"slaughters" poems
Holocaust Poem: "On The Slaughter"
by Chaim Nachman Bialik
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Merciful heavens, have pity on me!
If there is a God approachable by men
as yet I have not found him—
Pray for me!
For my heart is dead,
prayers languish upon my tongue;
my right hand has lost its strength
and my hope has wilted, undone.
How long? Oh, when will this nightmare end?
How long? Hangman, traitor,
here’s my neck—
rise up now, rise and slaughter!
Behead me like a dog—your arm controls the axe
and the whole world is a scaffold to me
although we—the chosen few—
were once recipients of the Pacts.
Executioner, my blood’s a paltry prize—
strike my skull and the blood of innocents will rain
drenching your pristine uniform again and again,
staining your raiment forever.
If there is Justice—quick, let her appear!
But after I’ve been blotted out, should she reveal her face,
let her false scales be overturned forever
and the heavens reek with the stench of her disgrace.
You too arrogant men, with your brutal injustice,
suckled on blood, unweaned of violence:
cursed be the warrior who cries "Vengeance!" on a maiden;
such cruelty was never contemplated, even by Satan.
Let innocents’ blood drench the abyss!
Let innocents’ blood seep down into the congealing darkness,
eat it away and undermine
earth's rotting foundations.
Al Hashechita ("On the Slaughter") was written by Chaim Nachman Bialik in response to the ****** Kishniev pogrom of 1903, which was instigated by agents of the Czar who wanted to divert social unrest and political anger from the Czar to the Jewish minority. The Hebrew word schechita (also transliterated shechita, shechitah, shekhitah, shehita) denotes the ritual kosher slaughtering of animals for food. The juxtapositioning of kosher slaughter with the slaughter of Jews makes the poem all the more powerful and ghastly. Such anti-Semitic incidents prompted a massive wave of Eastern European emigration that brought millions of Jews to the West. Unfortunately, there have been many similar slaughters in human history and the poem remains chillingly relevant to the more recent ones in Israel/Palestine, Rwanda, Bosnia and Kosovo. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, poem, Bialik, translation, slaughter, massacre, God, prayer, executioner, hangman, blood, innocents, justice, false, scales, injustice
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 4:00 AM UTC
It is raining outside,
Everything wet,
Soil, tree, terrace, flower *** gate, wall,,,,
But aridity stifles inside,
Head, heart, hand.....
Like the fruits of silk cotton tree,
Cutlery ruptures thought
Humanist is slaughters on the street.....
But slayer forget that
In extreme dryness
When fruits of dry Cotton silk tree explode
It’s diffuse
Germinate in wet soil
and grow everywhere,
Humanist will emit all over again!
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
During explosions; during raids
after rapes; after slaughters
the curse needs a b odY
a possession; a sort of doll
as the spectral bots whimper,
infected by the curse,
unbeknownst & innocuously enough
"May god be with ye",
it spreads like ghostly ***
to me
it all seems so
horrific
and *gor
-y*.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn,
Blowing clear notes of gold against the stars;
Strange entrees with a jangle of glass bars
Fantastically alive with subtle scorn;
Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters,
Clear, vibrant waters, beautifully austere;
Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear,
A screaming fife, a voice from ancient slaughters!
Over the salad let the woodwinds moan;
Then the green silence of many watercresses;
Dessert, a balalaika, strummed alone;
Coffee, a slow, low singing no passion stresses;
Such are my thoughts as -- clang! crash! bang! -- I brood
And gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!
2.3k
I walked in loamy Wessex lanes, afar
From rail-track and from highway, and I heard
In field and farmstead many an ancient word
Of local lineage like “Thu bist,” “Er war,”
“Ich woll,” “Er sholl,” and by-talk similar,
Nigh as they speak who in this month’s moon gird
At England’s very ***** thereunto spurred
By gangs whose glory threats and slaughters are.
Then seemed a Heart crying: “Whosoever they be
At root and bottom of this, who flung this flame
Between kin folk kin tongued even as are we,
Sinister, ugly, lurid, be their fame;
May their familiars grow to shun their name,
And their brood perish everlastingly.”
2.2k
You should hear Her speak of the time
When love had struck Her, left Her blind;
The intuition in Her breast
Was left ignored with just one request:
“Please, love with care (with no hate);
This may prepare you for your fate.”
Then, a One-Eyed-Monster dared to peep
At this starry-eyed Girl with a soul still asleep.
The Monster's nature, as it strove with pleasure,
Pleased Its infinite fervor, which nothing could measure,
As It Schemed, and found, and mostly destroyed
Her love-struck spirit that It yearned to employ.
These reckless hits made by this Daring Dart,
Un-mended the Girl from Rosebud to Heart.
Not believing all the Monster said,
The Girl sought the truth, but found it with dread.
Upon seeing this Monster's very bright colors,
She drowned in sorrow, but refused another
Hit by this Dart, as It still carelessly slaughters
Other Hearts, like Its future Daughter’s.
And then came a time, much later in life,
When the Girl understood love’s unending strife.
Many One-Eyed-Monsters, She now bears in mind,
Aspire to love, but still cannot find
The passion They hunt for and ache to sway,
Because they zip Themselves up when love comes Their way.
Confusion They feel, and this does not die;
But, what can They see with only one eye?
These perilous passings on love’s sojourn
The Girl does not dwell on, nor does She mourn.
Instead, She has found new ways to see
Love’s ultimate beauty, unexpectedly:
A journey enGENDERED with Ladies of taste,
Where only Her own *** can love back without hate.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 3:49 PM UTC
Every era that has ever been
Has engaged in the auto-dissection
Of their yellowing underbellys.
Yes, every generation has predicted
that the end is nigh,
That god is on their side;
But the devil has a crowbar
And is busting out of the basement.
Each decade is a mimicry of the last.
Different fashions, same trends
And always, with a fool on the hill.
A lonely steel harmonica can pierce the airwaves
Across space and time,
Through the grooves and crackles
To enthral an audience,
And to beguile that every generation
Into believing in their autonomy,
Their solitude,
With a fate independent of all those centuries past.
Through every disembodied spew of Dylan lyrics,
Or the corporeal and common alienation
Sympathised in every Wilde reference,
Comes the same fury at the chaos of a world
That is no more than indifferent at the plight of the people it houses.
Indeed,
Every generation has sought to either
Cure the ills of the Earth;
Or else set lighter fluid to the lot.
This stretches back to the first blood-spattered edition of the Bible,
And further, much further.
To all of the captains,
The heroes,
The anti-heroes,
The road gritter,
The malevolent dictator,
The schoolteacher,
The emancipated woman
And the borderline feminist.
To every young child who is reluctant to take the spotlight,
Or look you in the eye,
Ask questions, or speak out.
For every one of those who at some point were labelled
‘maladjusted’.
And so the Pharaohs and Caesars are all but gone now,
Replaced by the big-wigs,
The fat-cats,
The purple hearted,
The playboys -
The men in suits.
But they are all the same.
The same behind the decadence of
A solid gold sarcophagus
Or an Armani pair of shades.
They all built their empire on shifting sands.
And so we will all kick and scream
To our own tone and our own time
At the indignity of the world.
At our bespoke knowledge
To deal with all inconvenience
But that which privates the preclusion
Of any and all major slaughters of justice.
As for that young child,
With the lack of eye contact -
And all that he will become:
He will sit. And he will type.
He will type until his words fall beyond that
Of the spiralling noises inside his mind
And blossom into something pure and ugly and beautiful.
He will sit and he will write
To forget.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
He is beyond intimate
With the texture of fresh human meats
How it feels
How it slaughters
How it stretches against his sharp blade
A godlike penchant
For the curves of red blood cells
And the metallic taste of crimson spray
And now
As he takes your doe-eyed life
And wears your dying heart on his sleeves
He will know all your secrets
And none of your regrets
As he fuses with your thoughts
And makes them
His
Own.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 6:40 AM UTC
Smile so haunting with devilish
or fiendish
or that of charming aesthetics,
the slender creature of a man
parched flesh of paper
would flick his eyes bright
and stir crazy as embers
about the stage,
his hair a mat of threads,
ancient and animalistic,
yet of thick wafting softness,
he appears so gentle,
so timid
child eyes brushed by his bangs
yet confident in that grin
cut so lightly across his face,
he would disarm your distrust,
carry you to his attractive gentleness
as he cloaks the stage about him
and then as the lights dim,
the audience edged on their seats,
your sheepish and sugar laced eyes
of curiosity linger at the heels of his lips,
as he slaughters your precious innocence,
with My words,
smile ever increasing
feasting on their fearful stares
my poem a muffled shotgun
at the back of the audiences head,
their tremoring bodies scream
as he constrains the straps constricting
their legs and limbs,
all the world’s a coroner’s table
he stoops so lovingly over them,
snow white raven of a boy,
his words of glinting blade dive,
their eyes a mess of soupy white and tangled red
surgical increments ripping their ribs and sternum wide,
they scream with blistered skin,
straps beginning to burrow and feast into their limbs,
the boy labors diligently,
effortlessly he worms his fingers about blood drenched organs
twists and plucks them free,
the victim’s body squirming,
skin wriggling,
as their eyes stare and gasp upon
their organs strewn next to them,
shock ripping through them,
crawling within their hollowed out body,
he laps up their gaping wound,
cut and carved from sternum to pelvis,
licking up blood soaked soul and kidney,
my demon of timid grin spills out the final phrases
his victims have long lost resilience,
they watch and lie as a mess of human,
half corpses on the table,
the audience a funeral procession,
the lights suffocated,
no one wishes to speak,
silence is the only reverie to my poems darkness
the boy or man,
demon or fiend
would softly grin
the audience just as cold and dead as him
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 12:59 AM UTC
The angel that fell,
The one bound in hell;
Burning in fires deep and dark.
Banished from heaven,
His sins they call seven;
He eats off their bones like a shark.
Liars and cheaters,
Thieves and deceivers;
They squirm as for hell they depart.
He breeds on their fears,
He laughs at their tears,
And squeezes all hope from their heart.
He owns all their souls,
Makes them walk over coals,
He tortures their spirit with his fork;
He whips open their skin,
While he burns up their kin,
And slaughters their faith just like pork.
With hate for a heart,
He plays well his part,
As he waits for a new light of day;
A day when he shall be free,
And roam the earth with glee,
While those who banished him shall pray.
But pray as they may,
For another Godly say,
No warmth shall break through the cold;
While innocents are slayed,
And daylight delayed,
And stories of hope sell like gold.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
Step off the beach
And step in to the dark, starry waters
Do you feel the cold unforgiving waves?
Still ****** after their slaughters
They reflect something so unreachable
That it becomes something beautiful
For we all want
What we can’t have
So we submerge ourselves with the galaxies
And let the cosmos steal our last bubbling breath
As we slowly sink under the waves of this world
Waiting for a celestial death
Like a heavy pair scared, aliened hearts.
Let's hope the numbing pain of heartbreak and loss
Will slowly suffocate along with us
We are being crushed
Under the pressures of perfection
Most without hope of a resurrection
This is a genocide
Of the mind
And of all those who were kind
The cold teeth of ignorance will surly **** us
Because the media sugarcoats
Because our parents don’t know how to raise us
Because we have teens slitting their throats
With the rest of us sitting here taking notes
Using their last words as quotes
They say that beauty is only as thick as the skin
Tell that to the corpses
Floating on what could have been.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
Why am like kid to dance on my father's grave.
Why am not sure about my fallen story of love.
Maybe the passerby call me crazy of course they are not sure about who I am.
But they need to know the truth and the world needs to know all but still my mind is allergic on there quotes.
The world is truly nothing as it gives me reasons to back in my sorrow gracias.
Really our clan is not like wheels, so that we can back in our blood shed, and paint our feathers with the curse of black allies.
But please reflect on me, from my family grave I grew, in eyes of my heart murders I make my roots and again with the hands of my neck slaughters we make our land green by irrigating it with forgiveness and remembrance.
Now you can understand how my pain is my back pack that seek my joy but still be my burden to bring me down of my crown.
My king size my rope, there still a farm we need to renovate and tighten our knots so that the eyes keept at us many needs to change.
As we grow we will understand, once we were church mates later we became killers and others became hunts, once we were brothers later we fights in court, once we were Brothers later we became enemies, haters, and nightmare living.
From my pain I saw my light, I ended up smiling, my God served my soul and brought united
Really they fought, they cured our wombs, they rescued our blood, they vallued our land, and seek my happiness again.
Again we ate our bread with juice instead of roots and thirst, we made it sadly to make happy land ancestry DNA.
Let's build together, let's continue our strategy straight forward to our motto.
I see my lights starting and my vow renewals with my heart beeping maybe am winning and my sword will protect rather than shaddind our blood with innocents soul.
I see Victorious holding victory and the victory is my pride and that's our light.
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 4:43 AM UTC
Wolf!
Laid upon his bed,
Awake,
Hark,
Sound of confusion screeching,
Canines bared,
Salivating,
In divine thought of snaring prey,
For he is in sadistic need,
No sadism,
Only burning passion,
In need of resuscitation by nourishment,
Satisfied by the latest lamb who greeted slaughters gate!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
I sit and pick seedlings from the earth like chicken from my teeth. My eyes stay closed. I feel the green of maple seeds, crashed helicopters. I smell death. Behind me he slaughters chickens. Stretches their necks on a tree stump. Butcher knife guillotine. Heads pile in a once white bucket. I pick my teeth blind.
Birds in nests and worms
in birds in nests sing songs
in a tree above me.
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 10:44 AM UTC
It was in the communist winter in a village of Transylvania
Besides the demented cold also rabies walked the streets
The news were like some dogs broke into pieces a raging fox
And to prevent a mass epidemic
Authorities chose the Convenient Solution:
Let's **** all the dogs of the village
Until the last one
Injecting them with Caustic Acid
I was only a poor kid I did not know what was happening
I took my puppy Bamby and lead him up the hill
For the so called vaccination
We arrived in lots of wailing cries and barks
Something was burning with much smoke in a large pit
People standing in a endless line
Dogs were terribly frightened
It was a horror landscape at the end of the world
One of the older boys claimed that no
They do not vaccinate but rather
They **** all the dogs
I thought he was messing with me
And we almost get into a fight
When I got close in front
Where dogs were injected the veterinary doctor
Was suddenly bitted by the hand
The snow was red like on The Pig Slaughters
And obviously terrified the assistant was bandaging the doctor
I understood that all the dogs were exterminated
Then throne and burned in that pit
With Bamby all went quickly he was a good dog
Barely barking he cried a bit and that’s all
Much later I found out that the odious regime
Had came to power with the same terrorist practices
Applied on people
Otherwise all went well and cool
Thanks to God we escaped from The Mean
Because me and my Bamby
We gave our childhood for a proper vaccine
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
Shaken, faulted core
smolders Martian red.
Simple kindred corps:
now dormant, fallen dead.
Endless chthonic shore,
this flaming plague will spread.
Crumbling hillsides roar,
****** echoes reflect dread.
Scent of creation,
of seared marrow bath.
A forlorn nation
razed by angel’s wrath.
Jagged forest
greets narrowed death,
splintered rest
and punctured breath.
O’er the loch,
swollen igneous rock:
the Behemoth slaughters the flock.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
Some nights, I would set sail
To a thousand words on paper,
And one by one, they would get lost
Beneath the rip tides of your skin.
In sentience and in sleep,
Darling, you are only as real
As the last verse I wrote
On the crumpled walls of dusk.
While the world slaughters dreamers,
I watch you, begging the moon
To drop pieces of itself on sea foam.
I am a slave to your every step.
Tucked underneath crystalline sighs,
The stars would come out to put up tents
In the corner of your eyes, their light
Guiding the way for misguided missives.
Moored to your voice, I listen
As you speak in the language of waves,
Your words undulating with my metaphors,
But stirring holocausts for the heartbroken.
But you are here, and the lines between your eyes
Get tangled up with thoughts bred by midnight.
Your hair, your hair, they tessellate and play
With the colors of honey and amber.
Perhaps, if one were to crack you open
The light of a thousand adjectives
Would come seeping out of your skin.
I am but the shadow it will cast.
And in shadows, they whisper
That dreams can get lost
In the vacancies of the night.
Every night, with you
I set sail to my words
To find them
And lure them back.
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
Trying so hard to numb the pain
Pick apart the horrid hallucination
Blood diluted by tears, falling like rain
Build the fragile walls of zion
Gilded paths strewn with broken memories
Penance paid, and I'll surely burn
Inflicted with this deceitful disease
All that's left is an empty urn
Upon a forgotten shelf, in your empty heart
My breath stirs a dead breeze
In the empty gardens of the souls rampart
Emotions twirled like leaves on trees
Pallid clouds against a moonlit backdrop
Silver shards paint the tattered scene
Seated in the mind, on a barren hilltop
Luminescence makes the pain gleam
As the village below so sweetly slumbers
It's guardian watches from darkened beauty
As the demon increasingly slaughters her numbers
Within city walls, lays the destroyed sanity
Dec 31, 2010
Dec 31, 2010 at 3:25 AM UTC
With manic laughter
He kills and slaughters
Reason, he doesn't need
Bloodthirst, is all he feeds
Raging, through the streets
Killing, whomever he meets
Inhumane, are his deeds
Merciless bloodthirst, he feeds
Once again the moon is covered with shade of blood
Now is his period, the one named Jason Mud
Again, he's out to ****
Quenching eternal bloodthirst, yes he will
|AB|
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
Stricken, our lives teeter on the edge
Of our minds.
Like the ocean, caught in a hurricane,
I burst.
A fury of passion, blood and beauty
Strings around me tighten
In a hurry to see themselves snap
As I am pulled undauntingly closer
To the eye of the storm
The calm in which
The core of our love resides
The fire that burns within our soul
Keeps the peace that creates the chaos
Around us and in our heart
Here is where you begin
The angel in the shepherd's dream
The nightmare above his bed
Lost in your open eyes of wonder
We rise to greatness
Our love takes flight
It fights for a purpose
But the fire scorches all
That is left in its path
The cracks in the walls tear open
They shatter and fall to dust on the ground
We cry out as we fade away
Into each other's arms again
Your wings, they flutter and open my heart
Your skin, still unborn in the cracks in my skull
I fly towards you, my beak and claws
Colliding with yours
A force breaks out of our chests
And unites and slaughters our dreams
We share a power that none can conquer
It forms a universe we cannot grasp
It builds and empowers the storm that we are.
You are the gold dripping through my veins
With your armour and without,
Your heart spins within my palms
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 7:33 AM UTC
Take a seat settle down into relaxation
Listen to the speakers pound with this vibration
Let the music lift you up like some levitation
On to a level higher then the man that's your destination
Now listen to me man, this one explaination
Why no one can live up to the expectation
Of a tyrant's trials and tribulations
How can we all congrugate to be one nation
If were all lead by a mental patient
Who slaughters other countries out of desperation
Doesn't matter if you're one man or the head of a corporation
They make the truth and you're forced to face it
So the middle class has so much frustration
'Cause we're all living in oppression with no compansation
They keep us blind in hopes for a revelation
You think you're free cause you can choose your radio station
Tell me why you're plagued by the thoughts and the temptation
Of a beautiful paradise called life's vacation
No hate, no drama this is our salvation
We're all different but we make the perfect combination
We must all join forces into one vocation
If we hope to turn this dream into our creation
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 1:05 AM UTC
They never should have let me out of the box,
these harnesses are coddled in rust and will never do,
I nearly have an arm free now.
Tis the bloodlust,
the ever recurring,
I cauterize so sickly raptured and recoiled,
vile animal reveling beneath fang and flesh.
Tis the beast wrought beneath this parchment bearing,
what is left of mortal means
as the morals feast upon the limbs and lungs of one another.
Ever screaming,
my memories wrench and tear,
torn in ribbons splayed from lung to tissue.
My demon slaughters the remnants packed and hid way
in corner and shadow,
ideals and sockets of life scratch and rip
across the flesh of the air as their lungs flood so violently,
doused in creamy blood liquid.
I die so sullenly,
so intrepidly,
dripped in god’s sunlight beams,
bathed in crackling spine and broken butterfly wings.
I writhe not in brain fractured grenade shrapnel,
not felted amongst iron clad bomb shards,
I lie so serenely,
stomach basking in sun beam,
I bite and suckle upon such succulent fruits of flesh,
human meat and such soft hips of lustful imps,
so untouched and littered in my most precise of bite marks.
I stake claim to the everest of fiendish hues,
chains so kin to my sins,
mind so ravaged in demonish,
all thought is mother to acts so sickly in hellish cravings,
I seek no retribution for ideals so crimped and carved through my bones.
All is relative to one’s fiendish benevolences.
I take care to ratify my most ancient of antiquities,
the very blood line that so racks this mortal sense of the human reality.
This evil is ever bearing and eternal lasting,
nor it’s will softened.
Shackles crease and crinkle
so fondly with every sickly furnished breath.
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 4:56 AM UTC
The steady strumming of steel strings,
Staccato strikes like some salacious swaying streetwalker,
Sorrow-ly sauntering through shit-slung streets.
Smelling of saffron in these places of salvia stinking slums.
Scythe swinging,
Pendulum-slow,
Cycling through souls,
Sickle of Sadness,
Strewn through both Sinners and Saints.
Sights of Scratches seduction,
Satan's satisfaction in slayings of soldiers and civilians,
Simply sumptuous.
Suckered by Senators,
Sold out by simpering, salivating slugs,
Presiding over slaughters with sadistic swagger.
Slovenly suckling upon skulls of the slain...
Sardonically
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 3:00 AM UTC
Poetry is like a living being
It lives in a world that's created on lined paper
It breathes in the writers' imagination
And feeds on the words that is written.
Poetry is the vast oceans
Words swimming around
Forming sentences and rhymes
Poetry is like the meaning of life
Forever to be a myster
Until. . .
Some smarty pants
With no pure imagination
Slaughters it with logic
Dissecting the poem
JUST to fugure out its meaning
Leaving the poem LEFT FOR DEAD
Poetry is like the free birds in the sky
Til one day a greedy child
Traps it in a cage
Never to be let free
Till it learns how to sing~
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 4:20 AM UTC
A broken home,
Mothers ******
Schizophrenic father,
Forever arguing.
Alchoholic parents,
Supposive "carers",
We may seem happy,
But I promise you, we are not.
Suicidal daughter,
Her body she slaughters,
With blades and bleeds onto her mattress.
Youngest sister,
Always missing,
She's always so angry,
This is not a family.
We go on,
Day to day,
Arguing away,
Portraying ourselves happy,
But dying inside sadly.
What happens behind closed doors,
Will never be revealed,
The floor gets wripped up,
And the ceiling caves in.
Suicidal daughter,
Cuts herself again,
Before getting the rope,
And standing on the chair,
She writes some notes,
Then burns them,
Never to see her "family again".
She takes a leap of faith,
Into hope and grace,
Of a new life,
And a new happy family.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC