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DIPTI DHAKUL Jun 4
I meant to have life with
technology and medicine
but Strategic Missiles and Biological Warfare
tantalize my death.

My Modest Need To Keep Life Even Is Odd.
My expectation is fair?
DIPTI DHAKUL Mar 27
Humans  engrossed in making missiles,
Signing deals for showing skills
Forgot masks while designing wheels.

And now its real, without ventilators
Reveals all the feel
And Make us repeal,

It isn’t the first time, of ordeal
and yet we don’t appeal
for the freel.
freel=(land of the free )
The general loved missiles.
He got a tattoo of one.
A big super-duper boom stick.
Boeing MX Peacekeeper ICBM.
Ten MIRV'd 335 kiloton warheads.
City killers on our heathen ****** enemies.
The inker moaned like a boiler.
Huffing and puffing.
You represent evil.
You're the military industrial complex.
You're gonna wipe us all out.
And a dozen more rants.
The general sat there.
Listening and getting his tat.
Why didn't you say no, son?
You never had to do my tattoo?
What you represent is madness.
All that firepower, aimed at Russia.
Well son, that's the way the world works.
They aim their SS20s at us.
It's all madness.
Nice tattoo by the way.
I'll remember you when Reagan orders me
to order my boys to push the red button.
Chicken Mar 2019
Hey don't cross the creep line,
Buddy,

That's seven questions too many.

One compliment too much,
Wow,

Watch the energy fold up in my crotch, deploying the missile defence system, that you thought no woman
could ever have.
The line, or fence [boundary], is there for a reason.

The ‘wow’ is the point where the male misses polite signals given by the female, yet still ignores, proceeds with his inappropriate verbal attempts at coming over the other side of that fence.

Stay back buddy, this chicken is armed with mastery n you are stupified by your own standards.
Isrella Uong Nov 2017
It’s something I miss.
But I don’t like this.
So, correct me if I’m wrong,
But the flow has dried.
It’s been a long time like this.

And I hate this.
Words come from experiences,
But we’ve got nothing left to live,
Nothing left to say;
Dried up like sun kisses on wet skin.
All the missiles I missed,
You were the one shooting them.

This is so useless.
But I miss this.
And I miss it so much,
I could cry 20 thousand diamonds
Just to try to convince you that I don’t.

My heart is aching like it’s been shot,
And none has missed.
You won’t understand this, you won’t.
But I’m used to this,
Being taken for granted
Like I’ll always be there
When you don’t need me the most.

I’m having more fun,
A better thrill without
Your relentless changing faces.
I’m having a better time
Speaking to other faces.
I’m not worth your time,
No matter what your pace is.

I’m like a miss, standing,
Waiting to be announced
Queen of something,
Only to be found unworthy of titles
And golden bracelets.

These are my broken pieces.
Try to understand this
Text, because this is the only way
I could ever freely express my distress
Without sounding like other misses.

Now, I don’t like this.
But it’s something I miss.
So, correct me if I’m wrong,
But our rivers have dried.
It’s been a long time like this.
October 3, 2017. I missed the way certain things used to be.
MARK RIORDAN Sep 2017
TRUMP AND NORTH KOREA
ARE YELLING FIRE AND BRIMSTONE
IF IT COMES TO WORLD CONFLICT
CAN AMERICA STAND ALONE



WILL PRESIDENT TRUMP ATTACK
IF NORTH KOREA ATTACKS GUAM
IT WOULD BE BETTER TO HAVE DISCUSSIONS
TO KEEP IT NICE AND CALM



WILL THE WORLD END AND
WILL WE SEE ANOTHER WAR
IF WE DO  DESTRUCTION WILL COME
LIKE NEVER EVER SEEN BEFORE  


TRUMP CHRONICLES amazon.com search title
TRUMP CHRONICLES IS IT A BEST SELLER OR NOT WE WILL WAIT AND SEE 2 VOLUMES 60 POEMS ALL ILLUSTRATED WHAT A CRAZY RIDE.
We army crawl across the dirt and patches of dying grass.

Barely missing us, they passed.

Crawl to one smoldering, watching out for broken glass.

We thoroughly examine it.

The white of the missile contrasts against the dirt.

We hear their cackles.

I hear a familiar click.

I look up toward the deck.

Curiously, I watch a finger press the button of the bic.

From the corner of my eye, I see her mother's fingers flick.

Another missile heading our way.

"Watch out!" my cousin yells to make me alert.

But it was too late.

Why didn't I hear the familiar noise of it hitting the dirt?

I look down and see another cigarette burn a hole through my skirt.

I was too slow.

It was too quick.

Now my skirt is aglow.

Through her half-witted smile, smoke is blown.

I was only six,

They should have known.
Just another fab childhood memory of mine.
Army crawl through dirt
We are dodging the missiles
Oh no! I've been hit!
Cigarette burns, hole in my
skirt. Oh what a childhood!
First try at a tanka...hopefully done correctly.
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