Short Slaughterhouse Poems
Short Slaughterhouse Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Slaughterhouse by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Slaughterhouse by length and keyword.
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.
The soft zephyr hums
the carefree spirit of youth.
A calf ruminates
under the sun's gentle rays.
Tomorrow, the slaughterhouse.
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
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.
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!
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
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 . . .
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
© 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.
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
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
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.
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
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