"stabbings" poems
Evil & crime so predictable & stale.
Stupid how arrested suspects get bail.
Convicted when their victims tell.
Prison is where some stay & are jailed.
They have to communicate by mail.
Sometimes their focus goes in another direction.
Where probation happens after correction.
Child & spousal abuse, drug use, & rehab that is no use.
History repeats
Wives & children still get beat.
Their isn't always a Superman or Batman to be your hero.
With a sword or crossbow.
Details of armed robbery , drug dealing & smuggling.
Stabbings & muggings.
On the inside homosexual love with cuddling.
Human trafficking & prostitution.
Violating amendments & constitutions.
They are how they are from how they were raised.
If their victims could speak from the grave
Or had they been saved.
They could explain & describe how their rapists & killers behaved.
Male & females do their time.
Years in custody for their crimes.
Seriousness of their offenses vary.
Some educate, get jobs, or marry.
Behind bars is where violence belongs.
To be punished for all that they did wrong.
Some from death row are now dead.
Similar to the wildlife in a zoo behind bars they get fed.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Expatriots await the nights in Kuwait
where the dingoes and dominoes and salamanders bait
the ladies in purple to their eminent doom
of sleazies and stabbings and babies in womb.
Don't get me wrong,
I enjoy a good time, if friends are around and we got a dime
or two
and a fire for the masses and we're shaking our *****
as if we are actually aware of the outcomes of our actions.
I know we haven't the slightest clue
what a Jesus Christ is, or if it hides under our beds at night
or if it was a Jew.
What's written in books can be written by crooks,
because literacy and knowledge are ******* beautiful
but can give one more confidence than the world has to share,
and the whole theory of Relative Pride falls to pieces when one has more self-efficacy than ability
and the children with their sweet little ideas and purity are not humble but fall victim to humility.
So what's in a name?
Letters, vowels, consonants and connotations
traffic tickets, family vacations
****** and protests (though not necessarily related)
teenage boys and ***** minds and those who have masturbated.
But who hasn't?
Those without names, or faces
or honesty or hands
probably have their members tied up in steel-spiked rubber bands.
I'll see you again in retox dehibilitation
and we can converse and create
while under the crutch of sedation.
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
Through all this strife
We create life
It's not wrong or right
It's humanity's plight
Whether it's with a wife
Or a stranger
We create life
Despite danger
There is a new addition
He could end repetition
Of negative patterns
And social ladders
But there is a competition
Between the new editions
Of positive versus negative
He'll be the one ahead of it
In a world plagued with stabbings
By the greedy money grabbing
Not to mention the beastly bombings
That endear retribution wronging
And elusive peace longing
There is a birth
Amongst death
That makes it worth
That first breath
Which provides hope in promise and potential
When they could be the positive differential
That could change this planet
And the hearts made of granite
We are born screaming
And never stop
We find ways of teaming
To be cops
Imposing our will on others
Through fascist force
There are many ways to cover
How this ruins discourse
But I sense a new sheriff in town
Our old ways he'll bury in the ground
He might be one or two now
But he'll change the world and I don't know how
For he brings hope
To a world with none
He helps me cope
A compassionate son
He'll make the world brighter
By not being a fighter
In a world of strife
He'll create life
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 2:47 AM UTC
Is the world a pleasant place?
Or in reality a nightmare in disguise?
In my opinion the second choice makes more sense.
Is life carefree?
Or one more possession that will be taken from us?
For me both seem right.
Life is carefree, but it was given to us and can be taken away just as easily.
Why is there destruction and killing?
Stabbings and beating?
People being abused and children turned onto the streets?
Is it because the human race is selfish?
Or have we just not tried to fix the problems and enjoy making more?
People think the world will get better,
Thinking doesn't make it so.
The world is filled with violence, in my opinion it isn't going to change.
Life is a never ending circle.
Life is a nightmare.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 11:21 PM UTC
Mother Nature is swaying in the breeze, her branches strong.
Her life full and alive she sings with flowers and dances with the bees,
But her mind is boorish to the oncoming threat of November.
The startling entrance of Fall is like fire to her leaves,
New electricity attacks her arm’s protectors; prepared with strong green shields.
Yellow, orange, then deep red bleed into a burnt, crackled brown and black ash.
As her melodic hum of green vanishes, a starling yellow spark leaps,
Ablazed chaos now runs on her twisted, knotted, and wise branch-arms.
Eruptions of heat and confusion Mother Nature is seen screaming,
Raptured coldly, her green peace is painfully and hollowly attacked.
Her first shiver yesterday revealed her weakness,
Her shade flees, no longer able to stand the icy-sharp stabbings of winter.
Her annual sigh of defeat inevitably followed, thus beginning her hibernation,
Her tired arms creak and break, letting down their burnt sheaths,
Slowly spiraling down, down, down to the hungry ground.
Closing down to mourn Mother Nature is unclothed and shamed.
Her once green body now dried, bare, and cracked.
Withering winter brings blue death and ice to her brown skin.
Naked she shivers and freezes for three months to come.
But Spring will bring her a new strength and humility.
Mother Nature’s momentary fall will only chill, not ****
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:09 PM UTC
I. The Fireflies
There was once
a time when the fireflies
had made a home out of me.
One evening,
long after the sun
had surrendered itself
to the hazed horizon
and the pregnant moon,
they had come to my window,
golden freckles of light
twinkling playfully
in the dimness.
What exactly
prompted their gravitation
towards me,
I will never be entirely certain of,
though I have my theories.
Maybe it was the
warm glass of milk
sitting on my bedside table.
Or maybe
they had simply mistaken
the peppers of stardust
laced atop my eyelashes
for their own kin.
Or perhaps–
and most likely–
it had been
the murmur of poetry
on my lips:
…watch how they dart about the trees
in whimsical harmony,
how they rise up towards the dark sky
in the hopes that, someday,
they too will become one with
the constellations that blink
so brilliantly in the blackness.
Yes,
Perhaps this what had captivated them so–
a homage to the fireflies themselves.
Perhaps this is
why they had drifted towards me,
as if in some fanciful trance,
weightless as paper lanterns.
And how sweet they were
as they twirled about the ringlets
in my hair and
nuzzled their small frames
against my cheek
and fingertips.
How sweet they were–
that is,
until the bees came.
II. The Bees
They made lightning bugs
of my fireflies,
whose soft luminescence was replaced
with a violent stream of sparks,
one resembling something close
to the bursting of a fluorescent bulb
And so came the lightning,
the firefly’s only defence against
the approaching swarm,
their only ammunition
in the impending battle:
fireflies versus
bees,
both in want
of my nectared
marrow.
But the lightning
was no reasonable match
for the bees,
with their
large, gelatinous figures
and the persistence
of their stabbings;
annihilated were the fireflies,
carcasses crumbling to soot,
their innards,
still glowing,
smeared across my collarbone
like war paint.
Victorious and
humming menacingly,
the bees then crawled
into my ears
and my mouth
where they proceeded
to feast on their spoils and plunders:
the honey,
that they so cruelly
stole from me.
And once the honey was gone,
so were the bees,
bellies full,
antennae sticky,
their use for me
fulfilled and therefore
discarded.
III. The Spiders
The final hosts
were drawn to
what the bees had left behind:
the inconsolable emptiness
of my being,
They marked their territory
with cobwebs–
spun carelessly
into my arteries
and windpipe.
Breath dwindling and
heartbeat diminishing
I tried to remember the fireflies–
the light–
as the arachnophobia
threatened to devour me.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
Maybe I'm a little twisted and dark,
But I thought you liked it that way.
So I play with scissors and knives and darts...
Is the blood on the wall too much for you?
Is the blood on the wall too much for you?
I draw graphic stabbings and maimings,
You never said you liked your girls sweet.
Why did you ask for fresh strawberries?
I've always been more of a rotten lemon.
How was I to know you wanted a nice girl,
When you always loved to call me a ***** girl?
I thought I was your dark girl, dark angel.
You used to love the way I wanted to bite,
Bite you until I made you bled warm and red.
Now when I write you notes about butchering,
You abandon ship off the starboard side.
I wanted us to drown together darling,
But I suppose I can drown you alone...
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
American school bombings
London stabbings
Gaza shootings
North Korea missile launching
Russian poisoning
So many broken counties
Lying politicians
Teenage pregnancies
Kids cutting
Child ***********
Babies born as addicts
So many broken people
Air Pollution
Ice caps melting
Diminishing resources
Global warming
Seas of *******
So many broken things in the world
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
I hope you won't
Wear wind chimes that always annoy the cat,
Or wear that ring, you single gal,
Or wear your box of shame,
Or wear that smile.
I hope you won't
Wear a look of exchanged stabbings,
Or wear an open-hearted pendant,
Or wear anything at all,
And certainly not that one red dress.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
Swiftly moving, surely breathing,
Death comes upon thee.
Deafly hearing, blindly seeing,
Death comes, you'll see.
Purely hating, silently screaming,
Death moves toward me.
Angelic sinning, awakened dreaming,
Death won't leave you be.
Drowned swimming, motionless fleeing
Death has to be the key.
Unharmful stabbings, helpful bleedings,
Death has slain me.
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 7:23 PM UTC
friends can be there at 1 minute and gone the next....
they are a figment of our imagination a tiny little speck.
its kind of hard to tell if your friends like you or not.
they will remember you when you reach the top.
they put you down but you still don't stop
wounded by back stabbings from the past
it seems like just happen so fast.
middle school homies telling each other we gone ride or die
but now we cant trust them and it isn't the truth its all just a lie
despite all of that im just gone watch my back
but until then we just gone leave it at that............................
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 10:04 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
Hiding away from the world behind a mask
Masking her untouched porcelain face
Face of pain face of hurt
Hurt by the scars and secrets of the past
Past stabbings of her fragile heart
Heart aches at her sacred fate
Fate that kisses her sweet skin and brushes her glossed eyes
Eyes dulled with lost love so beautiful yet disguised
Disguised with her compromise
Compromising her feelings under a blanket of fear
Fear of love fear of hate
Hating you
You in your disgrace
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 8:28 AM UTC
Radio Transmission---Static
Quantum---Tunneled
Cycle---Depart
End Transmission.
With twists like a dying withered thing,
my senses are dulled,
my senses are dulled.
Vaccumed slowly in a first kiss,
the taste of another is potent;
curious you hold fast.
Spiralled into thick pitch,
envision the veil of a muslim woman,
impenetrable,enfolding.
A form rises and waits in the void,
she prepares to receive, to overcome,
to swallow and consume.
Wooing you, gliding about
whispering to and fro
at once ravished by words,
your presence evokes her.
A substance flows through
puckered moistened lips
inflamed and permeated with longing.
Embraced by ghosts lips,
tangling you, while pecking
at cloak, face and body,
siphoning life.
Tingles upon the flesh,
lend to ******* never quelched.
Her words:
"Delicious mate lounge with me,
partake of my sorrows, my intimacies.
One cannot revel alone, replace
the fickle before you."
You languish; absorbing
pungent flavors.
A masked perfume laced
with sufferings.
This longing gnaws,
within the organs of men.
Beating and pawing
against the tissues of the mind.
Kneading fences around the skull,
encasing it in its grip.
Following forth,
lips will seek
lips,
hips will ****** against
hips,
arms will encircle All.
This net will count its catch
when caught, feeding
the glazed fervor of greed.
Stabbings of hunger
seep from your coiling tongue,
elongating, wrapping around tidbits
served aplenty.
Dainties, morsels, spoonfuls, sips
and bites,
these are the helpings evident between,
chompings, gurgles, and slobberings.
Meat suckled from the passages of your teeth.
Becoming a porpoise thing
without definition, moving layers
of corpulence and indulgence.
Before long, you incite wrath;
your skeletal companion eats you,
a banquet of your own making.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
.*a six day span, which included five fatal stabbings... even around here, some black kid came from south London... was stabbed on the street which i walk at night, just outside of the Collier Row roundabout... as i walked past the spot one night... i said out-loud: sweet dreams, little ************
but there was this other incident,
a man decided to walk with a knife...
so?
he could buy a lemon, peel it,
and place sushi on it...
how else wold you eat sushi,
if not placed on a slice of raw lemon,
sitting at the roundabout,
on a bench, during the night?!
so the man sees this chubby white
girl running...
then some skinny black guy running
after her...
the man is sitting there,
in perfect public scrutiny peeling
the lemon and cutting a slice
before putting a sushi piece on it,
with soy sauce, pickled ginger
and a decent smear of wasabi...
the man looks up at the unfolding
confrontation...
he sees that the girl is pointing
at him and shouting at the guy chasing
her to look at me...
with headphones in his ears...
he notices a change of dynamic...
the guy chasing the girl starts to run
in the opposite direction...
the girl ends up getting the bus home...
yeah... weird **** like that happens
to me...
it's not like carry a knife
on my every day...
just the days when i feel like eating
sushi on a slice of raw lemon,
in public;
how else? raw salmon works well
with cucumbers, dill and some mayo...
but in sushi form,
you need the lemon bite.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
What power does a moment have?
If it is forever trapped in time?
I'm broken, I'm tired
A snapshot burns, stuck in my mind
Mondays were never my favorite days
mundane minutes go by under the dreary rain landscape
A simple message can change it all
What goes up is doomed to fall
Shots fired, what's going on?
Screams tear out, as if they're the beat to a song
A haunting melody drifting in out of dreams
Breaking every human that's stuck on the scene
So close yet so far away
A million texts coming through with every breath I take
"A knife, they say"
"A shooter has been spotted"
"Bomb squad is on its way"
Stabbings, slicing, bones in the fray
Fevers pulsing, hearts convulsing, what has been seen?
- - - - - - -
need to shut my brain off just so I can think
- - - - - - -
Run!
Oh where do I go?
Stuck inside a movie theater as chaos
rings out, steps away from home
Hide!
Oh do I have the time?
Each second feels like
another lost life
Fight!
But do I have the strength?
This isn't a nightmare
this is reality.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC
The city was hungry. A mewing came from an alley. A hollow exchange.
The innards of the district had been gutted by libertine sons.
We were scared of the silence, so we filled it with shootings, and lynchings, and stabbings, and rapes.
You came an empty reflection. It was the night before the bombs fell. I remember the way my atoms shifted. You lying there in the morning.
We fell into one another, like rabid dogs at corpses.
Limbs lined the streets.
You were distant that day. I broke two fingers climbing over a fence, and lined them with the rest.
The radio tower looked abandoned.
You told me three years later you didn’t care either way. I walked you to the bridge and watched you swim the Styx.
I’d never cared from the start.
The world ended soon after.
The moon’s belly cracked, guts spilling onto the earth.
Children pelted one another with flesh. Parents stood in doorways, smiling.
The swell stretched infinitely, reaching neither peak nor fall.
I fell asleep on your grave, nestled in the cold of yesterday’s ache.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
I know a scared God
(I've seen a scared God)
A living-way-up-there God
Slumped outside our orbit of violence
We're wishing you just cared God
Upside while I'm downtown screaming:
YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T FAIR GOD
You're hiding up in nitrous heavens
A help-only-if-you-dare God
As our sins slip into the water supply
You've given us nothing to bathe in God
These California fires; these 2 a.m. stabbings
All this suffering isn't rare God
With nothing else to live up to
I guess we have to wear god.
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 11:46 AM UTC
Imagine a world in which
you lived in a little house
in the middle of the woods --
an itty bitty cabin with creature
comforts and small necessities,
and paper and ink and tables and chairs --
in it
you slept and wept and dreamt,
and would walk and walk
never finding anywhere else...
always returning to your teeny front door.
The cabin sits in silence,
in semi-darkness most of the day --
the path of the sun moves
l a n g u i d l y
through the sky
and the neighboring trees
cast puddles of shade.
You wish for
companionship,
though you
aren't sure
what that means.
Sometimes,
along your garden fence
you find little bits of paper
or tissues
or wind-swept bottles
butting up against the slats.
The papers have names
and bits of stories:
of shootings and stabbings and
conniving schemers,
of donations and creations
and family boat-races;
and you wonder who these people are,
or if the pages are ripped
from some book you don't own --
and if the wind blows in
toward your tiny little home...
mustn't there be a way
to get out?
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 4:03 PM UTC
You come to me with a need...
for sharing,
for release,
for confession...of the concerns
of heart and mind.
Honorably, I take you into me
and shelter you from the harsh
stabbings of your pain,
whether self inflicted,
or life afflicted.
In the midst of your trials,
I surround you in affection,
and profess that you are
not alone, for you will always
be covered by my own
ache and wisdom,
and shielded as you heal.
I am the sentinel, watching
over your broken heart and
spirit as you travel inward
for much needed respite.
I am, the glimmer of light
that reaches into the darkness
and catches you as you fall
through the trapdoor to
sorrow's intangible hold.
I will sing you a beckoning
cadence, soft and compassionate,
to lull you back from the
river's edge..and back onto
shores of peace.
Listen for my voice...it will
always guide you home.
For I know all your secrets,
I've seen all your disguises,
but I am your friend...and
I love you still...and always
will.
-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
When I woke,broke my fast,showered,dressed and then at last I leave the home minus keys and mobile phone I'm not surprised at all.
Early birds must wait their turn and I am third in line to catch the worm,the bus is full,I pull another cigarette,get the free tabloided press,with ironed words upon my eyes and once again I'm not surprised.
Stabbings,killings,patented pile creams for twenty shillings interspersed among the news,I amuse myself by seeing words that don't exist or if they do they're in the pages that I missed and failed to read.
At seven fifteen,bus stop C, alighting I call in to Joe's cafe for a tea,he's a refugee and doing very well,he tells me that he's getting wed,I tell him that I'm getting fed up with the daily grind and remind him to cut down on the gin,his eyes like **** holes in the sand and hands shake slightly as he hands the tea to me and then it's off to 143 ,ditch the tea,don the suit,look interested as if I give a hoot,which I do not.
I forgot,forget,give all and yet give in,I only win at five o shock when looking at the office clock,I lock the door,take off the suit I wore and turn into the early worm once more.
If Life's a bore then I'm the drill
fill me full of life.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
love~worn to the extremity (get a dog)
rare condition but not so rare,
that a first year intern might guess
the prognosis from visible symptoms,
the alternating listless groans, contextual
unexplained weeping, no singlized source
of pain but short hard stabbings in odd,
multiplex moving theaters of the brain ‘n body
slow onset, then signs manifest in increasing
rapidity, till your buddies attempt to drown
your context in a local pub, but to no avail,
just a guttural persistent wailing failing
where they beside themselves, send you home,
you’re tossed on your bed, to search for no rest,
for this malignancy is cured by lingering time,
and even then, it is a never fully excised tumor,
shedding bad humors, cells to witness to exist,
decades, a precursor to a life long disease, composing
just
one more bad
lost love poem, a
disease cancerous
in its aspect, look for the paling, waning now near
permanent discoloration around the eyes, and surely
you will have ease instantaneously recognizing me
get a dog they said,
so I did, so now, two sad eyed
lowland lady mates, two basset hounds walking each
other on silent daily trip with no destination until
one of them commences the serenade of howling
olp
Mar 27, 2024
Mar 27, 2024 at 3:58 PM UTC
Safeguarded by shadows
I saw
Servants performing
Sedated but live
Sacrifice
On a stone altar
I saw them sever spines
And several limbs
I heard snaps
Saw skinning
Stabbings
Some wrists getting slit
And I slipped
Suddenly
The stairs were slippery
And I stumbled
Among skeletons
Skulls, skins
And serpents
Stupefied and scared
I stood
In the sanctuary
Surrounded by soulless shells
Swarming me
Seeking to sink
Their shredding teeth
Into my shivering skin
And stick their sullied spears
Through the sockets
Of my eyes
To stab at
my sanity
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:31 AM UTC
Too many know Sandy Hook
but they don’t know about
the stabbings of the little ones
in China that happened on the same day.
Aside from that
men who cannot get out of the fire
and who cannot be tamed
are true animals
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC