"infanticide" poems
Why am I killed?
Why am I consider devil?
Don't I have heart?
Don't I have feel?
What mistake I did?
that I can't be feed.
I am not allowed to bear
and always kept under fear.
My souls starts cry,
when find female infanticide tried.
I am who continues generation
then why there is discrimination.
I also want to read and write
and enjoy all the fundamental rights.
Am not the environment foe
but am of talent shows.
I am proud to be a girl child
which continues country's mild.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
This is the Last Straw –
and Something About Sacred Buckets of Holistic Ice Water
****** predators, human smugglers
Starvation in the Sudan, civil war
in Syria, mass executions in China
Journalists murdered almost everywhere
Fashionable infanticide, homelessness
Unemployment, urban terrorism
Mass ****** school shootings, wildfires, racism
An unstable national government
Anti-Semitism, border desperation
Riots, arson, ecclesiastical corruption
**** alcoholism, historical cleansing
Skinheads, abuse, Khardassianistas
Volcanos, the death penalty, free verse
Affluenza, Jerry Springer, The View
Herbal tea, antifa, anti-antifa
And the soul-sucking existential despair
Of inspirational singer-songwriters:
Nah, not a bit worried about plastic straws
But I must go now; The Voices are telling me
To pour a bucket of ice water over my head
(As long as it’s not a plastic bucket)
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto
as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology
smashing to fragments: demonic astrology
(more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though).
Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance
Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit –
ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience.
Margaret sang her seductive refrain
about weeding the garden and progress and light.
Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain
but instead have adopted her murderous rite.
With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics
(as if she had never herself been a fetus),
condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics
while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us.
Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain
she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain.
As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side)
Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy
singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide
calling the shots for the coming sick century.
Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races
her zeal was empowered by murderous graces.
She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction:
“dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy”
“viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction”
Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy;
words that turn Life into mere reproduction.
She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless
roundly condemned by her feminine otherness.
Man’s first protection: the God-given womb
which no infant should have to regard as their tomb.
Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her
as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her.
Long may she burn with the medical cynics
this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics.
Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen
and the profits swell big with each nubile teen…
yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen.
I send her this song as a funeral wreath
and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there:
“To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death
from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth.
May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
A woman in heaven caused the fall of man,
Even though the apple was plucked by her man.
A woman in Troy caused a ****** old war,
Brave men fought for the honour of possessing her.
A woman in Judea gave birth to a baby boy,
Whose tongue caused upheavals that's felt to this day.
A woman in a bikini is a poster for her own liberation,
While in a burka she is a symbol of her own oppression.
She must be the cause of her own sexploitations,
For her assets fulfil the ogling market's expectations.
When she's ***** it must be her fault in some way,
For as she passes by, her brethren look the other way.
A young woman is responsible for her own lynching,
If she dishonours her brethren for her lover's calling.
As a child she is the cause of her own infanticide,
For she is the bearer of ill-omens and misfortune.
Has anyone ever asked her if she wants to be a poster,
Or a commodity, or a bearer of their burden and slander?
Beware how you treat her, for she is above all a mother,
Whose hands may cradle the next saint, thief or ******
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
I have gained a paternal responsibility
But I feel a different response filling me
Constantly itching from a million flees
Begging to get me out of this please
So in my mind unseen
Resides a murderous dream
To subtract from my team
I fall into a landslide
Of infanticide
A lioness eats her cubs
As a baby drowns in a tub
Before they reach the age
They acquire our rage
We devour our babies
Before they contract rabies
We're brought together by proximity and origin
By who we were forming in
This connection of chance
Determines circumstance
Guiding our circle dance
With random music
We take whatever we can
Until we lose it
A possum's mother dies
It has no time to cry
It must continue to eat
So it feeds
Like its mother in heat
Had to breed
In order to not lose
The child chews
In a world of me or you
The child chews
Instead of feeling blue
The child chews
Its mother's fur stuck in its teeth
It stays there to provide heat
The parent provisions from beyond the grave
Will get the possum through this ugly day
From possum to person
I can't tell which is the worse end
For there is flesh stuck between my teeth
Like a Christmas wreath
Where what lies beneath
In a readily equipped sheath
Is patricide or matricide
I can't decide
But must abide
To survive
The purgatory
I see surging toward me
So to move forwardly
I must live forlornly
After feeding on family
Company becomes fantasy
Learning no one can handle me
They're just meals I'll eat handily
I eat my relatives
In this hell I live
Where what I give
Is the gnashing of my jaw
To follow a universal law
That says scratch and claw
Until I meet God
Expecting my parricide ways
Will garner divine praise
But for everybody I slayed
My soul was filleted
Now I only see grey
So everyone looks like my father
And I say welcome back Kotter
As I yearn for my teeth to be hotter
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
Has not enough been said
About Cecil, the Lion?
This has brought me to tears.
For those who don't know
Cecil lived in a Wild Life park
In Zimbabwe.
There was no hunting allowed
So, some sick *******
Who is a big game hunter
Dragged a antelope carcass
So that Cecil would
Come out of the park.
He, then, shot Cecil
With an arrow
And Cecil was tortured
Over forty hours.
Cecil was tracked down,
He was shot with a gun,
He was decapitated,
He was skinned.
How is it that
What is so magnificent
As a Lion
Is seen as nothing
But a head and skin
To decorate your living room?
I've been to Kenya
And Tanzania.
They are glorious creatures
In the wild.
Why not just take a photo?
Or just enjoy their magnificence
And then leave
With your enhanced soul?
They say psychopaths
Practice on animals first
This sick pathology
Has to end, not only for
Animals but humans well.
This man had a felony conviction
For baiting black bears.
He belongs in prison
Although many think
He should be decapitated
As well.
People are angry.
And Cecil's Cubs?
I used to watch a show
Called:
"Big Cat Diaries"
And their fate is sealed
As well.
Lions practice infanticide
And when a new male
Comes to Cecil's pride
He will **** all of Cecil's offspring
To make their mothers
Go into estrus
So they can breed.
One cub has been killed
And not much hope for
The other eight.
Our neighbors bait
Black bears, **** them,
Skin them, stuff them
And put them in their house.
They seem to just enjoy
Killing things for no reason
They find great joy
In killing things.
They seem like
Nice enough people
But when you have
So little respect for Life
Can't it haunt
Your human ties?
I honestly feel
Like someone
Has shot my dog.
And it makes me weep,
Though the story
Is now old.
This man should
Go to prison,
And in Zimbabwe.
Send the world
A huge message
That we are not Neanderthals
We don't have to
To **** things
Out of sheer joy.
We should not reduce
Living things to
Heads and hides.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
For every leaf in Autumn’s fall
A child is lost without recall,
For every song that’s sung for love
A child is whipped by callous glove.
For every latte shared in joy
There’s *** abuse to some small boy,
Each million dollar haul of art
Starvation stills a child’s young heart.
When tears of joy cascade in breeze
A thousand homeless children freeze,
For every morning sunbeam clear
The cloud descends on some child’s fear.
For every excess we consume
Mass underprivelaged children loom,
Blond beauties all attired in red
Unwanted babies left for dead.
Massive plenty for the few
Dispossessed small children *******
Privelaged cold concience clear
Little feet bequeathed the fear.
Global sympathy won’t change
‘Till effete thinking rearranged,
Sanity shall not transform
‘Till WOMAN leaders are the norm.
Marshalg
For the lost legions in our midst.
20 July 2011
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 4:41 PM UTC
They say that we're oppressed
Suffocating behind veils
And wear un-attractive bin bags
Shapeless and nameless
They say we're not allowed to be educated
And assume we can't speak English
That we're slaves to men
And we should forsake the medieval religion
The medieval religion that gave me life
And stopped female child infanticide
The one that treats me equal with no false illusions
The one that says that I should be respected as a person not a body
The one that first gave me rights
To vote and own property
The religion that commands me to seek knowledge and educate
To travel for this duties sake
And allows me to keep my name
Islam says that I should be covered
Like all things rare and special
Pearls and diamonds
You wouldn't flash your jewels for the taking
Nuns are admired for their devotion
And respected for their piety
Also clinging on to their modesty
Our models are Maryam or Mary
Not a cent that I earn has to be spent on anyone but myself
And the best of men in Allah's eyes
Is one who treats me the best
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC
Several moons before
when we were still strangers
under the darkest veil of the velvet curtain
we lay dormant beside each other
whispering words of white wash
under the cover of a deceiving peace
waiting for the next shell shock.
Dizziness would rise
quickly in as the water in the brain
fizzed like soda
bursting into effervescent bubbles
lining oozing cracks
smelling like petroleum.
And then we'd rise
from our self-made graves
sprinting across no-man's land
leaping over the gorge of death
playing with the volcanoes below
and dancing snipers.
Juggling that we'd be able to
sweep through the next jungle
burn its corpses
gorge on its juices
dismembering the world
and in its infanticide the clouds
would wail in their wake
spitting contempt on our rejoicing backs
while we danced our hollow victory
and onto the coming thunders.
Days and days passed and here we are
lying in graves dug for others
watching the star trails as they pass us by
oblivious in all eternity.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC
I am the rejected child
The neglected son or daughter
That did not live up
To the standard that we ought to
Because we are not
A carbon copy of our parents,
And what we are in life
Is so very honestly apparent
That they can no longer lie
To their friends and neighbors.
We are symbols of rebuke
Of all of their dishonest labors
To make living our lives
All about how they want to look
And how upset they are
That we didn't play by the book.
Some of it is because
The religion they never really studied
Got all tangled up with ego
And the truth became too muddied
For them to pick apart the facts
From fears created for financial gain
Based on ancient stories
That disregard the hurt of others, the pain.
But, their child is one of them
Those others they choose to proudly hate.
But, if they examine themselves
They can change, it is never too late.
If they ask themselves “If God made us
Didn't he make me as well as you?
Surely this moral infanticide
Is not what he wanted you to do.”
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
It looked all right through the windows of
Our cosy sitting room,
The day was light and the sun was bright
But the house was like a tomb,
The other rooms were as cold as hell
With their stalactites of ice,
That dripped from the bedroom ceiling down
To meet the stalagmites.
I’d settled Eve on the couch and spread
A blanket round her arms,
I didn’t think I should tell her, just
In case she became alarmed,
She’d spent a week in the sitting room
For she wasn’t feeling well,
How do you say, ‘We’ve fallen into
The Seventh Circle of Hell!’
They taught us the laws of physics were
Impossible to change,
Gravity, mass, and basic math
Had a certain, definite range,
But men of science had interfered
With the particle known as ‘God’,
They’d built the Hadron Collider and
The results, they said, were odd.
I could have told them how odd they were
When I went outside to see,
My car was covered in mushrooms
And a train sat up in the tree.
A whale was floating beneath the Moon
And a porpoise lay in the park,
The light was bright in the sitting room
But outside, it was dark.
Nothing remained the way it was
For all the colours had changed,
The lawn, the colour of strawberry jam
And the sky was rearranged,
The stars were falling like sequins in
A cluster of drops like rain,
And ice was forming up on the eaves
That tasted like champagne.
I went inside and I slammed the door,
I turned on the News at 6,
They said there’d been an apology
But it wouldn’t be hard to fix,
They’d run the Collider backwards to
The way that they’d done before,
And hopefully, the ‘particle God’
Would be as he’d been once more.
I sat with Eve as the sun went down
And I tried to keep her still,
Away from the hallway mirror so
She wouldn’t scream or squeal,
The lines were deepening on her face
As our lease on life had lapsed,
I hoped she wouldn’t go out today
With the world outside, collapsed.
The sun rose up in the morning as
It had for a million years,
And everything was familiar,
They’d run the thing in reverse.
The News went back to the good old things
We were used to, from before,
Stabbings, murders, infanticide
And that good old standby, war!
David Lewis Paget
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
You grind off my fingerprints
To remove my identity
Putting your finger to my lips
The silence will better me
You're a predatory anemone
That can look ahead of me
Sensing the dread in me
Slicing me splendidly
Despite my defended pleas
You ruthlessly rend me
To bring about an ending
To that ring you were lending
So our lives will stop blending
You break my heart
Then sow it back together
You stop and start
Leading me on forever
As I fall into darkness
Only seeing your face
Is this just a dark test?
Or is this a futile race?
I move like a shark rests
When you can't be replaced
I am paralyzed
By your hazel eyes
Catching the gaze of mine
Through a maze of lies
And my ways of crime
Are infantilized
By your infanticide
Roller coaster ride
Of which I must abide
Because this lust of mine
Convinces me rust is fine
And to ignore passing time
You make me want to live
You make me want to die
I have everything to give
Instead I reluctantly fly
Through the dark clouds looming
Formed after you cut through me
With the acuteness of your beauty
And the bullets you were shooting
That I attempted to dodge
And denied their existence
I want you to live in my lodge
Yet I always meet resistance
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
She is my mom,
The spark that gave me light
The cloud to the rain
That fell against his grave
She was my mom,
Someone so proud to
Hold me
Give me life
Someone so proud to
Snub the wick
And quit
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
she
threw
him
away
she
had
nothing to feed him
(10 words excl. spaces)
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
The second circle the seventh time.
Assyria busting at the seams.
The cantos of infanticide,
breaching
brackish water's deep.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
The Impatience of the Nineteenth Century
The impatience of the nineteenth century
Left us the genocide of the twentieth
With all the progressive apparatus of death:
Infanticide, death camps, firing squads, gas
And now unto the twenty-first – smart bombs
Are flung by geosynchronous satellites
Deep, deep into the imperfect souls of men
Thus breaking bodies for the perfect state
In victory the dying last voice will croak
“At least we freed ourselves from those awful kings”
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
It’s the Wholly Babble!
Obfuscation for the rabble;
Its plagiarized bunk
Delivered in hunks
And carefully rigged
To put lipstick on the pig
That means, at least,
A good living for priests.
So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.
Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.
In the Wholly Babble!
Godly, revered people
You can search and find
Many murderously unkind.
Despicable tales galore
Talking snakes and gore;
****** and genocide,
Infanticide and fratricide.
So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.
Miracles are plenty there
To believe every word here
To tempt you with their glory
In the convoluted story
Of two people and two kids
Who did the son wed
When one got married?
From where was she carried?
Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.
And the saddest thing is
An ‘us and them’ myth is
The idea used to create
An established cause for hate.
It’s your God against mine
Yours is evil, mine is fine.
Now isn’t that a fright
To keep you up at night?
So, let’s take a collection
Everyone pays the tab
For a few thousand years
Of indecipherable blab.
Let’s make up stories
That never appeared
And discuss the length
Of God-On-High’s beard.
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
I'd leave a perfect world
by my own virtue it would seldom ever grow
I watched this, your flag unfurl
Never though a match could make me feel so low
I stand and watch it burn
Crushed by the silence you began to show
There is no lesson learned
I walk away, yet you don't watch me go
Step inside see my life from my own perspective
Witness my infanticide
Crumbling cursed, each new notion rejected
I am my one true love
But still infatuation leaves me feeling breathless
Unfit unfaithful holy one
Did you belive you could disconnect me
This city has a gun
Evidence is mounting all against me
Witness the setting sun
Smoking skyline sick, and watch it fall free
Counter terrorist far too late
My toll I took, all I could take
Robbery of the first degree
First degree burns
God you're so **** pretty
There was always a disconnect
This life promises to be full of discontent
And regret
Make no mistake
Every time I set something fake
Into concrete and incased
My free will it was faux
I let my emotion lay low
And now I'm going
Sorry about the mess, man
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 7:09 AM UTC
like salty ocean waves, a chill floods the heart
the screaming, earth-shattering, ears fail to start
the mumbling, so troubling it's nearly divine
the mother just stares and states, 'i'll deal with what's mine'
it falls to the ground, solid as stone
but it leaks deep roses and bares broken bones
the salt fills her eyes, starting a fire within
for when amber blows, another begins
the screaming was silent, the anger was cold
for the baring of child tore a hole in the soul
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
Cities are built on sand and then taken by the sea
Leaving good men with nowhere to stand, and with nowhere for me
For infanticide is perfectly acceptable at the hands of a god
And humanity is completely perfectable, but only if nothing is wrought,
And the good we do comes from the spirit but evil is all our own
For how could good come from a man who believes this world to be home
This is the faith my mother believes
This is the faith being forced upon me
She rejects my rejection of god's inherent perfection,
Continues injections of god's power, scripture's lessons,
But I still do not understand,
I still can't seem to see,
She speaks of a poisoned world
Of a savior for all of our ********* souls
She says we are sinners in god's angry hands
But is human such a bad thing to be?
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC
Just as
God has
The Father
The Son, and
The Holy Spirit
The man of prediction
Will have the dark Trinity;
Baal. Ishtar, Moleck
The god of
Baal
The deceiver
Removing God
from the church
the government.
Removing prayer
from the schools.
Removing Jesus
from the
market place.
God does. not stay
where he is not wanted!
Absence of God, chaos begins
Indoctrinating the children of sin
A pagan world begins to rule the Earth
Ideology wars changes
the nature of education
****** indoctrination
no age is too young
Woke America is born
Children bought, sold
Aphrodites are born
Ritual killings. pleasing gods
The
goddess
Ishtar
Wife of
Baal
cultures
through centuries
Known by many names
Enchantress, Aphrodite,
Venus. Diana
characteristics; wild
fanatic ******
deviances
Her perversions
have no bounds.
****** appetite Devours
Her imagination runs wild
In a dystopian society
Aphrodite is a goddess
that can change from
man to a woman
And from a
woman to man
*** is fluid
Death of the
Traditional family
Beta blockers
given to children
As young as seven
Society can
No longer determine
what is a woman.
Reduced to a
baby receptacle
by definition.
Men now can
give birth.
****** perversions
openly. show
the agenda,
a man in a dress
with a wig and a
beard and a mustache.
with male genital
can shower
and dress in
the locker room
with young girls
Appropriate Pronouns, please
when feelings
instead. of Facts
rule the day.
Moleck
The destroyer
Killer of babies and
humans for sacrifice
New York, California
created a bill of
infanticide.
A baby can be
killed up to
28 days
after birth.
Corners
are not. allowed
to question
the death of a baby
63 million abortions
were sacrifice
given to
the god. of Moleck
May 2, 2023
May 2, 2023 at 12:49 AM UTC
the wretched shackles that bound my wrists clanged together dreadfully as I shook
they themselves being the bindings between my innocence and the gallows patiently awaiting me
the voyeurs shout-
"murderess, o foul murderess!
burn eternally, you foul murderess!"
I am numb to these accusations,
as I am numb to the fear of death
the benevolent masses, the enemies that seek my execution,
these are not evil spirits
and so,
the guilty verdict that once grated against my skin now feels as soft and gentle as the clouds that, too, await me
I have retired the melancholy
I resolve myself to die with the dignity and gentleness that I had conducted myself with from the moment I was given life
I resolve to hold onto the sweetness and maternity that I showed that sweet boy,
that I had used to hold him for the first time
my hands, nothing but affectionate to that boy, my boy
the same hands that loved and cared for him from his very conception,
these are the hands they convict
these hands were supposedly the weapon that choked the life out of that sweet fawn, that I had loved so dearly
and so, these are the hands that are held accountable
bound behind my back, wrapped together tightly
these are the hands of love that have been convicted
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
Ensorcelé !
Heureux !
Imprimé dans mon fondement
De la marque indélébile
De ma diablesse
Marqué tel un zombie dans la fesse gauche
Marqué tel un zombie dans le blanc de l 'oeil gauche
Marqué tel un zombie dans le pied gauche
Du sceau de luxure
J 'ai juré allégeance à mon ange,
Ma soeur, ma mère, ma fille,
Mon épouse, ma reine, ma déesse.
Mon Ombre satanément fidèle,
J'ai signé un pacte avec Elle
Un pacte de non agression
Et de secours mutuel
Et ne comptez pas sur moi
Pour que je commette
Ni sororicide, ni matricide, ni infanticide
Ni uxoricide, ni régicide, ni déicide.
Ce ne serait que tentative de suicide,
Ombricide lâche, poltron
Voué à pendaison, géhenne,
Noyade et démembrement.
Ensorcelé !
Marabouté !
Morfoisé !
Vampirisé !
A d'autres les zombicides, les soukouyancides
Et chaque jour que ma Muse fait
J'honore de sa signature le chant du coq
Et la rosée sur le sang des coquelicots
Et le ballet des balais et des chapeaux pointus
Par delà les nuages comme des i accent circonflexe
Ou des parapluies ballottés par nos peurs archaïques.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 1:58 AM UTC
The Holy Land neath hammer blows -
is this what Jesus prophesied:
when sad-sack’s hanged like mistletoes
the sightless see a suicide;
when thousands fall like dominoes
the blind deny it’s homicide;
when women fry in thermal throes
the gents reject it’s femicide
when rockets slaughter embryos
the fools forget it’s feticide
when children die and decompose
the dullards doubt infanticide;
when bodies burn with afterglows
no one concedes it’s genocide.
Whichever way the west wind blows
leaves morals dangling, crucified…
Oct 31, 2024
Oct 31, 2024 at 1:25 PM UTC