Blood On The Floor

Blood On The Floor short poem

Photo by hile

Well my mother might be almost sixty
But she’s still one damn good-looking
Woman, inside and out she’s has such
A kind heart and her feelings run deeper
Than any ocean can and such a beautiful
Beautiful woman who could have any man
But why she settled for you I’ll never
Understand, you low down rotten scandal
You good for nothing s.o.b., coming home
Drunk all hours of the night taking your
Frustrations out on her that she didn’t do
Anything to deserve…
As a child I couldn’t do anything but
Listen to her cry but I’m not a little boy
Anymore and the next time you lay
A finger on her I’ll put you six feet under
Do you understand…?
My mama taught me not to lay, my mama
Taught me vengeance is the lord’s but I will
Not stand by and watch you abuse her
Anymore so the next time you lay a finger
On her there will be BLOOD, BLOOD ON
THE FLOOR and it won’t be mine that’s
For sure but they’ll be BLOOD, BLOOD ON

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Bo Lanier

Bo Lanier

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
Bo Lanier is from Chattanooga, Tennessee and has become an established poet with five books to his credit that were published in Canada. He received several achievement awards in creative writing through and has recently published two eBooks and one paperback book through After a nine year hiatus, Bo returned to publishing his poems with a new outlook and fresh ideas. His other talents include singing and songwriting.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "Blood On The Floor"

Notify of
Sort by:   newest | oldest

Visuals evoked wonderfully Vibrant with life and memory. Stunning write.


Blood Draped

Blood Draped short poem

It was coming up, the politics like dirty sex in tall Parthenium grass. The panther was hiding on a steppingstone watching the hot, field hockey played with skulls of peers. Mauled, the peach skin was entertaining sunlight in the metaphoric

Blood Diary

Blood Diary short poem

Writing on sleeves to remember your departure and becoming a stray cloud. The maternal touch of the sky, you can sleep whole life on dense logics. White sheets were burning unannounced in the home. I lost the key, to open

The Door In The Floor

The Door In The Floor long poem

Sometimes, I look for a door in the floor of my bedroom— even though there’s no such door—just because it’ll be such an awesome thing to have. Wouldn’t you want one? I’ll become the envy of all my (imaginary) friends.

Blood Fruits

Blood Fruits short poem

Beyond the sex he was sleepwalking in shame hiding his faith ingloriously. A poacher in harem of politics, where you stack the hidden virility for killing the money. A single mate must die making love on screen in the vicinity

The Blood Of A Child Cried Louder Than A Roaring Lion

The Blood Of A Child Cried Louder Than A Roaring Lion short poem

I am your child,yet you choose to ignore that fact I am your flesh the fruit that proved other trees that said you can not bear wrong. I shamed your enemies Wrapped their faces in shame with believe that you’re