Those who served salt on my wounds,
snatched my childhood diary,
threw it into orange fumes.
I hugged them.
Burned my dreams, locked every door;
my favourite scarf, they tore.
The depth of darkness they showed in their core—
fear of a knock on the door
since the age of four.
I sit beside my window,
watch a homeless snore.
I find his life a dream of mine—
jealousy from my eyes gets poured.
Yet after decades, I hold a smile;
all scars, perfectly, I hide.
I gift sweetness to the monsters
who drank my blood.
I offered bonds to the evils
who used to flood—
floods of tears,
oceans of sadness,
peace of heavy weight.
Yet apparently,
this is my karma.
This is my fate.
Pleasure rides,
On...
Pleasant moments
With
Gladdened haste¡
Soaked!
Raw rod richly
Into
Gleeful gap gasping...
Like
An athlete's heart
When
On the finishing line,
To
Feed glucose syrups
For
Sustainable physiological energy.
Aftermath comes,
missing:
Catamenia, informed
Both--
Happily saddened.
Pretense
Strikes minds*
By
An unknown song,
Through
Sweet words to lure
Submission
Assumed right for peace.
Denying
Shame to cover up truth,
Timing
Few months to come.
Having agreed:
They
Disallowed mixed bloody fluid,
Into space awaiting expansion,
To formulating foetus fleeting...
The race of days into months,
Before knocking the soil's door
And have duties land on owners.
Like
Noah's dove; unrest...
Returned to his ark.
So is it; ferment...
Emptied the vessel.
Punished for nothing and sacrificed
For the sake of its murderers vanity
They victimized you to satisfy
Their own uplifting insanity
What was the subliminal god's reaction?
Seems he wasn’t too pleased with that
So quoting Mick Jagger, no satisfaction
Has appeared as a matter of fact
Mortal sins have exceeded all expectations
The worst get unlimited power
The wise have diluted in million variations
Their wisdom, to build more glass towers
The poor peaceful animal is unremembered
Under hassles and troubles of things
Kindness of the humble ones has been slandered
Evil thrive on the order it brings
What now, how about satisfaction
Where’s that god, is he not far around?
Pandora is setting up box production
And that scapegoat still falls on the ground.
The Russians Are Coming
The Russians are coming, tremble in fear
Hide your jewelry, washing machines, beer
But their army is weak, only fights the unarmed
We should take them out and all they’ve farmed
The Russians are coming, animals from the east
But they’re brains are deformed an insane beast
Morons with weapons what do you expect?
We allowed this, gave too much respect
A criminal in charge of a murdering race
Stab you in the back and lie to your face
Russia be proud for all you have done
Steal kids clothes take them home to mum
And you, you women, with husbands and sons
Who’s a pretty boy, rape who you want
Well justice is coming, well on its way
The civilized won’t forget, you're going to pay.
David Cox 22/05/22
Growing up, I never believed in monsters,
at least, not in the kind that lived under my bed
and in my closet.
No, the monsters I was terrified of
were the same ones my parents acknowledged:
the bus-stop child predators,
"bad people" on the news;
the most chilling collection of
scary stories made available.
Horrific fantasies were entertained during
bed-time;
I was gripped by the prospect of a lunatic
creeping in through my bedroom window &
slaying my family.
On a few instances, our town was plagued by
Grendels, of sorts.
Murderers, on the lam, who had chosen
our quiet, suburban streets to retire to.
Terrorized, my parents forbade me to even
go see my friends who lived next door,
unless I was accompanied by an adult.
No, I never believed in monsters,
in the classical sense.
The monsters I believed in
were absolutely real.
And I'm still afraid of them...
She was the kind of mother
who should have raised axe murderers and serial killers.
Harsh, bitter, angry, with six touches of meanness
and a horrible sounding whipping belt that she loved to snap
However, she raised two unhappy children who became notoriously successful.
After they escaped at eighteen, never to return.
Realizing life is different outside the house on Wilmore Drive.
Understanding that all people are not bitter, angry, depressed and mentally ill.
Their mother’s angry techniques of discipline, inflicted with diabolical glee
Was never inflicted upon any of their children,
Two girls and three boys who never knew their grandmother
or endured parenting skills that rivaled those of Mommy Dearest.
When positions of authority
Blatantly abuse their power
Telling you what you’re seeing
Isn’t what it appears to be
We need accountability.
When the murderers wear badges
But skip the silver bracelets
And orange jumpsuits and
Remain free to kill again
There should be accountability.
Too much has gone on
For too long to too many
Man’s law isn’t enough.
So justice can truly be served
Why isn’t there accountability?
We shouldn’t have to fight
Day in and day out
Simply for the right to breathe
We’re all human beings
Yet there’s no real accountability.
I pray each night for lives lost
At the hands of those
Who had sworn to protect
I pray God comes and restores order
So there will be accountability.
Something’s gotta give.
© 6/27/20 JJSmalls
One minute everything was fine but the next, everything went sour.
Terrorists hijacked some planes and attacked the World Trade Towers.
Because of those damn terrorists, 2,977 innocent people were killed.
They attacked the World Trade Towers which took six years to build.
Construction of the Towers began in 1966 and ended in 1972.
What those terrorists did was a cowardly and evil thing to do.
The people who were born on that day are now adults legally, time flies.
An entire nation still mourns the loss of each and every person who died.
(I dedicate this poem to the nearly 3,000 people who perished on September 11, 2001.)
How many murderers do I know?
An interesting question
I hope I don’t know any
I know of one who tried.
Got by with an attempted murder at sixteen.
Sealed those records.
Gave him another chance.
Arrested at forty-eight, after stabbing a waitress forty-two times.
I can’t help but wonder how many there were in between.
I did not know him but I did say hello to him once or twice.
He was three years ahead of me in class.
He is the only murderer
that I think I almost
kind of knew.
But didn’t.
If the wind is blind the storm should see
And if the storm is blind the wind should
See
If time is a bow then we are all victims
If work is for all then we are liars
Turn to time you know it that greed
Has turn to a flowing habit
If the cemetery is blind then we are dead
If the market is busy then we are nothing
Turn the journey of fame you know it
For the idle ones are made harvesters
If the Church is a light and the people
Are not witness then we are wheels
Of no motion
If the school is a salvage of hope then
We have not started
If hospitality of man is helpful
Then we are murderers for not building
On these thoughts.
I wonder what they think about
When planning to murder someone
Do they have to make
Their mind blank
So as not to think about it
Or are they fixated on it
To focus their very soul
On what they are going to do.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Obama - Time To Bomb All Isis Murderers Straight To Hell
And now there is Paris
BOMB ALL ISIS GENOCIDE KILLERS STRAIGHT TO HELL
Commander-In-Chief Obama, you need to call steady air strikes until you have blown ISIS TERRORIST GENOCIDE KILLERS off the face of this earth! Even if it takes American ground troops,, all nations must send special forces ground troops! They are even beheading little children who will not convert to Islam Jihad! No one on this earth is safe as long as they and other terrorists of their ilk exist. They say they will hang their flag in the White House, it's time to destroy them, time to take care of business!
NOW! NOT LATER! :(((
Copyright © 2015 Robert William Gruhn
Why do I hope
there is a Hell,
while wishing
to escape its
clutches myself?
Because I want
there to be a
special Hell
for those who
kill children.
A Suggestion for Future Mass Murderers
By Elton Camp
A fiend has taken twisted action again
Later to be another, who knows when
At Sandy Hook, he had his awful way
Innocent little children wantonly to slay
The lowest of cowards he has to be
To go on such a vile shooting spree
The least humanity such man does lack
To gun down those who can’t fight back
There remain more such lurking out there
Who, for decency, haven’t the least care
Monster, before you go and do your worst
Do the world a favor--kill yourself first
Do you have any axe murderers in your family
No? How totally boring is that!
They add a little spice when telling your story
More interesting than your household cat
How about a bigamist or a felon of some note
That would be a total blast!
But before you climb up on your mighty high horse
Better thoroughly check out your past
Just having a little fun so don't send me letters
When reviewing this sweet little gem
Every once in a while I go off on these tangents
Soon be back on the track once again
Do you have any axe murderers in your family
If you have to answer yes to the above
I solemnly promise to keep it our little secret
And end with good wishes and love
© Jack Ellison 2012
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