Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Twinkle twinkle Stan Leethal story
of the Fuehrer as Uri Geller on roids.
Overlord lovely in a cape chromarinated
in shells of murex, wearing unionsuit exterior pants
(his are a rhapsody in rhodopsin)
over longjohns of magenta spandex.
And brightred buckethead
helmet, which deflects ESPeeping by pilgarlic psychic Prof X,
coz genetic raggy dolls’ rex transcends Brand X!

Tinker , tailor? Tut, I wanna be the Fuehrer as Uri Geller on roids,
supernally surfin’ Sheffield steel shoah of swarming saucepans,
shaving blades and stanleeknives and saws and Saabs
and copcars and ironore meteorites. Also, the surgical
instruments of the street and the shanks of medical science;
sets of stainless steakspears of infomercial provenance;
scraggy skyscrapers got by the girders , horizontally hurled
as if Godzilla’s ghost improvised  9/11esque javelins.

Magneto’s only weakness is that he repels fridge magnets,
and same re pelmatic neodymium of toy taikonauts for spacewalks.
No matter when he can magicnetise
fridges to fly with a flock of killer falling filing cabinets
in an ironfilingsswirling firmament!

Whether noble or base, the metal in everything mangled
into motion at his megalomagnetic fingerclick,
raising a scrapmetal maelstrom thru mere cerebration,
which shines retribeautifully
as it veers quadrivially at some veerlocity,
on fourwayspliting beeline to align with
recycled hails of sharpnel shellcases,
as well as virgins to internal ballistics,
all the bashful bullets never barrelistically trajected,
yet volitating with a vengeance to
Washington and Salem, Berlin and Genosha.
For starters.
All thru the all too **** crapien weeks of human weakness,
I wished upon faraway far ago farty fled fusion,
upon Polaris (star that wags Baby Bear,
not Wanda and Quicksilver's stepsis ),
upon any old alien civilisation’s screwy sun/s,
upon colossal conkedout spinfernos and neutron glowwormholes,
but God must have gone fishin’.

Or is She still a few
puffedup predicates prefixed ‘omni-‘ short of a Godhead,
still an interstellarmedium cadet after Her pre-Bigbang epidural?
Or just washing Her dark matted hair, God a Rapunzel
with superstring bob I cannot dream up like Jacob?

A powerlessnesscrazed petition went PEYOWM!
outta my polarised soul, grim and swift as sylviacidal dew,
or rush hour reaper atop an atrous cheetah,
skeletal chevalier shepherding spirits
of manic street pizza.
O supplication newselfseeking  
approprihated my full steam squirminmyownskin
for a reaction mass,
'swhy seekanddestroy geekandfanboy's
rogation rightly rocketed… Right
into the overriding white noise
of God’s Rice Crispies, madding crowd of cosmic
microwave background radiation.
Suppose I’m stuck with stealth seething,
finding myself sorely wanting, sorely needing
the confidence boost of being **** superior,
which is what my warp factor wish was for.
G’arn God, givvus mutie superpowers
like a registered trademark of Marvel Comics,
and not just metahuman partytricks,

coz I wanna be the instantaneous ironsmith
himself, metal’s mesmeric animator, demiurgic gremlin
mentally meddling with enemies' mechanics,
ballonanimauling  their oilderricks.
Ferroshistin’ scifi miracle terrorism
at Magneto’s theatrical fingerclick.
All of us one way or the other are victim of egotism
We enjoy and celebrate when we dominate others
In the process we sing our anthem and feel awesome
So in our own circus we prove to be good actors

Being hubris we look down upon all others as ninnies
And in spur of moment we forget how helps we are
We forget what tiny moment will cease and make us freeze
Being behind unseen bars we poor creatures are at war

Time determines ones endowment and intent to explore
His worth in this unlimited golden green ocean of life
We are just a straw in blunt blowing wind to take to roar
And on altar of life we can be butchered by a a blunt knife

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Tommy Randell Nov 2016
Today at the funeral of Reason
We stand by the graveside of Hope
The future is a funnel of darkness
And we ride the slippery *****

Bring back the Anarchist child
I was when I was young
When mine was the fist of progress
That would blacken the eye of the Sun

Give me the button to press
Let me be the judge of Mankind
I will gladly burn in the fire
If the will to be done is mine

When Faith is a weapon of War
When Words are a wall of Hate
When the Innocent are tortured in silence
When the Torturers are Rulers of State

When Democracy is judged by it's Failures
When Republics are pedlars of Greed
When Dictators play chicken with missiles
When Truth is bombed 'til it bleeds

Then I get this angry and vengeful
Then I want you all to be *******
You wont suffer the Weak and the Needy
Why should they suffer for you?

Let it end it in one great conflagration
Let us stub out this cigarette of Life
Let no Church, no safe congregation
Save You wherever you hide

Let some other microbe on some other World
Get it's act together and give it go
You can scream all you want in the darkness
But in Life the Dead get no vote.

Tommy Randell 15th/16th November 2016 (15 mins either side of Midnight)
Some poems make themselves, somewhere in the head & heart. This one came out as fast almost as I could type it. An angry polemic born out of our times - Ah, the old curse ... may we live in interesting times. Not like me to be such a Megalomaniac ... it seems a modern trend.

— The End —