CRIME

A Dark Fantasy

I’m on a planet with a golden kiss
It shimmers with glory, such bliss!

As I zoom in, it turns into a dark land
Peep in, I’m afraid, I cannot stand!

In darkness, I see a bright glowing tower
Inside, a plethora of so called ‘man’ power

Zoom in; I see ‘beast’ kind disguised as ‘man’ kind
Alas! Not a single kind beast could I find

I hear roars of uncivilized beings
And moans of so-called weaklings

I see a trail of emotional turmoil
Those 7 deadly sins wrapped in a dazzling foil

Gifted to humanity, his power, his grey matter
It separates humans from animals and allows us to shatter

The once created planet with a golden kiss
Will it ever show the signs of holy bliss?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A voice against the deadly sins committed by so-called humans!

VICTORIAN POVERTY CRIME AND SQUALOR.

Born into a life of poverty hardship and squalor
where hunger bites and disease is rife
in the dirty cobbled crowded streets
where it's a daily battle
to stay to stay alive
and find a morsel of food
to survive.

Uneducated illiterate
caught in the poverty trap
drinking polluted water
from the same cholera riddled tap.

An impoverished woman
sells her body for a bottle of gin
and a lodging for the night
a pickpocket and mucher
ever watchful wait for a victims
pocket to alight.

Children run through the narrow streets
dressed in rags no shoes on their dirty feet
the putrid smell from the gutter
and the thick smoke
from the choking bellowing chimneys
make it hard to breath
rats as big as cats
scurry and spread disease.

Dilapidated buildings covered in black soot
horse manure and raw sewage under foot.

Beggars flea infested with large mournful eyes
reach out pleadingly to the passing gentry
to fill their bowls with plenty.

A peeler posts a notice
of a forth coming hanging
at the local Gaol on a rusty nail
for the few who can read.

A desperate mother
with hungry children
steals a loaf of bread from a market stall
a yell goes out 'thief'!
and she is soon captured in the sprawl.

The judge sentences her to 10 years penal servitude
far away over the sea to Botany bay
but she dies upon the ship of fever
upon the way.

Her children are sent to the hellish workhouse
for the poor not to see their Mother no more.

A nightmare of a life of poverty crime and squalor.

Peter Dome. copyright.2012.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

For mortality rate of inner city children at the time, was as high as 74%,died before the age of 5.

A mucher, was someone who robbed drunks and the dead, A peeler was a early policeman, named after their founder, Robert Peel. A Goal, was a Jail, that's how it was spelled at the time.

People could be sentenced to years of hard labour, and sent to Australia simply for stealing a loaf of bread.

View moog's Full Portfolio

Wasted Youth

Waste your days away,
Getting stoned
Load up on speed
Drink your lives away
While your innocence is gone.

Post nude photo's on
Social networking sites
Just for the attention
Of the men and the women,
To judge you all.

Then you'll see how it stresses you out,
You'll start to lose control,
Then resort to people's opinion's
Of you,
Because you're blinded by it
Because that's exactly what they want.

Follow the leader with 5,000 followers
Or "friends"
And see who's really going to care for you,
In The end.

Post about your life,
So you think people really care,
When really you're there to entertain the "audience".

You feel jealousy or envy,
Because you do not fit this certain image
That the leaders fit just to stay on top,
But none really have the courage to bring down their "fame".

They say numerous times,
"I don't like the attention",
But deep down if they do not get certain likes,
Views, or re -tweets they feel upset
And go on a rampage of saying,
"People are fake."

Why is this?
Why do we have to feel this way?
Why do we have to fit a certain image?
Why do we have to resort to drugs,
When the answers lie within the problem?
You're the answer and the solution,
So don't feel influenced or left out,
It's not always as it seems.

That's society's image,
Not yours,
So live your life freely,
Without being someone you're not,
Because you'll be a Wasted Youth.

Then when the "Fame" dies,
You'll have nothing to prove,
Then and still I say,
Everyone will move on and
Nobody would care about you.

That's how the cycle goes,
Now you know.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Poem speaks for itself, so comment if you'd like to :) I'd love to see your opinions.

View fallen_cloud's Full Portfolio

Sheram

Sheram

Marvin stood at the corner, beneath the stoplight, and awed at the simplicity surrounding him. This quaint little town he found himself in was charming, but stuck in a totally different time. Sheram was its name. Spanning only four miles in a straight line, the cluster of homes and few small businesses had only maintained independence and separation due to its distance from any other cities of note.

While the streets were clean and its buildings well-kept, the people came off as unfriendly and defiant. Marvin had only been in town for the past hour, and everyone he spoke to either ignored him or shooed him away. A group of jovial older women refused to respond to or even make eye contact with him when spoken to on the street. After entering the local grocery store and seeking out the manager, Marvin was told to be on his way, and to not return without making some kind of purchase. He had only come with a few questions. He was a reporter after all, and a considerably respected one at that.

There had been certain rumors the previous year. Officials in Hartwell, a modest city north of Sheram, had started to notice that their city’s criminal drug trade, which had been thriving well out of the police department’s control, was beginning to recede on its own. They attempted to investigate the cause, but never found anything besides former hot spots that had been totally cleaned out, wiped of everything and in some cases even burned to the ground. Locals rejoiced, but the circumstances surrounding these events alarmed everyone in charge, and they brought the issue to any set of eyes that they could. After several months of painstaking investigation, a group of private eyes working cooperatively managed to piece together a trail indicating that many of the more notable dealers in the city had transferred their operations to Sheram, of all places. Worse still, there was also a substantial amount of evidence suggesting that these formerly warring partnerships were now working in tandem.

That was what had brought Marvin here. He was an out-of-townee, here to use this pale little backwash settlement like a whore and leave after he’d found what he was looking for. The populous didn’t seem to appreciate that. He couldn’t imagine why. It was publicity! They would be seen by people nationwide!

The signal turned, and Marvin strode across the cracking pavement, unsure of where to head next. No one had been responsive so far. He couldn’t interview anyone too young, or someone would start an uproar and brand him a creep. There was this constant tension between him and anyone that he would pass on the sidewalk. It was as if this entire town were against him. He knew that some people may know his face and respond negatively to his presence, but this seemed almost… Uniform.

There was an odd sort of solidarity to things here. Every aspect of the town seemed to comply to it. The streets were universally quiet. Marvin couldn’t remember any instances of loud music from any houses, garages or cars. No yelling, for the most part. No dogs. A bird here or there. Other than the lazy swish of the occasional passing car, the air remained totally still, as if it were frozen in time.

Passing by what was likely to be the only gas station in town, Marvin decided to get himself a cup of coffee. He wanted to observe the people who worked there, without raising questions or making himself conspicuous. He was pleasantly surprised at the tidy upkeep of the grounds it lay on, and entered quietly, giving a polite nod to the young, bespectacled teenager behind the counter. Moving casually to the coffeemaker, he looked around the tiled storeroom and saw only one customer besides himself: an elderly man who wore a billed winter hat despite the warmth of the day. He gave him a polite nod as well, but was only greeted with a cold stare in return. Taking the hint, he added a quick blast of sugar to his coffee and moved towards the register. Placing it on the counter top, he reached for his wallet and greeted the young man. The boy said nothing. He wasted no time ringing up his total, and snatched the money from Marvin’s hands, shoving the change back into them just as quickly before slamming the register drawer shut. He then turned and made his way towards the back of the shop, disappearing through a door bearing a large employees only sign, leaving Marvin to sip at his coffee while the old man with the brimmed hat muttered to himself under his breath.

After leaving the gas station and tossing away the remainder of his coffee, Marvin made his way through a string of old, wooden farmhouses, coming to stop at the entrance of the town’s church. It was a pristine little building, made out of pale-colored bricks with high and narrow stained-glass windows. Not being a particularly religious man, Marvin was unsure of whether or not to enter the holy building. But, men of the cloth may be the most understanding men there are. Perhaps they would at least entertain the thought of conversation with an outsider. He laid his palms upon the large wooden doors and pressed his weight against them.

Inside, Marvin found a lavish entryway lit with only a meager half-dozen candles. It was broad and welcoming, and adorned with many decorative relics, most of which shone brilliantly in the candlelight. He stood in the center and admired the room, before passing into the church’s dome. From within, the vaulted ceilings beneath the center of the church appeared much more towering. The entire building somehow seemed larger than it had ever appeared from the exterior. Likely due to this dim lighting. Nothing but candles on stilts, every eight feet or so, as if electricity weren’t an option for the righteous.

Making his way deeper into the church, Marvin was able to see the visage of a man through the obscuring dark. He sat on the furthest pew, with his head down, seemingly deep in prayer. As he ventured further, he could just make out a thin, white collar around the man’s neck. A priest. And surely, a priest would hear his tale, would he not? It is his purpose to hear the pleas of the people who worship alongside him! Excited by this prospect, Marvin paused to call out to the priest, but felt compelled not to disturb the silence of the church, and continued walking.

His steps became more plodding as he moved. It was like the dust-laden air was pulling on him. Puling him down. He examined his surroundings, trying to reacquaint himself with reality. The stained-glass windows he had seen from outside were oddly bright and vibrant. They even appeared wider than before. Maybe somebody’s headlights shining in from the street. Marvin continued to make his way down the decorated carpeting that lead to the podium. The entire room had a certain clarity to it now. He could make out the far walls, most of which were layered with religious artwork. There were detailed statues placed on stands at every height, and colored glass bled between each one.

As he approached, the walls took on a more decrepit appearance. The perfectly-sculpted statues gradually corroded into sneering mockeries of what they once had been. Paint dripped down every canvas, while glass chipped and flaked on to the floor, collecting in massive piles of multicolored dust. Marvin began to flail, his eyes grown wide and bulging. He felt a vicious burning in his throat. Through his blurring vision, he saw that the priest remained motionless on his pew. He fell to the floor, seizing, choking on the dry thickness of the air.

The heavy pull was stronger now. The hemorrhaging walls began to collapse, revealing the flesh of some ghastly, pulsating form. Tears poured down his cheeks as he tried to call out, but Marvin found his voice absent. He was losing sight of himself as he watched the quivering, pinkened hide of the creature beyond the wall ripple with every undulation that it made. It seemed to fill the entire room with a strange, unearthly noise; its volume totally unclear to Marvin, who felt it more than heard it while he suffered.

He began to see wisps of stark black flickering in and out of view. He was fading. In his last few moments of awareness, Marvin lifted his head and gazed upward. The priest had risen, and stood over him, wearing an expression of the deepest concern. Marvin took comfort in this, and allowed his eyes to close. A deep wave of euphoria sprang from his throat and ran awash over the rest of his body. He fell limp, and his eyes eased open as his neck relaxed.

The priest remained over him; his concerned grimace contorting into a leering grin, while a single drop of blood ran from his nose to his lip.

View sivus's Full Portfolio

The end

"you did not bring me here as a man...I was one of them...a lifeless corpse you made unholy monster. An abomination against God. I am a lie built upon lies. I now know the truth."

"No...you are not like them, you were the first; the one loved above all else...that is why I let you walk free when they were in cages...let you speak when they were silenced...you, my son."

"I cannot deny my blood, but we cannot let the laws of God be broken...the dead should remain dead...tis how it is meant to be...if there is forgiveness to be granted on the other side, I pray you receive it...I am sorry father but this is how it must be."

View shadow_season's Full Portfolio

THE POET CHILD

 

 

 

I could play with words,

And forget about it,

But my guts on the page,

Would spill the vitriolic true,

My warm bellied carry all day…

 

The poet foetus is indeed,

The abnormalities of my reason!

The liquid I drunk to forget,

The food I starved on!

To regenerated from my degeneration!

 

I know is eyes,

Black like the ink, running through my veins!

Fair is his hair, like the falling angel,

Red is his desire, like burning love….

Consume his soul, is….

 

This child shall never born,

This star shall never see the sky,

But only the pit where he has learns to growth secretly…

Hidden from the eyes,

Expose to the spirit!

 

Time has lost any senses,

Season has lost their perfumes,

Space has become the only true,

The only painting,

Where one does still dared laid his images!

 

Love has become a burning sensation,

Doubtfully happy at time,

When the pain his strong enough to make you remember,

This anesthetique word you have become

Can you feel it move inside of you?

 

Shall my regard fall on him first?

Shall I be the hand to kill him?

Shall I be the force to let it fly?

Or shall I smother him, inside my warm bellied?

And let it rotten?

 

Insanity has never felt so close,

Close is indeed the abyss, of my decay…

But strong is the maternal instinct to let it free,

Slippery is the falls, of my life,

As I watch him growth stronger inside of me!

 

The poet child is….

But I guess u have seen,

What as become so dark

So let it be,

And enjoy his warm,

While he can….

 

 

       COPYRIGHT@H.NAUDET.2002.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

GOOD JOB I AM A MAN!

View margot's Full Portfolio

*Uxoricide

Folder: 
Filipino poems

 

Parang kagat ng langgam ang lason

na lumalamon sa kanyang ugat.

Kumurot sa kanyang diwa ang gunita.

 

Sa simbahan,                                         Sa lawa,

kumukutitap,                                          umiikot,

naghahabulan,                                       nagwawala

ang mga munting ilaw                            ang mga pulang ilaw

kasabay ng awitan                                 kasabay ang sigawan

“Pasko na naman…”                               ng mga sirena.              

 

Isang Maria ang nakaluhod,                   May ulong nakasilong

ulo ay nakayuko,                                    sa ambulansya,

mata ay nakapikit,                                  pinid ang mga mata

nanalangin,                                            habang hinihintay ang buntis na katawan

nagpapasalamat.                                   na nasa laot pa.

 

Isang bagong silang na sanggol            Isang sanggol na nilingkisan ng pusod

ang inilapag sa sabsaban;                     ang sa laot ay iniahon.
Ang lahat ay nagdiwang.                       Nagsigawan ang taong bayan.

 

Isang Jose                                             Isang lalake

ang malugod na nakatanghod,             ang sa pampang ay napiit;    

nakatitig,                                               mga mata ay nanlilisik
sa mag-inang kapiling.                          sa mag-inang nasisid.

 

Binalot na ng lason

ang kanyang isipan;

ang buong katawan.

 

At sa huling singhap

hindi pa rin malingap.

 

Kabayaran daw ito,

sa kung saan,

hindi niya maintindihan.

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

*ang pagpatay ng lalake sa kanyang sariling asawa.

View kyoksil's Full Portfolio