My Aunt's Murder
She was a gentle elderly lady
Who was always helping everyone, not shady
She tended to the sick and gave to the poor
She loved all so much, she was so pure
She had a cat, she loved so much
That was always in her lap, in her clutch
She left the garage door, cracked opened each day
She never worried about being another's prey
One day on the couch, she sat reading a book
When in her garage door entered a crook
She screamed and she cried, 'What are you doing here? '
He grabbed her by the throat and she was in great fear
He stayed and tortured her for so many hours
She was so overcome by his strenght and powers
I feel great sorrow as I write this story
Her murder was mother's day, much to his glory
I was at her trial, November of last year
And since her death, I've shed many a tear
He sat there glaring at us so proud
The picture's we saw, shouldn't have been allowed
I felt rage and grief and stared back at him
I hoped his outcome would be real grim
He said he was guilty when the judge asked how he pled
It took four days for the verdict to be read
I held my breath, while I awaited the sentence
I knew death should have been his pentence
The jury, they couldn't come to decision
The judge decided it would be life in prison
In Texas, that's not a long sentence to pay
You can get out in forty years, not another day
It was capitol murder and he should have got death
I will see he stay's in prison, till I take my last breath
The picture's that they showed, are etched in my mind
This animal shouldn't live among mankind
She is in heaven now, living with my mother
At least once more, they have one another!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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She Stands By Her Son
He is a serial killer and awful things he has done
But his mother says he is not guilty and she stands by her son
A jury found him guilty but with their verdict she does not agree
She says my son is innocent i believe what he told me
That he did not murder those women the jury got it wrong
For him forty years in prison is forty years too long
For one completely innocent of any serious crime
The jury they erred badly they got it wrong this time
Though human blood and hair found on the bodies of the victims of foul play
According to the lab technicians did match his D N A
But there must have been a mix up and grieved am i to say
that for the crimes of some evil one my innocent son must pay
And all others say he is guilty she is the only one
To say that he is innocent she won't forsake her son.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Prisoner
Convicted I am now of an offense called 'Love'
The prison I am in is but a broken heart
The penance I must serve is to forever weep
With the aid of this poem, I am trying to escape
I clearly remember the offense that I had
I attempted to steal another woman's love
A love not half as much as that for you I feel
A love I never thought, would end my every dream
To reenter your heart, truly I did repent
With the hope that once more, your love I will regain
Sorrow was unto me, when I knew in the end
That the door of your heart for me is tightly sealed
And instead here's what happened you have imposed on me
A penalty much more than death, I've to serve painfully
The plaintiff were your lips, the jury is your mind
And your heart is the judge who tries me and decides
I'm appealing to you now in the court of love
The offense I admit, a plea of guilt I lodge
The decision I beg is a sentence of life
And that my prison be none but your loving heart
poem by Pacific Hernandez
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The Girls From Texas
(james lewis/jimmy holiday/cliff chambers)
Well, I met a girl from texas bout a year ago
Hadnt known her for too long when I had to let her go
You see, she had a razor, was ten inches or so
And every night youd hear her knocking at my door
She said, baby, Ill give you the clothes on my back
You can have everything that Ive got in my shack
But if you ever try to leave theyll take your out in sack
cause me and my razor will see to that
Thats the way the girls are from texas
Thats the way the girls are from texas
Thats the way the girls are from texas
I thought about my situation, decided not to tarry
For my own self preservation I decided we should marry
When the preacher started reading bout till death do us part
I told him, skip it, we had that understanding right from the start
Thats the way the girls are from texas
Thats the way the girls are from texas (houston to san antone)
Thats the way the girls are from texas (got to love em right or leave em alone)
Well, we settled down, got me a little old job, 65 fairlane ford
Every friday night I would stop in and cash my pay check down at the grocery store
They had a little girl worked in there, must have been about seventeen
She was the cutest thing I had ever seen
Its the same old story and Im afraid it wasnt too very long
Before we had fallen deeply in love and I knew it was wrong
I said baby, we got to stop this thing right here
Or my woman is gonna cut my throat from ear to ear, thats right
Tearful suffocation, she looked up in my face
I could feel her heart was breaking as these sad words she did say
You should have told me you was married, baby
She pulled out a forty-five and let me have it, right smack between the eyes
Thats the way the girls are from texas
Thats the way the girls are from texas
Thats the way the girls are from texas
She was guilty, I was dead
Now, whatd you think that the old judge said ?
Ah, thats just the way the girls are down here in texas
Case dismissed!
Thats the way the girls are from texas
Thats the way the girls are from texas (houston to san antone)
Thats the way the girls are from texas (got to love em right or leave em alone, boy)
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too Late
HOPE? What! hope !—you say there is hope for the long-lost one!
Hope! when the light is out; hope! when the oil is done;
Hope! No, no, good lady! no hope for me, at least;
No home for me but the clammy grave when life has ceased.
Hope! Well, there might have been hope had my mother lived; but, then,
5
God struck her dead, and I was left alone among men.
God knows how I loved her; and shall I never see her again?
Is there no glimpse of heaven for those who are doomed to pain?
Oh, cannot she come and kiss me? Oh, cannot she pray by my side,
As she did long ago on that terrible evening before she died?
10
If she prayed God would hear her, and perhaps—but no;
I'm too old a sinner for mercy—there is nothing for me but woe.
You say that I yet could be saved if I sorrowed for my sin;
That the Lord is at heaven's gate to take poor sinners in!
God knows that I hate my sin, but I feel that it cannot be;
15
I've so often forsaken Him, that He must have forsaken me.
Nay, don't offer a prayer for me, lady, it's only mocking at God:
Who knows but my tired heart still may rest beneath the sod?
For I always loved the sunny fields and the sweet, sweet flowers,
And longed to be pure once again like them, in my better hours.
20
But after I first had fallen the devil opened my eyes,
And I saw that the world knew my shame, and I hadn't the heart to rise;
So I gave up trying to be good, and sank down lower in sin,
Tho' the thought of poor dead mother made me always hate it within.
Oh, many's the night that I've wandered about thro' rain and snow,
25
Wandered about in the street, and didn't know where had to go;
And I've often crept to the river and looked at it, still and black,
And thought how every one spurned me—but something held me back.
I remember how once, when I stopped, half-dead, one rainy day,
To rest on his steps for a moment, the servants drove me away;
30
Drove me away like a dog from the door of the man for whom,
O God! I had given up all in this world and beyond the tomb.
But don't weep at my story, good lady; I'm not worth it living or dead!
Ha, ha! I'm not frightened of Death, nor the devils that dance round my bed:
There cannot be any hell deeper nor fuller of devils and strife
35
Than the hell that burns in my heart, and the fire that eats out life.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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My son, your mother left you and me alone......
My son, your mother left you and me alone
and she had flown to the heaven by leaving us in hell
Has she forgotten our love for her?
Her smiling picture on the wall brings me nonstop tears
There is no light or brightness in our house now
Her care for us brought beautiful life and loving nights
But now she left with us miserable life and torturing nights
I am sure she is watching us from the heaven helplessly
My son, your mother have tried to fight with death
and she want to keep us alive with her love and courage
but the heaven gates were opened for her and she felt helpless
I remember the day you were born son
Your mother held you in her arm as a precious gift from God
We had lots of plan for you and you were growing up greatly
Now you are only five years old and she left you and me
My son, as long as I live in this world
I will take care of you and give you fatherly and motherly love
and make her soul happy by up-bringing you as a great man.
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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The Death Penalty
Bring back the death penalty screamed a lady as the blood ran, dripping from the cold concrete as her sons blood fled from its body. Bring back, bring back the death penalty screamed a mother as her child dies slowly watching the pools of life fade away from his eyes.
Bring back, bring back the death penalty screamed a mother while she watched her child being killed by the hands of another man, bring back the death penalty.
Bring back the death penalty as she screamed holding her dying child while he laid his last words and breath upon her chest. Bring back the death penalty she screamed in mercy so that she will so that she will no longer have to hold any more of her dying sons and lay them in graves before she lays in her own.
Bring back the death penalty she screamed as her sons soul left his body and he became another victim to a violent society. Bring back the death penalty, bring back our sons.
poem by Melvyn Mohan
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Nebraska
I saw her standin on her front lawn just twirlin her baton
Me and her went for a ride sir and ten innocent people died
From the town of lincoln nebraska with a sawed-off .410 on my lap
Through to the badlands of wyoming I killed everything in my path
I cant say that Im sorry for the things that we done
At least for a little while sir me and her we had us some fun
The jury brought in a guilty verdict and the judge he sentenced me to death
Midnight in a prison storeroom with leather straps across my chest
Sheriff when the man pulls that switch sir and snaps my poor neck back
You make sure my pretty baby is sittin right there on my lap
They declared me unfit to live said into that great void my sould
Be hurled
They wanted to know why I did what I did
Well sir I guess theres just a meanness in this world
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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DEATH: our final destination.......
every one thinks it is our end
but no one knows whats god's trend
death is unpredictable
neither it is changeable
death just need a reason
it doesn't consider any season
death doesn't see the gender
also the age younger or elder
death wants every person to surrender
whether it is sooner or later
some name it heart attack, diseased, murder or suicide
just to console themselves or feel satisfied
we shouldn't feel horrified or fear
because worldly life is condensed as there is much more here after
so live like a flower and blossom till you are alive
as no one knows when death can deprive.....
poem by Fahmina Arjumand Misha
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The Poison of Hate
Hate is a poison,
a disease with no cure.
It has a reason,
but leaves us unpure.
It slowly pushes us,
towards things we shouldn't do.
Murder and such,
the feeling is not new.
The fear we feel is death,
and wastes our lives.
We feel it 'til our last breath,
fighting to survive.
We fear murder,
but people die falling down stairs.
You try to protect her,
but she suffocates in fears.
Fears of the past,
being told she was worthless.
They creep back,
suicide is what is left.
You forgot to protect her,
from her harmful self.
Now you are alone forever,
left wth yourself.
Knowing you are next....
poem by Everlasting Nightmare
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Shannon
Love lasts forever, isn't that true
Shannon asked that once of me,
And with a smile on her face
I then spoke with no haste,
I said yes, and too her I did agree.
She was a child, but knew not of truth
And she wanted that story to be so true,
As sadly her own mother has been
With yet so many, many men,
So about love, Shannon had not one clue.
Though she read it in books, and heard it in stories
Maybe that's why Shannon was so confused,
As she always saw her mother
With yet again, a different lover,
So poor little Shanny the truth she never knew.
Love lasts forever, to me she cried
As she showed me a picture of another man,
Though the picture wasn't of me or her father
So she wept for the pain a little longer,
As she wished, her mother could just understand.
The church said marriage is forever, Shannon spoke
Not only for a second, or a minute, or just a day,
To her statements I nodded and I agreed
And I told her, to her words always do heed,
And then in my soul, for her I did pray.
As the day will come, when she will be a woman
And I hope not like her mother that she loves,
As all Shannon wants is too be loved forever
By one man and not one man after another,
As one love for her, will always be enough.
Love lasts forever, that's what the bible has said
As Shannon ran to me with a smile upon her face,
God, he will join two souls as one
And they will be forever from dusk until dawn.
And never, will they ever fall from Gods great grace.
I want just one man, to come into my life
That I will love with all my heart and soul,
The man who will always be at my side
Even though we might argue and fight,
But one, and I swear I will never let him go.
I will never use my man, Shannon then did swear
And never will I put anyone above him,
I also promise I will not be like my mother
As my man I will love only him and no other,
And all I ask from him, is his love to me send.
Love lasts forever, I do believe that now
As Shannon spoke with happiness in her mind,
She then slowly closed her eyes
Then I could see the tears as she cried,
As she wished, and prayed for that day in time.
She spoke with wisdom of age, when she spoke
About a forever together with your love,
She told me one day she would enjoy it all
And never will she let her love fall,
And never from her one love will she have enough.
Poor little Shannon, the sadness that she has seen
Not even allowed to know her real last name,
She was never given a father to love
Only different men, to know and then hug
Poor little Shannon I pray, that you’ll know his name.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Last Night, I Died
Last night, I died
And there was no one there
There was no one for me to speak to
Except for GOD; who I did in prayer.
I asked GOD then to forgive me
And please, erase the sins of this man
Then I asked him to watch over my family and friends
And then I asked him please; hold my hand.
And as I lay there dying
Unto GOD I freely spoke
I thanked him for all the gifts he gave me,
I thanked him for all the words I wrote.
Then I closed my eyes and had memories
But not of the bad times, only the good,
Then I thought of the people I loved and trusted,
Not because I had to, but because I should.
And while I was there still alone
Awaiting for death to take my life,
I began to cry, but not for me
But for my son, and the woman I call wife.
Then I thought in Heaven who would walk with me
When I arrived, in my new home,
Then I thought who would be with me
Or in Heaven I thought, Would I walk alone.
And as I awaited For my life to end
I worried as I began to think of everyone else,
The sting of death really didn't bother me,
But only knowing, I would die by myself.
And then at last death it came,
And there for me, no one had cried
Because no one knew that I left this world
Because no one knew, last night I had died.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Fit the Sixth ( Hunting of the Snark )
The Barrister's Dream
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
But the Barrister, weary of proving in vain
That the Beaver's lace-making was wrong,
Fell asleep, and in dreams saw the creature quite plain
That his fancy had dwelt on so long.
He dreamed that he stood in a shadowy Court,
Where the Snark, with a glass in its eye,
Dressed in gown, bands, and wig, was defending a pig
On the charge of deserting its sty.
The Witnesses proved, without error or flaw,
That the sty was deserted when found:
And the Judge kept explaining the state of the law
In a soft under-current of sound.
The indictment had never been clearly expressed,
And it seemed that the Snark had begun,
And had spoken three hours, before any one guessed
What the pig was supposed to have done.
The Jury had each formed a different view
(Long before the indictment was read),
And they all spoke at once, so that none of them knew
One word that the others had said.
"You must know--" said the Judge: but the Snark exclaimed "Fudge!"
That statute is obsolete quite!
Let me tell you, my friends, the whole question depends
On an ancient manorial right.
"In the matter of Treason the pig would appear
To have aided, but scarcely abetted:
While the charge of Insolvency fails, it is clear,
If you grant the plea 'never indebted'.
"The fact of Desertion I will not dispute:
But its guilt, as I trust, is removed
(So far as relates to the costs of this suit)
By the Alibi which has been proved.
"My poor client's fate now depends on your votes."
Here the speaker sat down in his place,
And directed the Judge to refer to his notes
And briefly to sum up the case.
But the Judge said he never had summed up before;
So the Snark undertook it instead,
And summed it so well that it came to far more
Than the Witnesses ever had said!
When the verdict was called for, the Jury declined,
As the word was so puzzling to spell;
But they ventured to hope that the Snark wouldn't mind
Undertaking that duty as well.
So the Snark found the verdict, although, as it owned,
It was spent with the toils of the day:
When it said the word "GUILTY!" the Jury all groaned
And some of them fainted away.
Then the Snark pronounced sentence, the Judge being quite
Too nervous to utter a word:
When it rose to its feet, there was silence like night,
And the fall of a pin might be heard.
"Transportation for life" was the sentence it gave,
"And then to be fined forty pound."
The Jury all cheered, though the Judge said he feared
That the phrase was not legally sound.
But their wild exultation was suddenly checked
When the jailer informed them, with tears,
Such a sentence would not have the slightest effect,
As the pig had been dead for some years.
The Judge left the Court, looking deeply disgusted
But the Snark, though a little aghast,
As the lawyer to whom the defence was intrusted,
Went bellowing on to the last.
Thus the Barrister dreamed, while the bellowing seemed
To grow every moment more clear:
Till he woke to the knell of a furious bell,
Which the Bellman rang close at his ear.
poem by Lewis Carroll
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I Cheated Death.
Suddenly all went cold
And of my mother's hand I took hold
I held on like a drowning man would a lifeline
For I knew this might be the end of my timeline
And there in the corner he stood
Bright silvery robes, a golden cord around his waist, there he stood
Shoulder length hair as golden as the sun's rays
Eyes bluer than the Caspian, bronze skin that hath no flaws
His feet shod in sandals
His presence brightened the candles
I felt a hope build inside
A fire rekindled inside
But as quickly as it came
The hope left and with it the fear came
As I looked in horror to the other corner
There she stood, crowned by darkness in the left corner
Her eyes the colour of blood
In a black robe of death she was clad
As I focused on her, I felt the life leave me
Just as the anaconda squeezes the life out of its prey, the life left me
The odour of burning Sulphur filled the room
And with it an impeding gloom
I squeezed my mother's hand ‘til it hurt
Every breath I took hurt
I tried to tell my mother I loved her
But all that came out was a croak
Slowly the woman in the left corner removed her cloak
Revealing a crown of long fiery hair
Her eyes fixed on me in an evil stare
Her blood red lips parted in a smile
A smile so evil it shouldn't be called a smile
I turned to the other corner seeking comfort from my angel and this evil evade
But woe unto me he had slowly began to fade
And with him, the light
Impeding my sight
I felt my body consumed by a cloud of darkness
And at that moment, I felt the presence of death in the darkness
Funny how in the movies they tell you to stay away from the light
How I longed to see a light
For I knew the darkness would only lead to more pain
I shut my eyes hoping that when I opened them again
My angel would be there telling me it's alright
Bringing back hope and light
But lo and behold as I re-opened mine eyes
There I lay, in my hospital bed my mother looking on with wet eyes
She told of how I almost died
Of how my breathing stopped but her hope never died
I sat up in wonder looked to the right and there my angel stood
In fear, I turned to the left, and she too in her shroud of evil, stood
Her eyes blazing with anger
For death had been cheated and left with a deep hunger
And I knew, she would be back
And then it struck me,
Death never leaves empty handed
That's when I saw the nurses covering the old woman's body across
With a white sheet and a priest making the sign of a cross
Once again, death did reap
And it is inevitable that she will return to reap
Her taste of fruit, the unripe fruit...
poem by Esperanza Chilupula
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The Vision of Death
Many paint a
picture of Death.
They say that it
carries a scythe
and is a skeleton.
They say it comes
when murder or
fear are lurking.
Still, others say
that Death is
the way to
escape the tedious
work of life.
I say, personally,
that Death is an
important factor.
Without Death,
what would be life?
Boring and
useless.
Without trials
and tests of character.
Death is
the whole
motivation of
life.
Celebrate Death,
for it lets us live.
That is my opinion.
That is my view
on the importance
and necessity
of Death.
poem by Jenna Dandurand
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Death Is Calling At My Door
Death is calling at my door,
Knock Knock not another joke.
This time I'm actually scared.
The call of death is at my door,
Knocking..... Knocking.....
Awaiting an answer,
My body gets cold as I start to shiver.
All sorts of things are happening to my body,
Not accustom to it; it got me worried.
I am feeling like I am going to die,
I don't. I want to stay alive.
I don't know what it is,
For all I know it could be a disease.
I spoke to my mother who said it is normal and I am alright,
But the symptoms I am getting insist to pry.
The knocking on the door becomes more as I go closer.
I want it to go away let me live to see another day.
I open the door ready to take my last breath,
Shockingly death had the wrong address
poem by Anita Khelawan
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Knife
Slit and
Slither knife
Penetrate in phallic push
To perforate the pulse of tissues in the flesh
Slice a vein to drain the unsuspecting victim
E’er they bleed and plea
Their scream
Of death
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder murder murder murder murder
murder murder
murder murder
murder
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I Was a Child
I was a child - only 13
I was looking to be loved
What I found was the devil
I wasn’t to know love shouldn’t
Hurt with so much intense pain
I wasn’t to know the difference
Between passion and possession
He taught me every lesson I needed
He gave me validation of my worth
Unworthy he assured me with certainty
He told me I am now his to keep
He stole years of what was my life
His idea of play included pain
I felt his games over and over
Until I learned to no longer feel
He captured my soul and tormented it
Until he destroyed what remained
Left with no strength to walk away
Fear of death was his ultimate weapon
He took the power of my mind
He gave me a choice to escape
For this he would take something
Someone I loved - the life of my brother
My decision quite simply I made – I stayed.
What became of the years to follow?
I was a child – I was broken, beaten, kicked,
I was a child – I was tormented, raped, violated
I was a child – I was frightened, and wished to die
I was a child – I wanted to be that child again.
(April 22nd 2007)
poem by Charmaine Simpson
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Life and Death, How Ironic
Life, it described my Mother
Life, she was the image
Life, she was healthy
Life, she loved every day
Life, you saw it in her eyes
Life, you heard it in her voice
Life, how ironic it could be
Death, the impossible
Death, too somber a thought for her
Death, she would live a long, long time before it would confront her
Death, sickness maybe, but there is always a cure
Death, not even a thought in the doctor’s mind
Death, it now replaced life
Life and death, my mother passed away with a look of peace on her face
She died knowing that she lived every moment to the fullest.
poem by Janice Karp
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A Crying Monk
Once there was a monk
with peaceful mind without junk.
At funeral, he usually preached,
pacifying the people with grief,
saying one would leave,
when one's life ceased,
crying and weeping was no need,
Buddha's teaching one must heed,
One's karma would lead
to either heaven or hell indeed.
One day, the monk's mother died sudden death.
He cried violently without catching the breath.
The funeral attendents consoled him,
to stop wailing and tear flowing.
He said it couldn't help,
he now experienced sorrow and grief by himself.
On Living
I
Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example--
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree
that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,
your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and safety glasses,
you can die for people--
even for people whose faces you've never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, the most beautiful thing.
I mean, you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees--
and not for your children, either,
but because although you fear death you don't believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.
II
Let's say you're seriously ill, need surgery--
which is to say we might not get
from the white table.
Even though it's impossible not to feel sad
about going a little too soon,
we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,
we'll look out the window to see it's raining,
or still wait anxiously
for the latest newscast ...
Let's say we're at the front--
for something worth fighting for, say.
There, in the first offensive, on that very day,
we might fall on our face, dead.
We'll know this with a curious anger,
but we'll still worry ourselves to death
about the outcome of the war, which could last years.
Let's say we're in prison
and close to fifty,
and we have eighteen more years, say,
before the iron doors will open.
We'll still live with the outside,
with its people and animals, struggle and wind--
I mean with the outside beyond the walls.
I mean, however and wherever we are,
we must live as if we will never die.
III
This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
and one of the smallest,
a gilded mote on blue velvet--
I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a block of ice
or a dead cloud even
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space ...
You must grieve for this right now
--you have to feel this sorrow now--
for the world must be loved this much
if you're going to say "I lived" ...
Trans. by Randy Blasing and Mutlu Konuk (1993)
poem by Nazim Hikmet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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