Short Executioners Poems

       I do not claim that the days
       be executioners of the nights,

          but as for me I prefer
     wandering under the starlight,

    filtering the conspicuity of the moon,
            breathing night air......

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      I do not claim that the days
   are the executioners of the nights,
       but as for me I prefer
  wandering under the light of the stars,
   filtering the conspicuity of the moon,
        breathing the night air......

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          I do not claim that the days
       are the executioners of the nights,
           but as for me I prefer
      wandering under the light of the stars,
       filtering the conspicuity of the moon,
           breathing the night air......

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So many, so dead

Where did they come from, and why?

Why do they hate us?



So much death, so much

Young people die much too soon

Parents live to mourn.



Some of the young died,

Because their vests hid the bombs.

Executioners.



What should we do now?

How can we stop all of this?

Or must more die first?...

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He’d spent nearly a decade on death row
Praying for appeals that were not bestowed
     Had a solid alibi
     One the courts would just not buy
A death sentence he’d have to undergo
 
DNA exam proved him no killer
But there’s a sad angle to this thriller
     Tests performed posthumously
     Executioners agree
Evidence came too late; what a chiller!
 


*For Miranda’s “Behind Bars Blues” contest...

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Panzram, Panzram, murder and rape man,
he a tortured boy, who knew no truth, presented 
to world as uncouth youth

Panzram here, Panzram there, no one kind till 
Oregon State Jail, gave him pen and paper his 
memoirs to nail

Carl Pazram number 31614 tells in his book,
that at the executioners time he hollered,
” Why d’you take your time?... by now you 
swine, I could’ve killed nine!”

Pazram, Pazram tortured mind....

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The two combatants were 
Cast in a deceitful duel
Enmeshed in the charming world
Of wounded psyche’s 
Where thoughts 
Take arms and batter one another
I opened the heavy fire door
On my private inferno
My chest decorated 
Rows of gleaming medals
Much like a Russian General
Each medal signifying some special action
A cowardly special action
So I yield my chest, my body
To the executioners, I willingly do it,
Because that’s what soldiers do....

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