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Posts Tagged ‘murder’

quantrill

When William Quantrill, in the Civil War,
Led his gray troops, like swarming ants, in raid
On Lawrence, citizens died by the score –
Unarmed.  A battle, or just vengeance paid?

John Morgan, likewise, was a Southern pride;
But to the North, his acts were piracy.
His men would conquer, taking all they spied –
An army’s pillaging?  Or robbery?

The line between an army waging war
And scoundrels, murderers, and common thieves;
Between a wicked gang and army corps
Is thinner than a person oft believes.

To see this truth is but to know the names:
With Quantrill rode both Frank and Jesse James.

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The picture is of William Quantrill.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantrill%27s_Raiders

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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mgynpso


Nakusa is Hindi for “unwanted”, a name given to
many unwanted girls in India.  See the article link
below the poem.

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In ancient Rome, the babies were exposed
To all the elements and left to die
When their existence was by men opposed
And hardened hearts heard not their tiny cry.

Today, we wear smooth silk, don sweet perfume,
Refined in all we do, quite civilized.
Expose them? No! They have another doom:
We cut their spinal cords – murder reprised.

In name or deed, we say, “Unwanted child!”
Our self, not you, is what is highly prized.
The old and new have hearts by hate defiled.
But we’re far better – we are civilized!

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The unwanted girls of India change their names:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/44998378/ns/world_news-wonderful_world/?gt1=43001

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photo by sanja gjenero at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mgynPSO/garbage+bin+3

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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orjjjn2

Don’t insult poor Hillary or Bill;
The rumor’s they don’t wait to kill.
If they cut your throat,
They’ll still get your vote –
The dead vote for Demos is real.
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http://www.washingtonexaminer.com/article/2602775

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photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/orjJjN2/American+Graveyard

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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The unions still support because of greed;
The homos do, since by it they are blessed.
For power, it will make the nation bleed,
And even die so long as they are best.

A shrill excuse and welfare sugarcoat,
A promise made to ope’ the nation’s store,
And greed-deceived, the Party buys their vote.
Then, at the ballot box, they play the whore.

They’ll save the trees; they’re green – and kill the child,
The babe within that says you’re not your own,
That you can’t do all that you wish, be wild.
They’ll raise you up and take God from the throne.

With sin the soul, and selfishness the core,
It ain’t your parents’ party any more.


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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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The Glossy Ibis

A body
Plus noodles for their
Beaks, necks, legs.

 

Give And Take

Bulldozer.
Making tracks. Waves, wind –
Erasers.

 


For Murder

supreme court?
No. Nine will be tried
Before God.

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Ibis – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nIvebnm/glossy+ibises2

Give – photo by Javier Gonzalez at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mpvrd9a/Sand+tracks+1

Murder – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/okHzGps/solid+justice

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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You carry Sodom’s purse; you hold Gomorrah’s hand.
You say your prayers to God and court the idols of the land.
You’re double-minded like old evil Israel
And God destroyed the wicked with a Babylonian hell.
You are for women’s rights, but murder’s always wrong.
Abortion takes a human’s life; the weak killed by the strong.
Your demon lies are legion but your hardened hearts are seared;
No change, you double-down the daily slant you’ve engineered.
Our national debt is such that we can never pay –
Your spending and your promises have ruined us in that way.
You train as slaves the poor in barrio and slum
To lean and laze on government, addicted, always dumb.
Your tips are served with fear, your hands upon their throat.
Then, harlots in their misery, they spread their legs and vote,
While you, the pimp, moan o’er their pain as if you care,
When all you want is scepter, throne, and jeweled crown to wear.
You’re blind from power’s thirst so that you cannot see
That you rule from Titanic’s decks as she sinks rapidly.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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…………….“Old Hundred”

O Lord of Hosts! Almighty King!
Behold the sacrifice we bring!
To every arm thy strength impart,
Thy spirit shed through every heart! 

Wake in our breasts the living fires,
The holy faith that warmed our sires;
Thy hand hath made our Nation free;
To die for her is serving Thee. 

Be Thou a pillared flame to show
The midnight snare, the silent foe;
And when the battle thunders loud,
Still guide us in its moving cloud. 

God of all Nations! Sovereign Lord!
In thy dread name we draw the sword,
We lift the starry flag on high
That fills with light our stormy sky. 

From treason’s rent, from murder’s stain,
Guard Thou its folds till Peace shall reign, –
Till fort and field, till shore and sea,
Join our loud anthem, PRAISE TO THEE!

 

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The safest place on earth should be the womb,
Wrapped by maternal love instilled by God above.
But love of self makes it a killing room.

It’s woman’s greatest glory and her plume
That God made her the one, to bear a daughter, son.
The safest place on earth should be the womb.

A child is weaved in her; she is the loom.
Conception’s grand event – new human’s great advent.
But love of self makes it a killing room.

A tiny bud is just a folded bloom
Woe to the gardener who snips – the murderer!
The safest place on earth should be the womb.

Too oft, the wicked rides upon her broom
And sweeps away the child that has her life defiled,
And love of self makes it a killing room.

There is no right to bring another doom.
The murder’s always wrong, e’en when it’s sung as song.
The safest place on earth should be the womb,
But love of self makes it a killing room.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

 

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(read slowly)

Highs,
Eyes
Prize.
Spies.
Pries
Thighs.
Cries,
Dies.

Ties;
Tries.
Ayes.
Byes.
Fries.
Dies.
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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…..The Deaths Of Bonnie And Clyde

The rabbits had nowhere to run or hide.
Their notoriety had grown in weight.
Brief were the lives of young, wild Bonnie and Clyde. 

For three short years, they roamed the countryside.
They robbed and killed and moved from state to state.
The rabbits had nowhere to run or hide. 

Their youth and love made their spree magnified.
Their crimes caused fear, but they did fascinate.
Brief were the lives of young, wild Bonnie and Clyde. 

Each time they killed, the search intensified
Their case was now on ev’ry lawman’s plate.
The rabbits had nowhere to run or hide. 

A trap was set out in the countryside
Their habit brought the hares to-ward the bait.
Brief were the lives of young, wild Bonnie and Clyde. 

The bullets buzzed and stung like bees – they died.
They had to know that this would be their fate.
The rabbits had nowhere to run or hide.
Brief were the lives of young, wild Bonnie and Clyde.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

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