"cannibals" poems
Whatever you do, keep smiling.
Be nice to everyone and stand up for your rights.
There are many paths to the top of the mountain
but few of them are on the map.
Keep running, never give up,
and watch out for the seriously weird.
Avoid psychopaths, if you can recognize them,
be polite to witches and warlocks, eschew cannibals,
beware of the hippopotamus in heat,
don’t drink the second bottle when dancing the Funky Chicken,
and only massage someone without
pimples or hairy legs.
Never give up and keep smiling.
It's a hard life, it's a beautiful world, life's a *****
it's great to be alive, life is nasty, brutish and short,
don’t give up and keep smiling.
Everyone is a guru but ignorance is everywhere,
and don't mix hallucinogens with depressants.
If someone tells you that they're honest,
treat them with the greatest suspicion.
Live to the limits, we're only alive once,
and that's just as well, because
imagine if people you didn't like were immortal.
Keep smiling, never give up,
always hawk to windward,
and never leave your underpants or ******* behind.
Everyone's equal but only the strong survive,
especially when they take from the weak
because what you seize is what you get.
The meek shall inherit the earth,
but the earth that they inherit will be of
poor quality with no mineral deposits.
Party lots, work hard, never give up, and keep smiling.
Don't work so hard you don't enjoy yourself,
remember that the bird is on the wing,
then it falls off its perch and becomes
a miserable pile of feathers and feet.
The fast lane is the best lane
but it's very smooth and slippery
and there are no road rules.
Watch out for lawyers. Seriously.
They put the devil in the details
while their hand is in your wallet.
Everything comes to you if only you can wait,
but this takes too long.
Clean your teeth, obey authority,
except for arrogant ********
and don't forget that love and pleasure are
most important, despite what anybody else says.
When you panic, other people will panic,
which is good, because
in this confusion, you can make your escape.
Mike T Minehan
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 9:14 PM UTC
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern, be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen
they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls? do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?
my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 23, 2018
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
Half eaten corpses
and the monster's
still hungry.
High, as well.
Cast down,
to the brim-stoned
side of mind.
Hannibal's House Of Cannibals
are out, for a night on the town.
An all you can eat
pedestrian buffet.
Is just a
munch-munch-munch
away.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 3:25 AM UTC
Hey there Delilah,
What's it like in your ******
I'm a thousand miles away,
But girl, I smell that **** from China.
Yes, I can.
I've got a nice white mini-van,
Lemme tie them hands.
Hey there Delilah,
Don't you worry about the distance,
I will be there in a jiffy,
Give this song another listen,
I'm by your side,
I came fast and now I'll slap your thighs,
And cover your eyes.
Oh, you've got some nice tiddies.
Oh, I'll give you STD's.
Oh, I'll tie you to a tree.
Oh, I'll **** you till' you bleed.
**** you till' you bleed.
Hey there Delilah,
You know my **** is getting hard,
But just believe me, girl
Someday I'll let you out of this here car,
We'll have it good,
I'll have your life, you'll have my wood,
Just like you should.
Hey there Delilah,
I've got so much **** to say,
Why write you ten thousand songs,
When I could rub your **** all day,
I'd rub it hard,
From house, to school, to pool, to plane, to yard,
I'll leave some scars.
Oh, you've got some nice tiddies.
Oh, I'll give you STD's.
Oh, I'll tie you to a tree.
Oh, I'll **** you till' you bleed.
**** you till' you bleed.
I wish upon a summer star,
****** strings for my guitar,
I think that's gross so I must be gay,
My friends will all make fun of you,
Degrading lies like, "You're a Jew",
You'll try to run but I will make you stay,
Delilah, I can promise you,
That one and one always makes two,
And two people create the greatest games,
Great ***** games!
Hey there Delilah,
You be good, and don't you diss me,
Cause, you're the sub and I'm the dom,
And you will be history if you do,
You'll end up in some cannibal stew,
The liver to swallow and the skin to chew,
Doing like cannibals do,
Like cannibals do.
Oh, you've got some nice tiddies.
Oh, I'll give you STD's.
Oh, I'll tie you to a tree.
Oh, I'll **** you till' you bleed.
**** you till' you bleed.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
palace of lights caved
blooms through the body
like reality pitted against a comic book
not knowing where life came from
not knowing how it will end
food tubes or road ****
is creation substance-less?
24 carat nonsense,
or pure wisdom?
perhaps bad therapy
for lab animals
and store front dummies
monkeys shudder at needles
unless candied with a heroine syringe
chemistry a science of belligerence and euphoria
pleasure before despair
and than a sea of pain
and a ****
impaling her
the lushly contoured female
a frictionless exchange of power
for ******* ecstatic death
as her eyes bob and flutter
like cascading echo's
my birth tarot card
**** of swords
her favorite when I push through her
like blood bubble gum
b l o o d b u b b a b u b b le g u m
a **** cathedral of lights flicker spit
guttural diphthong
like a vipers castanets
uterine fire bursts like an appendix bomb
her **** a zoo
c u n t z o o
i am peanuts worms and hay
her face a mask to hide behind
breath play
sibilant ****
specter or nightmares
shadows and villains aphrodiac
gagged and drugged
hot ***** bound
a big eyed ****
s l u t l o v e
*** cannibals turn me on
her ****** a goddess
a Russian roulette
for shtttty kisses
sploosh
she shot me
cuckoo spit
k o cuck k o k o o
twizzles willie milk
in a drowning
moss draped moon orifice
under a shattered zodiac
wrapped in tentacles of night
she turns me on
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
tues.
exhausted piano teeth mozart pere
gnashing slashing sound barrier
stretching zoology beyond the bird
cannibals in the a-z azimuth
weds.
mirage of red awnings all-night resort
cannibals in the azimuth stairwell décor
thurs.
cold as leprosy embraced
yet somehow curled
fri.
frail departure voice to ****
height hair duck drake
cold as geology young rocks flame
(hidden within the blink of eye)
4.9k
From one lunatic to another
One poet to his friend
We said we should go sailing
Ended up sinking in the end
They said that we were mad
And maybe they had spoke the truth
But the way in which they put it
Was so terribly uncouth
So we left them on the shoreline
Waving backwards with relief
We would ride the incandescent waves
So set in our beliefs
That we would reach the other side
We would become the pioneers
We would find the favoured winds
Across that ocean of our fears
We put out of the harbour
Put our faith into The Boat
We paddled with our hands
And handed our trust to The Boat
But now we’re shipwrecked on a coastline
Full of cannibals and rats
We wanted to put a dent in history
But we’ve barely made a scratch
We went exploring on the island
This unfamiliar place
Got lost in a simple jungle
Brushed away the green disgrace
We found a village of the natives
But we had to pass them by
We wouldn’t sell our heads for hunting
We’d rather run away than die
We found an orchard in the mountains
On a fragrant afternoon
But the fruit it was forbidden
Now we’re servants for the moon
We left home making sense
But just found madness on The Boat
We sailed after our dreams
But just found nightmares on The Boat
They say it’s an affliction
When the moon is shining bright
But to me it’s an addiction
And a goddess given right
To wear left handed trousers
And be gracious in defeat
They think we’re being honest
And we are: that’s our deceit
We wander in the meadows
Softly howling at the sky
We tie ourselves to trees
So we can safely learn to fly
I’d say that I’m a better man
Than I ever was before
But I’m still here on the wrong side
Of that ol’ asylum door
We came here wanting answers
Left our questions on The Boat
We came home with the tide
But left our senses on The Boat
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
Asylum
In the madhouse
on beds of daggers
we slept like crickets
chirping to ourselves
while they tried their best
to make us cannibals.
The nuns were worse than
lawyers, praying like accordions,
tracking their sins into our soft
wax skulls, wheezing like roosters
when one of us cried, laying the greasy ribs
of Jesus on our plates.
They kept you behind
door number six. I'd go to you
with a stolen key, when the noon
smelled bright as carnations,
when the nights were
more purple than the jacarandas.
You spoke of your father
dead of snakebite,
a clockwork marvel with
his million-dollar suit of skin,
of your mother
with the viper between her lips.
I remember your kiss
astringent with reason
as bitter lemons, and the way
your hair blew back from
your dog-brown eyes like poisonous
smoke from the oleanders.
I thought these things
as beautiful as angels
whispering in the dahlias
when I was lost in the asylum,
when the doctors did all they could
to see that we ate each other
down to the bone.
April 2022
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC
It goes without say
marrying into a family of cannibals
is not a good idea
your first argument as a couple
might not go so well
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 9:13 PM UTC
Under alcohol umbrellas
We'll seek shelter from the snow
This street is icing over
Sliding sleet beneath our toes.
This place keeps getting colder,
They predicted our bad luck
But the globe is growing warmer
Choke me down, I'll get choked up.
It's like Wharton is your neighbor
And McCarthy shares her bed--
We've got plenty Pretty Horses
But no Room, here, for Old Men
Tickers spit out headlines
Half of us can't even read.
But the other half's no better,
We're cannibals eating dreams.
So you'll keep your smoke and mirrors.
And, reflecting, stifle coughs.
Operate under assumptions:
Overrated's good enough.
But I'm taking bets, suggestions,
And donations, West to East.
So, from minor indiscretions,
I might try to beg release.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC
You, Me and the Pink Panther
Also the Mouse in the nest
Eating rubber ***** and drinking chlorine.
Write your Message on the water
And the Moon will tell me
Or let the gravity show me.
The music is tired,
It wants to rest on a glacier
The Perfume is stinking
And the Ink is dying a sad death
Beauty is only history
and time is a mere thought
French is 7=6
And We are floating in a space YET TO BE FOUND
Darkness is made up of too much light
Feelings are Mad Cats now
Now Blood is not Holy
Mistakes are Teachers
And the Computers are tired
They Need a Saridon
Faith now doubts its existence
Leisure can't find time
Colors mean an ugly shade
And Freedom is within narrow confines
Right is now measured by the Wrong
Tears have no place to fall
Words have NO MEANING AT ALL
SENSITIVITY is 'the' disease of Heart
Where Life means a tiring Break
And another child is blessed with Life of Pain
All Undefined shall now die
Motives are the modern vowels
The Crowd is lonely
The World has got pimples
Girls have become Pungent
And Conscious is in Coma
Life crawls under the shadow of past
And Hope for the Future
No One Lives for Today
Mushrooms and cannibals have become Friends
Selling Potato & Mutton Soup
All Needles are telling a lie
The Evil has got Hemophilia
Pride is at the mercy of Shame
Depth is triflingly shallow
The unsaid is still waiting to be heard
While the Expression is feeling Stifled
Blind is the Sight
Dreams are no longer fantasy long
And Deceit is the Common Salt
Happiness is rocking against Triangles
Now Headaches can be tasted
And Sorrows have a Flavor
Money is Dumb, Dumb, Dumb
Love will be born only after death
Only the Weeds on the Graves are Thinking
Chocolates are biting the children
The Heat is turning White
Crosses have become circles
The Roads seem to have lost their way
The Rat-Racers are wandering in the Labyrinth
Its Only Exit being Locked
Silence is beginning to make Noise
And the Earth is planning a Rescue from Humans
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
so what, they're slobs, but at least they're not cannibals... then again, maybe they are too, although i haven't seen it... then again i only write within an empirical disciplination... and i have seen these pecking cannibals... maybe it's an innate feature in all animals, then again these chickens were domesticated, there was no shortage of food, then again maybe it's some version of a religious tendency: translated directly into christianity... poetic cannibalism is not exactly my choice of events that follow a book written by kant; after seeing those chickens cannibalise that head of the sacrificed hen, and sipping the blood, while the head was still agitated into movement by the oozing out of electric currents... you know... i still managed to eat that chicken broth.
i don't understand this critique of pigs...
i have relatives living in the countryside...
and i was once upon a time engaged
in catching a chicken,
and upon the stump of wood
her head was chopped off...
why complain about pigs being "filthy"
when chickens behave like cannibals,
no, actually: chickens are cannibals,
the corpus was taken into the house,
while the remaining chickens sipped,
picked and nibbled the decapitated head
of a chicken to a non-existence...
bewildering, pigs are seen as filthy creatures...
finally, god is the counter-perfectionist
who sees some sort of imperfection
in his lie...
i don't mind a ***** animal...
but i've just seen chickens become cannibals
once one of their own gets its head
chopped off, and they congregate, peck
at the decapitated head and sip pecking
the running blood on the stump of oak...
huh?! pigs are bad...
yeah right... you haven't seen what chickens
do then one of their charles the 1sts gets
the chop.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 6:38 PM UTC
The curtain opens, and I am lit alone.
Chagrin is my monologue.
On opera balconies, giggling wraiths shield themselves from my humorless improvisation.
Served on a platter, I am on stage, eyes squeezing out precious salt, holding my hands over my red-tipped ears as they still roast from the taunts of my imagination's cruel gossips, who sit, deliberately carving into my breast, intending to cut out my breath. Jabbering, with ***** claws clasping at tarnished silverware.
I stammer and my throat begins to hang itself with a velvet string and cat-gut noose.
I sweat, clothed by the filth of makeup, menstrual blood, and leftover food stains. Palms held up, dramatically surrendering on the condition that mercy be extended, for they have seen my miserable condition and that it is me. The cloying stench of uncertainty and greasy hair envelops me.
I cannot kneel, for the coals on which I stand,
make me suffer more from the pressure.
No water in my heels to soothe this felon.
I cannot provoke or endure, my performance is to be left early. Hume would not grant me fame.
If you have a heart, do not waste ink or time or money on me. I am a clot of blood, clogged in the sink. I will die in a ***** bed and no one will care, not even myself.
I just wish it will be swift and fleeting if it is painful.
Hoping harder, I am not remembered as a miserable girl, the way I am.
So, sing violins, and let me swing for the cannibals.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
Paramedic 1:
"He's losing so much blood."
Paramedic 2:
"It's a miracle if he can make it past this."
*Saturday night, and I'm in the back of an ambulance,
But not in soul, just in body, oh and in the company of so many wires,
I can't tell where they end and where I begin,
But the paramedics say there was a tragic accident and some flying tires.
We reach the ER, my stretcher is flying on the white tiles,
And soon enough I'm greeted by more wires than I can count,
They're saying that they want to hear my heart,
So I'm opened up past layers of tissues and my heartbeat is playing aloud.
I'm somewhere in a circus, learning how to walk on a tightrope,
One arm on the verge of life, the other on the verge on death,
And my feet are stronger than they've ever been,
I'm not afraid of the fall, I'm afraid they'll see the mark I've had since birth.
And they do, I see it in the face of those people wearing white scrubs,
Their faces become the color of their operating room attire,
They don't know what to do with me,
As they come to realize what's got me here is not the flying tires.
They see my heart, a land that is home to no one,
Yet a massacre is taking place between the northerns and the southerns,
A border holding together the mismatched territories,
But there is no compromising between two armies this stubborn.
Each side wanting to flood the other, wanting to conquer,
And the small canal that was once an uncharted place of peace,
Is now holding a rowing contest to the mind of the victim - me -
Who will reach it first and incorporate their power with claws and teeth...?
It was the time to surrender, ending all attempts at making amends,
And watch cannibals sailing in rivers of blood,
They think each accelerated beat is a new victory,
Yet it was a far away cry from it, it was a new tear, a new cut.
And when each side invades the other, they claim it as their own,
But they are only emigrants thinking they can reconstruct a desert,
It was only a land of chaos, they themselves have caused,
Where was once life flowing in veins, is now where resources are tethered.
And with no winner, the end approached,
The curtains already sweeping the ground,
Doctors wiping sweat from their foreheads,
Letting the hospital gown cover the battleground.*
Paramedic 2:
"Maybe there's a wife we can call, to you know ... deliver the news..."
Paramedic 1:
"It appears, he just went out for a drive in the middle of the night, with no phone or ID... not even his driver's license..."
Paramedic 2:
"Maybe it wasn't even his car..."
THE END
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
Once I held you in my arms,
I loved you in my sleep,
above the traffic
and the circumstance,
above the slaughter of the sheep.
You made me sing at my guitar,
a grown man falling to defeat.
Now I cannot find The Answer
in the company I keep.
The game is rigged, we know it is,
in a hustler's wet dream,
the bank cartels
and corn-fed chicken
descend upon the weak.
I held you in my arms
on a precipice brave and steep,
above the breadlines
and the cannibals,
above the slaughter of the sheep.
You have me writing poetry
about landscapes left unseen,
you kissed the addict on the mouth
and now he's looking to get clean.
But the day is long, you know it is,
forgive me for sounding bleak,
a sucker for
those sad, sad songs,
and that chemical retreat.
I am not working on perfection
in a lifetime stretched and brief,
but I am working on a promise
that for once,
I intend to keep.
See, I've got a knack for giving up,
for feigning inner peace,
I've had my fill of oil spills
and the slaughter of the sheep.
You've felt it too, that burdened love,
the dead-end of familiar streets,
you lay down with him,
habitual ease;
lilac skin now a slab of meat.
The dignitaries come,
the friends you have to meet,
a compromise of ancient ties,
amongst the ******
and the thief.
Words are falling fast for you,
though I lack the skill to piece
all the fragments you paint for me
in this temple of disease.
The race is run, you know it is,
a pace we couldn't keep,
our lungs are full
of cigarettes,
our tongues of old deceit.
The Lie is out amongst the crowds,
but I have no time for war and peace;
I am slipping into
my lover's robe,
into your twisted sheets.
Once I held you in my arms,
I loved you in my sleep,
this wolf's disguise,
those bells that chime
at the slaughter of the sheep.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
We drank up the wax
From the candle we burnt
We swallowed the heat
Of our fight and it hurt
We mislead each other
And lied from the start
Pretended we’re fine
Hid our bleeding heart
We blur out everything
Nothing’s untouched
I call you names
I see your fist tightly clutched
We spit fire at each other
We act like animals
We eat each other alive
Just like real cannibals
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 7:07 AM UTC
I remember them
they were nestled
like spoons
warm in their web
like one soft cocoon
their lust was my terror
as I clung to my beer
and laughed at them saying
you alive under there?
windy blue days
a blanket and trees
a cliff by the ocean
we walked by in degrees
looking and thinking
we've disturbed their **********
a moment of bliss
that they're undertaking
but their bodies were statues
cuz they were aware
of young cannibals lurking
you alive under there?
©1988 Lyn
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
Buddha belly, rabbit’s foot,
how much luck can you get
from touching the dead?
(Maybe that’s the reason behind Jeffrey Dahmer’s slaughtering of
seventeen men;
maybe that’s the reason why we break wishbones—
to remind ourselves that this bone is dead
these hands are alive
do something with them.)
In some cultures, it is socially acceptable to
eat your child’s placenta—
there is good fortune in it, power in it.
(I wonder if this is the reason why cannibals eat their victims.)
Number seven. Cross on the wall.
I wish you good luck.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
Jack and Jill were two mentally ill verbally armed cannibals
Doing there best to switch their diet to farm animals
They found this rough, like eating crackers with cotton mouth, this task proved to be little more than tough
They promised each other no more cadavers, but a month after this, they called each others bluff
Jack ended up addicted to crack, dope, and smack
Cause the supply of bodies was beginning to lack, spinning more off track
He began to look at Jill more like a tasty snack
Jill took the pharmaceutical cryptic approach
A pill could **** her flesh craving will and keep her from feeling like a post apocalyptic roach
She too was starting to drool and think of Jack like a snack bar,
and couldn't help but remember her first taste when she bit the arm of that high school track star
One night when Jack was asleep, Jill began to slowly creep
Into his room she crept as he slept stuck the knife in and drained the blood from his neck
Jack was gonna be her tastiest snack yet
Jill always seems to forget
Jack is always playing games and putting her to the test
She ends up paying, for Jack knew their growing hunger would soon cause a mess
Jack stepped out of the closet
Jill pulled back the covers to see she just killed her own niece
Jack said "Haven't you ever seen "Hannibal?". "If your gonna be a cannibal, you gotta be smarter than Clarice".
-J.A.M
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
Night starts
with a drip,
and roaches move your feet.
But when day comes,
it comes.
Fear is
as good as sunshine,
it keeps you lose,
then tight.
The Jamaican bones,
having been ground into
sugar,
are whipped into coffee
and grey goose.
A mouthy mix,
and it seems
to cleanse the whole earth;
cannibals praise the lord
in all of his glory.
And on the way
to the first day
of forever,
the iron in my blood
clings to my gums.
I know you there
on the highway,
as we both drive with our
heads downwards,
our evil hearts
cuddling cowardly innards.
Press your fingers,
dismember what lingers.
Crack those knuckles,
smack those palms
and blow that screaming bone.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
Arresting artificial bloom from a make believe garden,
Oh! magalomaniacal face of ill gotten glamour,
ribald queen of the kitsch, with endless variety in store,
age, cannot wither your, unmistakable garish taste-
or sadistic delights, each you do organize is outrageous,
than the one before, no doubt, how do you manage?
I'll forget all those in an instance, but, that kiss, oh! that,
the one you gifted, to show you were pleased utmost,
stealthily away from the eyeshot of your posse of lovers,
other cannibals and party animals, under the darkened staircase,
was the last godforsaken straw;
what a poor camel can do? if you so desire,
beggars, never were the choosers, you'd tell yourself,
in a self congratulatory note,
that much I am aware, my dear tormentor!
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
Like leftovers from an extravagant meal,
I thawed my heart and put it on her plate-
I'd hoped it would sustain her.
It was rejected with vigor.
She infers that she's toxic:
spoilt soil at a nuclear blast site.
I'm starting to suspect the offering itself was necrotic.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC