A Mondo Gory Poem
Faces of Gore (1999) is a mondo shockumentary video that depicts graphic footage of bloody, mangled bodies which guides viewers through explicit scenes depicting a variety of ways to die and violent acts. I wanted to try my hand at Mondo genre poetry. I promise you I’m not a nut case. I’m just a highly imaginative poet.
An ominous cloud lingers in my head
Portending pernicious consequences.
My sixth sense informs me what lays ahead
Foretelling dire events in sequences:
At first, a flash that's followed by thunder.
But it’s not what the mind is telling me.
A cloudless sky, than smoke, and no wonder
A bomb tore asunder all that I see.
The blood, ash and bone, dismembered bodies
All littered the site once a theater.
The mayhem and carnage that I foresee
Was the work of a lone perpetrator.
A marquee lying that stood heretofore
Reads: Coming attraction, “Faces of gore”
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Related quotes
Run
[Violent J:]
Something has woke my a thump on my roof, it was followed by crashing, more
thumping ensued
I jumped out of my bed thinking I'd been invaded, heard smashing, more
pounding, the sound escalated
Looked out of my window, blood dripped down thy glass, I see bodies lay twisted
and mangled on grass,
I ran into thy main room and Shaggy was dead, so was Nate the Mac, Jumpsteady
and ABK
Bolted out of thy house to see if it's a joke, I heard hundreds of car alarms,
saw flames and smoke
and thy sky above red, I see dead bodies fallin' it's raining with corpses thy
blood is appalling
[Chorus: Shaggy 2 Dope and a gang of Juggalos]
Mama told me when it rains - IT POURS, but never mentioned Dead Bodies - DEAD
BODIES
Mama told me when it rains - IT POURS, La de da da de la da de -
DEAD BODIES
[Violent J:]
I never seen so many.... horrified looks on people's faces...
(Thy blood is appalling)
I hope I never see what all them people saw... and put them in there places...
(Thy blood is appalling),
The sun was so hot... So hot...
I was burning... Yeah
Dead bodies lay randomly some stack in piles, on all of there faces pour
horror, no smiles
I see children, and ciders, and ninjas my age, all lay naked and mangled, most
withered for days,
I found safety a shelter I'm under a tree; only fingers and organs come falling
on me,
I lay sleepless for days as thy raining continued, thy heat of thy sun baking
corpses like food
Then it finally stopped I walk knee deep in blood, over piles of bodies threw
what was my hood
It was right at that moment thy Wraith had appeared, and thy message it left me
might sound kind of weird
But take all that I'm seeing and opposite that, truth is I'm thy one dead and
this is my Hell's Pit.
song performed by by Insane Clown Posse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hell's Forecast
VIOLENT J: Something had woke me a thump on my roof, it was followed by crashing, more thumping ensued. I jumped out of my bed thinking Id been invaded, heard smashing, more pounding, the sound escalated. Looked out of my window, blood dripped down the glass, I see bodies lay twisted and mangled on grass. I ran into the main room and Shaggy was dead, so was Nate the Mac, Jumpsteady and ABK. Bolted out the house to see if its a joke, I heard hundreds of car alarms, saw flames and smoke and the sky above red, I see dead bodies fallin, its raining with corpses, the blood is appalling.
SHAGGS 2 DOPE AND A GANG OF JUGGALOS (CHORUS): Mama told me when it rains-IT POURS, but never mentioned dead bodies-DEAD BODIES. Mama told me when it rains-IT POURS, La de da da de la da de.
VIOLENT J: I never seen so many...horified looks on peoples faces...(The blood is appalling) I hope I never see what all them people saw...and put them in their places...(The blood is appalling) The sun was so hot...So ho...I was burning...Yeah. Dead bodies lay randomly, some stack in piles, on all of their faces pure horror, no smiles, I see children, and elders, and ninjas my age, all lay naked and mangled, most withered for days. I found safety a shelter, Im under a tree; only fingers and organs come falling on me. I lay sleepless for days the raining continued, the heat of the sun baking corpses like food. Then it finally stopped, I walk knee deep in blood, over piles of bodies through what was my hood. It was right at that moment the Wraith had appeared, and the message it left me might sound kind of weird, but take all that Im seeing and opposite that, truth is Im the one dead and this is my Hells Pit.
song performed by by Insane Clown Posse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peace Proposal
Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Generals
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Explicit material is available in a variety of forums - from popular music to television to the Internet.
quote by Tipper Gore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gruesome
Blood and gore
And bodies galore
Death is reaping
Children are weeping
Chaos, murder
People falling from the sky
And no one seems to care why
Arms legs head feet
All showing their signs of defeat
Why must they die?
This is a question
To never be answered
Hanging corpses
Are telling their stories
Upon the lynching ropes
There is not
A place without rot
Or even a simple blood spot
So leave
Be gone
Away from here
Before you feel
Death rows fear
poem by Sean Miller
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R T A
They didn't see the collision coming
They were always coasting
Never looking with their eyes
Choosing always to stand
On the sideline where people were talking
They were all strangers
Huddled together under a january sky
Bodies spewed their contents
Emptied handbags
Broken cellphones
Some still ringing
While they stood watching
Waiting for someone to speak
Then the yellow coats arrived
sirens wailing lights flashing
Picking through the pieces
Looking for signs of life
No one was prepared for this
This sudden collision
A rainbow of clothes scattered
Blood splattered faces
She asked for her mother
But it was to late.
They gathered up the bodies
Some bundled under red blankets
Some faces hidden
No record of who they had been
Or where they were going
The collision happened
Then suddenly the crowd dispersed
The siren screamed into the distant
Like a last cry
Soon to be forgotten
[some would be later identified by their teeth]
yvette m smith jan 09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —
No doubt you have heard the name before —
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!'
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don't you think to shut the door?'
They rigged up a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.
But he begged for mercy and said, 'No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!'
'You will?' said his parents; 'then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!'
poem by William Brighty Rands
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An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Nightmares (Revised, In Line Form, Oh and Viewable)
Chills run up my spine.
Pictures of bodies rising out of the ground.
Its another nightmare.
Its another nightmare.
Its my nightmare.
With word as my weapons.
I cut through the book ages.
With my hollow mind I bear the secrets of the darkest despair.
Suicide on the mined.
I'll save you.
I'll save you.
And still you died.
The picture fades.
But such a gruesome scene screws up the head in ways never seen before.
Still chills run down my spine.
Pictures of bodies rising out of the ground.
Its a nightmare.
Its a nightmare.
Its my nightmare.
The tears run red.
Using leeches to get bled.
Strangers laying in your bed.
A Grievance with the undead.
A broken wedlock with dire consequences.
Memorabilia with a satanic meaning.
Going crazy, getting sick coughing up blood.
The clown with a wicked smile wants to give you a hug.
Chills still run down my spine.
Pictures of bodies rising out of the ground.
Its a nightmare.
Its a nightmare.
Its my nightmare.
Being buried alive.
Darkening skies.
An eclipse of an false sunrise.
Spider creepy crawling out of my eyes.
A bleeding in the brain disguised.
A doctor performing surgery while your awake.
The fears have reappeared.
Chill still run down my spine.
Its a nightmare.
Its a nightmare.
Its my nightmares.
My nightmares
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Cost Will Be Great (For Dave)
riots,
city streets vomit;
angry, the earth erupts,
sick of it's sickness.
bodies flung against bodies
with a blinding rage...
the faceless demanding faces,
the nameless demanding names.
not knowing, not understanding,
peace, fullness, equality, freedom...
all begin within...
pushed in bloody blackened corners,
lashing out with survival teeth...
change will come,
but the cost will be great!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The theater needs continual reminders that there is nothing more debasing than the work of those who do well what is not worth doing at all.
quote by Gore Vidal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Busy Bodies
So you think that you have seen her
When youre lying in between her
And you tell me that you dont care
Busy bodies getting nowhere
Evrybodys getting meaner
Busy bodies
Caught in the concertina
You check her outline
Break her regulations
You watch her legs through several
Service stations
Busy bodies
Very busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere
Now youre ready for the merger
With the company youre part of
And you do the dirty business
With your latest sleeping partner
Youre becoming
Automatic
Busy bodies
Out playing with the traffic
You want attention
You try my patience
With the best intentions you are nothing but a nuisance
Busy bodies
Busy busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere
Now youve given your performance
Though the matinee was idle
And you find that a wave of her right hand
Could seem so tidal
Just a second
Satisfaction
Busy bodies
Temporarily out of action
You wash and brush up
You want to dress up
You want to kiss her
But shes busy with her makeup
Busy bodies
Very busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere (x6)
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Crumpled Things
the brittle piece of chalk
crumples on the floor from the
hands of an angry teacher
her feet stamping upon
us, fragile and no longer
eager to learn
our first view on the violent
nature of those
monsters behaving
like gods
on crumpled things turning
into powder
in the same manner that
bodies turn
to ash
to dust
but must these gods know
inside those crumpled things and bodies
is the air that they have
not seen
the faces of our souls
passing through the storms and rain
rising to find for once
their homes in the sky
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The World is Black
Death and destruction, all for no reason
Wars and bombings based only on rumors
Suicide and murder in all seasons
Earth is a society of consumers
Death and hatred not shocking anymore
Growing repititous in newspapers
Scenes upon scenes of dead bodies and gore
The air swarming with poisonous vapors
Dying seems to be a popular trend
Is becoming okay in the world's eyes
All this chaos never going to end
Until everyone meets their demise
People and countries all under attack
The world is evil, the world is pitch black
poem by Jared Anders
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The Black And White Movement
in the academe
i see faces and
bodies which are
either black or
white
in a sense
what political
monotony is
this?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We... (Stoned By The Struggle)
we, who are stoned by the struggle,
whose faces bear the marks of living.
whose hands tremble a little
as we unbutton the shirt...
whose eyes dim still see.
whose bodies smell like bodies,
whose feet need to be washed.
whose hearts whisper in the empty night,
whose souls restless roam the earth.
whose dreams have become the small things,
whose breath smells of brandy and smoke.
whose doors are unlocked,
whose beds are offered...
we, who are drunk with living!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Io E La Mia Stanza
Ed ora stacco tutto
resto solo io
e quella melodia
Stasera solo mia
non voglio compagnia
L fuori c' il diluvio
che allaga la citt
E' meglio non uscire
fuori mi potrei bagnare
Non pu piovere per sempre
Il mondo in questa stanza
muri di fantasia
Solo io e la mia stanza
e questa melodia...
Ripenso a ci che ho fatto
un sorriso ed un rimpianto
Il caos nella mia mente
il tutto insieme a niente
un'oasi finalmente
ma la sera torner
Il buio illuminer
me e i miei pensieri
insieme a tutti i desideri
i diritti e i doveri
Il mondo in questa stanza
muri di fantasia
solo io e la mia stanza
e questa melodia
Vivo in questa stanza,
muri di fantasia
Solo io e la mia stanza
e un mondo in armonia...
song performed by by Eiffel 65
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Contempt of War
The contempt of war
With spewn bodies and limbs
A war cry
A man dies
There is anger within
They face each other
Tempers flare
Eyes bulging red
You lose control
The anger burns within
Screaming, shouting
Cursing and swearing
Burning rages
Fuels carnage and mayhem
The never ending screams
Killing, maiming
They first fight with pride
But as the battle rages
They start to fight for their lives
The sea of turmoil
Of body and souls
When will this carnage end?
The ongoing battle
Gives death a grin
Misbegotten war
Why plague our lands
Why must we let death?
Smile with a grin
Have we done something wrong?
Have we committed a sin?
Fatigue getting tired
Can barely stand ground
Feeling wary, feeling sad
When will this carnage end?
The smoke clears
On desolate grounds
The moans of death is all around
Alone figure stands in shock in pain
As he listens to moans of dying men
The pain is real the war cry's fade
As he re-enacts the days
That goes round in his head
Of the memories of pain
Of a contemptible war
poem by Kaila George
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What price freedom?
People wandering, mingling
Along busy, crowded streets
A chorus of voices
Rises and falls
The loudest voice cries 'freedom'
A blinding, flashing light
The roaring boom of thunder
Mangled, torn bodies
Litter the blood soaked streets
The scent of death lingers
A sweet and ghastly smell
A crumbling building falls
Echoing screams of despair
What price freedom?
What price freedom?
poem by Niall O'Hagan
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