POETRY BY DAWN COLCLASURE

Dawn Colclasure lives in Oregon. She is a freelance writer, book reviewer and columnist. She is the author and co-author of over five dozen books. She publishes The Sparrew Newsletter online each month.

Her websites are HERE and HERE

KILLERS DON’T CARE ABOUT THE MESS

The whole fun part of killing
is getting bloody. But some
people don’t understand that.
I love it!
I thrive in it.
Getting bloody,
with blood everywhere.
I could bathe in this blood
shooting out of this body. Like a fountain
granting wishes for a penny. Or a life.
I relish this moment,
the part where there’s blood.
I was warned about the blood.
Why is this so wrong?
In the TV show that I watched,
a killer stabs his victim
multiple times. There’s no
blood. Not on him, not on the body
or on the walls in the room.
I know he is stabbing a dummy
(maybe for sensitive viewers
who can’t stand the sight of blood?)
but it takes us away from what we want,
which is to have the blood everywhere.

DEADLINE

I was ready to give up.
He had rejected every pitch.
But I wanted to get published in this paper!
This was not a job that I wanted to ditch.

After much begging, he gave me one more chance.
“But if you can’t come up with something in two days, you’re out!”
I smiled. “Don’t worry, boss! I’ll get a great story!
The biggest story readers won’t stop talking about!”

I kept an eye out for the biggest news.
Something that would make a really great story.
With camera in hand, I searched high and low,
Ready to achieve journalistic fame and glory.

But there was nothing except the boring stuff,
Like bake sales, a bank robbery or a new store.
I decided to make up some news to get the greatest story!
It was dirty work, with lots of blood and gore.

I dropped it off in a large box onto my boss’ desk,
Pleased that I had met my deadline right on time.
My boss screamed in horror when he saw what was in the box:
The mayor’s chopped body, the result of some sad crime.

IN RESPONSE TO HIS DEMAND

His comment threw me off the edge.
I know I should have been nice
but the rage bubbling within me
over his demand I do what he said made me
want to draw the knife from my pocket
and just gut him like a fish.
I smile as my hand moved to that pocket,
gripping the knife as I said, “Well, it’s like this.”
Then the knife comes out
and I draw a line across his throat.
His eyes widen and his hands reach up
as his blood spurts from the cut
like a fountain just for me.
I laugh, dancing in the rain of blood
descending over my body like flames of ecstasy.
“No one owns me!” I bellow, swinging my dress around
as my body sways in motion to my own macabre tune.
The vision disappears with his cry of my name.
So I just nod and say, “We’ll see.”

ON BEST BEHAVIOR

I tried so hard to behave,
for his sake.
I tried to be good.
The best girlfriend ever.
But I couldn't take his father's lip anymore.
How he kept putting down women
like they were nothing.
Saying how all women
should be
barefoot in the kitchen,
including his own son's future wife.
I could have let it go then,
as I have no plans to marry,
but the more he shared
his beliefs of how women
were not smart
and only good for making babies,
well, that's when I lost it.
Wish I could say
my boyfriend understood,
but he only kept screaming
about all of the blood
and asking me why I killed his father.
Seriously??
He had to go, too.