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Kenneth Gray Jun 2
Writhing, wroth and seething anger.
From this fool arose the urge to strangle.
Fiery hatred burns forth like the breath of a dragon.
An all consuming wrath that overflows the flagon.
From this worthless, living man lies the issue.
As I choke the very life from his dying brain tissue.
From this mental fantasy I finally awake.
Taking a life - Ah! what a piece of cake!
I was on Facebook and saw a post where someone was challenging people to write a poem using the words dragon, strangle, cake and brain tissue. So I thought for a while and wrote a little bit. Then this is what I finally ended up with.
Ongoing
The pretty lady screams
**** ME NOW!!!
Putin’s bombs just murdered her baby
What life will the young mum have now?
In a shattered country war death hate killing
The ******* waited decades for this

And acted not caring the cost
Of Russia’s neighbouring nation
Plus thousands of dead Russian soldiers
Let the traumatised lady be an example
Of what it’s like to be in Putin’s war

Like the husband’s family also killed
By Putin’s mortar bombs while waiting
To flee their devastated homeland
Remember them all make him pay
For every single death and injury
And ruined town and city…
Clay Face Aug 2021
I’m sick of watching them squirm on the floor.
But it never ends, I always want more.
Once the feeling seeds,
it’s put on the list of needs.

Is it shameful?
Or is it natural?
I have a needle I can’t get rid of.
It refills itself after each use for free.

It’s plunger is pulled back so easily.
Anything over the course of the day.
Can fill it’s tube with lives.

Can’t help but push it forward.
Release.

It ends not so clean,
Because I am ****** Machine.
Robin Görtz May 2021
A pair of eyes collides
With one identical pair,
The first pair owner lowers
His head to bow as heir.
The second rises slowly,
Triumphant lifts his voice,
Commands, commands this brainless
Descendant of his choice.

But number One refuses
He negatively shrinks
And in the eyes of daddy
He stares and never blinks
A “NO” still echoes somewhere
The word becomes a sword
It riddles Second´s ticker
And One is without lord.

Pale but smiling number Two
Congratulates his son.
Reassuring number One
His loss means that he won.
Then Two drops dead
At least in part
And moves no inch of bone

One, alone, falls into pit.
Pit uncertainty.
One can´t think straight,
Brain so full that empty.
Two wore coat,
Two´s coat heavy.
One still wears it,
Legs are wobbly.

One
Take first own step
Alone
Mark Wanless May 2021
the wisdom of the
ages ugg killing something
with a big ol rock
Yemaya Apr 2021
Poppies grown rosy,
from my comrades souls.
Stained red with their own murderous goals.

Their life force ****** dry, and now it flows,
Into the soil through the meadows.

Crowns of lead bullets adorn many a 'hero's' head.
Many a crying widow and widower longing for the dead.

Young daughters and sons who stand on their fallen's bed.
This is where the everlasting hate is spread.
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