..Planking dumb clucks
Have death time for ever Laid
........Horizontally
haiku by Ken e Hall
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Related quotes
So So Dumb
Uh
Oh yeah
Alright (alright)
Alright alright
Dumb dumb dumb
So so dumb so dumb
Dumb dumb dumb
So so dumb so dumb
Everytime I see ya
Simple bitch pleads
Come here and talk to me
Wanna tell ya (huh)
Tell ya whats been on my mind
The wifes a friend of mine
Why do you need some
Georgia pine in your life
Do you love everything
About the woman you with
Why you tryin to get with t
I thought that you had
Responsibility
See your wife is beautiful (huh)
The kid is two years old (hey)
She folds all your clothes
Whatcha runnin around for
I cant think that youre so
Dumb dumb dumb
She thinks youre so faithful
So so dumb so dumb
And shes such a pretty girl
Dumb dumb dumb
How could you be so damn
So so dumb so dumb
I cant believe
Youre knockin
Youre knockin at my door
I should get my gun
And gun you to the floor
But instead
I think Ill invite you in
Ima call your wife boy
And let her know where youve been
Cuz she thinks that
Youre so faithful
Boy youre so dumb (dumb)
Aint goin down like that no more
Guess whos knockin at the front door
Aint nobody you wanna see come in
You should appreciate your girl
Stop tryin to push it on me
[...] Read more
song performed by TLC
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Beldame of Death
A crunch: afoot a dead arachnid
Spanning once a serving plate –
Oh! that others be alive
With such as me for spider bait!
I slunk along the silent hall
Of ancient ore attired in grime –
Feculent beyond the nose;
No bearing here, nor feel for time.
I shuddered in appreciation –
The ambience would mortify
A feeble mind, aghast, opined
Of murky thought, and typify
The will of Belial err I brought
Upon myself to loathe and dread
Exquisite retribution: to linger
Oftentimes alive, then dead.
Compulsion saw me edging on
Toward a narrow door of oak.
Behind, I knew, a greater evil
Waiting in her fusty cloak.
A choice of nil upon the table;
Aught of leave, I had to face
Alone the shrew – her flaming aura
Angling me; my deep disgrace
From ugly deeds I dealt in life,
A heinous world I honed in glee…
'Now take a crooked path to death,
For I have come to torture thee! '
Out of eyes of orange flame,
A piercing glare, then here it came –
The cackling cry of chanting song:
'You thought you'd die alone in pain
The once – nay nay! you'll die with me,
And so a catch: you'll die again
Ad infinitum - ever be!
Your soul to curse, my heart we'll gore,
Your liver to draw and quarter;
A sadomasochistic pair,
We'll slither together in slaughter! '
I answered only with a scream, from
Sensing near her craving lust.
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Mark R. Slaughter
Just like the dahlia
Death comes in all its beauty
And so I stroke her petals
Push my feet root-deep
Into the composted soil
As weary clouds unite
Coalesce
Darken through the greys
In preparation
Incontinence prevails
Lachrymose in empathy
They cry for me
Sharing tears
Mortality brings
As twilight closes
I rot
(They fade)
To be the plant
(They'll water)
I, denomination Mark R. Slaughter
Struggle thro' my fantasy
To seal the state of mind
That I of soul
Remain eternal
Back on the windowsill
A daffodil stretches
From a bulbous foot
Flirts like a ballerina
STOPS
Wonders of the world
My cat hears the brassy thoughts
From yellow trumpet
Pricks up his ears
Iridescent eyes
Focussed on the future
I'll wait
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Death Of Me
Death sat
contemplating suicide
while speaker after speaker
opined:
The scientist intoned;
'The Cell is immortal
only personalities die;
Death cannot commit suicide! '
The Buddhist decried
all end points
citing endless cycles, renewals.
and reincarnations.
The biologist argued
that the only death that
mattered was the death of species;
'Individual biology matters least.'
'Only the planet matters'
said the environmentalist.
America lofted the individual
graffiting on the Universal wall
'All Death is the Death of the individual.'
The British had no remedy
offering instead a spot of tea
saying Death Down
is better sipped
with chin-up determination.
The pastor said
'Death is but a passage
on to Heaven or Hell
and best to get your life straightened out
before you hear that tolling bell.'
The Fatalist said 'do it, do it.'
It is inevitable'
'Death' said the existentialist
'is other people who
can kill your spirit
even before Death comes-
you arrive already dead
at Deaths Door.
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Lancelot And Elaine
Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.
How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.
For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,
And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty moonshine, unawares
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Death is... A Compilation of Death Poetry
(10/05/2000)
Death is when your loved ones must depart
Death is a sharp pain to the heart
Death is a feeling of permanent sadness & pain
Death is when your loved ones have forever gone away
Death is a call to heaven or hell
Death is an eternal mansion or cell
Death is a lesson to learn about
Death is a loss, without a doubt
Death is an unhappy feeling to have
Death is unpleasant on anyone's behalf
Death is something we all will go through
Death is a storm waiting to brew
Death is a lingering crow always overhead
Death is a soul, done being fed
Death is cruel,
Death is unfair,
Why death?
Does death care?
Death is unkind,
Death breaks hearts,
Why death?
Do you like to part?
Death is here,
Death is there,
Why death?
Why be everywhere?
Death is the end,
Death is to die,
Why death?
To make people cry?
Death was created,
Death is still here,
Why death?
We live in fear,
Death is death,
Death is dead,
Why death?
[...] Read more
poem by Shenise Ashmeade
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Dumb
Above the feeling
This is revealing
Boy i didnt know you cared
Mustve been up on the weekend
In the club freakin
Boy i could see you stare
You were lookin right at me
Lookin right back
We knew there was something there
And i know you knew that if we did do this
It would be an affair
Cos my mans at home
Lookin at the finger his ring goes on
He got trust in me
How'm i gonna live with myself if i cheat
Dumb diggi-diggi-di dumb di-dumb don't want
And 'though I know it would be fun to get some
Gotta run now, gotta go
Gotta get home
Cos my baby's boy's on his own
Better be Dumb diggi-diggi-di dumb di-dumb don't want
And 'though I know it would be fun to get some
Gotta run now
I gots ta get home,
My baby boy's on his own,
Up on the dancefloor
Then ya go ask for a night in with me
But ya know that aint gon' happen
I wont get trapped in
This, see, it just aint me
And you can try, seduce me
But its no use, see
I'm in love with my baby
And I wont let you in
Mess up and move in
To do that I'd be crazy
Cos my mans at home
Lookin at the finger his ring goes on
He got trust in me
How'm I gonna live with myself if I cheat
Dumb diggi-diggi-di dumb di-dumb don't want
And 'though I know it would be fun to get some
Gotta run now, gotta go
Gotta get home
Cos my baby's boy's on his own
Better be Dumb diggi-diggi-di dumb di-dumb don't want
And 'though I know it would be fun to get some
Gotta run now
I gots ta get home,
My baby boy's on his own,
[...] Read more
song performed by 411
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dumb Stuff
A flop I did do!
I was a rookie when I hooked up,
To the dumb stuff.
I was a rookie when I hooked up,
To the dumb stuff.
I was a rookie when I hooked up,
To the dumb stuff.
With a giving as much of it up!
I let it done to overcome,
All the dumb stuff.
I let it done to overcome,
All the dumb stuff.
I let it done to overcome,
All the dumb stuff.
With a giving as much of it up!
A flop I did do.
At times I hated when I found out,
It was dumb stuff.
At times I hated when I found out,
It was dumb stuff.
At times I hated when I found out,
It was dumb stuff.
With a giving as much of it up!
A flop I did do,
To help improve my movements.
Yes a flop I did do.
A flop I did do.
Oh yes a flop I did do.
To help improve my movements.
Yes a flop I did do.
A flop I did do.
I was a rookie when I hooked up,
To the dumb stuff.
I let it done to overcome,
All the dumb stuff.
At times I hated when I found out,
It was dumb stuff.
But that dumb stuff finally helped me wake up!
All the dumb stuff,
That I did I chose to give up!
All the dumb stuff,
That I did I chose to give up!
And it was dumb stuff...
That I did I chose to give up!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Friday's Child
(K.J.Garside C.Gray)
........my daughter,
take her from the water.......
I laid her down.......
For she drinks from the river,
I pray forgive her,
Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.
Girl a string of lovers,
Found dead beneath her,
They pulled her down,
For she drinks from the river,
I pray forgive her,
Don't let her drown,
Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.
A prayer for the mind who's thread bare,
For those who dare to tread there,
Now the sun is gone,
Oh I pray for my daughter,
I pray support her,
Don't let her drown,
Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb.
song performed by Queen Adreena
Added by Lucian Velea
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..Planking dumb clucks
Have death time for ever Laid
........Horizontally
haiku by Ken e Hall
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III. The Other Half-Rome
Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!
There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The King of the Vasse
A LEGEND OF THE BUSH.
MY tale which I have brought is of a time
Ere that fair Southern land was stained with crime,
Brought thitherward in reeking ships and cast
Like blight upon the coast, or like a blast
From angry levin on a fair young tree,
That stands thenceforth a piteous sight to see.
So lives this land to-day beneath the sun,—
A weltering plague-spot, where the hot tears run,
And hearts to ashes turn, and souls are dried
Like empty kilns where hopes have parched and died.
Woe's cloak is round her,—she the fairest shore
In all the Southern Ocean o'er and o'er.
Poor Cinderella! she must bide her woe,
Because an elder sister wills it so.
Ah! could that sister see the future day
When her own wealth and strength are shorn away,
A.nd she, lone mother then, puts forth her hand
To rest on kindred blood in that far land;
Could she but see that kin deny her claim
Because of nothing owing her but shame,—
Then might she learn 'tis building but to fall,
If carted rubble be the basement-wall.
But this my tale, if tale it be, begins
Before the young land saw the old land's sins
Sail up the orient ocean, like a cloud
Far-blown, and widening as it neared,—a shroud
Fate-sent to wrap the bier of all things pure,
And mark the leper-land while stains endure.
In the far days, the few who sought the West
Were men all guileless, in adventurous quest
Of lands to feed their flocks and raise their grain,
And help them live their lives with less of pain
Than crowded Europe lets her children know.
From their old homesteads did they seaward go,
As if in Nature's order men must flee
As flow the streams,—from inlands to the sea.
In that far time, from out a Northern land,
With home-ties severed, went a numerous band
Of men and wives and children, white-haired folk:
Whose humble hope of rest at home had broke,
As year was piled on year, and still their toil
Had wrung poor fee from -Sweden's rugged soil.
One day there gathered from the neighboring steads,
In Jacob Eibsen's, five strong household heads,—
Five men large-limbed and sinewed, Jacob's sons,
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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi
Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems
March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan
Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.
Sincerely,
George W. Bush
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.
They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.
The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.
They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.
The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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