"blaster" poems
Oh how I wish I was a Jedi Pirate.
Can you imagine how bad *** that would be?
Dressed in awesome sea faring garb
and carrying a lightsaber and blaster on my side.
I know that jedis stand for justice and peace and siths stand for emotion and power.
I can't pick a side.
So I guess I'll stay in the middle.
I'll sail the cosmic seas
and feel the force within the breeze.
With a bottle of *** in my hand
and force lightning at my command.
God that would be ******* awesome.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
lonely chord tired guitar play
soul numb as callous fingers
heart hollow as sea rusted string
flat wrought steel,
peeled off tire
fire face melted
fleeting garish glimpse of starch shirt 60s
itchy lice life like gene spliced flight patterns
bioengineered space age
Han Solo with (hold) full o'Spice
Synthetic Cannabinoids sprayed on Marshmallow leaf ruin life
Chewie grab the bowcaster, ill grab the glock foe blaster
Smash, mash and crashed'er like Britons of Lancaster
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 3:04 AM UTC
let’s go a little bit farther
a little bit harder
let’s do things you’d never think to tell your father
your mom already hates me
but it's not approval that i'm after
not the girl you love but you simply have to have her
***** life changing
anti gun
pro finger blaster
Jan 15, 2025
Jan 15, 2025 at 4:15 PM UTC
mister master
sister slapped her
grabbed your ***
faster faster
broken plaster
alabaster
poked your ****
faster faster
ester asked her
my disaster
grinning grins
faster faster
blister blaster
such a *******
smacked your mom
and faster faster
flushed her flashed her
dropped my pants sir
kiss my ***
faster faster
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 6:05 PM UTC
Dead bee
The moss grows round it
Water spray
Purify it
Pest is relative
Coming from where?
The cat stretches
Common sense
Rock bottom
Delve deeper, come on
There’s no soul here
Empty it out
Start again
Transcend yourself
Transcend transcendence
So yeah, there was a gardener
Wielding a pressure blaster
Which ripped the moss from its roots
The sun peaked
And the moss turned dust
Because the aesthetics of the pavement
Supersede existence
Who the **** cares?
Dead bee on the pavement
Blast it into the bushes
It depresses the school children
A hedgehog rots in the gutter
Flies lay eggs in its flesh
And create a home
Isn’t that beautiful?
What the **** did the moss get?
“China would have done this in a day”
My father says
Watching road workers rip apart asphalt
“It’s quite nice, though”
Looking into the concrete river
As mayflies hatch deformed
Due to the heat from the channel
Half the students stare at their toes
Wishing they were cuter
Stronger
Smarter
Because narcissism has become the new desire
Things are rotting everywhere
But we pretend they’re normal
**** man, rock bottom
The children pick up the bees
And stick them in their mouths
Until the moss completely coats their hearts
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
There he goes bidding good bye..
and people here take a long sigh..
when they roll down his records which are so high!
He was born a different kind.
With his shining glory visible even to the blind,
his name itself calms down a terrible person's mind.
He is a man with an amazing sense of purpose
n the owner of a distinct personality
In whom patience and simplicity is bestowed immeasurably..
And that's all which led him to the title of GOD
Who miracles the world of cricket with bat n ball!
Here I bid him bye
Along with million other fans
Who alike me can't think of a match sans that man.
A thunderstorm will seize this day,
and we have a zillion words of thanks to say,
Who turned our life in this memorable way..
And this is my wish for him on this last game.
There wouldn't be any man who can erase your name
Cos,
the rest only seek fame!
You are the one, who won million hearts,prayers..
You have aspired to inspire.
Here we end that wonderful tale of a great man
Which budded here in our land of India.
And this tale is unbeatable and unrepeatable
Cos there's none who has set their sail as he did. :)
(C)SharonThomas
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
Scream a bit louder
I love to hear you suffer
Begin crying harder
Weren't you a lot tougher?
This won't end up as usual
You will not win again
This moment is just crucial
Tonight your life I'll take
Bang! Start running
You have 5 minutes to hide
After that I'll commence chasing
After that you will be mine
I load my gun and put my boots
Hunting season has begun
You can hide and hold your breath,
I will find you anyway
Run and run faster
Youre only making this game better
Can you hear the blaster?
Kneel down, idolize your master.
This, my friend
This, is my sweet revenge.
Bang!
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 11:31 AM UTC
It's loud.
Violet, Blue, and Green lights
scatter across the floor,
across a canvas of house music,
echoing back into itself.
She crawls towards me,
wearing only poorly inked tattoos
and the lights that kiss us all.
I touch myself,
wishing it was her.
- I leave the room,
the music fading away,
like retreating from
sound-carrying-birds -
The smoke that comes from the cigarette
forms a skeletal web, reaching for the moon.
With rain slapping the dark brick walls,
hugging and creating an alley reminiscent
of a salivating, crooked-cement mouth,
I stand drenched in silver forgotten.
I drop the cigarette in a petrol-colored puddle,
watching it sink, become hard to distinguish,
and fade away.
- I reenter the room,
the song has changed
and is more mechanical. -
It's loud.
The lights are now
Bubblegum, Aqua, and Tangerine.
She lays supine, watching dollars
drift down, slowly, almost frozen.
Then the splitting of the air.
Fat-Man's body does a half-spin
as I lodge a bullet into his obese shoulder.
The music still blares, almost meaning more, now.
Regrouping himself, Fat-Man is weaponized,
drawing a greasy, inky blaster, desperate to spit.
A supernova erupts and quickly disappears--
like the aftermath of blowing birthday candles--
as his black speckled, crewcut scalp peels back,
letting fragments of chalky skull and pink penne
***** out of his square, boxed head.
Blood appears black under these lights
and instantly whips across
Samantha's still supine body.
The remaining people in the room
scatter like light exposed roaches.
Haunted, she is a toppled statue.
My steps move with the rhythm of the song.
Fat-Man's leather jacket
holds more meat than some mouths.
I plant my hand inside all pockets, find $6,480
in greasy, bloodier-than-usual presidents,
and move towards her, with the music.
Crouching beside her, I wipe the blood.
I clean her pale, tense torso
and help her up.
On two painted feet, she looks detached.
Silence exists, now, despite the music,
while she studies me with the same brown eyes.
Her lips quiver, she remembers
and wraps me with much thinner arms
that used to exist in nothing but memory.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 6:51 PM UTC
When you hear the opening credits
And you hear the audiences reply
Some softly sigh
To fill that void
To see the lightsabers flash
It glow soaring through the air
The sound of a blaster
Filling the galaxy
A planet imploding
In one quick blast
Crying to see your favorite character die
It's amazing
And I love to see
The millennium falcon fly
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
Even in the dark hours this gal is gone.
Where could she have gone?
Tempting me to bite off more than I can chew.
She leaves me vacant and blue.
Many saints have joined the cause like the huddled masses.
Buckle down all that moves just as you fasten in the molasses.
They laugh just to avoid a disaster.
Like wind from a ghetto blaster.
For on this night she seeks something great.
Something that grows mold and takes up the plate.
But where has she gone today?
Come and gone like the summer rain.
Has she taken it that far again?
For all the years I spent.
She is out there living it up in the sunny sky.
While me and the others sit idly by.
She is also living those nights great.
If she wants to make this date do not be late.
Here is a secret only the closest would know.
They will deliver the decisive blow.
She will bask as a social pro.
Climbing and climbing until she gets to the top.
One day she will be talking so much her head will pop!
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Pleasure-casting sensations
a flash of lightning shivering through the dark
and storm-watchers huddle together as the world breaks up above their heads
Spinning intricacies in tapestries of fate
letting whispers just pass them by
until the next strike reaches earth
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 8:15 AM UTC
When people say no I want it more
If they say I cant ill prove them wrong
Doing things that they say couldnt be done
Feeding those urges being confident
Hated for the truth
Brushed aside for being honest
Give my all and come up short
I hate that feeling
Im thankful and appreciate change
My motto dont fall back into bad habits
Be better never settle for average
Be the best live life to the fullest
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
I'm the *** gas blaster master
Spreading ***** matter like a natural disaster
Silent like a ninja leaving you no escape
This thick invisible cloud rolls across your face
Take a deep breath for a wif and a taste
Don't procrastinate or let this opportunity go to waste
Critic's say my rhyme sounds like ****
It's more like the precursor to the porcelain brown-eyed split
Rising up with the release of ****** heat
As it cools and falls back like a secondary treat
Your hand waves like a fan totally disgusted
Not considering the beneficial repercussions
Super charged positive bacteria increasing the diversity of your bio gut eco system
Scientifically proven to increase your mental health and overall physical condition
Think of it as a pharmaceutical emission
Relax and release the funk with a smile
No need to set yourself on a moral trial
Remember you are sharing little bits of me
Making the world a healthier place to be.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 8:18 AM UTC
No one to hold my fears.
No sanctity for my tears.
When I cry, it goes deep
into my system, lays down
beside my visions; oils my dreams, powers the machine
of my body.
God
allow me the strength to survive,
to strive,
to struggle,
to climb, to love,
to live a breathless life.
Even though I feel
sadness, I know
it wells from a good place
in my soul.
Uncomfortable without my tears.
So,
I may not be a blaster,
or a boxer,
or a firefighter,
but I've learned
to control my explosions,
take my punches when they come,
and let my eyes fall
to water the fires
that lick on all sides.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
I stand in the centre of the
construction site. hearing
drilling,
jackhammering,
shouting,
and filling the gaps between
all these sounds:
the consistent thump of a
boom blaster
spitting and jumping as if
asking everything to
dance, rave with it.
I say a prayer to Ronnie
James Dio, and contemplate
the thin, thin line between
dubstep, and sitting -mouth
wide open- under an angry, insane
dentist.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC
At times I'm as high as high can get,
I'll let you know, so don't forget.
I'm lost in the city of my mindset
And somewhere between life and death.
I tell you all I can tell
But when the opportunity comes I know that I'll sell
And get rid of the words that I spell
Until I empty me out of myself
Until my brain starts to swell,
Oh I know this all too well.
I can't remember when my hat wasn't full
My head's so big it should have it's own capitol,
And can't remember when I wasn't incalculable,
Having no care was something so masterful,
-And disaster-full -
I wish I was a kid sitting down to play blaster ball,
Because on days when I sit and think
I think that thinking only brings me closer to the brink
And I sink into the very thought of starting to sink
And I drown myself into thoughts even well into sleep!
I was a kid way well into life cycles
Too bad I left it alone with my bicycles,
Because I'm driving around like I'm driving without a head
And the only way time stops is if I'm lying dead.
Oh I know time too well,
Oh ask him a secret, I know that he won't tell,
Oh I'm sick of selling out at the sound of the doorbell
But time has me chasing it's tail like it's a jail cell.
Someone save me from time and it's cartel,
Before I end up like those who couldn't tell when the floor fell.
I know time too well,
I know time too well,
I know time too well,
I know this cycle of time in a nut shell,
Someone get me out of this cycling stairwell.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC
I can't seem to catch a break
My luck is marred by misfortune
I pass the dance squads grooving to tunes coming out of their ghetto blaster
Shaved ice and snow cones
Party foul!
Lamps busted get an adhesive
They went sightseeing
Dabbling in the art of hiking
More or less wandering
It may sound off putting to some
He is a delightful chap
He's good with wingnuts and transistors
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls
Cut up the buckwheat
For an incomparable meal
Empty out the ashtrays and spittoons
The epilogues of habits
Solve improper fractions
You got nothing else better to do
Recite the silicone soliloquy
Fritter away the votes for the popularity contest
Because you've spoken your mind
Here comes The Pony Express
Here I come looking disheveled
We're all onions, peel back the layers and look for yourself
Play it by ear
We can hear you panting
The lazy work horse
With a hostile mentality
And portentous attitude
Go alphabetize the tiles in the bathroom
"Crime is common, logic is rare"
But she has defied that statement
When she waltzed in, and looked for the emergency exits
And found a sense of humor amongst her latchkey misery and love life tragedies
As the clueless boys on blue try to fill their quota
And the ones in deep thought assess situations
While putting lipstick on pigs in a blanket
During the inspection of a chalk line ****** scene
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
Slow smooth beats
easy as a wave coming to shore
on a trip around the world
a genesis of a whisper
a tea kettle song
I hum along
engaging at mach speed
the sky swallows me whole
and whisks away my joker's heart
I stand in a limitless ocean
dreaming of drinking the sky
if I could only live
as large as my soul
and fly
This soap box
becomes a boat without a paddle
and I row where the tides flow easiest
waving to the smiling faces and
the emptiness all the same
We have a good laugh,
the dice comes up snake eyes
and I tell the dealer
I'm the richest man in Babylon
although my pockets are empty
my smile remains,
that crooked deal
always at the last will make you shudder and groan
wondering why another hand
Aces come up straight sometimes
and your game
riding high for another mile long fall
The air rushes by
but I don't blush
Tell me again you don't love me,
you, you
misunderstand me
my friend
I'm the beggar on the street singin' broken tune
with a full cup and no change
slack eyed and the blues
my cradle to grave lullaby
mixed with the ecstatic wails of a lunatic
swimming in a puddle of God
the fever touched my bones
I am blameless
my throat and heart see the truth
and speak in convulsions
of misshapen glory
the bed was soaked in sweat,
can't you remember?
Repent,
with my lips
I don't know how,
and could never,
I'll eat every sin
and spit out bones of gold
I'll drink every misery
and cry tears of wild joy
I'll stand at the shores end
and dance to the crowning sunset
leaping from the last battered watchtower
drown, drown
in blue neon
psychedelic bioluminescence
Sinking further into the mix of clay
every gamble lost and won in the same throw
I can't fulfill any other destiny
a blind man walking without a stick
I just call to the birds and the bees
bring me sweet honey ambrosia
and they usually come
There's no escape
the long cold night comes too
and my body lays into another bed
with without a warm body to hold
a stream of lovers touching my hands
but we slip any grip
that tries to hold
a human master
but the end
******** ayahuasca
master blaster
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
The moment is near, anticipation grips like a vice ,as I tense my legs to spring into action.
A worn out plastic blaster in one hand and a cell phone flash light in the other,
they will never know what hit them.
Still when my attack ruins the day I am at a loss.
I regroup and try again to enter
their world,
where colors are brighter and the hours of play with out end.
Finally, I get my battle,
fight until I am out of breath from laughter,
and die happily in theatrics beneath the blow up mattress
currently serving as a Jedi star ship.
Precious few are the days,
and ever closer the battles end.
Our fields of war are exchanged for
ever spanning phone calls,
visits at Christmas.
For now I will regroup
and attack again at dawn.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
www.firesermon.com
by Michael R. Burch
your gods have become e-vegetation;
your saints—pale thumbnail icons; to enlarge
their images, right-click; it isn’t hard
to populate your web-site; not to mention
cool sound effects are nice; Sound Blaster cards
can liven up dull sermons, [zing some fire];
your drives need added Zip; you must discard
your balky paternosters: *** Desire!!!
these are the watchwords, catholic; you must
as Yahoo! did, employ a little lust :)
if you want great e-commerce; hire a bard
to spruce up ancient language, shed the dust
of centuries of sameness;
lameness *****
your gods grew blurred; go 3D; scale; adjust.
Published by Ironwood, Triplopia and Nisqually Delta Review. This poem pokes fun at several stages of "religion," all tied into Eliot's "Fire Sermon," albeit elliptically. (1) The Celts believed that the health of the land was tied to the health of its king. The Fisher King's land was in peril because he had an infirmity (lameness, infertility, it really didn't matter in those days). One bad harvest and it was the king's fault for displeasing the gods. A religious icon (the Grail) could somehow rescue him. Strange logic! (2) The next stage brings us the saints, the Catholic church, etc. Millions are slaughtered, tortured and enslaved in the name of religion. Strange logic! (3) The next stage brings us to Darwin, modernism and "The Waste Land.” Religion is dead. God is dead. Man is a glorified fungus! Long live Darwin! We'll evolve into something better adapted to life on Earth, someday (if we don’t destroy it first). But what do we have now, except a hangover? Strange logic! (4) The current stage of religion is perhaps summed up by this e-mail: the only way religion can compete today is as a form of flashy entertainment. ***** a website before it's too late! Keywords/Tags: god, gods, religion, saints, icons, images, imagery, update, scale, adjust
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 5:14 AM UTC
If there's a God up there
he must be sleeping and
keeping the best bits
'til the last,
But there's a new Master,pumping
out verse on a second hand ghetto blaster,
I heard it at five from the
newscaster and the pastors are checking the terms of their contracts,the vicars have packed up and gone off to Butlins,saving some sins from the high church,Jehovah is perched on the bed post,hosting a party fresh in from the West coast,toasting the end of the East side,
I think the newscaster lied.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
We experience xenogenesis
A horse births a Pegasus
Metamorphosis
Of a horse in mist
It starts to get ******
Adding its colt to its list
Of things it won't miss
Pick a side
To abide
Be a bride
Of the tide
Of our pride
That divides
Listen to me
Glisteningly
Christening thee
As all I can see
So strangers flee
Ending my need
To follow their lead
Roundtable
Clowns label
A painful angle
Of Cain and Abel
By cutting cables
Becoming stable
By turning tables
On their fellow man
Making a bellow band
Of the yellow brand
For this well of sand
Has the smell of demand
Creating the hell at hand
It's a figment
Or a signet
Of a big net
A pig let
On a rigged bet
For a jig jet
Band of brothers
Versus others
Killing colors
Paint by numbers
Tainted slumber
Heart of lumber
That they sunder
Then they wonder
Why we're under
All of their vision
Is in a jingoism
Single prism
Decision
Of derision
No precision
To their incisions
The faithful fractions
Of fateful factions
Don't face their actions
But race to reaction
At the pace of passion
To their racist bastion
Darkened tracks
Harken back
To white and black
Skies of flak
From the attacks
Of baritone blaster
Carrion caster
Natural disasters
Killing our pastors
Becoming our masters
So we'd die faster
Counterculture vultures
And contrarian poachers
Convince the loafers
They'll be heard
If they say the right word
Diamonds assured
In a deal absurd
They promise ailment mending
But it's a clever sale sending
A fairytale ending
Of only people we love
And God up above
Nodding in approval
Of the other's removal
So the problem's renewal
Is an unbreakable jewel
These xenophobic aerobics
Corroded and loaded
Us into a low den
Where we're so dead
We can't use our own head
So we make our own bed
And we make it with dread
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
When I was young
And a stranger to the world,
With an empty canvas of imaginings
And rhymes,
A fiery red blaster at my hip,
My spirit submitting to the innocence;
My remembrance holds in its selective
Elegance an always evolving memory,
Distinct and treasured
And my soul renders itself
To the innocence of the
The infinite possibilities
Of the moment.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC