"gunman" poems
It was an AR15 that the kid used.
A gun that, in this free world, men can indulge and abuse.
A boy who saw him load his gun,
the gunman saw and simply said run,
A word that made the child flee for his life,
just before waves of bullets came upon the school,
The kid looked on and asked himself
why is life so cruel.
How many more people have to die,
before its ****** metal, not tears, that your children cry.
This free world, rife with argument by silly politicians
Men that make decisions, without experience of the repercussions.
This gunman was not a delinquent, he was a child.
Born of your failed systems, born of your sick traditions.
A boy who without second thought, took up his assault rifle
and headed into war with the children that learned ambition with him,
emotion and sudden movement that made them all feel just that little bit stifled.
This free world is one with a core of rights,
A doubled edged dagger,
a topic of discussion that makes the average fat man want to fight.
‘Over my cold dead body’ he said.
LET ME HAVE MY GUN
Because whilst others use it for fun,
the protection I have outweighs the fact
that when a 19 year old comes to school,
all the other kids have to run.
It’s ridiculous, heck its thoroughly imbecilic,
How children have to be careful of the education system,
not because of a
nationwide test
but a,
nationwide threat
of grown men,
looking to prove their ego,
men that can’t go against the party line
that fail to realise that life is more important
than the next donation
than the dollar sign.
You want protection? That’s completely fine.
Just don’t use the bodies of your children
as meat shields and pretend everything’s fine.
Don’t say you’ll do something as if something will change
because nothing will change unless it does.
This free world is not filled with love but truly its filled with hate,
A bloodlust so dense, even children’s blood cannot sate it’s thirst.
Until it's more than just a child hurt, but a country with a bullet wound
Caused by people, who love guns so much but blame it on the loons.
Your pain, I cannot prove.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 6:46 AM UTC
There was a shooting in Redstone
Only one man dead, none hurt
He was found dead in the morning
With just one hole right through his shirt
He was lying in the main street
Face down, right there in the dirt
He was found dead in the morning
With just one hole right through his shirt
I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK
The crowd had formed around him
Lying there, all hard and cold
No witnessess to the shooting
At least not one so bold
They knew him from his weapon
The sixteen notches on the grip
He came in on the Flyer
He won't be on the return trip
I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK
He was staying at The Belfry
He only brought one bag to town
No one knew why he had come here
Except to shoot somebody down
The papers ran the story
The next morning in THE SUN
They ran a picture and a story
Of the "Man With The Pearl Gun"
I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK
The story was quite lengthy
Considering no one saw him shot
But, as usual there was someone
Who had a story to be bought
He'd been shot from an end window
Above the Local Mercantile Store
One bullet from a rifle
And the gunman was no more
I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT IN THE BACK
I WAS GUNNED DOWN BY A COWARD
I DIDN'T HEAR THE GUNSHOT CRACK
Turns out the gunman's killer
Was the one he'd come to find
The shooter was the killer's child
The only son, he'd left behind
They never met before this
He'd never ever met his Dad
But, The Gunman came to find him
And in the end, it's kind of sad
I'T WASN'T SUPPOSED TO END LIKE THIS
FACE DOWN HERE, IN THE STREET
I'M A GUNFIGHTER OF MUCH RENOWN
I'M JUST A GUN WHO CAN'T BE BEAT
I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE
LYING DEAD, SHOT BY MY SON
I WAS GUNNED DOWN WITHOUT KNOWING
I GUESS HE'S NOW THE WANTED GUN.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 8:35 PM UTC
I
Our ****** dreams, all seedless in the light,
Of light and love the tempers of the heart,
Whack their boys' limbs,
And, winding-footed in their shawl and sheet,
Groom the dark brides, the widows of the night
Fold in their arms.
The shades of girls, all flavoured from their shrouds,
When sunlight goes are sundered from the worm,
The bones of men, the broken in their beds,
By midnight pulleys that unhouse the tomb.
II
In this our age the gunman and his moll
Two one-dimensional ghosts, love on a reel,
Strange to our solid eye,
And speak their midnight nothings as they swell;
When cameras shut they hurry to their hole
down in the yard of day.
They dance between their arclamps and our skull,
Impose their shots, showing the nights away;
We watch the show of shadows kiss or ****
Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.
III
Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which
Shall fall awake when cures and their itch
Raise up this red-eyed earth?
Pack off the shapes of daylight and their starch,
The sunny gentlemen, the Welshing rich,
Or drive the night-geared forth.
The photograph is married to the eye,
Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth;
The dream has ****** the sleeper of his faith
That shrouded men might marrow as they fly.
IV
This is the world; the lying likeness of
Our strips of stuff that tatter as we move
Loving and being loth;
The dream that kicks the buried from their sack
And lets their trash be honoured as the quick.
This is the world. Have faith.
For we shall be a shouter like the ****
Blowing the old dead back; our shots shall smack
The image from the plates;
And we shall be fit fellows for a life,
And who remains shall flower as they love,
Praise to our faring hearts.
3.7k
It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve",
and I think of you and all the ways you'd shatter my nerves;
when you'd raise your voice or even a hand
every time I did something wrong - a mark on my skin you'd brand.
I was your canvas and your punches were the paintbrushes colouring me in,
painting me in explosions of blue, purple, red; completely covering my skin.
I took the poison you leaked and absorbed it entirely,
calling it love and I thought of you very highly.
I'd just wipe away my tears and apologise for making you mad,
convincing myself that I was the one who was bad -
but really you were the gunman shooting me down,
and the one pushing my head under the water hoping I'd drown.
It was once said that we "accept the love we think we deserve"
and as I sit here reflecting our "love" with reserve,
I realise I thought I was worthy of nothing but your violence,
but now I know better and the compassion I truly deserve is priceless.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
He was taken into custody on Friday
After he got off a bus in Marseille
That had come from Amsterdam
By way of Brussels,
According to police.
The manhunt began
After he opened fire
At the Jewish Museum
In the center of Brussels,
Killing at least 3 people,
Obviously: an anti-Semitic attack.
He was taken into custody
“As soon as he set foot in France,”
According to François Hollande,
Congratulating himself
For an efficient round up of
The usual suspects, all Jihadi
Round trippers from Syria.
He was taken into custody in a mere 6 days--
A magnifique display of French efficiency,
A sublime achievement by
Our furry friends in
Police-Protective Services.
The swarthy perp was carrying a Kalashnikov--
That’s AK-47 for you NRA gun nuts--
A handgun, ammunition, a baseball cap,
A small video recording device, and a
Copy of The Koran,
All items matching
Descriptions of the gunman,
And, even if not, a known-terrorist
Named Mahdi bin Laden,
Carrying an assault rifle
Would have been enough
To fit the profile,
Justify the profiling,
Sufficient to stop anyone
Passing through Customs,
Except, of course
The French Corps Diplomatique,
Wreaking most of the havoc in the EU these days.
There was once a time when any Thom, Dieter or Heine
Could get outta town on a ratline,
Blessed by the Pope,
Assisted by the OSS.
A white linen suit and a Panama hat:
Was all it took any Schutzstaffel
To pull off another Argentine makeover,
Melt into the landscape,
Speaking Spanish with a thick German brogue.
It’s nice to know
Jew persecution is criminal,
Socially frowned on these days.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
o darling oh wohw ohhh dar-ling oh wohw wohw wohw dahrrr-leeeing some gunman walked into the mall
who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for I said Sarah Palin with my cross-hair target I shot Gabby Giffords who saw her fall? I said gun laws people with my little eye I saw her fall who caught her blood? I said Daniel Hernandez who placed pressure to her wound with my finger caught her blood who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll make the shroud? I said Cochise County ranchers pressuring for tougher Mexican border laws I'll make the shroud with my thread and needle who'll interpret what she stood for? I said Tea Party constituents with my pick and shovel I’ll dig her grave who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll be the minister? I said Washington lobbyists with my little book I’ll be the minister who'll be the clerk? I said the media if it's not in the dark I'll be the clerk who'll carry the link I said Twitter I'll fetch it in a minute I'll carry the link who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll be chief mourner? I said American people I mourn for my love I’ll be chief mourner who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll carry the consequence? I said destitute lost their homes to Wall Street banks if it's not through the night I'll carry the moment who'll bear the sadness? We said the world both man and woman We'll bear sadness who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll sing a psalm? I said the poet as she sat on a bush I'll sing a psalm who'll toll the bell? I said factory worker because I can pull I'll toll the bell for all people of the land fell a-sighing a-sobbing when they heard the bell toll for poor Gabby Giffords. who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for some gunman walked into the mall 9 mm Glock in his hand shot a bullet through her head 13 wounded 6 dead including little 9 year old girl Christina-Taylor Green who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for
marching bands make me cry i don’t know why they’re so dazzling beautiful fun playing their instruments marching in uniformed unison they melt my heart eyes wet with sadness joy who shot Gabby Giffords? some gunman walked into the mall
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 2:19 AM UTC
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman **** and go free to
**** again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
2.2k
I'm here all by myself
These white walls have personalities, my heart is starting to melt.
so I smoke ****** from a pipe,
My lungs are rust
Take a line of Coke,
My brain is dust from all of these drugs.
I can't think straight,
I'll walk the plank.
I'll Spill my blood so sharks will come and Devour my broken bones whole.
In between hell and Earth I walk the line of the silver blade against my thigh,
My body is alive but my mind won't survive.
I feel a galaxy's worth of emotions,
Dump me in the ocean,
I'm drowning again
i can't any longer pretend that I am my own friend.
If a gunman threatened me, I'd tell him to feel free to shoot me,
I don't want to be alive.
each day I struggle to survive, snorting 6 or 7 lines a day to keep my suicidal thoughts away.
to die in the ocean would be so beautiful.
any form of death would be.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
Excitement filled the cinema waiting for it to start
with anticipation amongst the fans.
As the cape crusaders new adventure began
nobody expected what was to come.
They settled in to see the spectacular action
then came a violent interaction!
Joy turned to terror as in seconds he fired
randomly with an automatic gun!
A man gave no mercy to those in the dark
red hair dressed in black!
Not caring whose life spark was taken away
no compassion on display!
Another mass murderer there was created
at least twelve slaughtered!
Many more badly wounded caused by one
a lone young gunman.
Another massacre to analyse how it could be
evidence the authorities didn't see!
Then you realise how easy it could happen again
a possible scenario of death!
Loners who are not all psychotic beings
but clever devious individuals!
That for a cause a grudge or even sick pleasure
they have no decency or measure!
May I send my deepest sympathy to all the families
those lost should be remembered not the killer!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
I used to dream of ice cream, toy stores
roller coasters and Star Wars
It’s just dregs now, bitter
A nightmare, Twitter
I dream of my mother scolding
Being more than senseless, molding
My father at his cruelest
Exaggerations, clueless
My little brother stolen
my arms not strong enough to hold him
Running, searching, groping
Falling into the ocean
Gasping, reaching for the rungs
Water filling my lungs
Great depths
Unknown wrecks
Sunk ships misery
No buoyancy
Car accidents
Missed tests
Broken hearts
Fire starts
A gunman in the classroom
A sudden crass boom
Glass flying through the air
People screaming, nothing there
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
When this Bonnie Parker
And Clyde Chestnut Barrow romance
Had its shootouts,
We'd run for cover,
I was the gunman and
You, the getaway driver.
We'd drive until the sun had set
(If the gas haven't run out first)
The next day,
The next town,
A different time,
A different place,
My same sweet Bonnie.
-Jamie F. Nugent
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
the gunman is holding his fire
and the eagle is soaring higher
and this love is want and desire
but I can't find it any longer.
the train is boarding the station
and the waiting is like the waste
of every single story
that were lies about this place
take this away from me
fill this sink with
endless china and my
wordless dreams
the pictures are but a liar
their stories written through snowstorms
and my drink is candy and whiskey
every night and day
the gunman is holding his fire
and the eagle is soaring higher
and this love is want and desire
but I can't find it any longer.
and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess
and i miss you i guess
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
The puppeteer is the fool,
delivering drugs like a mule,
unaware of his crime,
he will pay a price of time.
The puppeteer approaches his boss,
in a room with some moss.
A man with two tears tattooed on his face,
holds out the his gross overpay and hands him mace.
The Puppeteer walks with what he believes is just cheats,
not hearing the sound of foot beats.
to late to block,
he is clocked.
The puppeteer protects what is his,
the boy beats him without a single miss,
out comes his hero in a baseball cap,
threatening the boy he tries to leave the map.
The puppeteers pride is damaged,
and takes the bat hitting his atter leaving him in bandages.
paying off the right people the man with tear tattoo's
make all the charges become taboo.
The puppeteer reads the news,
the boy he attacked might be set a new,
sitting by the rail on valentines day,
his friend approaches with a blush like a bae.
The puppeteer hears the boy say love,
he pushes his into the wall not wanting to be his dove,
though secretly he feels different,
and his hero can tell and kisses him not ashamed he is indifferent.
The puppeteer panics he is set a miss
for he never expected to receive a kiss,
he shoves him off and yells queer,
his heart is set with fear.
The puppeteer sees him sit down next to him,
his girlfriend near he won't mention it Kim,
looking for justice an older brother show up,
though he is ignored as his opponent sips from a cup.
The puppeteer hears a shot be fired,
he realises he is deaths desire,
when all went black,
his eyes open to see the gunman be pushed a back.
The puppeteer smiles for he has won,
till his hand touched someone,
looking to the side their lies the hero,
and the puppeteers sanity hits zero.
Complete our dream that is his last call,
before the hero's eyes will fall.
an unmarked grave is mentioned through my rhyme,
nothing can heal the heart not even time.
One goal is set in mind,
and he will accomplish it in do time,
to become an artist of the written word,
only then can the puppeteer become a bird.
The puppeteer lives no more,
for now he closes the past's door.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
When she bought the house
His mother was smiling
She could finally leave Queens
For the burbs of Long Island
She wanted to leave Queens
Because in Queens the kids were wildin’
But little did she know
So were her little darlins’
The fast paced life
She thought she left behind
Gave her a comfort level
But only in her mind
Call it accidental
Or simply by design
To the realities of life
She was partially blind
This is a cautionary tale
From which there’s no escape
Like the finish of a close race
It’s a tale of the tape
Lampin’ in the burbs
Things seemed to be fine
He smoked a little herb
Because he was inclined
According to most people
You couldn’t find
A nicer fella anywhere
Most of the time
There was another side to him
Ya need to know
Rumor has it
That he moved a lot of blow
But where he sold it at
Nobody seemed to know
It was in the kinds of places
His people didn’t go
This is a cautionary tale
From which there’s no escape
Like the finish of a close race
It’s a tale of the tape
Life’s a mystery
Because ya never know
How long you’re gonna be here
Or when you’re gonna go
So how come most of us
Act like that isn’t so
Living recklessly
Most of the time but - yo
There were those who thought they knew him
But they really didn’t
So many aspects of his personality
He kept well hidden
He did lots of things
That people thought he didn’t
And if they confronted him
He simply wouldn’t admit it
This is a cautionary tale
From which there’s no escape
Like the finish of a race
It’s a tale of the tape
Swing low sweet chariot
The Lord took him home
Only twenty-one
But sadly now he’s gone
Made a left turn
But that turn was wrong
Now he’s a memory
Talked about in song
The bigger they are
They say the harder they fall
It’s an understatement to relate
That he was tall
A giant of a man
About six-five in all
Tall enough to make
Everyone else look small
While in front of his mother’s house
Minding his own business
A gunman snuck behind him
According to the witness
Pumped two in his head
With certainty and quickness
Knocked him to the ground
Where he was still and listless
This is a cautionary tale
From which there’s no escape
Like the finish of a close race
It’s a tale of the tape
Swing low sweet chariot
The Lord took him home
Only twenty-one
But sadly now he’s gone
Made a left turn
But that turn was wrong
Now he’s a memory
Talked about in song
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
It’s May 18th, 2022. I’m poised, alone, heart pounding, in front of my laptop, waiting for courage, my finger hovering over the return key, like a child hoping the timing of my keystroke will bring me luck.
I took this summer off - which drove my mom absolutely CrAzY. “You CAN’T!” she’d said last month, only to be overruled by my Grandmère. Now I’m home for summer break and tonight she’s flush with exasperation.
“You should have applied for a dean’s fellowship,” she said, her voice rising as she rubs her hands together, as if scrubbing for an operating room procedure, “and a summer research position!” She’s practically twirling with suppressed emotion.
I get why she’s upset. She only goes “deep end” when she's worried about my future. She knows what’s needed to get a medical school slot in 2025 like other moms know their favorite recipe - after all, she’s done this twice before.
Leong’s upstairs, avoiding this family scene. When I described my family expectations as “hustle culture,” to my roommates, they all understood - we’re that much alike.
Step (my stepfather) is trying to de-escalate and calm us (her) down. “Look,” he says, holding up his hands like someone talking down a gunman, “NEXT summer she’ll buckle down, get in more volunteer hours and get a dean’s research fellowship” he says, sliding his eyes to me. I nod “ok” almost imperceptibly. “It’s ok to start grinding sophomore year - that’s what I did.”
OOOO! She turned to him and if looks could **** he would have exploded like someone in a Tarantino movie.
By some psychic grace my Grandmère chose that moment to call. Step and I fled the den like it were on fire, going our separate ways to halve the chance of being followed.
In my dark room, lit only by the light of my MacBook, a quiver runs through me, and I finally press return. My grades for Spring semester - and Freshman year come up. My eyes water and I relax back against my chair when I see “Dean's List.”
I smile to myself, and slowly, fiercely I clench my fist with a “YESS!" As I postulate my victorious reprieve.
Jul 10, 2022
Jul 10, 2022 at 4:00 PM UTC
in the High School cafeteria
there was horror on the menu;
A loner with a pistol
seeking victims and a venue.
Three times the pistol fired
and kids began to fall.
It might have been a massacre
if not for old Frank Hall.
Frank Hall was the football coach
with a short and stubby frame.
While others fled, he charged towards
this criminal insane.
Frank Hall didn't stop to think
he didn't have the time.
As he charged towards the gunman
His life was on the line.
The gunman fired once at Frank,
the shot rang high and wide
It caught a fleeing coed,
put a flesh wound in her side.
The gunman turned in panic
as the first responders came
He fled into the nearby woods,
just some kid named T.J. Lane.
Three teenagers lay dead inside
one more would never stand.
Many more lives had been spared
by the courage of one man.
He comforted the dying
as the ambulance came late.
The moment found the man-
was it providence or fate?
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
I see fire
burning in the eyes
of a gunman.
I see fire
burning in the smile
of a terrorist.
I see fire
burning in the fingertips
of a child molester.
I see fire
burning in the hearts
of the people who want to make a difference.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
another bullet fired
another one killed
how am i supposed to react?
do i write a speech on gun control? do i condemn a gunman's actions i could never fathom?
should i think of the ones who won't live to see another day?
another gun loaded
another life scarred
let me write a Facebook post about the victim
let me take a deep breath and articulate my feelings
and wonder why a young woman who was living her dream have to die in front of her brother and fans
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
Rambling rivers
Bone shivers
Vegetation withers
The beast slithers
Ocean tides
Coward hides
Avalanche slides
Gunman decides
Feel bold
Know cold
Tightly hold
Lies sold
We all decide
Choices collide
Friends make war
Enemies make amends
Opportunity closes her door
nightmare never ends.
Life is a fickle one
For all of us,
under the sun.
This is for all of us
those who share this world,
under the sun.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
Death is always in the room.
Death was there when you were born,
patiently standing behind the doctor
as he first held you up
and presented you to your mother,
covered in filth and choking for air.
Waiting.
Death was there when you took your first steps,
in case a truck
were to go careening
across your front lawn,
in a freak accident,
slamming through the front window
and into the living room,
ruining the kodak moment.
Death was there for all the important events,
and all the mundane ones:
Looking on with your father
while you learned to ride a bicycle.
Hovering over midfield
during every soccer practice.
One row down from you
in the orchard
during the rainstorm
when you had your first kiss.
And death is still there now,
one instant away from you,
always prepared
for that driver asleep at the wheel,
for that blood clot come unstuck
from the wall of your femoral artery,
for that gunman
suddenly bursting through your door.
But that’s really the beautiful part of it all.
Everything that's ever happened in your life,
everything that mankind has ever accomplished,
every crying newborn baby,
every impossible feat of exploration achieved,
Death was just an instant away—
a shroud around the entire planet
constantly abided and never
broken through
until the very end.
Death is always in the room.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 9:48 PM UTC
If I could fix the world,
Setting straight the crooked man’s twisted words with my iron crow,
I’d wrap my brain around what’s wrong, run him out of town on a rail,
Make it safe for women and children first again,
While he hangs together with his corkscrewed cronies or separately,
A lone gunman, fulfilling his own prophecy, his days numbered,
And I belly up to the bar to hoist a few and toast his good riddance.
Why would I tell you my anger and grief, love, knowing it will only raise red flags?
Worrying for my sound mind and body stooped to his level,
Your chemistry simultaneously repelled and attracted to our strange elixir,
The cure worse than the disease, my fists clenched, bruised haymakers
Flailing to defend the ghost in you, a wispy cloud of smoke my arms can’t wrap around.
You should see the other guy, never walking away from a fight, never talking out of school
About the last man standing, railing at raindrops, my reach outstretched beyond grasp,
Out of insight, out of my element, out of my head, out of words,
Left with only futile grunts, moans, and sighs, drained of charm,
My primal gut gnawing at this empty longing, disarmed by your absent embrace,
My zombie arms search the streets howling for their runaway bride.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
At Sandy Hook,
A man, he took,
A loaded gun into a building of little kids,
And showed a whole country what tragedy really is,
28 families with an emptiness inside,
A gunman, reckless, never tempted to hide,
Christmas stockings, they hang unfilled,
For the children who at the hands of that man, were killed,
Now, I don't think the answer is to ban
Assault weapons, when they weren't even used by the man,
But what's the plan? Take all the guns away?
Hypocritical government has got nothing to say.
I'm sure politicians with their wicked twisted ways
Do not mind the guns that protect them everyday.
Or the soldiers overseas protecting freedom with an M16,
So what's it mean? I guess one summary to me,
Gun laws aren't the problem, the issue is bigger,
It's not the Guns who **** it's the one's who pull the trigger..
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:40 PM UTC
Another volcano erupts
Masked as a mass shooting
Thousand Oaks is disrupts
By a gunman executing
Twelve innocent lives taken
Bloodshed rocked the mountain
Tremors of tears are foresaken
As the sadness mounts in
In the afterglow of the sorry night
A hero officer is lauded
For responding with all his might
His ultimate sacrifice duly applauded
As many of the bar patrons ran in fear
While smokebombs and bullets sprayed the air
The evil gunmen with his calculated stare
Left the victims without a prayer
In the aftermath sits cratered questions
With depths far reaching as to why
Many innocents lives lost, echo
suggestions
Their indelible voices still cry
For we're resigned to sitting in all normacy
With no foresight on stopping the flow
As another mass shooter festers in dormacy
And this is so sickening to watch it blow
Logan Robertson
11/07/2018
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
some people live in chronic fear that right outside their front door
there's a gunman waiting to end them
some of us dream of such things
Aug 20, 2021
Aug 20, 2021 at 4:05 AM UTC