#nuclearwar
Oh- It appears we've danced the night away,
Lost in the music 'til that midnight Bell.
It was completely our fault, I must say;
We've been stuck in a trance, some witch's spell-
And now the sky burns with the fires of hell,
Dust and debris blot out the moon and sun.
The sirens and the booms; the final knell
Of the Human Race- it was a good run-
But the fight is over, the Race is done.
Lord above, did we tell our story right?
When we lost a race which we should have won?
When we shut our eyes tight, until Midnight?
Can we wake up right now, and rewrite our fate?
Could we work together... or is it too late..?
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 2:32 PM UTC
Oh, Doom, Death, and Despair-
Great companions of mine!
Come on! Dance if you dare;
Ignore the fatal whine
Of the planes overhead,
Or the U-boats below,
Come on! Dance! Dance instead;
Don't look out the window!
Who cares if the world ends?
No time for politics!
Instead- gossip with friends;
Yes, that must be the fix!
There is no need for change
(It's too hard, anyway)-
Hey, does that cloud look strange?
Midnight, but bright as day...
Welp, at least it's over quick-
For the few at ground zero!
If only you weren't a *****
You could have been a hero.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 2:20 PM UTC
I'm nostalgic for those old wars;
The coloured Roses kind,
With heroes and villains named Henry or Joe.
Wars that inspired poems about fields and bunkers.
And songs. So many catchy lilts with
Tipperary, white cliffs and battleships.
And slogans that made children want to fight
Against Loose Lips and encrypted blips on collateral damages.
I could be persuaaded to enlist,
To serve along side guys like the Duke,
And **** and **** Tojos and Huns,
While singing and dancing.
And the community. How all chipped in with the Effort.
Congealing around ***** of yarn or tinfoil... and victory gardens!
We'd be three deep on the boulevard, handing flowers to marching children on Main St.,
And the pulpits and towers exalt our efforts:
*God is with us.
Shangdi yu women tong zai.
Dieu est avec nous.
Gott ist mit uns.
Bag s nami.
Dio e con noi*.
Nobody has penned a memorable song
About Nagasaki;
We've seen some brain numbing,
Award winning pics
About Hiroshima.
We won't meet again.
I don't know when,
But how is definite.
A few big boys,
And...
Phsssszzzzzt!
How does that song go?
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 10:23 AM UTC
I have stashed my Glenfiddich
And Marlboros
In the basement cupboard,
While settling in,
At Ground Zero.
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 8:38 AM UTC
We're mostly gregarious and polite,
Like most of you.
We too have our diplomatic trips 'n bumps;
We never cozied to Dicky;
But welcomed ex-pat refugees
For safe and sound reasons.
After the jimmy-rigging, how many re-pated?
And we gagged on the impeachables, all fuzzy and bitter.
He called the father *that ******* in Ottawa;*
And Pierre wore that moniker like The Order of Canada.
When you're not liked by one, you're a dove.
You should visit CANDU.wow
It has it all.
How is Supreme Leader managing?
Are his...
Are my people... sitting at attention.
We could real news a bomb a la Kim Jong,
Or flip a stone down at Port Huron.
We won't.
But we could if we weren't
The Great White North, so accommodating, so polite,
So Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooo! nice...
(for now)
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Isn't it easy to write during these times,
And difficult to write on these times,
Without ripping off figurative comparisons.
I want to use wasteland
But I'd be the one compared,
And that won't work. That's not my intent.
Besides, Townsend and T.S. worked it.
There are the platinum choices
Like Satan, Lucifer, or Legionnaire.
But Milton has his scent all over these,
And the Bible invented them.
Those times.
These times.
Apocalypse, or any version thereof,
Would surely bring Brando to mind,
And Kurtz's heart of darkness.
There are inspiring descriptors like,
Cataclysm, devastation and destruction.
Well-represented in cinema
Since Birth of a Nation.
Now there's irony.
As much as Holocaust would be perfect to plagiarize,
I, nor anyone else, should ever attempt,
(And it would be a vain glory attempt at best)
To use this singular word
In an analogy for anything, ever again.
Ever!
Unless absolutely necessary.
Unless someone we know gets stupid.
Then more stupid.
Then stupider.
Then most stupid.
And finally,
Not with a whimper, but a bang.
I falter.
Not exactly plagiarism is it?
Shouldn't be repeated either.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
I equivocate way too much.
This time, I want to be absolutely blunt.
Hoping whomever reads this has a moment
Of recognition, insight and acknowledgement.
I would use the word epiphany,
But I want to be as blunt as
A dropped egg, a ***** diaper,
A rock, bird **** or lights and sirens;
Not like cryptocurrencies and 17th century tulips.
I hope to say something full of oomph.
*Don't **** it up again.
It's sliding in that direction.
What business is it of ours
If Canada wants nuclear weapons,
Or Ireland, or North Korea.
Accept all issues of sovereignty,
Except genocide. Then get involved.
We could straighten Pisa if so desired.
The space program by itself should've given us
A hundred years of peace and behaving *****
We're not going to get another chance at this
For ten million years. That's a guess. A conservative guess.
I love how the past is history,
How the present makes history.
Tomorrows deserve history.*
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 9:49 AM UTC
These are not, "possibilities,"
decisions are already made.
You do not live in a democracy.
War is coming; Iran and Syria.
Nuclear Supremacy is not an,
"ideal," or notion, it is a fact.
They are stating a fact.
Not opinion, -they intend to do it.
I used To think that if you readE,
read enough, studied, you'D see?
Brighter minds would stop it!
"Fool;" those minds are planning it!
Policy Papers are not policy at all,
they are cushions, a softening pillory.
Designed to lay a foundation.
Where you play sucker for war.
N.W.A
-New World Apocalypse-
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
What strange memory serves this fate?
Why the silly sheep has lost its way?
In subterranean dungeon lies the secret,
Guarded by the wicked wolf, they say.
The Oracle of the high priest,
Along the testaments of old gods,
Has told the tale of an Apocalypse,
A due judgement against our odds.
The sulfurous land has grew a thorn,
Right in the sane hearts of men,
Like a wildfire in a scorched summer,
The lost sheep led to the lion's den.
Through these seasonal dark days,
The pristine shots of old Bourbon and the sour taste of a lemon squeeze,
Over the pages of a forgotten book,
Were now the ghost under cease.
For this old eyes has seen the waves,
That broke us down like a beach tree,
With nature bells once we played,
Now they became our arch enemy.
Through civilizations we pursued,
Shallow contemporaries and history,
We forged nuclear swords on wooden fields,
And reap the fruits of downhill misery.
We treasured the featherbrained ways to progress,
And recklessly stroke the beam of balance,
For we waged the song of disasters,
To now sing in this sulfurous silence.
As the blue water has turned to air,
The green leaves dyed themselves brown under drought,
The soil poisoned by the radioactive breeze,
And to our miseries, we all laughed, we all laughed.
So won't we plunder the right actions,
Course the way to a changing surface,
The secret of everlasting existence,
Lies in the red flames of the old furnace.
The sheep was rescued by mere chances,
For the lion was not yet born,
For this looming night is still to come,
As the world hangs on that silly thorn.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Hear the cries of women. Hear the screams of men.
Listen. They will never scream and cry again.
Screaming, running, terrified, as Hell-fire fills the skies.
Ignited by the greed of Man. Fueled by hate and lies.
No where to run. No where to go. Running, screaming, lost.
Accumulating land and gold, no matter what the cost.
Ten thousand years and counting. The story oft the same.
Accumulating land and gold, sometimes in God’s own name.
Ten thousand years and counting. The weapons more mature.
But in the hands of jealous men, will never be the cure.
Jealous men seek riches from a world they must despise.
And now run screaming, terrified, as Hell-fire fills the skies.
Phil Lindsey 6/17/15
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC