"slaughterer" poems
Literature literally leaps, like a lioness letting lemurs leave her licked lips.
Books beg to be broken open by bored bosses and brothers and all others.
Poems practically pray for people to pick open pages of Poe and other ponderers of personification.
Metaphors make mothers and masters master their manipulative messages.
Similes smile slyly and smother the selfish and selfless alike like a snake or slaughterer.
And on average, only an artistic artificial android with an arsenal of all arithmetic and knowledge knows,
That though they thought that they could think like the theorizing thinkers,
Nearly nobody knows never to neglect knowledge, whether on rope knots or nautical knots, neanderthals or Narnia.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
You talk about your past lovers like cuts of meat;
The big ******* on this one, the thick thighs on that one, the firm *** on the other.
You call them Chicken, Cow, Pig.
You call me Dear.
I walk into your abattoir of my own accord
and tie myself to the gambrel,
ask you to slaughter me, please, slaughter me.
Always the slaughterer, never the slaughtered,
I want to know what it feels like.
You do as I ask: strip away my skin, slice open my chest, remove my vital organs.
You have to separate my consciousness
from my carcass
to finish.
I am venison, fresh.
You mount my head on your wall
next to the others and
shut my eyes.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
Fading
into the depths of your arms
solace only found
in that deep, dark silence
aware
that this is wrong
her heart lain out
you the slaughterer
my conscience
sits on your shoulder
whispering words of
discouragement
yet you
in your blunder
blindly
continue
and she hurts and burns
and I hurt and burn
and none of us can see past
our folly
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 3:40 PM UTC
It was past 10 pm
Indian Standard Time
And the score was
Two O Five
Klusener was the launcher
Donald was the Duck
Hansie had the fancy
That he will lift the cup
Seconds ticking
One, two, three, four, five…
Damien Fleming’s the bowler
And he’s known as a troller
Windies was the victim
Eight years ago
Steve Waugh!
The man who made Gibbs drop the cup
Stood there
Like a commander
Klusener like a slaughterer
Yorker’s the marker
To stop the nine runs needed
From the Klusener blade
NOW THE LAST OVER
ONE went for a four
TWO went for a four
Tensions flared up
We are on the proverbial Edge-of-the-seat
Steve stood there
No expression on his face
Hansie's in the pavilion
Like a warrior king
THE THIRD BALL
Damien's running like he do
Yes, bang on target
Klusener's couldn't get it off
Like the way in his earlier knocks off
One run needed in three
Just a recap again
Final over
last pair together
nine to get in six *****
player of the tournament on strike
Successive fours from Lance Klusener
and it was one from four *****
Then came the comedy
for South Africa uniquely in the game's annals
the tragedy of a tie.
Moments before it
Steve Waugh was
As cold as an Iceberg
To the Titanic of South Africa
(To be continued in next part)
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
Darkest night and shortest day,
Shadows reign and darkness calls,
The shadowy figure of Death stands by,
Patiently waiting for all to fall.
Each child born will surly die,
None is spared and all know why,
At Death’s bone throne each one will come,
He needn’t search for all will come.
The sun sets earlier for half the year,
Night grows longer, shadows strive,
The year he ages as do all,
Growing weaker, growing frail.
The time draws near when he will die,
The year we’ve loved so hard to watch,
The mourners all do gather round,
For letting go is the hardest task.
With the sun, the year does set,
Sinking down into the grave,
Like each man, he bows his knee,
And presents himself at the throne of bone.
In his birth we knew he’d die,
For every beginning contains the end,
We watched him grow like a new born lamb,
We watch him die at the Slaughterer’s hand.
Every beginning has it’s end,
But every ending is born again,
With Dawn’s first light like the Morning Star,
The new year rises and live once more.
Fresh and hopeful, full of life,
The year reborn begins his flight,
We watch him stretch and try his wings,
We glory that he lives again.
Forgetting the grief and sorrow past,
We pretend he didn’t see Death’s own face,
With the new year, we fly away,
Trying to forget our own mortality.
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 7:55 PM UTC
She is the ghost in his thoughts,
A nightmare so blissful it is mistaken,
For a sentiment of happiness.
She is the ghost in his thoughts,
For in her wake, the consequence lie,
In an unmade bed of thieves,
Slaughterer to his fragmented happiness.
She is the ghost in his thoughts,
Standing on the brink of such spiralling sorrow.
He sees her in the street,
He looks for her in all the people he meets.
-
For he is made of demons and of angels, they dance in his veins. Menacingly pattering to the sound of her tired voice.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:11 AM UTC
They said he was known, to talk to his axe
As if it were the best comrade of his,
Amid the rumors about, he had a rich father
Must have fueled his rancor; the life he had missed.
So local horse slaughterer, became his career,
Ready day and night, with axe in his bag;
Sick and old cows, horses and mules,
Made short work with his axe, of the ailing Nag.
It was his work and he was quite good,
Most skillful with axe; and strong and fast.
With his constant friend, in it's home, the bag,
There's many an animal, breathed it's last.
His work left a smell, upon his person;
Some sick horses had the smell within,
And a small girl at play outside, could not miss
The man going by, with strange smell on him.
Under the radar, he plied his trade,
Coming and going, near invisibly;
Never suspected, if he was the one
Gave fatal blows their timely delivery.
Like a bad choice come back, from the past
To haunt the rich miser, in his worldly domain
Of such stern stuff, there's no doubt he'd refuse
To his fatal undoing, and terminal pain.
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 5:55 AM UTC
It was a Merry-go-ish when I wrote for goddess
An A.B.C Montessori when I painted for Kings
I did greater than the honourable Author of Psalms when I wrote for David
Slaughterer of Goliath, the beloved of the yahweh
My diction sublimes at the gaze of your gait
My pun, vapourized at the thought of your trait
A blonde is best honoured with a long whitish strings of hair
To an African Jewel Jezzy a short shinning black hairs in rare
Which glitter like the flashes of cameras from spectators watching El Classico
Situated on d head like a bed of Roses
A gaze at the paradise still remains an imagination
The reality of it is the picture your face renders at every caption
Well set eyeballs like a black shinning button on a white Teddy bear
Perfectly structured nose, an opening to a gold-cafe
It still baffles me if God really did pain you with a neutral Emulsion glossy paint
Because if the blind calmly stare at it
Clearly will his posture be read, ready to be painted
Discussing the movie that is run in the mystery entailed in your lips
Let's just say its a gaze at the sky that is filled with tulips
Enclosing a set of teeth that looks just like a podium designed with mountain of snow
Which at every smile, causes the audiences' heart to blow
At every picture you take
Causes the saddened hearts a re-make
Go through the cardinal points
See the way Ocean of crowds cluster. to make your feet a joint
Appraisal of your beauty is too 'Waowy' to be written as a Bible
I'm a rude lad though, kindly manage this nonsense from the heart that is liable.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC
I am a mask.
I am the face of soldiers, murderers, monsters, heroes...
Though I guard one man from stealing eyes
I am the last thing many see,
From the gallows to the shadows
And the depths of the sea.
Savior, slaughterer, sacred, scarring,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.
I am a mask.
I am the shield of the weak,
Protector of the fearful,
But people look down on me.
They call me a coward, but then I am showered
With praise when the crooked see.
Needed, never noticed, nervous,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.
I am a mask.
Used and thrown away,
Used again another day:
To raise a gun and rob a bank;
To shield the lawman stopping a criminal;
To blind a man who walks on death row;
To hide the executioner's twisted smile.
Lawbreaker, liberator, litigator, life,
And yet I have no eyes with which to cry.
I am a mask.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
Birdsong is absent from my ears,
There is neither giddiness nor eternal sunshine.
He still leaves a mark: the remnants of a slow
Strangulation which renders me numb.
I volunteered to be blind. I became a sacrificial
Lamb so consumed with my slaughterer that
I could not see his axe. And when he slit my throat
I begged for his forgiveness.
But you. You are no God.
You lack the confidence
Of vast privilege and arrogance
That disarmed me so suddenly.
You come not as a cat and I as a
Mouse. You come as a person,
Real and gentle with a goofy smile
And uneven stubble.
You laugh with your eyes. Or rather your face.
You laugh so completely that I feel your
Very soul is shaking with uncontrollable
Joy. And it is me on which they rest.
I am a lamb no more.
I stand on balanced scales.
I am adored.
And my revelation: I deserve this.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
A Washington Morning.
Another sad one.
A rampage of shooting.
More innocents.
No sense.
Not yet been told why.
One slaughterer slaughtered.
The ****** of crows flew.
Maybe a portent.
Dawn of a black doom.
So harsh.
So sad.
Why the hell did the world turn black.
When lunatic humans hit back in attack!
So sad for you.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
Being Inside
Sick Being Inside
Sick Being Inside
Sick Being Inside
Ever Present Frustration That Needs Release
This Sick Being Needs Surgery
This Sickness Wont Cease
TO Conform TO THE Sicknesss
A Quick FIX A Sham
This Shambles IT Reddens Blood Drenched IN Hand
THE Will TO Change
THE Means Indeed I Need
IN-Action
MY Action
THE Means I Need
Indeed
IN-Action
MY Action
THE Means I Need
Indeed
Indeed!
Indeed!
Indeed!
Flood Blood Drenched Sickness
Flood Blood Drenched Sickness
I AM THE Slaughter
Each Sickening Wave
I AM THE Slaughterer
This Sickness I Crave
I AM THE Slaughter
I AM THE Slaughter
(This Sick Whore'S Bleeding
This Sick Mans Seeding)
I AM THE Slaughter
I AM THE Slaughter
****** Bone Explosion
Concussed Senses
Amiss Torn
Soul IN Blood Bowl Bathing
Charred Garred
Skull Fracture
Mince Meat
Churn Action
HOT Sickness
Nostrils Burning
Skys ON Fire
Eyes Black
Terror Gnarled
Horror Inside
END This Divide
Drop IT
Drop THE Blade
That'S Your Sickness Your Percieving
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 11:38 PM UTC