Bartholomew Barker is one of the organizers of Living Poetry, a collection of poets and poetry lovers in the Triangle region of North Carolina. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
Love writing ruthless poems
I have wrote a shitload.
Don’t take shit
from know one
So I make sure I load
the shotgun
while I’m on my porch.
Kill anybody at all cost
that is a threat to me
and my family.
The shotgun is on my lap
while I’m drinking Hennessy.
I’m drinking and drinking
and slowly becoming tipsy
so still have 90% control of my body.
But all of a sudden I hear something.
Like a hardcore prison inmate
I react before I drink.
I refuse to think
so I load up the rounds
in my double shotgun.
I am now on the hunt.
Even though I don’t see nothing
I start shooting near the bushes.
I shot 6 six rounds
and had 1 round left.
After I shot the 6th round
I hit the target
that was hiding in the bushes.
When I went in the bushes
I realized that I just shot my wife
and she is bleeding
from the stomach.
Almost felt sorry
Almost shed a tear
But I remind myself
I have mercy on no one
Not even family.
My last words to her was
“I’m sorry honey”
Pow
I fired my 7th round
Very reasonable folks said they took no joy in a guillotine
and that that in fact was the greatest innovation of all,
but they will admit confidentially what great pleasure it
was to no longer be inhibited by such joys as the gallows
afforded, where lust elevated a castrated, mangled villian
above the status of a snapped citizen twig. See, there was
honor in a tarred and dragged corpse where there was
ruthlessness in silent erasure. Very reasonable folks agreed.
It was no great joy, and it was no small Terror, that subtle
crack in the perishing punishment fire. It was Reasonable.
Living Poetry 
Love writing ruthless poems
I have wrote a shitload.
Don’t take shit
from know one
So I make sure I load
the shotgun
while I’m on my porch.
Kill anybody at all cost
that is a threat to me
and my family.
The shotgun is on my lap
while I’m drinking Hennessy.
I’m drinking and drinking
and slowly becoming tipsy
so still have 90% control of my body.
But all of a sudden I hear something.
Like a hardcore prison inmate
I react before I drink.
I refuse to think
so I load up the rounds
in my double shotgun.
I am now on the hunt.
Even though I don’t see nothing
I start shooting near the bushes.
I shot 6 six rounds
and had 1 round left.
After I shot the 6th round
I hit the target
that was hiding in the bushes.
When I went in the bushes
I realized that I just shot my wife
and she is bleeding
from the stomach.
Almost felt sorry
Almost shed a tear
But I remind myself
I have mercy on no one
Not even family.
My last words to her was
“I’m sorry honey”
Pow
I fired my 7th round
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Posted by Understand546 | September 26, 2018, 2:57 PMI sure hope this is fictional. Thanks for sharing, I think.
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 26, 2018, 3:01 PMI hope so too
Thank you for reading
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Posted by Understand546 | September 26, 2018, 3:02 PMJust posted a ruthless poem to my blog.
http://bartbarkerpoet.com/2018/09/17/ruthless/
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 17, 2018, 8:53 PMVery reasonable folks said they took no joy in a guillotine
and that that in fact was the greatest innovation of all,
but they will admit confidentially what great pleasure it
was to no longer be inhibited by such joys as the gallows
afforded, where lust elevated a castrated, mangled villian
above the status of a snapped citizen twig. See, there was
honor in a tarred and dragged corpse where there was
ruthlessness in silent erasure. Very reasonable folks agreed.
It was no great joy, and it was no small Terror, that subtle
crack in the perishing punishment fire. It was Reasonable.
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Posted by Jeremy Ray Jewell | September 17, 2018, 11:44 AMPowerful stuff! Love the phrase “snapped citizen twig”.
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Posted by Bartholomew Barker | September 17, 2018, 7:57 PM