Thread: Eradicating Evidence 101 and Subsequent Run

Lined 'em up
against the wall
picked 'em off
cheered their fall.
At last a mute tangle
of bloodied flesh;
ten clasped hands
still meshed in death.
Back brace in place,
I schlepped the mess
out to field
with intent to thresh.

Arranged 'em all
in a tidy row
hit start startling
a hungry crow.
An axe to hack
my crimson crop
to better feed
my flesh chop shop.
Crunch as teeth munched
shredding evidence
so satisfying
as chunks splattered fence
hence felled with tractor
in the event
of enforced defense.

Raked a mound
of mashed meat
compiling a tasty treat
of enticing diced guts
heartily seasoned
with eight assorted nuts.
Scooped a shovelful,
scooted to the sty,
me get caught?
In a pig's eye.

Headed back to the house,
packed a load for the road
Tended one last chore
to douse the abode
(tools, fence and thresher
crammed to kiss the commode)
with benzine, gasoline
and kegs of kerosene.
(torched the field too,
to get rid of the goo.)
Had to be sure
the fire was mean
so the stupid sheriff
would think us all toast
and not five in the sty
while one savored
sea scented breezes
cruising the coast.

Ordered me a pork chop
the other day
giggled till I dribbled
as I chomped away.
Wondered for a sec
on whose plate they wound up
but became aware
I didn't care
so I raised my cup
to all the pretty piggies
of the world
with bottomless bellies
and cute tails curled.

A few of their kind
aided the perfect crime
no DNA left
in grimy sty slime,
"Saved my miserly ass
the steep cost of lime"
I sang as I rose
passing
my perplexed server
a single thin dime.

I yearned
to quell her confusion
with boisterous boast
to ruin the rumor
rural folk ain't well spoke
or the sharpest tools in the shed…

I'm done keen enough to dispose of
them ain't supposed to be dead.

But my unshackled wrists
demand I never speak
nor a devious detail
proudly leak

as duped backwoods lawmen
caint abide sportin' red cheeks
and become badass bloodhounds
when it's vengeance they seek

A secret ain't no secret
once it slithers out yo' beak
can't have good ol' boys
taking too close a peek…


road don't dip into Mexico
'til the end of the week.

"A secret ain't no secret
once it slithers out yo' beak
can't have good ol' boys
taking too close a peek…"

Brilliance...

A blizzard (I love blizzards) of energy and imagery. This poem just carried me away into another world, certainly not Candy Land but more to a film by David Lynch. A brilliant director who's mind is unfiltered, like an angel as Isabella Rosallini put it. Bu it's the demons he deals out.

I had to read this before my cinnamon coffee this morning. This was what woke me up!

At last a mute tangle
of bloodied flesh;
ten clasped hands
still meshed in death.

Lynch would bring this to life in film.

Raked a mound
of mashed meat
compiling a tasty treat
of enticing diced guts
heartily seasoned
with eight assorted nuts.

Whadda way to begin. A great alliteration. The whole of it...(rubbing my hands together) is delightfully gross (in the best sense of the word) and humorous. But of course. This is Lisa here. Make way!

This is one of your more abstract poems. You keep the hungry mind stretching! A wallop of a poem... You are an amazing talent. Love, Laurie

P.S. I think this is your longest poem. Yes?

Thanks for taking me on a very dark and devious journey this morning, Lisa. I'm almost afraid to ask what inspired such a poem, as I'm afraid I can guess. This is by far the best way you've written so far for their demise. Much enjoyed, and I hope that doesn't make me sound too creepy.

After not seeing this thing for a few days, I am appalled, it needs a major overhaul and any and all suggestions are welcome. The switches in meter make for stumbling blocks. I don't know what I was thinking, this was not ready for posting. I am, however, fond of the story, but it's too long also, a trim is in order. Help a girl out here, my fine fellow poets.

Dear MasterHu, Danke, you are far too generous.


Dear Law, You see what I see, or what I saw, which honors me greatly. I need to retain the energy and the nastiness, this one was just so much fun, but the meter really needs work. Proud to be a perk alongside your coffee, you flatter me by mentioning Lynch, and I love you for such compliments. Now help me fix the darn thing. And I don't think it's the longest, believe or not, I think there are even longer story poems to my discredit. I just never learn to shut up, lol.


Dear Cindy, You couldn't be creepy even if you were covered in spiders and sucking someone's jugular through a straw. You know me way too well, Cin, you knew exactly who I was after and I'll tell you it was a mass rebellion that inspired it. It all started with the first four lines which popped into my head and just kept skipping like an old album. The rest trickled in over night, after watching a documentary about the Amish, no less, I suppose that's where the farm came from. I'm delighted I took you on a dark and devious journey, maybe not so good to start the day with, but it's better than a heart attack any day. It's been a long while since I wrote one of these and it was fun to be the killer again. Pickin' yo' brain here as you've quite the delicate touch with meter, while I like the rhythm of some parts, the monkey wrenches are annoying. Should I abandon the regular meter or try to fix what's wrong, it could probably work well as a piece of free verse with a few sporadic rhymes, which is what is was supposed to be in the first place. Ah, what to do, what to do?

Thanks to you all, your kindness in light of my sloppy construction was a gift.

All my best,
Lisa