"slayer" poems
Hockey is fun to watch
Hockey is fun to play
Shoot the puck in the clutch
Bat the cold pucks away
Skate down the smooth white ice
Pass to a free teammate
Time together is nice
Don't shoot the puck too late
Fans like to view hockey
Who is the best player?
Kids like Sidney Crosby
He's a goalie slayer
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
Oh majesty
my queen
chain breaker
dragon slayer
Oh God almighty
give her strength
give her power
let her conquer the world
and
**** all the men
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC
What a guy!
What a player!
On the field he was the slayer.
The only son, the one to watch.
The one who others tried to match.
He had the looks and physique
A grades at school for all to see.
Now he pays a heavy price
Drinks Jack Daniels every night
For all his life he was pushed
To be valour dictorum in the year book
He had problems so deep inside
He didn't want footballers thighs
He wanted silk and lace with heels
Not the college football kit
If he could have what he dreamed
He'd be a cheerleader on that field
As a boy late at night
He gave his mom a real fright
There he was in her clothes
His father beat him and killed his soul
Years went by and James was wed
So he wore his wife's clothes instead!
Till one day he bought his own
Shaved his legs and went out alone
He bumped into a group of jocks
Who beat him because he wore a frock
Now in the mirror he has scars
That match the hundreds still inside
For James outside to all of you
Was Jayne inside and then showed you
But now at 50 for him to late
To be reasigned and be just Jayne
Times have changed and so have views
If he wants to, let him wear Jimmy Choos
So if any friends I have Called John
Wants to be simply Joanne
Let me know asap
We can celebrate with a drink.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
The night has its allure
The contrast of the light
Against the dark
Where faces become blurred,.
Intentions hide in truth
Walking in shadows
Unknown steps….
Leading to nowhere,
And taking a chance….
Misty eyes that sparkle,
blue in color pale
Sunshine in your smile
Gestures flowed with wine
Like a chameleon
You came one night….
And then disappeared
Out of sight….
Who are you?
Lovely lady of the night,
Black be your color
Blue be your life,
Crimson the sky
That watched you go by,
Never to return
From shadows engulfed
Fragrant dahlia a lifeless scent…
We’ve never known you
But know you all too well…
Your story is common
The beginning and the middle
At best,
But in the end the mythic tragedy
Turns its horns upon the beast….
What can we do the least…
But to run and run and run
Try to find you
Try to find the devil in you
Try to slay the slayer
The lavender avenger….
May you rest in peace, sweet child
The pieces scattered forth
In grasses strewn
with blood, invisible..
The essence of your
Tortured mind and
Myriad soul…
Many men have chased
their dreams of you
The blue eyed black
dahlia of the night
What prevailed is the secret,
Weary light….
Who begs to shine on your grave
Because in you, no one can save…..
But you haunt us far and near….
Like the waters muddy clear..
So farewell, oh lovely lady
Let the dahlia rest upon your hair
After all these years you are still fair
After all these years, we still do care….
Longing for your eyes that dare…
Shine the light on darkness lair….
You will never be forgotten
But your mystery remains…
Your epitaph shall read…
"She’s a star, a shimmering light,
And forever spreading, shining bright…."
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
While yes, I have a résumé
It does no justice describing mé
So I'll leave this here for all to see
All I ask is please hire me
I'm great with sales
and communication
I can create tales
with no hesitation
Been fixing PCs since '99
Right after I broke all of mine
I don't do drugs
I don't cause fights
I won't give shrugs
to new insights
I can Photoshop best selling ads
and tell corny jokes just like most dads
I write HTML
and CSS
I can kinda spell
At least try my best
Started my first business in 5th grade
Profiting from the paper airplane trade
I'm a fast learner,
a problem solver,
a trust earner,
an idea causer,
a spreadsheet slayer,
a real team player
While I'm no photography guru
I've actually had a paid gig or two
Dove into video editing
way back when MySpace was a thing
Oh yeah. Plus I'm proficient with Microsoft Office.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
Single pink flower
innocent until proven guilty
soft in waiting
Siren of Ocean's wet song
loves to linger in
post *********** bliss
inviting temptress of illusion:
Slayer, heed caution and
kneel before entering Devil's Hollow
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 1:56 AM UTC
Unknown, Unseen
A hooded giant.
With silent feet.
The Dragon Slayer,
He is called.
Although,
If you look into the sky,
You will see him
Flying high
On the back
Of a magnificent dragon.
Stroking its back.
His eyes,
filled with compassion
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
One day there was a bright glowing canvas, a pure sparkling white
It was beautiful, but not complete
Then someone came along and drew lines on it to form flowers and mountains and streams, it was more beautiful and it made the natural white look more distinct
Then one day someone else added color and the canvas radiated and became more and more complete, it seemed whole and functional
Suddenly, one day someone came along and slew the canvas, destroying its color till it showed black, and an ugly black
The canvas seems so drab so empty without its color, so lifeless
People refused to help the canvas, refused to anything about the canvas slayer refused to listen to the canvas’ plea
Instead the canvas slayer’s free to roam free to hurt and damage other canvas
Who will restore the canvas?
Who will bring justice?
Why is the canvas slayer free to roam while the canvas feels imprisoned, crushed, victimized?
Why is the canvas treated like a criminal?
When will the canvas feel free, joyful and peaceful?
THIS POEM IS DEDICATED TO VICTIM'S OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND OTHER FORMS OF ABUSE.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
It must feel good
To strike at royalty
To ****** a blade with gold
To avenge the unjust hangings and deaths
To send the 'rulers of the world' to oblivion
To make them cry instead of hundreds of people
It must feel good
To slay royalty
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
I miss your *****
Almost as much as i miss your *******
I want you more than i can comprehend
These perverted thoughts i dont even pretend
Theyre not all i think about all day
Also i can honestly say
I ********** to her
At a massive rate
It blows my mind
How one of a kind
This georgious ******* girl is
Please oh please will ya be my miss
I swear ill be better to you
Than anybody ever you never knew
If you swear down youll be mine
Ill bring you flowers on valentines
Black roses that remind us of death and ****
Ill make sure you are aways well lit
High as a kite you know what i mean?
And dispite of how crazy it seems,
When i do finally greet death,
Hopfully overdosed on some neat ****
I will be embraced by satan himself,
BUT WHAT NO! WHATS THAT BEHIND THE SHELF?!
Out flys a glorious Anni
Chariot pulled by badass pegasi
She pulls out her mighty scabard
Slices and dices the decaying *******
wait wait went off track a bit
That last part...didnt quite fit
But im just obsessing
Seriously not messing
I want you so bad
It makes me so mad
I want you and all of you
Im not queit sure what to do
From there
But i dont care.
My one and only demand
I just want to hold your hand
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 2:57 PM UTC
***What if I say, I am not like the others?
Are you afraid of seeing my bloodshot eyes?
It ain’t a delusion of your vision
It ain’t a theory of your hostile mind
Its just an authority to reveal high
As you ****** up in the midnight.
What if I declare, I like to be a pothead?
It ain’t a crime of your filthy society
It ain’t a ****** of your hypersexual beauty
Its just a power to absorb black hole
As you get dissolved in the infinity.
What if we believe, we are united peace?
Our intoxication could never be slayer as your humanity diminishes
Our immune could never be a flame as your democracy fire burns
Our dealing could never be an acrid as your judgments villainous
Our indignation could never be a pretender as your sensibility veiled
Our lonesome shadow could never be a congress of love as your realization mortifies
And our congregation of morality must have been psychedelic painkiller.
What if we deny, we are insignificant existence?
So, who are you crippling our bloodshot eyes, A Social featherbrain?
Who are you to stop having "dopetherone" in the town, A godly crusader?
Who are you to proclaim the rule against your mind, A phrenetic lawyer?
What if we deny, we are insignificant existence?
What if we believe, we are united peace?
We will keep walking with our head held high.***
April' 2015
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
XVIII. TO HERMES (12 lines)
(ll. 1-9) I sing of Cyllenian Hermes, the Slayer of Argus, lord
of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, luck-bringing messenger of
the deathless gods. He was born of Maia, the daughter of Atlas,
when she had made with Zeus, -- a shy goddess she. Ever she
avoided the throng of the blessed gods and lived in a shadowy
cave, and there the Son of Cronos used to lie with the rich-
tressed nymph at dead of night, while white-armed Hera lay bound
in sweet sleep: and neither deathless god nor mortal man knew it.
(ll. 10-11) And so hail to you, Son of Zeus and Maia; with you I
have begun: now I will turn to another song!
(l. 12) Hail, Hermes, giver of grace, guide, and giver of good
things! (31)
4k
Oh, i'am dragonborn
The slayer of dragons
The wanderer in the dark.
I travel from quest to quest
To seek for a purpose in this world.
Oh, i'am dragonborn
Lost in the dungeons
Freezing in the cold winter winds.
Oh, i'm dragonborn.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
XXIX. TO HESTIA (13 lines)
(ll. 1-6) Hestia, in the high dwellings of all, both deathless
gods and men who walk on earth, you have gained an everlasting
abode and highest honour: glorious is your portion and your
right. For without you mortals hold no banquet, -- where one
does not duly pour sweet wine in offering to Hestia both first
and last.
(ll. 7-10) (33) And you, slayer of Argus, Son of Zeus and Maia,
messenger of the blessed gods, bearer of the golden rod, giver of
good, be favourable and help us, you and Hestia, the worshipful
and dear. Come and dwell in this glorious house in friendship
together; for you two, well knowing the noble actions of men, aid
on their wisdom and their strength.
(ll. 12-13) Hail, Daughter of Cronos, and you also, Hermes,
bearer of the golden rod! Now I will remember you and another
song also.
3.4k
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
By: Cedric McClester
From the streets
Of the windy city
In a cold world that
Showed him no pity
He used his gift of gab
To sell their kitty
And it wasn’t done
By committee
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He had no shame
Or second thoughts
He was true to the game
Followed the dots
He ducked the law
Sidestepped their plots
Paid his dues
And carried knots
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
Iceberg Slim was
A legend
True to the game
And his profession
Handled his business
With discretion
Then wrote a book
A true confession
He tired of the **** life
In the end
He couldn’t go through the motions
And just pretend
He started feeling like
He might have been condemned
And he didn’t like
What that might portend
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
He was a **** a playa
A consummate lady slayer
Who knew the game
So what’s his name
Iceberg Slim
I know you heard of him
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 3:28 AM UTC
Now do our eyes behold
The tidings which were told:
Twin fallen kings, twin perished hopes to mourn,
The slayer, the slain,
The entangled doom forlorn
And ruinous end of twain.
Say, is not sorrow, is not sorrow's sum
On home and hearthstone come?
Oh, waft with sighs the sail from shore,
Oh, smite the ***** cadencing the oar
That rows beyond the rueful stream for aye
To the far strand,
The ship of souls, the dark,
The unreturning bark
Whereon light never falls nor foot of Day,
Even to the bourne of all, to the unbeholden land.
3.2k
One day there was a bright glowing canvas, a pure sparkling white
It was beautiful, but not complete
Then someone came along and drew lines on it to form flowers and mountains and streams, it was more beautiful and it made the natural white look more distinct
Then one day someone else added color and the canvas radiated and became more and more complete, it seemed whole and functional
Suddenly, one day someone came along and slew the canvas, destroying its color till it showed black, and an ugly black
The canvas seems so drab so empty without its color, so lifeless
People refused to help the canvas, refused to anything about the canvas slayer refused to listen to the canvas’ plea
Instead the canvas slayer’s free to roam free to hurt and damage other canvas
Who will restore the canvas?
Who will bring justice?
Why is the canvas slayer free to roam while the canvas feels imprisoned, crushed, victimized?
Why is the canvas treated like a criminal?
When will the canvas feel free, joyful and peaceful?
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
Have you heard about our tennis player?
She is our first singles slayer,
She can serve and she will probably hit you with an ace,
She is impossible to replace.
She can be the sweetest girl you have ever met,
Before the game starts, we shake hands by the net,
But do not try to mess with her when she is playing the tennis game,
She could hit you with her racquet’s frame.
But let me tell you about this girl:
She can easily win the game,
Not only with her smart brain,
But also with her skills that will surely get her to the hall of fame.
If you ever see her around,
She never has a frown,
She will gladly give you a smile,
But do not forget to slowdown and take a look at her style.
You might recognize the girl,
It’s the one with the awesome curls,
You will see her around these halls,
And her pictures will be hanging on the walls.
She is our proud valedictorian,
She will forever be victorious,
One of our most outstanding students,
Oh what a big inspiration but she is clueless!
This journey has been tremendous,
So let me give a shout out to tennis,
Is the sport that brought us together,
I could not ask for anything better.
Now looking back at the place we were,
Only makes me cherish every moment I spent with her,
I will always be thankful for every advice,
That has helped us reach our own paradise.
The best I wish for her career aims,
I hope to see her in the Olympic games
And be the player she wishes to become,
I am a proud friend to see how far she has come.
I never thought I could be this close to her,
Nobody else I would prefer,
To say a “see you later”, at the end,
What a big blessing to call her one of my best friends!
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 7:39 PM UTC
i am abrasive
personality functionality deficit
yet i attract
beautiful women
to befriend the hermit of solidarity
will you go out with me
brought answers on no
my friend i could not lose
yet for the end of altruistic bargaining
i end up ahead
with false promises of a beginning
to an end my own personal
apocalypse
david lee roth would understand
that as i write in this
mindset
brought on by reading
778 comics in 12 hours
and a 4 day binge of job for a cowboy
my mind wanders
as insomnia sets in
would i be one of the great
dissociative poets?
a dose of the unrequited free associative minds
free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries
my mind wanders
and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand
the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band
suckers
i win
for you all know the taste of yellow mustard
ramble ramble ramble
this indie pop poem
would it be ironic to like it
if one truly hates the wording
and yet loves the idea
one of lives greatest life mysteries
alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome
nimble bubblegum monkey wrench
how long will you read?
enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure
or that i am a flawed creation
going on and on about existential non existent problems
for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions
as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track
metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden
the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum
boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake
i am done
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
ya know what i hate, classical music, it’s so scary, it’s so cocky
when you have had problems with the police in the past
i feel that there will be people like paul robinson
treating me like steph, ya see, we all have our reasons for doing bad stuff
and if anyone got in their classical music prison cars taking me to hospital
i will be like steph and tell them to **** OFF because
what paul did to steph was terrible and the fact that he had classical music on
in his car, makes him like a big rich *****
ya see, heavy metal is a better way of getting stuff out
and being noisy, but people can’t except i have grown up
i went down to talk and be friendly to canberra
but they told me, you can’t expect us to like you buddy
ya see while i am watching this i am listening to slayer, a very cool band
because i hate classical music, i like christmas music, but i hate classical music
i like heavy metal music, i hate classical music
you see if i am in a car with somebody who likes classical music
i feel trapped because i am a headbanger
not a rocker, like a ****** i am a headbanger and i like how
heavy metal lovers like christmas carols
if you treat me like steph, i will find out you get what paul got
i am so devious and cunning
but i hate classical music, i like rock music i like party music
i like christmas music, please don’t get me into anymore cars
who play classical music, i can’t get into it, duuuuude
please fire the guy who plays classical music in a car with me in it
classical music is scary if you have had problems in the past
heavy metal isn’t death music, classical music is death music
i am going to get a knife and **** classical music forever
but not literally ya know
anyone that wants to bring what paul did to steph or any other violence into the world
should think about what they are doing
party beats the classics, any day
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
Boudicca, long hair tangled and bunched; fiery flame red hair.
Warrior queen of the Iceni, daughter of these isles of tin.
Defender of freedom, leader of men, slayer of legions.
Through the mist the Britons, Celtic in origin; saw the legions.
Row upon row of tightly packed troops, shields locked together!
Flanked on either side by cavalry. Above the silence orders could
Be heard echoing across the field, the leather harness’s creaked
Metal chinking, horses stomping and snorting, in the stillness.
Through the mist came the first rays of sunlight glinting on sharpened
Swords and spearheads; horns began to blow as the steady
Stomp of the legions moved forward in formation.
Boudicca’s eyes peered out from a face of blue woe. Bow strings
In turn began to creak death, as archers pulled back on their bows.
A slow chant from the Iceni, slow at first, began to build into a crescendo
Of noise, as the boom, boom of sword and axe rapped against wood shields.
Boudicca flame haired warrior queen stood proud and fearless on her chariot;
Daughters on each side of her, defiant against Gaius Suetonius Pauline’s
And the might of Rome.
Oh what a sight it must have been!
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.
Far or forgot to me is near,
Shadow and sunlight are the same,
The vanished gods to me appear,
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
2.6k
. what's the difference between
thieves, and magicians?
not much...
both have quick hands...
and an awake,
yet asleep public communal
presence...
the thief has a public of
the victim,
and the c.c.t.v. "stage"...
the magician?
has a public of the crowd,
and the "dajjal" stage of
a camera replenishing
a concept of:
not enough public...
thieves and magicians are
bedfellows...
you allow one to flourish...
the antithesis will come
along, and in an indiscriminate
fashion...
allow the "magic" / "thieving"
to take place...
what is a magician,
a public figure... compared...
to a thief?
i can't see the difference...
the audience was fooled
by the magician...
the individual was fooled
by the thief...
are they... so much unlike
each other?
magicians can own
a theater stage...
thieves, sometimes... just sometimes...
own the, basic...
pointlessness of english
c.c.t.v. mechanics,
to make police officers make:
a follow-up investigation...
oh, but i have genius
interrogation practices...
no one wants to listen to...
like 10 hours straights of listening
to stefan molyneux...
or 48 hours, sleep deprived...
listening to BBC 24 hour news reels...
that **** could crack anyone...
what the americans did to the Iraqis?
last time i heard...
they blasted the slayer oeuvre
down headphones into their ears...
Americans... feeding conquered
Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre?
BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE!
and didn't the encore come?
******* retards...
crows feeding seagull chicks
with sinew and
regurgitated scavenger meat!
if only they played them some
Bach...
i'm pretty sure...
the Iraqis would still be left...
disorientated...
but the American army "interrogators"...
ha ha!
played them the slayer oeuvre!
WEE-TARDS!
anyone... and i mean anyone:
will relieve themselves as being
"tortured": doubly charged up,
and ready to ingest hyper-coffee
in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic
of ingesting amphetamines
(pervitin) -
night-raids... the londoonoirnischt
blitz, sloth krieg...
ya ya yawn...
urgh... burp...
and always... those poncy -
english, gay, aristocratic men...
and their... psychotropic women...
so what's the difference between
a common thief...
and a spectacle magician?
one "owns" cctv footage,
the other owns a stage...
yet both share a: quicksilver
take on, what cannot be
interpreted in either handwriting
or stenography...
hmm...
can't be sure whether
both could be considered legal.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC
Of course I'm okay.
Fine actually,
I love metal music
What ****** me off
is the notion that because the musics loud
and the lyrics are different
something must be wrong
Metal music is a family.
its riff laden roots are dug deep into the roots of my family tree
when I crossed that muddy bank I brought all of me I could.
Except,
I forgot my family.
I couldn't bring them through the mud.
I couldn't bring them desert mountain air
So when I miss them just a little too much,
You can bet I'm gonna put on
Slayer or Megadeth
to drown out the pain of an empty house
That heavy emotion
resonates deep in my chest and it fills my lungs
drowning out the words I cannot say.
Words like I love you,
Words like I wish you were here
Words like I miss you.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC