Slaughtering Poems | Examples

PONDERING LABORING DAYS AHEAD

PONDERING LABORING DAYS AHEAD

In the laboring days ahead,
Dawning with continuous trials,
And subsequent tribulations,
Let’s not be like sheep
In a slaughtering pen;
Rather, let’s be as lambs
In the garden of God:- 

Armed with faith and hope,
And God’s divine guidance,
Let us, as the Psalms remind us,
Journey onwards to overcoming:
“Defending truth, humility, and justice”:-
For indeed, our God is a God of justice;
Justice indeed, being, “His royal scepter.”

Thus, as Summer is waning,
And leave falling Fall preludes 
The vicious coming of Winter,
Let us realize resurrecting Spring
Will likewise return with healing grace:-
Thus, let us continue in our resurrecting
Labors of love, sowing reaping justice:-

I Wonder

"mOnce I sat down
With all my frustrations,
With the desperation to murder each inhibition living
nowhere but within me,
It would have been nice if I had a knife
However, weapons weren't lethal enough to put the
inhibitions down.

Sitting there, wanting to cause harm to these demons,
My eyes fell on a thin white sheet of plant fibre,
Along with it was a innocuous object, that’s what I
thought.
Picking these objects with no expectations at all, I
poured all of myself into the sheet through this object
of different shades,
To my surprise, it frightened all the demons or
probably tranquilized them.
That was the time I sat, With all my frustrations
And Found something to control them with,
to frighten them with.
I guess I had a shield now.

Again, I am sitting, With some of my frustrations.
With the desperation to murder the rest of inhibitions,
Perhaps I enjoyed slaughtering these demons with
something so ordinary,
But I wonder if I have over-exploited the only guard I
had.
Or my womb of ideas has gotten barren.
Now, I am as clueless as before. Did it change
anything at all?
I wonder and I wonder and I wonder."

Rose-Coloured Glasses

The calamity of the world,
The cries of hunger ring so loud,
The wars slaughtering so many—
My rose-coloured glasses I wear.

Wildfires keep burning so brightly,
Lives destroyed all in one big sweep.
Families weeping and searching—
My rose-coloured glasses I wear.

The greed of money knows no end,
Men with egos at the table,
Denouncing the name of the Lord—
My rose-coloured glasses I wear.

Hate has more power than love now,
An eye for an eye, so deadly.
Living hell on earth, so I grab
My rose-coloured glasses I wear.

Blood On Your Hands

Killing women and children
Is absolutely unacceptable
Executing sick and old men
Is obviously low and despicable.

You can make countless speeches
You can invent endless excuses
Slaughtering so many is genocidal
Hurting so many can never be justifiable.

The world is now less peaceful and civilized
A cease fire is long overdue and warranted
This is barbaric; too many leaders are demented.

When will decency and humility be exercised?
Lies won’t fly, because they have no visible wings
This is horrific; too many have blood on their hands.

Copyright © July 2024, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.

Virtual Wasteland

Behind a screen, they hid their faces…
Cruelty unleashed, leaving internal damage,
They sneered as she crumbled, a spectacle for them, 
Their laughter echoed, as her world began to fall. 


Anonymously, they hid behind the pixels, 
A poison ring, horrifying scene indeed.
“She deserved it, I hope she’s dead”
Are we not allowed to make mistakes?
Her soul, once vibrant, now withered and gray, 
Consumed by the darkness, fading into oblivion.


The bottomless pit, a soul-slaughtering house, 
Where werewolves wandered, devouring her innocence. 
Their words, like arsenic slowly dissolving inside her, 
An unending torture, deep wounds left bare.


In the virtual white room, her cries ignored, 
Nonstop nightmares, her fate slowly being written.
The poor girl withered, an angel losing her wings,
As the darkness smothered her, sealing her tomb.


Their barbarism, a barrage of bullets fired,
Unleashed on a soul, a life they did end. 
Their cowardice exposed, a truth they can't defend. 
In the depths of hell, judgement awaits, 
A punishment for their actions, forever burning.

Desperate Hope

In Old Testament times,
it was common practice by
some religions to offer their
babies to their idol gods.

Although they failed to heed
God's commands, Israel also
practiced this heathen ritual.

Even so, when King Herod ordered the
slaughtering of babies in Bethlehem,
it was his HOPE, a DESPERATE one no less,
that his kingdom would not be overthrown
by Jesus. Moreover, his 'over-the-top' display
of wickedness and massive exercise of cruelty
were no match to halt the inevitable gift of God
to the world.

Herod's kingdom, built on selfishness and
embraced in wickedness, would prove futile
in its brutality. God was introducing 'A New HOPE'
DESPERATELY desired in a world ruled by tyrants.

From Californians to Carolinians

   Twenty-four hostages by Hamas released today
     None of them American, is that OK?

   Latest AWRAD poll shows 96% of Palestinians
     against Americans, from Californians to Carolinians

   Think that slaughtering Israelis is their 'final' solution?
     ~ Murdering Americans is their sworn resolution



   ___________________________________________
   AWRAD = Arab World Research and Development, an 
   independent public opinion research firm, based in the
   Palestinian territories

Elder-Less Earth

Never thought I'd live long enough to see a holocaust.
A holy slip of land whittled into a divining rod for carnage and death.
The footsteps of Jesus filling with blood and moral decay.
Perfect words lost in the throat of scorched earth days.

If the elders weren't busy  
{slaughtering each other gleefully}.
Their children would be playing hide and seek, amongst the olive trees.
There would be instantaneous peace...for the first time in history.
No more boots on the ground or purge in the air... 
Only the sound of merry, going round and round without a care.

Dream

Now you are silence
Wild your horses
remove the bridle
and see
eternity will be born out of you
 
you would know
time is a slaughtering knife
fight this enemy with a scythe
silence the storms
the lightning nights
 
Come to me
my queen
I am the inmate of your secrets
 
The words are yet to come.

Gwyneth and Healthpal

Gwyneth the dragon raiser dreamt of slaughtering enemies in an easy way
She shared this with one squire, who created armor that fit her back sway
Healthpal her favorite dragon offered to accompany his trainer to the front.
he could read her mind, and with him, she would not get scared or want.

set out at daybreak the minute her armor was finished, sandwiches in hand.
Enemies were everywherel Healthpal’s fire would fix any loose in a band.
Her father watched them go and sent avid prayers to her mother.
she was being followed covertly by her cousin and older brother.

battle of Armisttooth was in full swing when they reached their destination.
Gwyneth took her place in the fight, and Healthpal showed them his station.
They annihilated much of the enemy’s troops, and soon had them on the run.
Oh my gosh! Said her brother and cousin “This was all kinds of fun!”

Gwyneth was upset, thinking they did not think she could handle herself.
She was not a porcelain doll or a china teapot to be put high up on a shelf.
We just came to watch, they said. Are you ready to go to the new front?
They worked together next time, chasing the enemy home to Van Brunt.

Assault Weapons Are For War

Why this inhumane suffering
A constant tale of slaughtering
Innocents who die
Forever in the earth to lie.

Do we need to see far more
All that suffering and gore
Lives of children cut so short
Simple targets used for sport.

Voices shout that guns don't kill
But every day the headlines shrill
Another victim and far more
So many names we can't keep score.

Assault weapons are for war
Inflicting wounds that burst with gore
When will we all say 'enough'
A word too many find so tough.

If there's one thing we need to grasp
The burning question we must ask
Is our indifference complicit
With so much misery explicit.

While we posture and debate
Lifeless bodies lie prostrate
Have they truly died in vain
For a freedom quite insane?

Mans Laughter

why is slaughtering a man ~ viewed a lesser crime than murdering one 

  and why man decides to put an s in front of laughter ~ just kills me


By
David Kavanagh

Animals For Food

Had Nazi Germany's holocaust victims,
been forced to endure the same kind of suffering,
that is inflicted upon animals for food from birth until slaughtering,
generation after generation, after generation, after generation,
Nazi Germany's holocaust today would be one hundred times more disturbing.

Good Friday

Event that happened long ago,
The departure of a rainbow;
Because it had adorned the sky,
More than anyone could comply...!

He was pigeon among eagles,
Many played the roles of seagulls; 
His preaching pricked their hardened sculls,
They soon turned like pins and needles...!

A deer have a say before lions?
A lamb standing in defiance?
In a land known for tit-for-tat,
Who would dare to bell the hate cat?

By slaughtering the lamb they thought: 
Good lesson to rebels is taught;
Though the lamb went through much blood-shed,
No fur of his glory got shred...!

This is, hence, Good Friday is good,
Goodness embraced the cursed wood;
Empires and kingdoms give away,
Their pride before Holy Cross Way...!

Good Friday is, yet, not an act,
That got ended like a war-pact;
Crucifixion is daily fact,
You and I merrily enact...!

12 April 2022

The Monster

my minds constantly running from a beast with no chance of escape, 
no escaping this beast, he’s already started his feast, chipping away at my resilience, slaughtering my hope, introducing me to negative ways to cope, it’s only a scratch he’ll say it’ll make all your pain go away, in some sense i guess it does, i’m just glad my body’s tough, i don’t do it because i want to die, something about it is keeping me alive, it feeds the monster without hurting my brain, so i’d do it again and again, i’d do anything to lock him out, because i’m so sick of this constant burn out, no time for you to eat, the monsters already eaten, you should know this because you’ve already been beaten, not by family or anyone else, but by your self. the monsters real he’s making me do it, oh how therapists love to consume it, i sit there crying in counselling room, telling them how my monster is building my tomb, a slight squint as the pen scratches the paper, i already know the next question is are you in danger, quick save your self before they think you’re crazy, thank you for your help i’m just being a big baby.

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