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The Dybbuk Mar 2018
The nuclear winter fell on this place,
This broken desert glen,
And whale bones serve as carcass homes
For the very last of men.
Oil runs like blood,
Across the broken, lifeless dune.
They siphon it from ancient cars,
And howl at the moon.
Corpses rot abandoned,
With an X upon their palm,
Irradiated from the night,
They call the Night of Bombs.
One man who lives forgotten,
On the taste of human skin,
The man exists in all of them,
The evil deep within.
AE Mar 2018
A field of fire rising up to the sky
Ten thousands of people; all will die
Dozens of suns and a giant shockwave
And nobody went to visit my own grave.

Music and life had fallen as well
And imprisoned in a chamber donned by people as “hell”
Yet deaf was all real, but the one thing heard
Was the blast in the morning as soft as a bird.

A place where freedom did never exist
A place where war from society was ******
And liberty had left; and peace had too
Inside of the government always undergoing a coup.

Cities had fallen from the bombs up above
Some paradoxical world that once kept me in love
With its sadism of nature, but all that has gone
And poems were buried in the nuclear dawn.






No…no no no no no more
I can’t take this anymore
No more nightmares it’s getting to a point
PLEASE, NO MORE EXPLOSIONS
WHY DOES IT STILL HAPPEN?!!!!
NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO MORE NO.


And my body rocks violently in sleep.
SangAndTranen Mar 2018
Rain patters on the window -
I can smell its fresh scent
From the tiny window
Above my head.

The smack of branches hit the moving roof
Like his hand on my damp cheeks
Will I remember the taste of my blood tonight?
I rock in the flimsy seat.

The whir of the engine
                 The fed up faces
Oh how I so wish
                 To swap in their places.

Earphones are in
Chewing gum-flavoured sighs
Stick it under the seat
after the ride.

                   I imagine them trudging
                   through their front doors
                  Home is their salvation.
My anxiety soars.

                   They step over the threshold
                   And drop their bag on the floor
That's where I'd be laying
I'd endure it, like a chore.

Door opens with a creak as I slip from the rain
But rain is a favourite pastime.
No one chases me out of the house
When the sun has ceased to shine.

                            They smell mum's cooking
I smell mum's ****
                            Their parents smile
She hears me and screams.

                      Crunch goes their foot on a dropped crisp
Crunch goes his foot on my hand
                        An abuse documentary? Turn that TV over
                        Darling stick your head in the sand

                   "Did you have a nice day at school?"
                   That's what they are always asked
How nice: I can't hear what I'm told
Im waiting for the ringing to pass.
aurora kastanias Mar 2018
Countries fabricated
by roaming people drawing
borders behind them,
trails of hostility

to select those who would cross
rims after them, to keep
resources to themselves,
lands of prosperity

on which to build, greed
homes to shield,
newly engendered families
xenophobes,

induced to believe
by governors they are different,
they are better, superior
and ultimately worth

much more, than any stranger
standing on the other side
of imaginary lines, they are barbarians,
unbelonging

to great civilisations, against whom
we need protection,
stealing scientists
left right and centre,

research peddled as development
promising a high from nuclear weapons,
bombs called mothers to adore
campaigning over a grand potency

participating in, an international
mallet-measuring contest
whilst signing accords,
for those who have to keep

and those who don’t
not to aspire, to acquire,
a prize for populations
who have successfully or can

destroy approaching aliens
simply by, pressing the right button
on a joystick suitable for games,
of mass destruction

ten thousand nuclear warheads
ready for use.
On nuclear weapons and non-proliferation treaty
jorn christopher Jan 2018
The city sleeps in the dead of night.
The stars reveal a falling light.
The angels are sleeping at the top of the hill.
If the flash doesn't wake them then the sound
Surely will.

We rose from our beds with sleep in our eyes
And clouds overhead now blanket the skies.
The buildings and monuments are crashing to the ground
Ashes to ashes
We all fall down.

There's a nuclear reaction
to the judgement day display.
And the screaming sound ascending
to the tune of "Bomb's Away!"
Hand in hand, we'll burn alive
Like the way we feel inside.
You hold me close
and close your eyes
'Til particles of you and I collide.


We collide singing, "Bomb's Away."


Souls set free as fates are bound.
Lives once lost, in love, now found.
The city turns to ashes with these passions now full blown.
Come together, for the first time
It's the last time
That we'll ever be alone.

There's a nuclear reaction
to the judgement day display.
And the screaming sound ascending
to the tune of "Bomb's Away!"
Hand in hand, we'll burn alive
Like the way we feel inside.
You hold me close
and close your eyes
'Til particles of you and I collide.


We collide, singing:

"Bomb's Away."
Falling in love can be devastating.
Martin Mikelberg Jan 2018
NUCLEARbitrationcertain
This minimal when the four words become three reads both "certain" and "once certain"  which is the state of affairs today, early 2018.   Let's hope it will resolve itself and become stronger that the doubt we are experiencing.
We lost the game.
No scores to be had.

Living was copying motions
of same old ways,
from bygone days.

Immolated landscapes
Unconsecrated ground
Land now sand
Silence the only sound.

People as mannequins
shackled to consumerism
now free to be human
humanity is dead
turned to dust and ash.

Charred trees, charred bones
Libraries and ossuaries
Rock, paper, scissors
Sinners, readers, builders
All on bended knees
Pillars of salt blown away on the blast wind.

Flame extinguished.
© JLB
21/11/2017
02:21 GMT
Grant Dickson Oct 2017
Waking from a short sleep
From the curtains I did take a peep,
The sky it did look ugly I did say
Was something wicked on its way.

Pondering within the present moment
Feeling intrigued about what it meant,
Had I woken from a dream into reality
Or was it the reality of a dream to me

Visions of late I'm sure we've all had
Pain and suffering it's just so sad,
Thoughts of nuclear nightmares
Clasping hands we'd say our prayers.

Returning to the window we go
Waiting to see if the sun will glow,
Then it appeared orange blood red
Picturing Mysterious skies sat on my bed.
Wrote this after waking this morning and seeing how the skies changed so quickly, from whitish blue to almost dark sand.
MARK RIORDAN Oct 2017
THE 2015 IRAN NUCLEAR AGREEMENT
TRUMP HAS NOW DEFUNCTED
ALL WORLD LEADERS CONDEMN HIS ACTION
WHAT IS TRUMP JUST REALLY DRUNK



THE NOBEL PRIZE HAS JUST BEEN AWARDED
FOR THE CAMPAIGN TO STOP NUCLEAR BOMBS
WHAT IS TRUMP DOING IS HE MAD
WHY DON'T YOU JUST TORTURE MY THUMBS



THE WORLD IS ON EDGE OVER NUCLEAR WEAPONS
THEY REALLY COULD DESTROY US ALL
LETS HAVE RESTRAINT AND COMMON SENSE
BEFORE GOD GETS THE CALL



TRUMP CHRONICLES  amazon.com

PRESIDENT TRUMP SUPPLIES ME WITH ALL
THE MATERIAL NEEDED TO COMPOSE MY
POEMS THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
WHAT IS TRUMP DOING I THINK HE IS JUST TRYING TO CHANGE WHAT OBAMA DID NOT GOVERN FOR AMERICA.
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