Serial Poems - Poems about Serial

they wheeled me in like a busted fridge metal bolts, the stink of bleach my hands were calm for once— you'd think I'd scream, but I'd already done all my screaming. a priest mumbled junk at me— I asked for a cigarette, he gave me god instead. the guards were kids shaking like leaves they strapped me tight like I was gonna run. I looked at the...

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they don’t walk like the rest of us— there’s a rhythm, yes, but it’s off-beat, like jazz played in a padded cell. it starts early—when the dog barked too loud and nobody hugged them after. the world lit its fuse, and turned the other way. they grow quiet in the corners of rooms, watching how the meat falls off the bone, how people talk...

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A bedroom door that never locked, Footsteps heavy like thunderclocks, Mother's wine glass, cracked and red, Words that bruised more than fists ever did. A closet full of whispered screams, Apologies lost in fevered dreams, Father's belt, a sermon preached, Love, a language never reached. A dog buried in silence deep, Secrets traded instead of sleep, Schoolyard eyes like hunting knives, Laughter echoing butchered lives. The smell...

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. “Who is Wandering Over There? ...

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A serial doer of tasks obsesses until he then asks: what is it that’s next? His old muse is vexed; the former, the latter now masks. ...

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Foreboding of a tempestuous storm, it blackens as it draws near, a cumulonimbus in towering form, extending to the troposphere, So cast off mooring and slacken the line, break free while there's still time, 'cause I'll pull you under if you don't let go, Save yourself and abandon ship, I'll take on water and sink...

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There's always a whisper of madness, playing in my brain as I struggle to get loose from it's refrain and the constant pounding me to comply makes me feel quite insane. Disaster brewing behind blue eyes bits of chaos that won't be denied. They tell me the choice is completely mine but they don't see or feel how I'm...

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The great and never ending Always pretending To be that big f@@k of a presence His essence too shallow His steps too big There's no rhythm Just sweat And odor The mindless excursion From thoughts of twisted perversion The path is always crooked The night is always deep Dark and slippery His stomach empty He lurks… Waiting Broken jagged teeth Ripped flesh and bone Traces of life Gone Gone Gone ...

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Dramay na karya kar dramay baza, Habibi haya haya mur ja haza baza....

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A figure haunting, darkness is revealed. The serial killer roams the silent night, In search of prey, a deadly, chilling sight. A mask of normalcy, a facade so clever, Camouflaging evil, deceiving forever. A predator lurking, devoid of remorse, Leaving behind a trail, a ghastly discourse. Their eyes, a void, devoid of empathy, No mercy, no conscience, a grim symphony. They prey upon innocence,...

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Appears it takes two hands to grasp a new thing tight. My muse, no river daughter; she seems afraid of water. I do not know why I now row but simply cannot write. ...

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As springs’ budding blossoms emerge the raptors glide mercilessly. —Michael R. Burch I wrote this haiku-like poem on 3-27-2023 after the Nashville Covenant school shooting massacre. Keywords/Tags: Nashville, Nashville Covenant, Nashville Covenant Presbyterian School, school shooting, massacre, children, kids, students, child abuse, gun control, America, United States, death, murder, serial murder, massacre, bereavement, class, classes...

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1.He was a Scottish-Canadian medical doctor and serial killer who poisoned his victims. 2.He murdered up to ten people in three countries. 3.He is targeting mostly lower-class women, prostitutes and pregnant women seeking abortions. 4.He was convicted and sentenced to death,and was hanged on 15 November 1892. Note.Prostitutes are also women and women are not aliens,they are our mothers sisters...

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A doctor ordained to bring people from death to life Turning into an assassin sending them from life to death Lopsided was his brain, a sure psychopath Dr. Harold Shipman committed crime after crime in stealth None suspected him of his evil designs And he continued his sinister escapade for long. Did violence rage in his heart as a youth? Or did...

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Written by Gail R DeBole on June 20, 2022 A texter who texted all day When in-person had not much to say. He lived life on his text-screen Never ran out of text-steam And sent messages that seemed ultra-brave....

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