to do it?
Ready to break their hearts?
A few words should do it
Rip their lives apart
Do you stand there ready?
Was your conscience ever clean?
You think your lies will cut it?
The truth will never be seen
No witnesses to what you've been
You've shined your buttons so well
Your boots are crystal clean
Your tie is so impeccably knotted
Your mind.....ice with a dark sheen
No hidden holster, no gun?
This time you don't need the bullet
No one here as seen what I've seen
You don't need their silence
You don't care about how they grieve
Just lie about being my friend
You don't need to kill them
Like you needed to kill me.
In twilight's hush, where shadows play,
A paradox reigns, in endless sway,
The good perish, while the wicked thrive,
In this land, where virtue's brief, and vice survives.
Patriots fall, like autumn's leaves,
Assassinated, poisoned, for their noble deeds,
Their voices silenced, before their time,
As darkness feeds on justice's prime.
Bola Ige, Barnabas Igwe, Marshall Harry too,
Ogbonnaya Uche, Ken Saro-Wiwa, and more, anew,
Their memories linger, like a mournful sigh,
As tyranny's grip tightens, and hope says goodbye.
Gen. Aguiyi Ironsi, Gen. Murtala Muhammed, fell,
Their legacies lost, in a tragic spell,
For how long shall the good people die?
When will justice dawn, and tyranny's night pass by?
It was a hot humid muggy evening
The festivities were just starting
Inebriated souls, and the smell of Cajun cooking
The moon was sitting idly by, waiting for her role
The smokey flavor of the night’s meal
Sifting scents pleasing,
The mixture of perfume and gourmet
Evil lurking just underneath
The flowers were radiant
Laughter permeates the air
Then the little ones, with beguiled charm
Cut through the social soirée
Blood spurts from body parts
The killing fields of St Louis
As patrons and saints are slaughtered
Like lambs
I feel the callus cut of the knife
As my fingers fall to the ground
I know the evil stench of horrors
Has only begun to spread
Like the roots of sinister wine
Bordereau is the prison of the mind
The lamb is now the Wolfe
Montcalm would never fair well
As limb and leg fall slain
I cry out in horrific pain
For the battle of St Louis
I have been murdered in vain
There is a darkness
that tears at the mind
like vulture's beaks,
ripping flesh from flesh
as blood drips down my hands
from fingernails clutched to my face
in a silent scream of terror
I suffer in this dark realm
as my mind sees things,
a dark demented shadow
passing in my mind's eye
hunting my soul
trying to consume what it can
wanting to leave an empty husk
with no emotion, no life
I stare into the dark void that surrounds
a surreal world filled with illusion
that are not illusion
rather the darkest pit of hell
where I'm trapped
twisted and bent
searching, hiding, seeking revenge
where insanity bubbles in my mind's cauldron
as poison is being made
to be fed to the creatures
that crawl across the belly of my soul
these maggots feasting on the flesh of my flesh
leave nothing but bone
as my bloody hands pound on the walls of my casket
where I have been buried alive
Mark Scott-Crossley
and Simon Mathebula
Tied up Nelson Chisale
and beat him with machetes
dumping him in
with white lions
Africa Learned
to hate the Whites
Yet this is only
one white farmer
should we hate
all the people
for the act of one man
to easily do we attack
the colour of a mans skin
do the crime do the time
but don't blame others
for the act of another man
you ask that we should apologise
for the acts of our ancestors
I ask you why?
why; should I apologise
for the act of my great grandfather,
I did not, do what he did,
I am not responsible, for his crimes,
should you apologise,
for the acts of your Great grandfather,
perhaps he was a cannibal,
perhaps in the past,
he ate somebody's ancestor,
yet, do we ask you,
to apologise for him
so why do you ask us,
to apologise,
for the acts of our ancestors,
Hate the man who did the crime,
not the colour of his skin,
Black people,
have also been responsible for evil,
murder and rape, happen in all cultures,
You don't expect us to hate you,
for the act of your brothers,
so why should you hate us,
for the acts of other whites,
blame the person,
that did the crime,
not the colour,
of a man's skin,
Every day,
I get up and try
to help people,
try to teach others,
That happiness is created
with a sense of humour,
learn to joke have fun with people,
and the world becomes a happier place.
Yet even a sense of humour
can become twisted
people laugh at the expense
of someone else
learn to laugh with people
learn to joke in away
that builds happiness
without hurting others
To hate all Americans is racism
To Hate all Jew's is racism
To hate all Africans is racism
all cultures have good and bad people
Abortion
A pregnant woman can do as she likes, yes, I too believe
In a woman`s right; but a pregnant woman has the responsibility
of a new life growing inside her and it is paramount that
the beginning of life has the right to be born.
It is often single, uneducated women who get into the predicament
instead of making her into a killer, we should help to give her
economic help so she and her child can live with dignity.
Women who are busy breaking the glass ceiling when finding
themselves pregnant have an abortion as a matter of course, and
in the name of success commit murder.
I`m also against adoption it is a capitalist invention, take from the poor
and give it to the rich, and it is of no help, as the birth mother will regret it
and the child when an adult will ask, why did my mother give me away?
Before my favorite show began,
A message filled the screen
To let the viewers be prepared,
For violence would be seen.
This show is violent every week –
There’s murder, blood and gore;
And last night’s show had nothing
That it hadn’t shown before.
The station heads, however, felt,
In light of recent news,
Perhaps a scene of savagery
Was not what most would choose.
It’s strange to think of being warned
From viewing death in fiction
Because of real life tragedy –
It’s quite a contradiction.
I’d rather watch a TV show,
Which I know isn’t real,
Than to view the anguish parents
Of those murdered children feel.
I glanced at the disclaimer
Then escaped into my show.
The “dead” were only actors,
Which was very good to know.