"behead" poems
A Muslim boy with a clock
Is seen as a terrorist with a glock
Maybe i'm right, maybe i'm wrong
But if he were White, Asian, Hispanic or even Pacific Islander
Nobody would of suspected anything.
When are we going to stop fearing an entire race for only a portion radical and illogical ways of treating others?
I don't tolerate people who behead others if they don't agree with their religion
I don't agree with the repressive governments that control everyone and stone them for minor misdemeanors
There are good men out there fighting this evil that has plagued their homelands
I'm all for ending terrorism of all kinds
But let's stop terrorism of innocents too
Sure, i'm afraid of what the radicals will do to their own people, my people and the rest of the world
But i'll be dammed if i treated somebody from the Middle East like a monster when i don't even know who they are
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern girl
The Syrians girls wouldn't have an improved education
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern man fending off the Taliban and risking his entire village to keep Marcus Littrell alive
He would of been KIA a long time ago.
What about the ones who fought and died for America?
Nobody ever mentions them
The media wants me to hate them all, but i laugh and shake my head
Warped minds trying to warp others
I only see the ones who want to do us harm, and the ones who want to live peacefully and away from a life of hell
Brothers and sisters, just a different culture and skin color
I'm sorry if America seems racist or hateful, but i'm proud to be the one who throws those two words in the trash
Because i'm not afraid to speak my mind
And i welcome everyone here
America is everyone's home.
If only the Soviet Union never invaded Afghanistan
If only the people were not scared
To be free like America.
Unity for all,
Religious differences and Cultures alike.
I hope one day a Muslim man or Woman can walk down an American street without being labeled as a terrorist.
I hope one day these repressive governments fall into the hands of democracy
And we start the Age of Unity again.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
I've been ****** over and left for dead what makes you think I can't rise up and lyrically behead at least you were honest and said that you genuinely didn't like me but **** you I tried to pursue you I put my pride to the side told you all my demons i contained inside now I have to excorsice my hell from this ****** hellion I'll burn your soul like Ether either you or that ashy **** that's been on your nuts since day one I slay son **** you and him he can have your drunk *** I've blasted on to bigger and better things than an anorexic ***** who only is honest when she's of the **** I glimpsed what could've been and you through it away it's too late now watch me make millions and you'll be the first call offering up ***** like it's on a dinner plate **** you **** you wasting people's time eating my heart like a sandwich you should've made me now you can eat these nuts oh wait you've already had enough dragged on your face maybe even had a few golden showers you little coward
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
The voice I hear is ruminating in my head,
that treacherous depart was wounded instead of behead.
How I long for this pain to leave akin the December sky,
this imminent glory was only dreamed about in disguise.
How persuasive the universe was to the story,
it did not project the upcoming fury.
Of a devious bequeath that upheld the tantrum,
the sky soared with anger until its utter collapse.
When a drop of water fell from the engorging sky;
it dropped thousands of miles beneath,
until it splattered like a human who couldn’t breathe.
This anger spread like a wildfire, infecting all those longed desires.
The heart of which pumped no more blood,
Became equivalent to a plant breathing through a frozen sun.
Nature believed there were no further storms,
until the quarrel beneath was profoundly explored.
Through the bodies sensation one could not ignore,
made the heartache of this man’s soul.
Oh why are humans so weak.
Must the sun anger the kindness soul,
For I had only hoped for evermore.
Was I a victim who loved no more?
Or an open heart waiting to explore?
This journey could not be real,
however, it became nurturing to one’s appeal.
The ignorance disguised as love evidently appeared,
as the devil danced around as one had feared.
Ambiguous to the commonality of faith,
that created an ambivalence that aroused distaste.
The traitor became her experience and ego her age,
I was in love with a spiritual woman of a certain year of age.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Holocaust Poem: "On The Slaughter"
by Chaim Nachman Bialik
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Merciful heavens, have pity on me!
If there is a God approachable by men
as yet I have not found him—
Pray for me!
For my heart is dead,
prayers languish upon my tongue;
my right hand has lost its strength
and my hope has wilted, undone.
How long? Oh, when will this nightmare end?
How long? Hangman, traitor,
here’s my neck—
rise up now, rise and slaughter!
Behead me like a dog—your arm controls the axe
and the whole world is a scaffold to me
although we—the chosen few—
were once recipients of the Pacts.
Executioner, my blood’s a paltry prize—
strike my skull and the blood of innocents will rain
drenching your pristine uniform again and again,
staining your raiment forever.
If there is Justice—quick, let her appear!
But after I’ve been blotted out, should she reveal her face,
let her false scales be overturned forever
and the heavens reek with the stench of her disgrace.
You too arrogant men, with your brutal injustice,
suckled on blood, unweaned of violence:
cursed be the warrior who cries "Vengeance!" on a maiden;
such cruelty was never contemplated, even by Satan.
Let innocents’ blood drench the abyss!
Let innocents’ blood seep down into the congealing darkness,
eat it away and undermine
earth's rotting foundations.
Al Hashechita ("On the Slaughter") was written by Chaim Nachman Bialik in response to the ****** Kishniev pogrom of 1903, which was instigated by agents of the Czar who wanted to divert social unrest and political anger from the Czar to the Jewish minority. The Hebrew word schechita (also transliterated shechita, shechitah, shekhitah, shehita) denotes the ritual kosher slaughtering of animals for food. The juxtapositioning of kosher slaughter with the slaughter of Jews makes the poem all the more powerful and ghastly. Such anti-Semitic incidents prompted a massive wave of Eastern European emigration that brought millions of Jews to the West. Unfortunately, there have been many similar slaughters in human history and the poem remains chillingly relevant to the more recent ones in Israel/Palestine, Rwanda, Bosnia and Kosovo. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, Bialik, translation, slaughter, massacre, God, prayer, executioner, hangman, blood, innocents, justice, false, scales, injustice
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 4:00 AM UTC
The things we say to one another:
we could
choose
to make them mean something.
I could tell you that I love you,
even though we've never
really met. You could
tell me that you're dying
and it scares you.
We could talk about the rise and fall
of injection-moulded empires,
the rise and fall of your
mother's chest, as she
took her last breath.
We could vow to behead tyrants together.
We could promise
that we'd never fall victim
to that same sickness. We could
compare our hurts and find a
connection
in our mutual pain. We
could try to share our loneliness,
and maybe the world
would be less lonely.
Or at least we could
speak,
like you're a person
and I'm a person, like we're both
made of the same
beautiful, doomed matter,
only separated
by social convention and
accidental skin;
we could say something worth saying.
Instead: plastic bag tax, The Match,
weight loss and where to buy
the best factory-seconds shoes,
the televised finals of something or other,
the rising cost of corned beef, the
obligatory conversation piece
about the weather.
Can't we talk
just a little bit
bigger than this?
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
As I sauntered on banks of Yamuna at night.
I saw a man old, bent, with stick in dhoti white.
Tardily, step by step as he came nearer to me.
With joy I smiled as our own beloved Bapu was he.
With tears in my eyes I asked, ' Bapu you are still alive! ,
those three bullets holed your chest, how did you survive?
What happened to you? Where were you all these days?
What you ate? How you lived? Now where do you stay?
Condition of your beloved land is deteriorating day by day.
Countrymen have left your path, they have gone astray.
Your image, your killers are trying to malign and degrade.
Berating your ways, encouraging means which you forbade.
Hitler's advocates on chariots are traversing Nation's length.
Day by day Fascism is gaining ground , gaining strength.
Disguised as followers of Sri Ram, deeds of Ravan they do.
Riots and killings are frequent, women and minors are targeted too.
Terrorism nourishing on terrorism, cruelty at its worst.
Targeting anyone, anywhere, time and again bombs burst.
Once a land of peace, land of sufism, land of saints,
now ****** Innocent souls being killed without restraint.
Regionalism is being encouraged and taking roots.
Unity of the Nation selfish politicians reduce and dilute.
Corruption is increasing everywhere and in all spheres
Even highest office of respect could not keep itself clear '
Passing his hand over my head he smiled and said '
I am just a spirit, long ago my weak body was dead.
Daily with expectation I rise and daily with despair I die
Daily my hope is shattered and daily with grief I sigh
They may have killed me but now I live in numerous hearts
They may write me down in history yet my message will dart.
See this flag, colour saffron is dear to me, colour green I love.
between them is colour white, colour of peace, colour of dove.
Nation divided in three hurts me more than bullets three
From casteism and regionlism country should be free.
Communalism should not be allowed to raise its ugly head.
With sword of constitution Fascism we need to behead '
Three sound disturbed the calm, beloved Bapu fell on the ground
I went to help but Bapu vanished with words 'Hey Ram' echoing around
Determined that this time his innocent blood will not go waste.
I collected his non-violent blood in my pen like ink with haste.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
carrying Kalashnikovs on their backs,
the rebel mules have panic in their eyes
and resting at the back?
fear filled pupils that dilate
with every corpse seen vacating itself
of tissue and blood,
smell the perfume of gun barrels
and those lonely enough to be culled,
picked off by a trained eye
and a government lie and
a man laid down in an apartment block out of sight up high.
civilian fathers laying spread on the back of a flatbed,
cinderblock walls that offer no protection but that of protecting the dead,
sharpen another knife for another internet viral video of another guy without a head
and finally, cat walk model rebels wearing beaded shrapnel necklaces, gorgeous and chrome red.
and they’ll try give them away around,
a daily sound of the everyday
so they can have a price that they can pay
for the ordinary,
for the sane,
for America’s definition of the lame.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 12:44 PM UTC
not forgetting flames me up
like a foam of whispers
bursts into with laconic daring
over darkened waters
your name hangs unwritten
I rolled over on a rib
but it's useless
how long am I going to ferment you in my armpit
with your fragile ****** smile?
chase me away like the passersby do
with the meaning of travelling
I was not and you were not
you were not in my dying
we were only a laden pool of sunlight
I didn't find any solution
than to behead the days
these thin days unraveled from myself
from the bone of the world peeled of magic
the art of forgetting is for those
who sleep on pillows
such a long, long road
I've been travelling to a destination
obliterated by pain
to this gravitational center, to this place
with no hiding space
only mute seagulls
have seen my screaming
I've cursed myself on pages,
diaries of gory hours
I've cupped myself in belated answers,
dancing tears
more than eyes can meet
while I was forgetting nothing about everything
the world revolved once, twice, a dozen of times
you were learning to dissipate your name
to waste it on the lapel of not yet discovered seas
in the silence of leaves
now I know this calmness,
this tenderness of dying
I could write this unthreatening poem
today, tomorrow
till forever finds some peace
perhaps
some forgetting
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
can't imagine it ranks high up
on any list of any deity,
*** and God ******
probably don't make the cut,
on a relative basis,
but ya never know...
looked around,
couldn't be found
any mention of who he roots for,
or if it's ok to ask for intervention
**but
if you ******
if you behead...
claiming with perfect
human vanity
his name as your own
for justification
in ignoring
Thou Shall Not ****
know this
you're a commandment breaker,
having taken god's name in vain,
vain like vanity,
the sin unique to only humans
we cannot divine the divine,
sure wish it was my NY Giants
were today bowl-occupied,
why he chooses me to suffer
someday will surely be explained
or not
but you murderers,
easy rest assured,
taking his name in vain,
you won't be forgotten,
cause and effect
spelled out clearly**
“the LORD will not hold him guiltless
who takes his name in vain”
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:51 PM UTC
I'll let go of this pencil
that continues to draw this
head filled with imagination
"behead me,"
and bring the endless ache of being
an insufficient being;
in this ideal world
'filled with feelings, pens & paint,'
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 1:01 AM UTC
Click clack POW POW there goes my gun
Second chances going out for some
***** doesn't mean that you'll be one
I'll slice your neck
Rip your *********** heart right out of your chest
****** you with my glock and behead the rest
Smash your head
Don't give a **** if your alive or dead
Smash till the *********** walls are soaked in ****** red
See your brain
Makes me lose it and I go insane
Now I see the world pouring blood as rain
Tie her up
Cut between her titts then down and out goes her guts
I'm a crazy *********** I don't give a ****
Hammer straight to your face
Make your ****** soul levitate
***** now you in a better place
Cut my wrist
Deep inside and I give it a twist
Feeling weak now im relaxing my fist
Man I wish my mom would of killed me during pregnancy
Now God gots me on this earth tryna start a new legacy
But I feel im the only one and its stressing me
Click Clack POW bullet through my head
Now that im dead
You cry and think of the things you could of said.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
Not just the tumult, even silence may beat tonight
Each syllable of rhythm may get defeat tonight
When words become futile to express the sorrow
For God sake—tell me—what shall I repeat tonight
And somewhere in deserts of Iraq—Shimr yelled
"I will behead Husayn, if he didn't retreat tonight"
F, N and few more have stormed the love treasure
These are the men who don't look neat tonight
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
Grown my beard long enough,
time, now, to
announce to the world,
the demands of the new Caliph:
First a rider on raiment -
of black be your fashion.
Then, in the name of the Lord
the most merciful,
We demand razors!
Yeah we need more of them -
for shaving our underarms
and other sacred duties outlined below.
We demand brides!
We can knock at your censured
doors at night:
for faithful brides and
infidel ****** for pleasure.
In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Madam, may I ask,
is your modesty circumcised?
In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Can we have more watches please?
But mannequins, they must be covered.
And when we huddle the infidels
in trenches or behead your sons
please, we do so in but peace!
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
when i am king
you will be strange
and my better angels will laugh
at me, but i will behead
the little piggies.
too gorgeous
to be besmirched
i will unearth your drama
and disown you.
i'll throw flying carpets
at mundane rugs
and shrug an Atlus
at Promethean
worlds
where
i have disfigured
the swan and the mallard
but not the lake.
taking care
to give you nothing
but the very best nothing
my Karma
can mock
and a dime for
your trouble
and be
gone.
for a price.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
I have no clue what Krshna taught Arjuna
but I like the name Atman a lot.
Atman. Atman. Where a man is at.
At all times. No matter what.
Gita, get in the action, gorgeous girl,
god is the answer, keep the meter.
Wisdom, none.
What Krshna tells Arjuna makes no sense.
I prefer mathematics.
Knowledge of how things are made and done
more than meditation on the Self
as a manifestation of the One.
I’ll never have to leave this comfortable planet.
We have this asset but can we sell it?
In Paradise Lost, Satan executes his plan
but God already knows all about it.
Still, whether it succeeds or fails is up to Man.
Same here, when it comes to nuclear armaments,
a distraction from the work of making life permanent.
It is all premised on the mystery
of invisible but sentient particles—
little Krshnas and Kachinas
nesting inside one another.
Meanwhile life goes on outside all around you—
WWII, the Napoleonic wars,
the Civil War which we’re still fighting.
Krshna says behead your brothers
without prejudice or justice.
So it transpires in the nuclear fire.
Whatever forever.
The poem has gone to glitten.
Teacher, teacher—tiger!
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 9:08 AM UTC
I **** people with the knife of fear without hesitation
In their world, its just another day of hallucination
Churning out muck from the milk of the bodies of the dead
Seeing them die with agony in hell's own bed
The pleasure I receive,the relief that I get
From the ****** bodies that I behead
The terror that grips them day and night
I never miss it out of my sight
The web of commonness to which they stick to
I give them a new world of pain to go through
I, the doctor of the dead and devil of hope
I give their demented souls a boat of peace to row
The darkness that lurks around and the silence that prolongs
That is the only thing they see and in their ears that echoes around
I slash them with the sword of anguishness
I help their suffered souls to attain true tranquilness
I relieve them from the trance they live in
From the decayed mind with which they from heaven ship in
I see the agitated bodies lying in my hands
Whom I bury with the shovel of hatred into the blood stained sands
The ethereal hearts,in my hands I take them
I shred them out and give the dogs to feed them
I live to see them get killed
And with a sigh, I pray to the God of Hell and dream of someone someday devouring upon my dead body's filth.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
Recep Tayip Erdogan though Turkish to the core
Has loathing in his Turkish heart, ferocity and more
For the secular insanity’s of Bashar Al Assad
Determines chaos at his border with warring Syria is bad.
With incursions by the Kurdish to the ISIS foe at hand
And the umbrage taken by the Kurds at Turkey’s open border stand,
Where ISIS can permeate both back and forth at will
Allowing freedom for Jihadists, now, to raid, behead and ****
Europe visualize this menace at their doorstep as a threat
But Turkey, playing both sides, leaves NATO, now side stepped.
Where our friends become our enemies and enemies our friends.
In this Middle East miasma ..... confusion never ends.
M.
27 June 2015
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Where are you, O valiant knight,
riding on your quest?
Capturing your deadly foe,
your metal for to test...
O'r the mountains lies the dragon,
secure within its lair.
It's gloating over victory...
it ate the maiden fair!
And so you mount your steed,
silver glinting from your spurs,
sally off to slay it...
avenge the death of her!
Oh! Is not this dragon beautiful?
Yes! An AWESOME prize!
With crystal wings and citron scales
and sapphires for eyes!
Emeralds on its sloping breast
rubies are its claws
fangs of alabaster
line it's fiery maw...
Perfumed incense, spicy smoke,
from its mouth a butane flame...
Once you've tried the dragon once
it is hell to tame!
Have you your armor fast secured?
Does the visor block your view?
You may chase the dragon
or it could be chasing YOU.
When will you turn and rend it?
Tear the ***** APART?*
Strap your lance to your steed
and pierce it to its HEART?
Now, if you are victorious
you still must have a care...
for its blood is virulent
that cup you must not share!
You could quick behead it.
Mount it on your wall.
But it could poison you instead...
my! *How the mighty fall!*
So ride off in the sunset.
Leave the dragon where it fell.
It will slowly rust away...
*and blow back into HELL*.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/19/2015
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
Am A Pitter Patter *** Head,
A Jibber Jabber, Purebred, Med Head.
A Drop Dead Disgraceful, Well Read Ned
With A Bed Head.
Behead The British Boredom,
Vanquish The Evil Before It Tells Them Who Told'em.
Simon Says, Simon takes, Cause It Was Simon Who Sold'em
The Fear, That Fear, This Fear That Holds'em.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
wouldn't the world be dull and louse,
without painted nails,skirts and blouse,
with delicate limbs,gestures demure,
how well do they us allure!
kohl-lined sparkling eye,
long tresses in henna dye,
melodious voice and tinkling toe,
without a sword behead their foe.
from Cleopatra to Helen unchallenged they rule,
taming brave warriors into innocent mules,
fair hand that cradle rock,
cruelly punish and shock,
its true that in our heart they lie,
but they are more than just.....'feast for the eye'
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
I stagger cold through the halls of my indoctrination.
I do not wish to be seen.
A thousand ******* eye's gawk silent from there checker pattern perches
and my chains and prizes jingle
and attract stares
with each bounding step.
I can no longer stand my hours in this house of heresy.
Loose lipped **** lovers
spill secrets over bile chowder
chuckling about a days delicacies
and social secrets.
Second rate at best,
they all know there lover boy on the Hollister bag
probably takes it in the *** more than the average ***
and still they swoon blind batty eyed at the queens that prance the halls.
I am unamused
Feel abused
giving out my finest hobby to any takers.
I'm being used.
How am i supposed to taste my death sweet and smokey at this rate.
Like some fluff tailed hair
I hustle off with my ticking life in toe
the numbers at my waste spell ruin.
I'm late.
I'm late.
If only I had some red haired queen of hearts
to behead me.
A better fate.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
From formative years
To adulthood serfs-baited
Servants ill-treated
From their means
Of existence alienated,
It is with hatred
From- serfdom- of- every-kind
-the- newly -unshackled heads'
Formatted!
Though their much-lamented land
Has come back to their hand
Tardy,their mind proves not free,
That is why they engage
In a killing spree!
Worse still death to all, allies
Inclusive,they decree!
Although it sounds funny
They pay back gal
For received honey!
Also to cultural norms
And religious ideals blind,
Atavistic they slay
A woman and a child
In a way that is wild.
Oblivious for 9-months
They had a lodging
In a mother's womb
They want to blast it
With a bomb!
They want to shove in it
A spherical thorny wood
As far as they could.
Alive,they grill a man,
For idle or unskilled what
They can't do, he can!
In the name of God
Or religious sects,
Replete at this
Satan-released age,
They behead a man
Made in God's image!///
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
Someday, I won't remember
Any of you at all
You will fade from my mind
And move past my past
Dissolve into black like
The end of so many movies.
Turn like the blank pages
Before new chapters, new books
Get lost in space
Like balloons set free.
I won't remember
The heat of our bodies
As they burned through our clothes
In fiery passion,
Infatuation of the flesh.
The rough urgency of your lips
Against mine,
As they forced entrance to the
Savage dancing of tongues.
The letters of your names will blur
And jumble
Worse than a three-year old singing his
ABC's and Elemeno-P's
And the images of your faces
Will get washed down the drain
As I rub you off my skin
With soap and hot water.
You are immortal as long as you are remembered
So sorry, guys, but the time has come
For the shiny blade of the guillotine to fall
And behead your existence
From my oh-so-sacred
And once so pure
Memory and
Mind.
May you rest in forgotten peace.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
I wake in a rage!
A poacher has dared step foot in this,
my City. It is just not done.
The fool.
I will....extract....him tonight.
Are we that many, that we cannot stay at home?
He may be a rogue. If he is, all the better.
They tend to put up a fight.
I will toy with him. This rogue. This interloper.
Give him a small chance.
In the end I will **** him of course.
I will simply behead him.
Not such a hard task. But it is rather grisly.
Oh well. Off I go.
Now, just what does one wear to a messy beheading?
~Lord Kellington
This is the second installment from the Diary of Lord Kellington
and my Halloween offering for Oct. 14th
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC