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Meditating in the carnage,
my core's cyanide became
warm milk before bed. My carcass
coexisted in inconsistent comfort, that
safety untouched like internal feelings.
Unstable caramelized eyes watered down to a
wary hazelnut from lack of love, the way the
phone screen glows white to gray at 4 AM.
Aching in agony; I haven't found a person
to care for the poison within me-
I love using metaphors, similes, etc for poems.... This one took an odd turn...
All feedback is welcome!
Richard Barnes Jul 2018
I live in the light of a purple sun,
waters deep,
oceans black,
hurricanes  glow red with their own light.

Hell’s madness rules with no mercy in sight.  

Wretched souls rise with the tide  

then swallowed whole by the purple sun’s light    

The soul cry for peace but receive only carnage and hate.

What god approves this madness?  

Greatness born and dies in filth and mud. 

No honor to the dead and the living becomes a disease.
Like a final catharsis;
 this alternative result resolves chance.
I'm naive; but it's a cure to my heartbreak.
Do you get my pain?
The drastic change, pointlessly grabbing at the air,
as my breaths get thicker and weaker.
I'm voiceless; my options are choiceless.
A final catharsis, warped by the carnage.
I'm seemingly heartless, this wasn't my target.
Now my mind's lethargic, at least it's harmless-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
lucav Sep 2018
ethereal utopia burned to hell,perhaps the carnage of death made them scream their scriptures at the sinners.
Lucifer clutching the hearts of the vertigo minded devotion to a blank faced god,showing no mercy to the imperfect yet claiming righteous love.  
The blind will never see and the sinners will always seek some relief from pain,or perhaps their counterparts seek to relieve the duty of the never ending pretentious love for a celestial being they know nothing of.
just something i wrote as a submission
Vicki Kralapp Sep 2018
Dark death skirts beaches in blood red,
as coffee colored swells wash in more
carnage to the shores;
we are blindly poisoning our waters.

Toxic plumes of red tide cover the seas,
beaching whales and seals,
manatees, and fishes;
we indiscriminately **** our sea life.

The brisk breeze off the Gulf
brings the smell of rotting death
that is all around;
we are blindly killing ourselves.

Our lifeblood,
the seas and its inhabitants,
slowly slip away;
we disrespect nature.

Mother earth mourns
as we continue
to ****** its inhabitants;
we are dying.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Ylzm Apr 23
Sin
Even as holy books do not make you holy,
keeping the law do not make you moral.
But sin shows itself most sinful
making mass murders and most ****** carnage holy.
And lawlessness hides behind the law
sulking and pouting in the White House.
Sky Yang Aug 2018
meanwhile, at the capital...

streets lined with
mattresses like
piles of flesh

trees above
that shudder
like a final breath

a branch of cherry blossom
like baby pink fingertips
of limp forearms dangling off
edges of crinkled white mattresses,

a flower
In blood, a precious cake dancing
aflame in whirlpool of
cyclopean darkness.

The triggers of sanguinary
guns are tumbling down tears,
sorrow and grief in gush on
the cliff of darkness.

The moon,  a crimson cake of
venom toasting blind sun in
gory rays as stars twinkling
blood at dawn.

The orphan profusely wailing
for peace in her own bizarre
carnage in bazaar of iniquity
and rivers of blood.

Let the world stop this blood
Lest this blood stops the world!


©2018 KAYODE STEVE ADARAMOYE
CK Baker Jan 2017
He filled his week bag
with quick picks
from the commissary
cover blades
and skull caps
canned goods
and half stated pearls
liquor bills
and bleeders
for the flight of weary

Into the ****** bunks
of the western front
past sivana
and nurture sage
past the pomp
and ceremony
out of robe
and into jumpers
and casings
and masks of gas

Light infantry
and yelling men
muscled
and scorned
fly boys high
in 3 wing flight
mounted gunners
filling the night
in hawkers and packards
and scabbard chape

Tarrant tabers
and camels
dodge the vicker gun
skeleton hands
grease the mill trap
carnage makers
mark the rhineland
(buried in bunkers
and pile bags
and earth pack)

Trench helmets
and metal backs
under machine fire
minefields burn
in muzzle and coil
deep in the shadows
and shrapnel
and spear
the razor wire
and dead cold
despair

Slouch hats
and burning rats
kerosene lamps
and droopers
the soldier stares down
the broken line
and limb
a ****** holds steady
(shelved at a distance)
on ripped pipe
and beam

It was an all in
end game
a grapple for the ages;
*** in the
fokker pursuit
over rolling hills
and fallen comrades
into the bishop bullet
(and sporadic cheer)
which sealed the deal
in an empty field
near the brae corbie road
ConnectHook Sep 2015
in every visible character man differs less from the higher apes,
than these do from the lower members of the same order of Primates
.

                                                     ­                      Charles Darwin, 1871

The Other claims descent from apes
then acts like a violent monkey.
It pillages, it loots and rapes
performing as Satan’s flunkey.

Its actions bear the mark of Cain;
brandishing cameras, smashing things.
We feel its proto-human pain
yet dread the urban woe it brings.

It tries to justify, with words
its primal carnage, childish rage.
With anthropoid designs deferred
it struts the Darwinian stage.

The higher primate government
rewards them well in ripe bananas
for wrecking their environment
(jungle as well as savannas).

Their mate selection (naturally):
a semi-simian solution:
intercoursing sexually,
to hasten their evolution.

The wombs enlarge – they drop their young
then text their friends while getting high.
They swing from tree-tops, fling their dung –
while down below the humans sigh.
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2015/04/16/the-selection-of-***-and-descent-in-relation-to-man/

%
$
Brian Oarr Jul 2012
"And then taking from his wallet
an old schedule of trains, he'll say
I told you when I came I was a stranger
I told you when I came I was a stranger."
                                        --- Leonard Cohen

I'm the most surprised person on the planet.
Your coming to see me off at the airport
has my mind scratching glass seeking words.
Why is it that in this relationship,
you seem to have gotten all the speaking parts?
You're well aware that I have loved you
for the better part of two years,
bottling that emotion, afraid to pop the cork.
Your eyes implore mine, rotating like
a searchlight over Baghdad seeking
the stealth laying carnage to your heart.
Twice in the last week you've made it evident,
the Grail was mine, but for the drinking ---
That and finding a shorthand for adultry.
I'm guilty courting the love of a married woman,
made worse, you're here at my departure
telling me we aren't free to choose who we love.
I know my desire must die of thirst,
so I turn, boarding pass in hand,
the last words I ever hear from you,
Write me! --- Thirty-five years later I have.
duane hall May 30
The predator was hungry, he was on the prowl
No one would suspect that something was afoul
Could it be he was abused as a young  child
Or maybe as he grew his brain became defiled
He wasn't on the radar, he didn't fit the profile
He could melt a young girl's heart with his boyish smile
But behind his façade and his mask of deception
He expertly concealed  his incurable infection
His brain's on fire,  he's  got snakes in his head
If you fall for his treachery you're gonna wind up dead
It's not just the young women who are his only prey
It's the relatives and friends that deal with the tragedy
How does society deal with such a deranged psychopath
And the carnage created by his insatiable bloodbath
The death sentence was created precisely for such monsters
This is a matter that should be taken up with Congress
I won't apologize not even a little bit
The Ted Bundy's of this world are psychological ****.
This poem is dedicated to Shannon and Diane(s)  Three local girls who died at the hands of a local serial killer.
McKayla Henry May 2018
Lace on my thighs and fringe around my neck,
more is revealed than the flowing crimson blood.
Bleeding deeper and deeper with every slowed breath.

Deeper than the girls I see with their shoulders against the wall,
the dream girls with their purple hair and tattered tights.
My neck growing saturated with strawberry nightmares,
but at least they like my tattoos.

I feel the black cats circling my ankles,
cries of hunger and any form of normalcy or stability.
It feels familiar, like a hymn from my childhood
throbbing between my ears.

Overlooking other's carnage is easy, until it's your own.

I don't know what this means, but it comforts me.
End
Life intolerable
Death inevitable
Desires insatiable
Things unreal

Words unspoken
Evil awoken
Vows art broken
Pain, thou feel

Fearless leaders shamefully hiding
Within cowards, still confiding
Helpless people slowly dying
Horrors thou hast never seen

Demons unleashed from their cages
Hellish, endless fire rages
Now unto the end of ages
Sins of all the world run free

Acts unthinkable
Power unimaginable
Disease incurable
Rots our souls

Gates of Wrath
Flank Satan’s path
Splitting in half
All he controls

Bowing to our God eternal
Pray to leave this world infernal
Careful not to wake nocturnal
Monsters of abysmal night

No response art thou receiving
Being led by hope deceiving
Finally, art thou perceiving
No escape, for all wilt die

Torture endless
Methods boundless
Leave thou breathless
Still afraid

Pain unending
Death descending
Hand extending
But betrayed

In this hellscape, thou art living
Only in the flesh existing
Forever art souls suffering
The carnage surrounding thee

Abominations now released
To feed on fear and the deceased
Destruction shalt never be ceased
Souls ****** for all eternity
I wrote this from the notion of the end of the world...
Lazhar Bouazzi Jun 2017
A cabin that had once been white
Stood, peeled, on the shore of Carthage.
Looking like a tipsy scarfaced knight-
Eyes shut to Dionysian carnage.
A pack of lost dogs roamed around it,
Their pangs of want they sought to manage.

The lone cabin stood on the wrinkled sand,
Like a young tree on Shott el Jerid's* white pale
Whom the white monster forced to speak with the hand:
“Basta, no stubborn resistance from me will avail.”

The fuming sun displayed his festival of fear
Over dogs who could handle their thirst no more;
While the salt has now made its white task clear:
Gnawing the sapling and gnawing evermore
Till the sole mark on the Shott shall disappear.

Now the poet who has only half-chosen the vision
Half not knowing what to do, tried to listen
To the trickle of his one obstinate cheer
Oozing through the new orange laptop,
He had purchased from a japanese peer.

(c) LazharBouazzi
“*Shott el Jerid” is the largest salt lake in Tunisia and the Sahara desert, with a surface area of 7OOO km2. As far as the poem is concerned it would perhaps be helpful to say that the gigantic dry salt pan has the shape of a wolf.
L B Aug 2016
She hushes me repeatedly
as if my voice could be– too loud
for these shrunken, elder walls
What voice can I revive to tell her
that this little place...reminds me...?

Ratchet up the memories  
the young mistakes
my welfare “townhouse”

as if my voice could be too loud?!

Where does anger go to say
These cheesy rugs remind me!
of the smoky halls, stoop-sittin’
head lice, **** roach
fumigated invasion
Music loud enough to blow pipes
induce trauma through the walls
Thud Crash
“Stupid ****!”
Knife-weildin’, drug-sellin’, boyfriend-of-a-future

A can of beer later...
with stress on hold
the smells of dinner, now—all fifteen of them!
Assault me through the front window
“Ya there yet?
...to this “cute little apartment, I mean?"


So it’s sold…
Someone else will wash windows, rake the yard
Shovel Massachusetts snow

Christmas lights come down
in my mind—
Running toward them still
Toes numb
Skates bouncin on my back
Sled firing off sparks against the sidewalk in my wake
Running and as always late
Mittens soaked, heavy
Like my eyes—


Mom and I
looking out this window for the last time
Looking out toward the daughter of the woods I was
Behind—me
the bride sinks
to the bare mattress—
“Was it really 57 years?
How can it be?”

since...clutching can opener and Coke
He scooped her up and through that door....
  
“How can it be?   Oh my….”

"You can always keep the memories."
she chirps to check the tears
                                                           ­                                                                 ­But I can’t taste them!
…Mom baking cookies
stew and dumplings on the stove
Snitching chocolate bits
waiting for the bowl
Impatient little helpers at her side

Colors slipping…
A child husks corn in sunlight
A blue Huffy gleams behind birthday candles
Sheets billow from the line

Sounds fading...
A choir of music boxes
before the Christmas carnage
Doing dishes in three-part harmony

I can barely wrap my words around our voices!

“You can always keep the memories”

Preamble to the dutiful decision
Hypothermic excuse
to dump the place

Street sign shrinking in the rear-view
Because I have lived away from my hometown and away from my family, I had very little to say about the decisions my family made for Mom and Dad.
Kabelo Maverick Jun 2014
Love...still a token of existence, your Merciful Testament made time so distant. The Heart of Man is now hollow and dark, living is a mere breath of chance and luck. Our Planet has lost its Heroes now, ask our parents, all the Bikos now lay on pillows coz of the Ones and Zeros. I still Love my World and your eminence Lord or maybe you to Priests and Presidents more. These words are not to be written once again, they exist only in the truth and light of this page once and never again. For I'm not proud of the latter...people's vices as hate surfaces, you would expect something better. Kids perish, always in harm's way, deem the manner...nowadays, parents are kids on an Aids' ladder. Envision the World and Pray, when you see through the eyes of a Kid who's a bit fatter.

Food shortage on the News footage while we hold our plates, carnage and wars killing our foliage, we hold a future without days. As vanity reigns, I fear our image will grow mutant. Ancestors will abandon our sanity ways like a school headed by students, weak and lucent. I pray for core amends dearly and hope for better trends Earthly and in the Sea, so this Letter can just be a lonely message in a bottle drifting away steadily in the deep...


Sincerely yours,
Oasis
Letter from ©asis.
Heartfelt.
Mohamed Nasir Apr 2018
I'm one of billions out there hanging tough,
I've lived, loved in rain and wind blowing by,
So many fell to ground and kissed the rough.
But steadfast on the rattling stem am I.
Petals that shines on warm of day unfurled.
They hurl their heads to glorious sunlight;
And trees heavenly bounties fuelled
Marauding pests to carnage in moonlight.
Though crumpled by diseases every side;
Yet flowers blooming yielding fruits again.
Youths green to ripening men, time and tide
Of fortunes of life and death remains.
On stem I'll forever not hold, I'll fall;
My flesh to soil in darkest night of all.
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