Short Slaughterhouse Poems

A News Story

A news story: 6 nuns were caught high on 
glue in a 
slaughterhouse. Their fluffy giggles are
way too loud for 
me.
...

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The soft zephyr hums
the carefree spirit of youth.
A calf ruminates
under the sun's gentle rays.
Tomorrow, the slaughterhouse.
...

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Room full of people
Just another face
In the slaughterhouse
Sterile silence
Creeps up on me
I don’t want to do it
But it’s the only way out
A rush of emotions
Engulfs my senses
My world is collapsing
Shattered mind
Damaged soul
I am numb...

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If I'm to be the neck
you fit inside a noose,
then spin me up a soul.

When you can define it -
and find it -
you let me know.

Until then, Mother-Father
fix your own malfunctions.

This universe
is your slaughterhouse.

I just work here....

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Get out of the cocoon of sadness 
or give me a kiss of leave
Get out from backstage of Saucy
or open your body theaters
Get out of the bowels of the dream 
or death in the slaughterhouse absence
Get out of my fingers …
Do you told me you are on the way to forty?
Get out now 
Get out of the poem!...

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the stearn bear
ate the bull
as meat unto idols
    (the idle mammals
              of mammon
         on fence road)
the bags of king Midas filled
 as offense rose
the comstock lode
                         dropped
bovines into stockyards
and the slaughterhouse rules
 (u.s.) Pavlovian fools...

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WOLF

Sheep just follow - never question why 
Straight into the slaughterhouse to die

Have in them not to become the sleuth
If one never questions what's the truth

SHEEP

Our understanding ignorance as to why 
Gives the pastures until it is time to die

Whereas you - always hunted, no deny
Rest not you under the unhallowed sky 

Indiana . . ....

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THE WORLD IS BLEEDING

I suspect no tourniquet will help it now
With the jugular of the world being cut
And a loss of blood as our time will allow
It needs rapid surgery, and nothing but
We are way beyond taking our final bow
The door to recovery is now slammed shut
As a scared cow at the slaughterhouse, it seems
Is redemption anywhere except our dreams
...

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© 2013 (Jim Sularz)

Let me muse a bit,
below the parapet.
And bask awhile,
in the sun and grit.

That I should kill,
or be killed instead?
Come my battle cry . . .
“Fix bayonets!”

. . . Dare I charge headlong,
beyond this pit?
Through war’s slaughterhouse,
past the blood and spit.

Do as I’m told,
without regret?
As I plunge over . . .
my epitaph....

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In the lobby of the courthouse
People’s demeanor
Are such a telltale
Casual and comfortable
The secretaries
Determined and debonair
The lawyers
Focused and unperturbed
The judges
And then the others
With scowls on their faces
Nervousness and concern
The weight of accusation
The slow ominous pace
Of being led directly
To the slaughterhouse



posted on July 16, 2019...

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comets strike terror
bombing  nations rapid fire...
a slaughterhouse roasts

spiked towers pierce  flesh…
drenched with  blood  of raw corpses
like clotheslines  on trees

from skies tainted black
grounds crumble into thin rust…
world in drained sandbag

then, God says enough
angels swoop to  tend remains…
guarding earth anew


..........     .         ..



Gail Doyle's Contest
End of the World Armageddon...

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the half drawn eyelid son grew weary
 under his lamp. 

 slumping next to the shade that drew
 his voice to a sigh.

 slight the long shadow and grieve a mother.
 

the less saught after second born 
son of abraham.

 slaughterhouse drunk son of a b
 dont turn to fast now or you might spin him.

 slow the hours of the day.

slower still now the second glance.

the frail hand on the wall permits a 
little stillness if only for a second....

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Johnny’s got an island
In the Surrey countryside
It isn’t very long 
And it isn’t very wide
It’s got a little duck house
There’s a tree upon the bank
And on a summers evening
You can smell the septic tank
The views are truly stunning
To the south, the railway track
The slaughterhouse on one side
And the gasworks at the back
But the most outstanding feature
Of this pleasant little ait
There’s no water to surround it
Well, not now at any rate...

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   Is man but a workhorse
      to be slowly ground to death

   To slice his limbs to ribbons
      on a slaughterhouse machine

   To breathe in sewer muck and mire
      or hurl on tractor-trailers never-ending tires       

   To toil in anonymity on a thankless assembly line
       or inhale the toxic fumes of an Appalachian coal mine… 

   Young man, learn a skilled trade or train for a profession 
       Life does not have to be misery and depression
...

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