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Poetry competition CLOSED 26th April 2015 5:35pm
WINNER
summultima (uma)
View Profile Poems by summultima
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RUNNERS-UP: lanooz and toniscales

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Voice of the Slaughtered

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

write in character as a victim of a bizarre murder
Choose any story in history about a bizarre murder, and write from the perspective of the victim who was killed.

This is one example of a bizarre murder:

http://nypost.com/2012/10/05/insane-details-of-gigolos-mutilation-murder-of-lover-revealed-as-trial-begins/

But you can choose any murder case of bizarre act. Write in the voice of the victim, with your own emotions, be they love, anger, disgust, bewilderment, grief, or whatever you feel toward the attacker and the act committed. Kind of like a ghost reliving the scene.

one week.
new or old.
1000 word limit.
poetry or prose.
MUST be a true murder case. Please include a link to the news story if possible.


snugglebuck
Dangerous Mind
United States 77awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2014
Forum Posts: 1873

http://i1317.photobucket.com/albums/t623/curlycue23/thLV0HQT84_zpsftnif2ho.jpg

DEADLY WEAPONS

Help!
I can’t breath
My bitch is smothering me
With her boobies

Help!
I can’t breath
Doesn’t anybody in this trailer park hear me?
This isn’t funny

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/crime/woman-allegedly-smothers-boyfriend-breasts-article-1.1241258

poet Anonymous

Yeow! Thanks for starting off, Snugglebuck!

toniscales
Lost Girl
Fire of Insight
United States 36awards
Joined 16th Dec 2014
Forum Posts: 420

Holly, may I ask if we can re-work a poem we've already written?

toniscales
Lost Girl
Fire of Insight
United States 36awards
Joined 16th Dec 2014
Forum Posts: 420

(Holly, I'm going to go ahead and enter this piece; if it doesn't qualify I understand.)

http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/images/uploads/poemimages/188704.jpg

Black Dahlia

The setting is always haunted.
The breath within me, haunted.

Everything so gauzy and sleek.
The moon like a lazy eye,
its chrome exterior.
The jet-black flower of my hair
spreading across the pillow.

You’re not saying those sweet
things anymore. Please, call
me “darling” again.

I want to die of love
in your arms tonight.
I’ve nowhere else to go.

Call me Beth. How handsome you are.
I like the black circles
under your eyes,
they remind me of home.

I’m not afraid. Why should I be?

Nothing more beautiful than a line,
the singer’s husky drawl
purring like a saxophone.
Engorged on stardust and tequila,
my name glittering
in a thousand shop windows
while my mouth opens over you
like a calla lily.

Never knowing I’ll become
the lurid stuff of legends,
my photos strewn
in the darkest rooms.

My tongue forever fluent
in tales of bloated flesh.
Ditch water.


copy of an original news article: http://www.bethshort.com/articles/

poet Anonymous

that'll do just fine, Toni. Thanks! :)

professoryackle
Lost Thinker
United Kingdom 3awards
Joined 8th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 22

Hi guys, I;'m a bit late wih this one as my computer's hard drive decided to crash last night and about 2-3 hours ago I started typing it up again on my sister's comp, sorry bout that.  If it's missed the deadline I shall enjoy taking part and reading everyone else's.   Thanks.

THE TALE OF JOSHUA SCAMP

You be new 'round these parts, b'aint yer?  Well, sit 'ee down my dears, sit 'ee down.  Two cups of Odstock Mead'll be sure to warm 'ee on such a night as this.  'Twas a fair old hollerin' night that Christmas Eve all them years ago.  To think of it, each Christmas Eve has been the same these long years since.  They say 'tis Joshua Scamp and his gypsy friends, dancing over the graves in yon' churchyard.

You'll have passed around the S-bend, afore the hill?  You'll have seen the lay-by on the bend, there where the woods are black on either side?  There's foxes in they woods... 'Tis that same lay-by where the gypsies had their camp each year.  It's sheltered from the wind, it's quiet, and the woods give plenty of fuel for the stoves.  So they'd come in November, spend the winter.  'Twas as good a place as any for miles around.

Well, they'd come close on twenty years; the lay-by was theirs by rights November to March.  They kept theyselves to theyselves, didn't bother no one.  You'd not have known they was there till you rounded the bend.  One or other of them was seen in Salisbury market, buying food, but there's no harm in that.  Or sometimes, if the wind was right, the smell of bacon cooking and the sound of Joshua's accordion, from beneath the hill.

Then one day, a sheep was stolen from the market.  The thief was never brought to light, but rumours told of mutton cooking on gypsy stoves.  To most folks' eyes, Joshua Scamp became a sinister figure who'd steal food from a child's table.  Tongues began a-waggin', plots were plotted, for the village wanted rid of the gypsy caravans.

Lines were laid in they black woods, to trip gypsies and they chillern.  'Twas a brave stall-holder who'd refuse to serve, but the worst was saved for 'em.  Names was called, but never to 'ey faces, y'understand?  Always behind they backs - they proud backs... Though Joshua escaped the worst, as folks feared the tangled man they thought lurked behind that black beard, and them glitterin' eyes.

That dreadful year, all them years ago, they moved on a month early.  Locals were satisfied; they nodded they heads and said, truth was, gypsies had gone for good this time.  They might have added, "and we drove 'em to 't," but that was forgotten.  Instead they said as how the ghost of the stolen sheep had driven 'em out.


'Twas with dismay the curlin' smoke was sighted that same November, under Odstock hill.  Prayers were said in church, that peace would live in the village, though what was really wanted was that they gypsies would up and leave as if 'ey'd never been there.  They never went near the church, and to folks, this meant they must surely worship the devil instead.

So when that Winter Solstice the Barton child disappeared from her bed, the search party sped to the S-bend.  What terrible deeds must surely have been done?  They carried high their sticks and axes, and they did not pause before beating and hacking at the caravan doors...

Suddenly a voice boomed out like the first thunder of a storm which has brewed for a long time; Joshua spoke.  "Search our vans," he commanded, and silenced now, they did.  After lifting they lanterns to every inch, with one mind and fury they swept out of the caravans.  The child was not to be found there, but neither were the gypsies.  They had slipped into the woods either side of the road, leaving no sign other than that they could not have gone elsewhere.

The woods that night were full; two tribes, them and us.  The one trying to trap and round up men like sheep to a pen.  The other, always ahead, always silent, avoiding their fate.  As dawn broke, Joshua was sighted entering the church on t'other side of the woods, by the side door.  All locals made their swoop on the church, while unseen, the other gypsies stole back to the vans, harnessed they horses, and drove away.  They never returned, but must they not have spoken since of a man who saved all they necks?

As the sun came up, folks were deciding what to do with the man they had cornered.  The Priest would not allow bloodshed in the church, for Sanctuary was the law then.  At length they got the key to the oaken doors and locked them fast, side and front.  'Twas their intention to have no Christmas service that year, but on the Eve, they relented.  This time the Priest stood by while they entered and dragged Joshua out.

He was starved and very weak; he'd survived by drinking water from the font.  This incensed them more, that an unholy man should drink holy water.  He was taken to the gallows that same day and finished off without trial.

Where the child had been them four long days nobody knows; she was found after, safe and well in a barn.  Some say 'twas a plot for ridding of they gypsies; some say she was kidnapped.  But one thing was sure - she had come to no harm and remembered nothing.  Some even say she was found before the hanging took place, but it went ahead anyways.

'Twas that Christmas day, the day of the gallows, when the man who had turned the church key took ill in his bed and died.  I know, for he was my grandfather, and my father told me of it.  My grandfather screamed on his death bed of a visit from a tall man with black eyes.  The following Yule the hauntings returned; some of they locals would not go to church for fear of a sighting of Joshua Scamp.  Yearly the legend grew, and 'twas said if any man locked the church door, he'd die that same night.

By and by the key was thrown into the Ebble, where it stayed nigh on thirty years.  Joshua was seen less in church, but the village did not forget.  One day last year the key was dredged up and the curate declared 'twas time an end was put to these so-called hauntings.  'Twas nothing but a tale, he declared, which would stop a man from coming to church at Christmas time.  In defiance of they gypsies and their ancient curse, he turned the key in the oaken doors once more.  

That night, he took to his bed, and died.

Well, 'tis all I can tell 'ee my dears; I see my mead has warmed 'ee.  I've a room upstairs for the taking; 'tis a wild night to be going out again now.  The church key?  A safe place was needed for 't, and since 'twas my grandfather who turned it first, I'd a hankerin' for it.  There 'tis, on hook on yonder wall.  'Tis a curious story, think 'ee not, my dears?  If 'ee don't believe me, take down the key, and go try it in the church door this night.  I'll not come with 'ee mind - I'm not as young as I once was.

poet Anonymous

Thanks professoryackle. that was very entertaining and well written. But it seems to follow legend rather than news story.
It was not told from the perspective of a victim who had been murdered in bizarre fashion. (see opening post criteria). It exceeds the word limit, being 1193 words.

Still, it is a very intriguing legend you have written there.

I wasn't familiar with the true tale of Johnny Scamp, so I googled and found only a little about it. Scamp was hung for stealing a horse. Not much of a bizarre murder in that reference.  For those who are reading the entries, here are a couple related links:

http://romanygenes.com/#/scamp-family/4528685510


http://www.twilightshadowsparanormal.co.uk/insearchofjoshuascamp.html





lanooz
Twisted Dreamer
United States 14awards
Joined 21st July 2012
Forum Posts: 240

The Jamison Speculation


We went missing,
who could have sinned?
The manhunt continues,
skeletal remains remained
a deer hunter found horror,
Panola Mountain the witness
remotely optimistic now the terrain.
I was found lying side-by-side
next to my mom and dad,
we died together, but why?
Abandoned by our creator,
autopsy, the riddle.
Suicide by murder?
No way! Says the world,
our family wanders in limbo,
steadfastly they deny the theories,
we loved each other they all say,
others claim evil people on
mountains are to blame,
outlaws and such,
No evidence of course,
why don't you just ask me?
I was there to see it all,
you won't believe the truth,
I will save you the nightmares.
Wrong place, wrong time?
Why were we even there?
Camping trip?
Purchase of land or drugs?
Meth or spiritual warfare?
Black cats, Occam's Razor.
Was I on a hit list?
Satanic rituals in my name?
Only ten will ever know the truth,
You will speculate forever.
Don't forget our names,
My parents, Forgive their sins,
We died in vein, now we rest,
who will judge the damned?


http://theghostdiaries.com/the-jamison-family-mystery-americas-most-bizarre-unsolved-murder-may-involve-paranormal-activity-and-cults/











poet Anonymous

Thanks, lanooz. A whisper of mystery from a lost soul indeed.

summultima
uma
Dangerous Mind
India 34awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1301

 I hope this post fits in to your criteria, if not plz ignore Hollydove

Accounts of a 'Gypsy-Soul'- The Fearless and the Forgotten

Neither the sensationally recent
'capital'-tortured' Nirbhaya'
nor the very clinically
honour-killed 'Aarushi'
I am Sister Abhaya
a simplistic puny teen
given into the puristic nun life
of a Keralite Catholic missionary
way back long ago

I am the Fearless
as my name translates
But I am the convincingly Forgotten
triivial citizen of a complicated system
A lost soul hanging around
in the clutches of God's Own Country
for light of the denied justice
I am their easiest scapegoat
to contentious corrupt hierarchies
of whatever lobbies you name it
from the politics to the media
to the missionary to the judiciary
all explicitly insensitive
to the tracelessly done
cold-blooded murder

And, of course, as you think,
dead for no fault of mine

"Were my sincere exam-preparing
early morning eyes at fault?
that which fatefully
stumbled upon the gross scenes
of you three, my horrific killers?
 
You three went pale as struck
with incomprehensible worldly phobias
that time,  when you caught this fragile being
opened to your (g)utter secrets of dark
You, Nun and two Fathers!!
went brutally merciless
    assaulted attacked
    blood splashed
    over whitewashed walls
    from my screaming pools
    the 'kodali',  how maddening?
    dragged and drowned me
    deep in the deepwell
    compromised innocent life
    all for your
    'compromising positions'

You still continued safeguarding
your secrets
your power
by bizarrely invented reasons
dragging the case to decades
Was highly ridiculous
when once you claimed event
as "hymen restoration" "


counting years
from desperately painful
last moments in the 90's
till a small relaxing breath
after almost two decades
in this my restless stint
a gypsy-soul afterlife

when finally
you three are held
culpable

I now RIP



P.s: write reflects personal views from the link given below, and not of political religious nature
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sister_Abhaya_murder_case#Sequence_of_Events

summultima
uma
Dangerous Mind
India 34awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1301

entering a second post, if host considers only one entry, plz ignore this


lusty pill~ the cyanide kill

my copius kissing playground
your peaceflagged fullflown half-moon
your forwarding forehead
had then mutated to clueless carving
in attentive frown ripples, in pullouts
of the sprawling elephantine ears
like sudden alien's sprouted antennae
in your secretive listening
to the Unsacred within

my abrasive indulgences over
your notorious stubble chins
withdrew from terrors
of quick-erupted
cacti until bulging temples
through brazenly fallowed cheeks

creamish n lukewarm duet eyepools
spewed bloodshot comets
with tailed dusty trails drained
from ugly-crawling dungbeetle pupils

a trepiditous universe struck me
squeaking your doubtable spells
but still unsuspectingly blinded
by your hypnotic honeyed spiral
(with your timely gift,
a conscious 'careful' alert pill)

of addictive words
sliding smoothly
in uncensored
touches

thickly numbed night
enshrouded staring day
that burst in a fullstop immediacy
within their trapping tetrad-shadows
clasped self tripping into dark hollows
until visions blanked off in blackness

star-blinkering loopholes
of (s)potholed hopes
seeded here and there in sparse
still deceived anyone
as it did to this dying

your traitorous ways
crafted in labels of trust and love
those
this land of arthasastra and kamasutra
would be deeply ashamed of

Was me to blame allover
halfspokenness
halfignorance
vulnerabilities

of a poor ruralistic soul
fell at flick of a fumbling ease
in your sophisticated lures

and I had already died
at least before a nanosecond of schemed death
when silence outplayed silence

yours over mine

when you wickedly smiled inner
out of cyanide's quickie kill
and when my foolishness
broke to a momentary Kali's wrath


but it was all too late  



based on the profile of an Indian serial killer,"Cyanide Mohan"
http://murderpedia.org/male.K/k/kumar-mohan.htm


poet Anonymous

Thanks Uma for the wonderful, emotional entries. I was not familiar with either case, but your details are deeply and poetically drawn. The story of Cyanide Mohan left me in tears for all those women.

the link you supplied for the last entry leads to a 404 error. So I lay this link down for others to see about that case:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fL59yDg6UXg



snugglebuck
Dangerous Mind
United States 77awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2014
Forum Posts: 1873

Uma, tony, Holly. I hate you.  I should have won. Not any of you.  Of course I'm lying, but if you were me wouldn't you?  

Great works kids, all of you.  And thank you Holly for posting a comp that was both fun and insightful.  

Now, one question; have any of you besides myself eaten Morning Dove? If you haven't you don't know what your missing.

summultima
uma
Dangerous Mind
India 34awards
Joined 3rd Feb 2012
Forum Posts: 1301


tq HollyDove for a lovely comp. n the nod!:)
v.original concept, esp. with the links provided for larger details n how poetic each one flows out from them.

Congratz toni, lanooz ...n all who entered.
Snugglebk, what to say of ur read..breathtaking sure;) n sure, no anytime Doves atleast for me, they are poetic in the skiez than inside us

thought the comp. too dark a theme for me to handle..but proved unique real~mystical experience, living n reliving life n afterlife of victim's soul
My prayers to such lost souls...n dedicating this trophy towards love, peace n prayers to Nepal/India quake victims.

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