Best Gore’s Writer’s Guild Presents: Gor-etry Contest

Best Gore's Writer's Guild Presents: Gor-etry Contest

Hello there. Well, a little bit ago, Best Gore member Empty Soul proposed the idea of letting the members of Best Gore demonstrate their creativity by writing dark/gore-related poetry for the site as a new type of contest, much like our Caption This Photo Contest. What I saw was a predominantly positive reception to the idea. So here it is, my treat to you, the readers. Let your creative juices flow.

Originally, I was going to try and maintain a specific theme for submissions. Namely, gore and death topics. But I was thinking that “Death Metal” style fantasy writing would not be everyone’s cup of tea. Believe it or not, but some folks are turned off by such subjects as tossing fetuses into a giant meat grinder. So…Instead of enforcing a strict Brutal-Gore-Death-Kill! theme, I will let all writers submit a variety of work. Yes, Brokeback, if you really want to write a limerick about your dick, then feel free. Hung, if you feel the need to write a haiku about certain URGES, then go right ahead. Actually, speaking of haiku, Gorephan and IIP, I better see your asses on here at some point.

So, we’re gonna give this a try and see how it goes. If it’s an abysmal failure, we’ll just try to pretend it never happened. If it works, maybe we can make it an annual thing. But first, a little word on Plagiarism and Copyright.

As a writer, I take plagiarism very seriously and it will not be tolerated. Anyone caught plagiarizing will forfeit their stake in the contest (possibly all future contests) and be subject to public ridicule by their peers.

Since Best Gore is pretty much anonymous, some of you may wonder how to copyright your writing without showing millions of people who you are. Well, I can help you out a little. Before you submit, simply write it down somewhere else, sign it and date it. Then submit it. And Best Gore is also a first defense in a copyright claim. If you see your work months down the line on another site, under someone else’s name, you can point to Best Gore as having the actual date and time that the material was first published. Just some little things that might help you feel better about putting up something that has significance to you.

Being my contest, I cannot officially enter or win, but I will get the ball rolling.

Falling down
Sick of the sickening mortal coil
I’m wrapped around
My soul has spoiled
White noise fills my head
Whatever happened to trust?
Am I already dead
Life colored by rust

Falling down
Fear gives birth to rage
I wear my thorns like a crown
Red droplets on white pages
Torn volumes from my past
Erasing my own mind
A voice like broken glass
The words die in time

-obli

*In case you’re wondering, the image above comes from Laurie Lipton. A fucking god of pencil and charcoal, and one disturbed bitch. Check her out.

199 thoughts on “Best Gore’s Writer’s Guild Presents: Gor-etry Contest”

  1. As stated above, I am so glad to be back on BG in time for this post, I love the concept, so many thanks to @empty, for the inspiration, and @obli, for doing such an amazing job, and to all my fellow SOBs, whom I have dearly missed, as much as the gore!! Although it pales in comparison to many, many pieces I have already read, here I will keep my submission short and sweet, a simple haiku:

    Most fear and hate Death.
    It is Life which disgusts Me,
    LIFE, while craving DEATH.

    1. @rebelk

      Your short and sweet submission of a haiku says a lot .
      Size of any submission doesn’t matter .what matters is one’s willingness to participate which you’ve got in you and that’s wonderful to say the least .

      welcome back !

  2. She’s always been one to do what’s right
    But something about this makes it harder to fight
    She’s always looking from one to the other
    Waiting for the lust filled whispers to quiet down
    She’s always tells herself she could never ever
    Bait was always around and now all three kids are drowned

  3. Life

    Just thin little well worn fingerless sweat stained frayed gloves.

    I look at my nemesis. It is unyielding, unblinking, silent and massive. It hangs heavy with weight, looming tall, almost sulky — pained to be here and insulted to meet me.

    I hammer away against my foe. It’s sand shifting silently within sending shock through my arms and shuddering down the muscles in my back.

    And shocking the tendons in my legs.
    Sweat drips from my nose.

    And-
    fresh blood from my knuckles.

    It is futile. It is endless. I hammer day and night. But my Nemesis still hangs unfazed.

    They just say, “I doan know. He just hits the sand bag everydey.”

    And then they stand back.

    So I can walk alone at night.
    Futile.

    They are always younger and stronger.

    —-
    Copyright 2015.

  4. I have a couple dark ones.

    Mrs. Promiscuous and Mr. Throbcock

    Frustration builds until the back of my neck hurts
    Pressure is building, and my loins are burning,
    With passion. To smash in a box
    Discerning thoughts
    Cashing in plots to get my rocks off
    Not soft, simply hardcore, Mr. Throbcock
    Non-stop, leave your socks on
    For traction, grip
    Slippin’ and crashin’ in the kitchen
    On a mission since a kid been
    Wrecking frames
    Perverted games I play, and win
    Face slapped, I laugh and grin
    Just a dirty dog lappin’
    Not askin’ permission,
    Grabbin’ titty fat and kissin’ lips
    Mrs. Promiscuous can dish it out, but can’t take it
    Stout and naked in her mouth for tastin’
    Quicken the pace with relations
    Until I need space and she’s chasin’
    Misplace sensation without a trace of patience

  5. In and Out of the World Alone

    Born alone, die alone
    Dial tones, no one answers
    My love is a cancer
    Metastasized growth in soft pants
    Sure to grope exotic dancers

    At a glance your impressions define my stance or
    Position, it’s a mission unwanted
    Audition for kisses until I’m stunted
    Remit my luck and lead up to nothin’
    Somethins gotta give
    Before I’m bald, gruff, and live unresponsive to treatment
    Disease been teasin’ death frequent
    Out of sequence with my step like the Fremen

    This shit is seemin’ to take the place of my sanity
    Abandoning reason pursing outlandish dreams
    Out of touch with plush scenes,
    Reoccurring in my writings
    I’m finding reaching out will expose the wrist
    Reside retracted, clotted distractions
    Wince before chopped, it’s disturbing

    I’m burning any hope of owning simple pleasures
    A measure of character is pain
    Sustain hits quick, clip veins
    Drain integrity
    No use in saving dignity as it drips free…

  6. Brains clean as smallpox

    Sometimes, I dry my face with a dirty mind.
    A savage side-show the things we do not know,
    and you hear the gunfire on the same scales as ours.
    Disembowelling the universe with its swollen belly and flies for eyes;
    New fires uncorking their frothy bottles in colors you have never seen,

    and when the rack screams are alternatively tender –
    When there is no boss-pussy or erotic struggle against them –
    Become cruel and return God to Hells’ inferno.
    The sexes of will are killing each other.
    One pays way too much for opium and ancestral purification anyway.
    Culture way down at the bottom like whoever has balls in their cunt.

    So, so what if I get barked at by every dog on the road –
    Someone who looks like me keeps falling yet never finding the bottom.
    Someone who looks like anyone keeps the trenches pink with expectation.
    Thug features escaping me entirely as I am a headless man
    with a soul that would lite a match to any of the following:
    A woman weeping, people who take ghosts seriously, Christopher Columbus, humanity’s delicate garden, and my octopuss triple heart.

    So here’s to one long biting kiss, later conflicts,
    and a major role in the poetry of the next Anti-Christ.
    We are going to drink like invasions always start,
    get hard higher, then be completely sucked off
    in order to cross syphilis from the bottom of the throat
    to anyone who is recovering from the swallowing and chewing
    of how you celebrate death.

    I guess there is something alternative to the empty, wet, tunnel fleeing virgin
    who does not finish eating the wounded stretcher bearer
    scratching his ass where the lice bite. I guess it is kind of a short story,
    so I hope you have all night. I hope on all sides to be thrown into sluttish prison,
    where the dangers are infinite and amoung them is safety.

  7. The Mad Gunner
    (Chain-gang= one who can’t stop masturbating)
    Oh no not again here I go in a rush,
    For what’s about to happen I keep on the hush,
    Because the bats tall is calling me and here I go again, because I’m the mad gunner and I’m not going to the end.
    To the end of my sentence is what I must do, to get myself going I’ll be thinking of you.
    While other people wait to get inside,
    I’m busy and sweaty so occupied.
    I hear them all laughing and I hear what they said, my neck and skull hurt moving like a bobble head.
    When all at once it comes to me, exploding in the toilet its a serving for three.
    I grab the toilet paper to clean up the mess, god I can’t believe it’s come to this.
    I’m known in the streets as the number one stunner, but here with pants around my feet I am The Mad gunner!
    – For all the niggers in Florida’s prison system

  8. A boy he was,
    Truth locked far,
    Ignorant of all,
    Yet wonder grown tall.

    Faces of dark,
    Ignorance fueled by pride,
    were all he saw.

    A haunting tree was the thing he imagined,
    Growing ever more by the years it saw,
    Colder it got,
    the more agony it saw.

    Yet growing it kept,
    Darker it got,
    Louder it went,
    Untill only light it wept.

    The boy screamed in pain,
    agony beyond all,
    watch he only could,
    so others wouldn’t know.

    The boy watched near,
    others couldn’t do,
    so a choice he made,
    others wouldn’t do.

    The end was cruel,
    nothing could do,
    it was the truth,
    the tree wouldn’t do.

  9. There once was a guy from Oregon
    Whose mind was filled with perversion
    His race wasn’t clear
    He put into gear
    A plan to kill all religion

    Chris Mercer couldn’t get laid
    His temper was certainly frayed
    Left home with some guns
    Said goodbye to mom
    And went on a fusillade

    Police got word of a gunman
    And promptly went into action
    Chris got shot
    He died on the spot
    In truth he was just a virgin

    The trolls dubbed him ‘an hero’
    His colleagues called him a weirdo
    History will remember
    How screwed was this killer
    The first neo-nazi negro

  10. Hickery dickery cluck my mouse went up your butt
    Its squabbling all around it eats your cheese and goes back down.
    And now it’s on my hand waiting for me to shove it back up your fan.
    First comes the Vaseline then comes the fisting
    Next comes the interesting stuff that falls straight out of your ass.

    BTW that was a short poem I just thought of and I kept rolling with it. So, not the most creative. Still, the poetry contest is pretty fun. I honestly had more fun reading the comments than I did wanting to post.

  11. An ode to gossip

    Go on,
    Whisper, whisper,
    You ill-natured descriptor,
    Swill slanging convictor,
    Such a thrill painting your picture, ain’t it?
    Real ain’t on your lips, but you still baited a listener,
    Skilled in jaded depictions of another’s ill-fated existence,

    A real sickness,
    But this type just wouldn’t know the difference,
    They keep the gossip flowing thick to blur the focus on their image,
    Avoiding facing self,
    The non-subjected get caught up in it,
    Short in stature with their lives,
    They compensate with tall opinions,

    Meanwhile,
    The main deceiver never takes the role of leader
    In this circle cypher slandering,
    Pandering to believers,
    Who hop into it just to drop belittled thoughts,
    Weak,
    And riddle shots all through my body that come at little cost,
    Cheap,
    Your invitation was lost ’cause your ignorance tops peaks,
    I sum it up for everyone when I say its better you not speak,

    Got beef?
    None for me,
    I had enough to eat,
    But I’ll happily compete with your audacity to preach,
    I gather that you’d rather have me fall into the weaves of a tapestry you masterfully fabricated with grief,

    What a sad act, enabler of unstable deceit,
    Judging life under the table by another’s fabled defeat,
    What even makes you think that your words should cut and sting?
    Busy casting all your stones, but they never seem to sink,
    Best you play it close to home,
    I’ll bet, alone, you have to drink,
    From that bitter cup you’ve constantly been spilling over me,

    Thats why I’m sitting here, calmly sipping a beer,
    Reciting your mention to the sound of ringing in my ear,

    Just talk shit to yourself because it really doesn’t help,
    You keep fueling the flame, your plastic frame is bound to melt

    Siniko

  12. ALONE:

    Alone in the dark,

    Alone in the light.

    Alone at dawn,

    And again at twilight.

    So longing for someone,

    To be with and love.

    Nice cozy fires,

    Or an angel from above.

    Loneliness kills me,

    I?ve nowhere to go.

    Sometimes it feels,
    God is just letting go.

    I?m alone by myself.

    I?m alone in a crowd.

    I?m alone with my family.

    No noise when it?s loud.

    I have no true friends,

    I feel it?s to late.

    I drink to make me like me,

    Or to drown out the hate.

    If God wants my love,

    I have to have faith.

    But sometimes it?s hard,

    I continue to hate.

    I hate that I was born?

    I hate that I?m alive?

    It?s so hard to be lonely,

    I?d just rather die.

    Yet I still fear death,

    From smoking and booze.

    But the loneliness takes over,

    In time I will lose.

    If I die tonight,

    Will I die as a heathen?

    I?ve asked for more angels,

    Instead I get demons.

    Alone in the dark,

    Alone in the light.

    Alone at dawn,

    And again at twilight.

  13. When It comes to poetry, I am in it- I just haven’t written any dark poetry. With that being said, I am an amateur WW2 Army Air Corp/ AAF historian- 30 yrs worth. Among my research, I found this little gem, and proper credit is given to the writer:

    T_h_e_ _D_e_a_t_h_ _o_f_ _t_h_e_ _B_a_l_l_ _T_u_r_r_e_t_ _G_u_n_n_e_r_

    From my mother?s sleep I fell into the State,
    And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
    Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
    I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
    When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

    – Randall Jarrell, 1945

    End Note: Jarrell, who served in the Army Air Forces, provided the following explanatory note:
    A ball turret was a Plexiglas sphere set into the belly of a B-17 or B-24, and inhabited by two .50 caliber machine guns and one man, a short small man. When this gunner tracked with his machine guns a fighter attacking his bomber from below, he revolved with the turret; hunched upside-down in his little sphere, he looked like the fetus in the womb. The fighters which attacked him were armed with cannon firing explosive shells. The hose was a steam hose.

      1. That would be awful hard on the aircraft bro. Just don’t be sitting in the turret when you make sure the wheels go up and down. 😛
        I think the hydraulics would get shot up in the air not much you can do I recall reading a history book where they mentioned the crushing of a ball turret gunner because they couldn’t get the wheels down and him out of the turret.
        Imagining you outside a B-17 with a dump switch box making that plane hop. 🙂

        1. Yep… You’re right @rayf… But wouldn’t it suck after a successful mission you found out the hard way the landing gear didn’t work… 😛

          BTW… The reason why I said that was I heard the plane had to be on land for the gunner to get out of the ball turret… I don’t know if that’s true or not…

          1. @The_Faster_Gun will know the answer to that one….that would totally suck….Movies and books have mentioned that particular position time and again as being the most dangerous and exposed….can’t recall if it was a book or movie but some grunt was all excited by the prospect of getting out of the mud by trading places with an airman until he found out the guy’s position was ball turret gunner and told him hell no.
            Wonder how those little guys got their Big Nut Sacks into those turrets.

          2. @Rayf, @Gnat-
            The ball turret gunner was not supposed to be in the turret during t/o or landing.
            The entry hatch was in the ‘back lower portion’ of the turret and, when inside, the gunner’s back was against that hatch. Picture of said turret with hatch: http://tinyurl.com/o9fdtc3
            To enter/exit the turret, the guns had to be facing down and to the rear of the aircraft— so, IF the hydraulics were shot and the turret could not be positioned for entry/exit…the BTG was likely F U C K E D….A lot of surmising has went on about the survivability of the BTG in this scenerio…the ball turret almost always broke the back of the aircraft, when it bellied in, IF the turret were not jettisoned.
            Hope this helps the discussion!
            TFG

          3. @The faster gun Thanks it does…history is fun to learn about.
            Gave me a pause when you said the Ball Turret can be Jettisoned thoughts of a man in that ball as it’s released…sobering indeed.

  14. The final ray of light
    Vanishes from the sky
    Nocturns blanket covers all
    Blinding all prying eyes

    Wanting no one to see
    This filth inside of me
    Cowering in selfish greed
    And psychoecstasy

    My love is not broken
    I hold it in my hand
    I cock my gun, you better run
    You want nothing of this man

    Pain for you, and glee for me
    I’ll just have another go
    Driven by desire
    And the urge to blow my load

    This demon leaves me spent
    And void of consious feeling
    This monster in my pants
    Has always kept me reeling

    Sometimes I cry for a better way
    But only waste my breath
    My lust for flesh so soft and warm
    Will surely lead me to my death

  15. And so he clung to a windswept log,
    all elements against him but for fog,
    the island tundra lay ahead,
    how do I reach it ?, his inner voice said.
    swim and crawl onto the shore,
    if the task seems hopeless swim some more,
    never give in to this monstrous tide,
    for you have the lord forever at your side.

  16. Entry #1

    FREE MARK FROM HIS SHACKLES

    Mark Marek isn’t a journalistic terrorist

    Main motivation is just maintaining pacifist

    But many distain, despise and agree to greet him like a parasite

    Beat him and treat him like he’s the reason for human strife

    He didn’t slay Lin Jun

    Nor did he ever eat a slice

    Been so long since WE found the Guilty one

    His Name is Ice

    Luka is the True commitor of these filthy crimes

    So Please, let our fearless leader live on with ease

    ITS DUE TIME

  17. Entry #1

    We miss ya Mark Marek

    Mark Marek isn’t a journalistic terrorist

    Main motivation is just maintaining pacifist

    But many distain, despise and agree to greet him like a parasite

    Beat him and treat him like he’s the reason for human strife

    He didn’t slay Lin Jun

    Nor did he ever eat a slice

    Been so long since We found the Guilty one

    His Name is Ice

    Luka is the True commitor of these filthy crimes

    So Please, let our fearless leader live on with ease

    It’s due time

  18. Lifes is strange..

    I had a dream the sheep all went away

    Then I shuddered awake on Obama’s Driveway

    Holdin a pair of severed legs

    Covered in blood… Guess it was my pegs

    Musta have given me quite a chase

    cuz my legs ache like I took first place in a Fuckin russian Psycho race

    Just Like a Da Silva flip-flop slappin your ass back to the grave

    Or an insane motorcycle ridin Brazilian with road rage

    So next time your turn and turn the news on

    Bestgore.com has the best In store for those who love truth

    Hateful bitches jump of a bridge or just click back it’s up to you

  19. Tortured souls

    tortured souls we meet again
    to try and silence the pain within
    north east south and west
    this is the only way we know best

    draw the blade
    steady the hand
    in careful destruction
    we slice the skin
    to draw out the pain from within

    one cut is seldom enough
    when you have been bleeding
    you pain for years
    instead of tears

    deep the cut
    dig the blade
    puddling blood upon the floor
    light headed lean upon the door

    sinking slowly down
    and passing out
    surely this isn’t what life is about

    she dreams the anemic dream
    not believing how her silent scream
    has ended up a pool of blood on the floor
    and still her mind screams i want it more and more

    can she stop this circle of terror
    before the hate of herself destroys her
    Her silent scream HELP ME PLEASE
    before i do that one cut too far..

    BY Twisted Darkeskye

  20. As she closes her eyes, mine open wide.
    As she takes her last breath, I feel in my chest, my heart, as it pounds to her gurgling sounds.
    As the struggling ends my erection descends.
    I step back and look from her face to her foot, as it twiches its last. And I stop, and I gasp.
    It’s finally done, no more can she run.
    As I light up my smoke, I pick up the gun.
    Tears fill my eyes as I look to the skies.
    Forgive me I pray, there was no other way.
    To stop her from hurting my sister like that.
    How you raped and tortured with the end of a bat !
    What you said in the court was a fucking big lie.
    Now you’ve paid with your life, so it’s my turn to die………………
    (GUNSHOT)

  21. My mind sinks;
    The day stinks,
    Light blinks,
    A stranger blinks,
    Fuck what she thinks.
    I click a few links,
    Looking for dark reds and light pinks.
    Ah, my old friend, best gore,
    You always manage to find more,
    With you it’s never a bore,
    Feel like a junkie trying to score.
    Isis beheading, dead whore,
    Internal organs cover the floor.
    I watch it all looking for that high,
    Love to look death in the eye,
    Remember my childhood, perhaps i,
    Can watch her die just one more time,
    Her body hanging from that line,
    The smell of shit mixed with pine,
    Her head dislocated from her spine,
    Most cherished memory, it is mine.
    Better than a fine wine wrapped in twine,
    Or the best meat from a prize swine.
    Am I crazy in my mind?
    Is that what a doctor would find?

    -authors note: went into a brain lock
    BGjbug

  22. First please, My apologies to these Jesus dweebs

    Thinking the galaxy was created magically in just a week

    Shits pretty obvious and crystal clear to see

    Religions have been a fraud

    The clock alone controls all things

    That’s why I easily concede

    But these crazy Christ craved Christians conceive

    Your Soul purpose on Earth is to serve JC

    So it’s mandatory to give in and just believe

    Sacrificing so much self it hurts to breathe

    Do these righteous deeds and then your afterlife will bring

    Silver screen type scenes, immortality and angel wings

    I suppose some folks will forever hold close those silly fallacies

    Fabled fantasies of fiery ferns formulated for fable sheep

    Billions have shed blood in the name of a false king

    So please would you fall on knees and give them 1/2 of everything

    Putting all your life’s faith into a dream that’s ungarunteed

  23. What is this smell, this smell that reeks?
    Early in the morning it permeates my sheets,
    I go and look and what do I see?
    The crow, behind some wood as calm as it can be.
    Maggots crawl through it’s eyes and mouth,
    Savoring the flavor of the crow no doubt,
    As I throw it in the trash can container I think,
    Life is cheap for this poor little bird,
    Still the smell stays in the air,
    For a week, it would not clear,
    Finally it was gone and like nothing was there,
    But there is no way now, that I will forget about this affair,
    Because that smell of death you can never forget,
    It will stay with me until it is my turn, next!

  24. I pledge my allegiance

    To the land I once believed in

    The Great United States

    Divided for no reason

    Wrong against Right

    People vs Policemen

    Pushing the plight between both sides

    Tho neither are truly free men

    Common Decency is legally

    deemed an act of treason

    courteousy seems to be out of season

    Far from reach for these heathens

    Deceit in elections and ballot sheets

    Plus a Draft pick system for candidacy

    Bill, Bush and Barry are not unique

    All were hand breaded an picked for presidency

    But you see they use the media to seize

    Our weak minds and distract us with celebrities

    Misinformation overflowin the sheepish cheeks

    Hopefully your ready to fight the beast

    Apply survival techniques

    Real change we dearly need

    To the next Cheif who leads our streets

    Unfortunately we listen to what you preach

    So Before you go to podium and speak

    Insert some peace inside the speech

    See if the elite

    Don’t assassinate you and your seeds

    Inside a week

  25. SCARECROW GONE [DNR]
    -a tale of extreme solitude
    By Augustus Nero

    Sleep Gives Way, To A Morbid Wake
    To Awash Me In This Desecrated Place
    Surrounding Desolation, Silently Alone
    Alone In Thought, I’m Without A Home
    I hear Human Voices, Stares See Through Me
    No One To Share This Empty Solitude
    Delusional I Scream, Though Not Heard
    Into Madness I Sink, My Vision Blurs

    I Felt My Body Fall Away
    To Join The Unseen And I Became,
    Another Memory To Rot In Time.
    Surely, Not One Will Cry,
    When I Am Found With Clouded Eyes
    Upon This Wood, A Scarecrow Gone
    Upon This Wood A Scarecrow Gone

    Not Even The Dirt Lies Lower Than I,
    I Was Made, To Be Hidden Away.
    The Tears Of The Clouds Go Unfelt When They Cry,
    Cold Skin Doesn’t Feel, The Wind When It Sighs,
    Nor The Scorching Warmth Of The Sun When It Shines.
    This Enveloping Shadow Brings A Creeping Fade!

    If I Lived In Apartment, Room “213”
    If I Were The Seventh To Join, The NSDAP
    If I Were To Drink, The Jonestown Tea
    If My Epitaph Read, “The Lizard King”
    Would I Be Heard, Would I Be Seen?

    Can You Hear Me?

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