Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"blowback" poems
The marchers make their way today through town to Cardiff Bay with whistles, shouts and banners up for sweet old Mary Jane they're marching for her freedom all ages, colours, creeds have come in joyful spirits to help us free the ****  The rich, the poor, the movers and shakers the blowback kings and part-time partakers the rollers, the tokers, the bongers and such the teenage goth stoners who've had way too much skin up as they march while making their point and meet up with new friends while sharing a joint. Then down at the bay side when the bands start to play they'll **** in the sunshine till the end of the day.
0
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
Sweet Mary Jane
This is it The end Single serve Apocalypse I'm staring into the center of a future One I can never have My wants and dreams become alight All that I cherish Ash The bite hits Infection erupts Tearing me down like an atom bomb Obliterating all that I hope to be As the light of the blowback fades All goes dark Blacker than the grave I may crawl from Empty But there's you My light The only thing keeping me afloat At least until I have to fall These final moments can be one of sorrow Or a happiness I know will shatter I stare into your eyes and words fail Cowardice So I lie Con you Pull you into my arms and simply pray That you don't smell the blood Because I know despair is coming Marked special for you You will share my darkness, so I'll share your Light A few hours That's it My time is quickly eroding My mind is slowly decaying My body will be playing catch-up Your love soothes me, bittersweet lullabye So I go with my friendly executioner who saves my soul Bang
0
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
Final Hours
~for Philip Larkin~ Soundless dark of wakeful night panic thrills the heart and chokes the mind with dread of dying of lying dead - white marble stone dead - passed beyond self to nothingness and nowhere. Just energy burst free, blowback to the godless Universe body to ashes atoms, and nothing more. © M.L.Emmett
0
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
Ashes, Atoms and Nothing More
I braced for the sound, the inevitable blast that would deafen my ears and jolt my nerves they came streaming out in my words every syllable sounded like rounds from the chamber as i released my anger I hate who I become when you spit your venom and load my gun the magazine full of thoughts of discontent shells of spite and resent your words push your fingers to pull my trigger itching dangerously close to setting off my uncontrollable rage I try putting my mouth on safe holding the rounds at bay yet they pour out one after another we're poison for each other I'm sick, weak in the knees as these words continue to release each time your words pull that trigger and squeeze the blowback nearly knocks me off my feet I hear the distinct buzz of being too close to the boom in the center of the room my fingers pointing at you to blame, you're the reason I explode I'm too weak, these words too heavy to reload I hate who I've become when you fill my thoughts with this ammo and turn me into this gun
0
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
Trigger
I'm writing sideways So I can use these lines As a windscreen From the blowback From ratting The universe out I think we're a hernia Erupted from some other place A bent band erupting in matter of fact I'm right So there Unsupposed to be we are Do we live on the friction's... Are we... Aye there's the rub Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis
0
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 6:02 PM UTC
Opportunist
I'm bleeding On the outside While scarring On the inside, Calloused heart Like the hands of a farmer No longer Finding blisters From the need, Every encounter That left me Nursing wounds A defenseless soul In a harsh urban world, Trying to love Without blowback, But a back draft Always waited Behind doors That burned With desires On short fuses, A shower of sparks; Short lived fireworks Of temporary emotions, To which I could only relate to In words, Words that couldn't hold their own Against the fires Of the ****** Lonely spirits In this crowded world... APAD13 - 151 © okpoet
0
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Blisters...
Heart attacks, en masse I wear a mask when I relapse- Dumb *** The laugh track’s scratched. Tied a knot out of my tongue, instead of the cherry stem. It’s so sad... how when I fall apart, It’s like I needed that; the blowback, From a shot through the mouth into a brainstem. The hole that starts in my nose ‘cause I snort things that erode- The soul, and leave my bones to hold a fetal pose. My brain recites such delicate prose, Whispered to me by the specter of your notes. A voice I no longer know… Where’d you go? My head’s a black hole. This grey matter’s decomposed. I’m scared to death, talking 'bout “Ruh-rohs” and “Hell nos!” Trying to outrun your ghost but, I’m stuck inside smoke Os... Scattered across the ozone, Riddled with “I don’t knows” I want to exorcise my heart, But I don’t want to be alone. -SLuR
0
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 1:54 PM UTC
Who said a heart was like rehab?
She is more than just when she is here or when she is away she is night in a world where it could never be day; The force of the world, the force of the blowback when the earth would sway Warning the burn to stay away, Small fires on fire burning lives on a pyre the raven above, the condemned below She shouldn't have whispered she ought to know- the ink on the page is blurry, though a journey in its depths A world knee-deep in thick India ink now sunk up to its breast And before the drowning came the will to swim and before the fall, the flight An eternity trapped in flesh captured in the rim torture and prison between love and plight And, oh, what a treacherous night, for when the wind blows, it blows without reach, nor wane nor warn to the furthest beach Where the moons kiss the stars closed care on opened scars The wheels are turning in no direction unaware that they are part of cars So to the human; the universe a play millions of times rehearsed and while they speak of beings more well-versed we bury our young in cloths and parties, cold, terse- Terse is the judge when its judgement is by the sun or the sky or the problem kids What not to see is all what more to say no use to wipe the ink away and so the book is thrown Jostled down the stairs and out and into the hands of people with and without care The way the wind so shakes the shack a brick on the bay, a structure of that which begins and ends with laughter and then with death to old friends The story that lived, the story that died; the one which failed to record who had survived The end was there on a ghastly ship the crew amongst which floated gauntly and though they were brave, their souls were concave, And the depths below them read as their new heights New heights for souls injured in injurious fights the plight of such was love and light, and she was not the day, for she was the night -n.a.
0
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
Untitled
She is more than just when she is here or when she is away she is night in a world where it could never be day; The force of the world, the force of the blowback when the earth would sway Warning the burn to stay away, Small fires on fire burning lives on a pyre the raven above, the condemned below She shouldn't have whispered she ought to know- the ink on the page is blurry, though a journey in its depths A world knee-deep in thick India ink now sunk up to its breast And before the drowning came the will to swim and before the fall, the flight An eternity trapped in flesh captured in the rim torture and prison between love and plight And, oh, what a treacherous night, for when the wind blows, it blows without reach, nor wane nor warn to the furthest beach Where the moons kiss the stars closed care on opened scars The wheels are turning in no direction unaware that they are part of cars So to the human; the universe a play millions of times rehearsed and while they speak of beings more well-versed we bury our young in cloths and parties, cold, terse- Terse is the judge when its judgement is by the sun or the sky or the problem kids What not to see is all what more to say no use to wipe the ink away and so the book is thrown Jostled down the stairs and out and into the hands of people with and without care The way the wind so shakes the shack a brick on the bay, a structure of that which begins and ends with laughter and then with death to old friends The story that lived, the story that died; the one which failed to record who had survived The end was there on a ghastly ship the crew amongst which floated gauntly and though they were brave, their souls were concave, And the depths below them read as their new heights New heights for souls injured in injurious fights the plight of such was love and light, and she was not the day, for she was the night -n.a.
Continue reading...
50
Saying something witty while having nothing to say Is like spitting in the wind to stay out — of the spray (Dreamsleep: March, 2025)
0
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 11:25 AM UTC
Blowback
I thought it was written in the smoke That extinguished all our jokes Filling air as we both choke On the firing line And when it was seven until I headed out west for the hill And I threw up those pills Without saying goodbye But still I will always return Like I want to get burned In a love I’ve unearned For the rest of our time I thought it was written on the wall That had cushioned my fall From the blowback assault From the one wanting you And when I gave up on the bridge I remembered your kiss And I swore off that ***** As I stumbled away
0
May 28, 2024
May 28, 2024 at 12:33 AM UTC
Boudoir Photos
my father had a sense of humor, and high hopes for his first born son. almost named me Short ‘n Sweet, cause that is how most like life. thot about calling me, **** You,** cause that is what most deserve to be told. but he didn’t want no blowback, so he he stuck me with this name, Mark Upright. all I gotta say is this and it’s short & sweet: Dad, take note, **** you, my middle finger, for you, see it, marked upright.
0
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 10:12 AM UTC
My Name is Mark Upright
Snow on the mountain top nose no course of action An inhale with nuance assures such satisfaction While blowback will cancel one an’ alls reaction by "ooznozz"
0
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
poem: Meth’d up Confusion