1st Date And A Hanging
He hung there,
not like 'strange fruit'
but like a body.
Hs blackened tongue partially protruding from his mouth,
and a belt around his neck.
911 operator asked if I was sure he was dead.
'Oh yeah.. he's f78king dead'
His face was purple black,
there was no doubt.
he was dead.
'I'm going to need you to cut him down'- the 911 operator..
'ummm... what? '
'Cut im down'
I climbed next to him,
tryng to balance on the wrought iron fence from which he had picked to end his life.
Do you realize how close you have to get to a dead man in order to cut him down off a gate?
My mind went blank as I sawed throuh the belt with a dull knife.
My mind went blank,
I looked at the belt...
only the belt,
not what was attached.
I had blocked out what was dangling from the other end of that belt,
until I heard the muted 'thud'
Body hitting pavement.
Then it was all flashing lights, sirens, interviews, crime scene photogs.
It was all yellow tape and I stood back to watch.
It took them hours,
meanwhile, the type of people who roam the streets at homeless shelters at 3: 00 AM,
walked past... slowly.
always the same dumb question:
'Is he dead? ' they would ask me.
'Well, he isn't doig well.'
They kept walking.
Later, after the carnival died down, my bar tender texted me.
'Hows work? '
(I think she lived vicariously through the chaos of my line of work)
I told her of the nights events.
I had to cut down the body of a man,
a resident,
one I knew well
down from a gate.
Within the hour she was at my workplace.
I sat in her car, eating chocolates she brought to cheer me up.
chain smoking
and trying to catch my breath,
trying to catch up with myself.
My bartender considers this our first date.
(we are married now) .
I consider it the night I cut down a man
A man who hung himself over a woman
from a gate...
and then ate chococlate and chain smoked.
poem by Brevet Wilson
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Related quotes
You Hung Me
It's dead, it'd dead you killed it all
you fucked me over, you watched me fall
the life you sucked right out of me
dead you hung me from tree.
My blood spills out onto the ground
it screams, it cries without a sound
there is no victory here for me
dead you hung me from a tree.
You can run but you can't hide
you'll try to say it's suicide
torn apart for all to see
dead you hung me from a tree.
I'll prove to you your world is wrong
your power has gone on way to long
watch my body swing so free
dead you hung me from a tree.
Free from you I find my peace
in a grave that's six feet deep
the cage unlocked, I found the key
dead you hung me from a tree.
poem by CJA Anderson
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My belt holds my pants up, but the belt loops hold my belt up. I don't really know what's happening down there. Who is the real hero?
quote by Mitch Hedberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead End Street
Theres a crack up in the ceiling,
And the kitchen sink is leaking.
Out of work and got no money,
A sunday joint of bread and honey.
What are we living for?
Two-roomed apartment on the second floor.
No money coming in,
The rent collectors knocking, trying to get in.
We are strictly second class,
We dont understand,
(dead end!)
Why we should be on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are living on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
On a cold and frosty morning,
Wipe my eyes and stop me yawning.
And my feet are nearly frozen,
Boil the tea and put some toast on.
What are we living for?
Two-roomed apartment on the second floor.
No chance to emigrate,
Im deep in debt and now its much too late.
We both want to work so hard,
We cant get the chance,
(dead end!)
People live on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are dying on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
(dead end!)
People live on dead end street.
(dead end!)
People are dying on dead end street.
(dead end!)
Gonna die on dead end street.
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Head to my feet (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Hows it feel? (yeah)
Hows it feel? (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
Dead end street (yeah)
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I Think Of Myself As Dead
WHEN I THINK OF MYSELF AS DEAD
When I think of myself as dead
I think of what it will mean for my loved ones
I pray they will not lose heart and hope because of it-
When my father died my brother lost hope-
When I think of myself dead
I wonder about God and God�s purpose
Is there really an afterlife?
What could it mean?
Will I meet again those who have gone before me?
When I think of myself dead
I think about a body in the ground
Worms eating it, cold paining it-
When I think of myself as dead
I think about never feeling anything again-
When I think about myself as dead
I think about the work I have left behind
And whether it will mean anything to anyone
And for how long-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of all the memories that will go with me
I think about nothing and more nothing and the end of the universe-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of life going on down below
Life with all its beauty and pain
And I pray and I pray again
My loved ones will be able to manage and make their own lives still happy
When I think of myself as dead
I pray to G-d
That somehow in some way
It will not be the end for me forever.
When I think of myself as dead
I think of myself as living again somehow
In a way I cannot now know-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Snap (Fun Poem 125)
Woke up and had a shower
felt great and refreshed,
laid my clothes out
and started to get dressed.
Dragged on my trousers
and then pulled on my belt.
Snap!
I stood there with half a belt in my hand
and my trousers around my ankles.
Now I need a length of string
to hold my trousers up.
Looks like it gonna be
a new belt day today.
(7 July 2011)
poem by David Harris
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Knock em Dead Kid
In the heat of the night
You went and blackened my eyes
Well now Im back
Im back
Im back
And Im coming your way
Well now Im supercharged
Might just explode in your face
Im black
Im black
Im black
And Im primed for hate
(chorus)
Knock em dead, kid
(knock em dead)
Knock em dead, kid
(knock em dead)
The blade is red, kid
(knock em dead)
Knock em dead, kid
Knock em dead
A star-spangled fight
Heard a steel-belted scream
Now Im black, Im black, Im black
Another sidewalks bloody dream
I heard the sirens whine
My blood turned to freeze
Youll see the red in my eyes
As you take my disease
(chorus)(solo)(chorus)
Knock em knock em knock em
Dead...(scream)
Knock em dead kid
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Treadmill
The conveyor belt keeps rolling.
You stare straight ahead to the wall
And trek forward while the world stalls,
Hearing tapping feet repeating.
The conveyor belt keeps rolling.
Through your window, nature might call,
But you don't hear that—not at all.
You're closed in by your surroundings.
The conveyor belt keeps rolling.
Meanwhile, opportunity sprawls,
Begging you to escape the small,
Stationary steps to nothing.
The conveyor belt keeps rolling.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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I'm Alive (That Was The Day My Dead Pet Returned To Save My Life)
I was just kicking down the street
And the sun was in my eyes
So I couldn't see the truck
That was sixty times my size
And just seconds off from splattering me
Let me tell you
I was so scared I couldn't move
Like my boots were full of glue
Then I felt a little tug
And I thought of good Old Blue
And he pulled me from that catastrophe
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive
He's alive
I'm alive
I was spitting in the canyon
Near the cliff up on the mountain
When an unexpected sneeze
Hung me in the breeze
At forty five degrees in the sky
Suddenly I felt something
Had me by the belt
And in between my praying
Swore I heard a stallion neighing
Was the ghost of my horse
And I cried, yes I cried
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive
He's alive
Hey, I'm alive
Things were getting gory
Got caught on territory
Belonging to the Crutches
In an alley in their clutches
Looking kind of dismal that night
Well the leader's name was Fats
Swinging broken baseball bats
Things got really frantic
Starting jumping in their panic
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive, I'm alive, real alive
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
To save my life
Hallucinating billions of rats
Lots of rats
I'm alive, I'm alive
He's alive, he's alive, he's alive
I'm alive, yeah
He's alive, he's alive
I'm alive, real alive
Alive, alive, alive
Alive, alive, alive, alive
Alive, alive, alive, alive
I'm alive
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do not hit me below the belt, please
Do not hit me, please, below the belt
I am already harassed a lot
The ugly three sisters
Very secretly
Weaving
A plot
Under
The dark
frown and taunt
please do not tease me
any more I am already harassed a lot
I can not bear with any more
The nasty trick you play,
I am too weak to you
Totally blind to
The wrongs
You do
You know I am feeling very bore
Losing Interest, a torn sack
full of binding void
all shouts and cries
sounds and noises
meaningless
I do not love you any more
Your deceptive beauty
Is a sinking ship
A lousy whore
Stinking
Dead
Body
Already all the creepy and gory lures are felt
I stand at your door with bare and folded hands
Please, do not hit me, any more, below the belt.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Dead Coach
At night when sick folk wakeful lie,
I heard the dead coach passing by,
And heard it passing wild and fleet,
And knew my time was come not yet.
Click-clack, click-clack, the hoofs went past,
Who takes the dead coach travels fast,
On and away through the wild night,
The dead must rest ere morning light.
If one might follow on its track
The coach and horses, midnight black,
Within should sit a shape of doom
That beckons one and all to come.
God pity them to-night who wait
To hear the dead coach at their gate,
And him who hears, though sense be dim,
The mournful dead coach stop for him.
He shall go down with a still face,
And mount the steps and take his place,
The door be shut, the order said!
How fast the pace is with the dead!
Click-clack, click-clack, the hour is chill,
The dead coach climbs the distant hill.
Now, God, the Father of us all,
Wipe Thou the widow’s tears that fall!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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The City Dead-House
BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,
As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,
I curious pause--for lo! an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute
brought;
Her corpse they deposit unclaim'd--it lies on the damp brick
pavement;
The divine woman, her body--I see the Body--I look on it alone,
That house once full of passion and beauty--all else I notice not;
Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors
morbific impress me;
But the house alone--that wondrous house--that delicate fair house--
that ruin!
That immortal house, more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!
Or white-domed Capitol itself, with majestic figure surmounted--or
all the old high-spired cathedrals; 10
That little house alone, more than them all--poor, desperate house!
Fair, fearful wreck! tenement of a Soul! itself a Soul!
Unclaim'd, avoided house! take one breath from my tremulous lips;
Take one tear, dropt aside as I go, for thought of you,
Dead house of love! house of madness and sin, crumbled! crush'd!
House of life--erewhile talking and laughing--but ah, poor house!
dead, even then;
Months, years, an echoing, garnish'd house--but dead, dead, dead.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Bob
I had a friend that took a blet, took a blet and hung himself
Hung himself in the doorway of the apartment where he lived
His woman and his little bro came home from the grocery store
Only to find him dangling in the apartment where he lived
I had a friend who shaved his head
Put his doctor martins on
And drew such wondrous pictures in the apartment where he lived
He praised my creativity, though he spoke sarcastically
Oh, the conversations in the apartment where he lived
I had a friend that took a blet, took a belt and hung himself
Hung himself in the doorway of the apartment where he lived
Rock, she thought him spiteful; ler, he thought him pitiful
Me, Ive never been back to the apartment where he lived
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Over The Dead Body
Don’t fight over the dead body
Grudge and ego of people left behind
Could raise the worst world war
Don’t scared over the dead body
Silence and stillness of living human
Is more frightening than the ghost
Don’t keep mourning over the dead body
Sadness and lost of the one we love
Will be replaced by forever peace
Don’t worship over the dead body
Dreams could only be real and achieved
If we open our eyes to the world
Don’t disrespect over the dead body
It once belonged to precious life
Though the evidence corpse severely decayed
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Kemp Owyne
As a small child her mother died
that sorrowed her in her heart,
when her father married again
a wicked cruel lady
and almost like a slave
she beckoned to the woman’s call
and did every task
big or small, she did them all
until one moonless night
the women send her father to bed,
and in darkness without any light
said strange things casting a spell
and carried little Isabel
to a cliff above the sea
and in glee cursed her sorrowfully
until Kemp Owyne
who lived in a far of city
come to the rescue
and with three kisses set her free
and into the waters she threw the child
laughing wickedly
and covered Isabel was
in scales from tail to fin
and tales of a hideous beast
with long hair, breathing strong
was told by the people that came across her,
even to those across the sea
and to her it was a great calamity
and immediately Kemp Owyne
sailed with his great boat,
from the far off city
to see for himself
and she begged him for a kiss
and still hideous was she
and a magic belt fit for a king
would be his
that would protect against any enemy
but warned him to only kiss
and not to touch,
the rest of her body
or the belt would bring him death
would cause his last breath
and gallant Kemp Owyne
gave her a kiss
and the belt was his
and she begged him for a kiss
and still hideous was she
and a ring fit for king
she offered him
that would protect against any enemy
but warned him to only kiss
and not to touch,
the rest of her body
or the ring would become a deadly thing
and gallant Kemp Owyne
gave her a kiss
and the ring was his
and she begged him for a kiss
and still hideous was she
and a mighty sword fit for king
she offered him
that would protect against any enemy
but warned him to only kiss
and not to touch,
the rest of her body
or an enemy sword would pierce him
and gallant Kemp Owyne
gave her a kiss
and it was sweet bliss,
full of passion was he
and the sword was his
and transformed was she
with hair short,
more beautiful than any queen
and she was free,
walked on to the beach
right out of the sea
and gallant Kemp Owyne
begged her to accompany him.
[Reference: Kemp Owyne by unknown poet.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Post Martem
Dided dead
Body....
For
Very simple
Surgery
Without
Anathishia....!
No any dignoses
Internal and
External body...!
The surgery
Was complite
Very very nice...!
With the
Dead body
Chapter close...!
Begin the murder
Of dead body
Chapter open
Newely born...
A crime story....!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Kemp Owyne
Her mother died when she was young,
Which gave her cause to make great moan;
Her father married the warst woman
That ever lived in Christendom.
She served her with foot and hand,
In every thing that she could dee,
Till once, in an unlucky time,
She threw her in ower Craigy's sea.
Says, 'Lie you there, dove Isabel,
And all my sorrows lie with thee;
Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea,
And borrow you with kisses three,
Let all the warld do what they will,
Oh borrowed shall you never be!
Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang,
And twisted thrice about the tree,
And all the people, far and near,
Thought that a savage beast was she.
These news did come to Kemp Owyne,
Where he lived, far beyond the sea;
He hasted him to Craigy's sea,
And on the savage beast lookd he.
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted was about the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
'Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.
'Here is a royal belt,' she cried,
'That I have found in the green sea;
And while your body it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I vow my belt your death shall be.'
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal belt he brought him wi;
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted twice about the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
'Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.'
'Here is a royal ring,' she said,
'That I have found in the green sea;
And while your finger it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my ring your death shall be.'
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal ring he brought him wi;
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted ance about the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
'Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.
'Here is a royal brand,' she said,
'That I have found in the green sea;
And while your body it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my brand your death shall be.'
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal brand he brought him wi;
Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short,
And twisted nane about the tree,
And smilingly she came about,
As fair a woman as fair could be.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Stop Dead
Stop!
Stop!
Stop dead,
Stop stop stop stop stop stop
I pulled up at a west end junction (seeker of attention)
A full body kit and bass bins pumping (size up competition)
Come on red light, get into green,
I hit the brake, I must be dreaming..
Im stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Got to fix on you.
Dont wanna loose you, from my sight
Where ya going to?
Gotta know now..
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Got to fix on you.
Dont wanna loose, you from my sight
Where ya going to?
Oh-oh-oh
Ive got my eyes on the action (killer reputation)
Heat crazed in full satisfaction (become a phaser? )
Do what you do and do it to me,
Body in motion, now you see me
(chorus)
Gotta know know.. stop!
Come on now, come on now
Come on now, come on now
Wise up to remain young victim (come on, ways of attraction)
A full scale attack on the system (come on, no one visor? )
Do what you do and do it to me,
Im into red line territory
And im..
(chorus)
Stop!, dead in my tracks again,
Im stop dead in my tracks
Stop!, in my tracks (yeah)
Im stop dead in my tracks
(oh-oh) gotta know know..
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
Stop! (stop), dead! (dead), in my tracks (in my tracks)
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What care the Dead, for Chanticleer
592
What care the Dead, for Chanticleer—
What care the Dead for Day?
'Tis late your Sunrise vex their face—
And Purple Ribaldry—of Morning
Pour as blank on them
As on the Tier of Wall
The Mason builded, yesterday,
And equally as cool—
What care the Dead for Summer?
The Solstice had no Sun
Could waste the Snow before their Gate—
And knew One Bird a Tune—
Could thrill their Mortised Ear
Of all the Birds that be—
This One—beloved of Mankind
Henceforward cherished be—
What care the Dead for Winter?
Themselves as easy freeze—
June Noon—as January Night—
As soon the South—her Breeze
Of Sycamore—or Cinnamon—
Deposit in a Stone
And put a Stone to keep it Warm—
Give Spices—unto Men—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Smoking deadbody
Smoking is
Some time
very funney...
On my village...
One old
Age man was dead...
Age of eighty nine
Some relation people
Do for
Put on' beadi' at mouth
{It is one of indian somking}
With fire it...
Old man dead body was
Smoking well for' beadi'
With out breath...
haa... ha...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Journey to Paradise
She was a queen of the old Levant,
Of a country, lost in shame,
Each page, blood-drenched of its history
Was burnt, to bury its name,
The King had gone on the last Crusade
With his knights to the Holy Land,
But locked her into a chastity belt
Forged by a blacksmith's hand.
But Queen Fatima, known as ‘The Bitch'
Was a testy-tempered whore,
She raged and ranted at everyone
And chafed at the chains she bore,
She sent in search of the blacksmith to
Disable the King's device,
But word came back that the man was hung
So he'd never work it twice.
The King was away for three long years,
Fatima's tongue was a lash,
The sharpest thing in her box of tricks
Was the blade of the headsman's axe,
Her courtiers' popularity rose
And fell as her moods had bled,
And all had quaked at the first mistake
When she ranted, ‘Off with his head! '
She called for a Turkic Shaman to
Divine what her life would be,
Would she ever be rid of this chastity belt?
He cautioned her, ‘Wait and see! '
It wasn't the answer she wanted, so
He was tied to a horse, and dragged,
Down to the river and weighted down
Tied up in a hessian bag!
A number of fortune tellers fell
To the rage of a Fatima fit,
Off to the gory headsman's blade
Or cooked like a pig on a spit,
But then, the little court jester said
In a voice that was more like a whine,
‘Would it please the ear for a genuine seer,
At Delphi, I learnt to divine.'
‘You learned from the famous Oracle?
Come closer, this I must hear,
If the Oracle tells my future place,
Why, you have nothing to fear! '
‘My Oracle tells the key to your belt
Has been locked in the armourer's cell,
The King had ordered its secret kept
Or he'd suffer the fiends from hell! '
They carried the armourer shackled in chain
To the queen, he knelt in shock,
‘The key, if you please, or on your knees
You will feel my steel on the block! '
He babbled and begged forgiveness, said
He was caught between King and Queen,
And gave up the key to chastity
So the queen danced free on the green.
She spent that night with the eunuch slaves,
She crawled around on her knees,
She fed an insatiable appetite
Doing whatever she pleased,
At dawn she called for the headsman
Who was given his gory task,
And watched as her night companions there
Fell one and all to the axe.
She took in the jester, asked for more,
What news of the King from home,
‘Alas, ' he said, ‘the King is dead,
The vultures pick at his bones! '
‘Then what will become of his widow queen,
Say now, or you'll feel my curse.'
‘A knight in armour will come for you,
A knight on a coal black horse! '
‘Will he be the bearer of tidings, or
Will he be the bearer of lies? '
‘This knight has only one deed to do,
He'll bear you to paradise! '
She thought of the bliss of a loving knight
Who would take the queen as his right,
While she would rule with an iron hand
And he would make love at night.
The knight came thundering through the trees
One day, on his coal black horse,
The queen stood up where the parapet eaves
Hung over the watercourse,
She ordered the drawbridge down at once
And had the portcullis raised,
Then watched him galloping into the fort
And through the walls of the maze.
His horse came clattering up the steps
That led to milady's tower,
She thought, ‘At last, we shall bed this night
In the depths of my shady bower.'
The knight, not raising his visor there
Nor even dismounted yet,
Raised his scimitar up on high
Then cleft her head from her neck!
Her body dropped like a stone, and bled,
Her head flew over the wall,
She saw his face as she stared ahead
The Jester, watching her fall,
Her head fell down through the cypress trees
And she thought that the breeze was nice!
Those final seconds would lead her mind
To the Garden of Paradise.
1 November 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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