"gored" poems
Michael Louviere was a man of the people,
Who held in his hand a book of the law,
And outside his belt a gun for his safety,
But never would he have used it for ******
I'm told he helped many but never killed any,
But Sylvester Holt did not believe it,
He said the actions of one create a whole guilty people,
And he took the matters into his own hands,
And killed poor young Michael for serving his people.
So I'm sorry young man, you been born with white skin,
In a world with the permissions to ****** and to maim,
But just to have freedom depends on your name,
But if you think its good I suppose ill let you,
Work for a cause that is just out to get you,
And keeping in line with the others before him,
Sylvester took the bait and the hook nearly gored him,
But the worm could've lived it was just his misfortune.
Sylvester laid down with a bullet in his chest,
And the gun in his hand had a burning hot barrel,
He assumed death was better than life and life only,
But in his last second he pulled out a small knife,
And cut in his gun small violent furrow,
It was then that he realized this all wasn't worth it,
He saw those two notches and handed himself in,
To a lifetime of no pain and and unwoken rest.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
Last night I dreamt I cohabitated with
Two beasts, both loved.
The one, a young lioness
The other a spry lamb
I had raised the both from infancy
But the lioness, who was then entering her adulthood began to size up the lamb.
And it occurred to me that in order to
save
the lamb from the lioness
That I must **** and eat it myself
It is the inescapable nature of a lion to
Hunt and ****
livestock
So while there was no scruple or problem for me to have these two animals,
They could not abide one another.
So I did it.
I slaughtered the lamb and cut it's flank and got at its tender meat
And I cooked it and served it with Marsala sauce and that night the lioness and I dined on the flesh of our old friend.
And I became aware eventually,
Between my ravenous gnawings at the meat
That the lioness was not eating.
She was
Staring fixedly
Directly at me.
She did not blink.
And I stopped feasting on the lamb.
And as I did I saw her eyes dilate
And she pounced across the table
And she gored me with her great claws
And split my gut and spilled my innards
And she ate me bit by bit still screaming
Still covered in Marsala sauce.
Before it was over I had but a breath in me and I cried,
"But why?!"
And I realized that it is the inescapable nature of the lion
To hunt and to ****
Not just livestock, not just lambs.
She had hunted and killed us both.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
starving on the fringes gorged and gored of that vibrating center
Look at me but not that long, let me be a cog of the conversation, I can't start the wheels turning and god please don't turn me into rust, grinding words to a scream, a screeching halt
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
Each day is a day like day had before
I don't know if I can take anymore
There's pain in my bones; Weak feeling and sore
I question myself what this life is for
Don't know what's ahead; Don't know what's in store
As happiness hides behind a locked door
The pressure, it builds to find it before
The hourglass now has emptied what's stored
The light from me left; Although I'm not sure
If ever I had a light that was pure
My soul's on death's bed; No hope of a cure
The word's left unsaid; I'll always want more
Waves lapping against the rocky beach shore
Each time takes away; A heavenly chore
Was true of my joy; A tunnel was bored
Inside from my soul true self of me poured
I ********** out myself like a *****
Each day is a lie that I can't afford
I wish I was maimed; Insides had been gored
I can not explain; Knight falls on his sword
But I am no knight; More like one who's poor
Been chewed up, discarded; Fruit with no core
Tried sharing with you; A piece of me tore
But know you disliked; Did nothing but bore
This poem is not new; These words said before
I've whined and cried too like those I deplore
A task left to do; Must settle the score
Each day starts anew; Be happy once more
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
Of all my misnomers,
Mistooks of arrogance,
To think I could career careen
A life
in poetry,
Extra pressure of the
Broadest of a narrowing sujet,
the scripting of poesy
on the restricted topical
of only love poetry
Must have been punch love drunk,
When that notion crazy stung
My cerebal,
Gored discor-ed cortex,
Probably just another
Post a Loving,
dreaming scheming moment,
Or reading a Shakespeare sonnet,
Or
Midst the long lonely pauses
somewhere,
*(S)under the rainbow,
tween teener and geezer,
and
Everything in between*
made myself a poet of a restricted diet
not "eating " for days at a time
for love comes and goes,
frequent departures much more easygoing & common,
than regularly scheduled arrivals,
easy go, not so easy come,
what was I thinking of?
what a she-muk,
talking about cutting your nose off
to spite your face,
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 8:13 AM UTC
We lied we need change
When all we feel is rage
For the government we create
Who don’t feel shake if the economical price inflate
*
We lied we are happy
When we hide in the bathroom; crying
We lied we are living
When we are striving for surviving
*
We lied we are grown
When we are yet to be birth
We lied we are strong
And here we are; paralysed
*
We lied we are in traffic
When we’re still on our bed dreaming
We lied we are set
When with default setting; we’re breathing
*
We lied we want about-move
From politics of Jong-Un
From government of John Bull
And parliaments filled with masters of Kungfu
*
We lied we are in love
When the only thing we feel is lust
We lied we are loved
When the only feeling we procure is hurt
*
We lied we are loyal
When we lust only after the royal one
We lied we are loyal
And when the ox is gored; we run
*
We lied we are in paradise
When in filthiness we dine
Stuck in a big mess
Living in hell; but not minding our business
*
We lied we are responsible
When at the sight of challenge; we flee
We lied we are smart
Whereas we are trickening; coz at the sight of themisticoles; we flee
*
We lied we are beautiful
When our heart is filled with greed and hate
We lied we are pretty
When the pancaked look on our face is manmade
*
We lied we are the future
Saying we are the leaders of tomorrow
We lied; saying we are injured
Whereas we’re completely trapped in hollow
*
We lied we’re from the hood
So no one else to talk to
Coz our lifestyle is not good
And that leaves us in bad mood
*
We lied we are good
When at the depth of our heart; we’re bad
We lied we are confuse
When we’re stuck and which way? We cant conclude
*
We lied to survive the tide
And from the real part of life; we hide
Tell the truth’ man; be freed inside
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
She caught on to algebraic notation, as if,
she'd been born in the 64 square matrix,
whose precise logic spoke her mother tongue
They discussed, at length, the fianchetto formation ...
... how the defensive fortress of the castled King
was akin to the monarch's personal Masada
... how the power of the doubled Rooks and Queen
in the latent lance of Alekhine's Engine
gored the other position in thermodynamic dissipation
When he pointed out the cloaked irony of
Queen being strongest, but King paramount,
she shrugged, as if it were to be expected
Shaking hands, agreeing to the draw,
she smiled, joy precipitating from her face,
knowing there could be a world without losers
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
Draw upon the breath of stars, and scorch my heart with fiery scars
Scars that linger from my past. A past that lies with lies and outcasts
Tied to fears of fearing flaws...insecure…. like never before.
Paradise, a sweet reprise to heartfelt sighs and moonlit nights
Starlit sheets and reddened cheeks, eye to eye and tightened thighs.
A face that takes my breath away.
A heart to steal my soul today.
A smile to stop the world from spinning
A laugh to make my head start swimming.
Disarmed, with you in my arms words lose all meaning.
Eyes pierce mine and landmine my mind
Lips seal mine and line my life with diamonds
Priceless and unbreakable diamonds.
A gemstone life.
Emerald eyes. Pearl skin, Morganite lips and flawless fingertips
Overdosed on what I want most, coming close to those and doting shows.
It shows through rose tinted sight and might just last if lasting lasts at last.
Dreamlike days and sleepless nights have shrouded my sight with blinding light
My eyesight has been gored.
Just one more day until my sight is restored.
By she who has been long adored.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
Antagonism
burgeons back bad blood.
Compatriots, courtesy can cool contentions:
doubly, disrespect demands decisive
execution. Early efforts evolved
fatuously, force facilitated farcical fighting.
Gambling gents gleefully gored
hedonistic harlots. Harassing
ignorantly, igniting
jealously,
killings
listlessly- liars lament
momentarily. Meanwhile, monetary
nuances
of opulence obscure
prime problems.
Quarries quake
running red. Remembering
solitarily- stoic steeds stand silent, sending
thoughts,
unbidden, unbeknownst.
Violence:
we were
xanthic,
yellow years yaw…
Zymotic.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
apollo's dead-set light shines on beauty.
the gushing of blood boils high in the guilty crowns of gored kings.
TO COURT BEAUTY IS TO BATHE IN IMMACULATE, ETHEREAL ECSTASY!
YOU ARE NOT WORTHY.
ichor spills in the cursed name of the light-born.
blessed with the scrutiny to scorch the iciest of hearts.
they sit on their faux thrones, just above Olympus,
with the wide eyes of wander and lust;
the bodies of gold and trust.
they sit high on their thrones,
with their own
black-light sun.
they sit on their broken thrones
stained with the blood of seraphim.
beings of smokeless fire burn away the truth
and we love them anyway.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 4:32 AM UTC
When I flare my nostrils
I sneeze cordite?
When I pout my big lips
Does hot magma erupt?
When my gored orbs roll
Behold liquid blitz come
to judgment?
Fingered nerves claw
At the fragile fabric of sanity
Kamikaze dreams make horrendous
Enterprise at vanishing sunbeam
Clamourous amorous wishes
Purr vapours of invisible kisses
With the gods of fantasy
Clawing up the dark wall of hope
Plastered with ancient ivy of determination
To live and kiss another day
And weave another gooey dream
Or to live another flirtation
With a phantom lover?
Stainless steel roses
For my garden (please!)
For roses are painted red
By blood from wounded dreams
And dust puffed from rusting trust
Because life has been unfaithful
Snogging and ******** with another
LOVER! In my bed.
I have nourished mine love tree
With tears from swollen eyes of hope
And ***** from fat bladder of determination
Red blood from amputated limbs
Of self-sacrifice and selflessness
I have tried.
Undress your mind and jump into bed
My mind often has balled fists against a woe
Than has it kissed many a *****
Blasted Judas! you are the foe
You took away her innocence
There is no red stain on the white linen
Only red lipstick on my pillow
And chewing gum in my hair...
My mind still swoons
To be deflowered
Undress my mind.
-dougwa-
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
“The grief therapist will see you now.”
the perky redhead told us.
Her rolling hips then led the way
majestically before us..
Final arrangements must be made.
as our loved one is gone;
Melvin joined the choir invisible
singing his swan song.
He had been fading badly,
and we knew the end was near.
Now he’s a mortuary client,
pausing for his final bier..
Thank God for prearrangement
or we truly would be gored.
It gets to be quite expensive
when you’re sleeping with the Lord.
He’s shuffled off this mortal coil
and brought the curtain down.
Soon he’ll be checking out the grass
from six feet underground..
Melvin has given up the ghost.
He was snuffed out in his prime.
He cashed his chips in early,
passing on before his time.
“Your loved one’s in a better place.”
The Undertaker gravely said..
“His ancestors have embraced him
in a place of light, not dread.”
Some will say he kicked the bucket,
checked out early, bought the farm.
The religious say he’s with the Lord,
The perpetual light is on.
Melvin, were he here with us,
more likely would have said
a better place for him would be
that redhead’s poster bed.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
1102
His Bill is clasped—his Eye forsook—
His Feathers wilted low—
The Claws that clung, like lifeless Gloves
Indifferent hanging now—
The Joy that in his happy Throat
Was waiting to be poured
Gored through and through with Death, to be
Assassin of a Bird
Resembles to my outraged mind
The firing in Heaven,
On Angels—squandering for you
Their Miracles of Tune—
1.8k
A greased pig at the county fair,
A roller skating tween chips her tooth,
The junky's pupils: pinned.
Heavy-lidded gaze notched up: a higher degree of horror.
Ecstasy and agony: life's charged poles, opposing,
I, dysthymic before the blister of try,
have touched too close to life's hot center,
A cliché, a disposable metaphor,
The insulin syringe (use once and destroy) of metaphors,
Oh restless boy (you're a man) you don't see it?
Beyond the sour vinegar of feet and let's pretend,
the mildew funk of gym-stale ****
the recess bells gave way to sirens.
Oh, valor—Toro—pinned Pamplona,
Gored by c**k, though, not by bull
Cause see it seems—yes, Spain then.
Nothing written really happens, see,
mind to bear this burden.
Tense of verb fit the charge in air,
a crunchy taste like seizure mouth, the sockets blown
some smoke slips out the corner of my mouth, my eye
regards you trying to seem real.
2011
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
Come on pilgrim,
vamos east
to Jerusalem and Mecca,
ferried from Algeciras to Tangier.
King James told me some stories,
he'd give me a ride, and
we can pull what we want
on abortion and abolition,
strung on a thorny rope
out of H. Christ's tight little *******
Black Francis, Picasso, and S. Dali;
chicos guapos, you are good to me.
I fight Pablo, a different one,
through Robert Jordan (ingles)
Pablo, eres un cobarde, go and
get gored by your bullheaded stupidity.
General,
I'll wander the labryinth,
slicing up eyeballs (oh ** ** **
unable to leave the room.
(they're only cow eyeballs, don't worry)
You Spaniards!
Yo hablo un poquito,
but those men
speak to my heart.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
Alas, ’tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new.
Most true it is that I have looked on truth
Askance and strangely. But, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end,
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
1.2k
If Boy George cosplayed
as Greek youth Adonis, we
would call him Boy Gored
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
*Sensibly we talk and nonsense we go
Orthodox are the words uttered
Profane are the verses sang
Deceptive are the eyes buried
They appear pious and they are saints,
I speak sacrilegious and I am vindictive
How the flowers bloom is fate,
How the flowers bloom I hate
When kindled is the vigor
Ignited are these roses,
Of Vehemence we had a feel
Of Abhorrence we had to ****
My own path I have,
My own dreams I latch
A soul wandering at the prairies,
Gored yet numb with your poetries
Amorous is the depth inside making me drown,
Covetous is the realm outside wearing a crown
To which force will my heart listen,
Lost in labyrinth I am and fallen into warren
When left as memories are the stories,
And burnt into ashes are the memories
The sun had consumed the earth I know,
But not the world of artifice we had grow*
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
Gored,
Broken,
Bleeding Hand
Reaches forward,
Beckons from Chaos,
And grasps fragile fingers
Whose twins loosely hold Order
With a stagnant, reluctant grip
That is released to find strange beauty
Of the sort unknown by those who fear death.
May 25, 2011
May 25, 2011 at 4:25 PM UTC
Ready your red canvas,
Fasten the straps of your boots
The silver spurs can't weigh
You down more than fear has already.
Remember, you are not alone.
We in the stands are watching
While you dance in circles with the beast
Teasing him with your canvas,
Waving it like an enemy banner before his
Crazed eyes, his pierced nose garnished
By a gold ring, whose furious nostrils spout
Blood in every snarl.
We in the stands,watching
are not here to see a beast subdued by
Calm words or a stroked ear.
We came to see a man gored,
Pierced through his stomach
Tossed limp against the ground
Blood that feeds the grass and our
Eyes.
But you did not enter into this ring to die.
You came to conquer the beast,
To pounce upon his massive shoulders,
Grasp him by his mighty horns
To ride his bucking back, amidst
The brays and snarls, the jeering crowd
Until your blade has met his neck and
His tongue lolls from his mighty maw,
You came to fight; you came for victory.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 10:10 PM UTC
An unsuspecting, little, field mouse
committed a simple mistake one day;
it unwittingly entered my rented house,
not knowing my cats wanted to play.
My feline buddies, Hijinx and Mischief,
decided to live up to their spirited names;
sadly, the field mouse was offered no relief –
for the boys had a live prize to claim.
By its tail, my cats had live entertainment;
although they’re allowed to have their fun,
from this one deed, my cats will never repent;
for they again had disobeyed - rule number one.
Since their English is not very good,
their one restriction they tend to forget;
so it’s not surprising they misunderstood,
my rule of: “Pets are not allowed to have pets!”
So now it was time for me to intervene;
performing an unexpected “Animal Rescue”,
I now became a mouse catching machine
and watched him scamper away from my view.
A new retrieval approach, I had to posit;
with the boys closely monitoring my work,
I quickly chased him into a nearby closet,
hoping my cats wouldn’t impatiently go berserk.
Removing items from the closet’s floor,
and contending with this fuzzy foreigner,
I eyed the boys – to keep him from being gored.
Eventually, I trapped him in the corner.
By the time I reached him, he had died –
traumatized until his last heart’s rush.
Unlike my curious pets, I became teary eyed,
as this escapade ended… with a toilet’s flush.
Author Notes:
P.S. This based on a real event, that occurred when I was renting a small home in New Jersey.
-Joe Breunig
January/February 2012
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:38 AM UTC