"kamikazes" poems - Hello Poetry

**A ravaged beauty - long threatened tired life, riding appreciated** Friday’s off-road cycle ride started late with a heart-choking chill head-wind blown rain - blurring my glassed vision, so I trusted into the triple lanes of colours slicing through the Vale of Neath. Here a builder’s ladder jumped boomeranging off it's white van - attempting to decapitate me - behind me it’s miss was announced by squealing brakes and crunching impacts, scaring alive splattered visions of a flat-end and being posted within a near drain. Surviving today's devilled ribbon of the dangerous windscreen imprisoned - sitting with pub bound murderous cohorts - I found off-road safe solitude’s mountain bike path East to Coelbren - joining new, a fine yet unsigned cycle route curling around Mynydd y Drum, to open views of Cwm Tawe as I pass hunting twisting through woods a single Red Kite. Then gravities speed, circles barriers into Ystradgynlais top - a narrow ribboned descent, hemmed by cars and paved children to the rugby fields. **Senses travelogue - previously un-experienced, time spins slower** Here the trails old section points to Swansea - winding lost betwixt fields, paths, trees and roads to Cwmtawe Cycleway proper, there to pedal beside and across Afon Tawe with repeated special offers of child saddled exhaust roaring kamikazes, bicycle maiming broken glass, proudly owned attack dogs, branch hung ball-sacks of excrement, visions of the lost ripped-away steel gated stops, hacked-off wooden fences and never-there deceitful dreams of red doggy bins all disguised what passed for hidden beauty, which he called lovely ugly. *Backing-into Pontardawe to crawl away below the dark bridge, past a single inviting pub - I accompany the Tawe and it's twin a decrepit polished canal through ***** alleys - until our hero stutters, gapes then tunnels under great noisious noxious ribbons of hurtling tired....* **Pressured paced life - impossible commitments, Living organic** .

0

May 1, 2010

May 1, 2010 at 9:37 AM UTC

dj-thomas

Cwm Tawe - lovely ugly

**A ravaged beauty - long threatened tired life, riding appreciated** Friday’s off-road cycle ride started late with a heart-choking chill head-wind blown rain - blurring my glassed vision, so I trusted into the triple lanes of colours slicing through the Vale of Neath. Here a builder’s ladder jumped boomeranging off it's white van - attempting to decapitate me - behind me it’s miss was announced by squealing brakes and crunching impacts, scaring alive splattered visions of a flat-end and being posted within a near drain. Surviving today's devilled ribbon of the dangerous windscreen imprisoned - sitting with pub bound murderous cohorts - I found off-road safe solitude’s mountain bike path East to Coelbren - joining new, a fine yet unsigned cycle route curling around Mynydd y Drum, to open views of Cwm Tawe as I pass hunting twisting through woods a single Red Kite. Then gravities speed, circles barriers into Ystradgynlais top - a narrow ribboned descent, hemmed by cars and paved children to the rugby fields. **Senses travelogue - previously un-experienced, time spins slower** Here the trails old section points to Swansea - winding lost betwixt fields, paths, trees and roads to Cwmtawe Cycleway proper, there to pedal beside and across Afon Tawe with repeated special offers of child saddled exhaust roaring kamikazes, bicycle maiming broken glass, proudly owned attack dogs, branch hung ball-sacks of excrement, visions of the lost ripped-away steel gated stops, hacked-off wooden fences and never-there deceitful dreams of red doggy bins all disguised what passed for hidden beauty, which he called lovely ugly. *Backing-into Pontardawe to crawl away below the dark bridge, past a single inviting pub - I accompany the Tawe and it's twin a decrepit polished canal through ***** alleys - until our hero stutters, gapes then tunnels under great noisious noxious ribbons of hurtling tired....* **Pressured paced life - impossible commitments, Living organic** .

15

Tonight, we will sink take 8 deep breaths place a hand on your head pray that you never know pain I hope (for your sake) there is never a locomotive in your pristine living room or bloodstains on your flawless carpet I hope your mirrors never shatter into a thousand downward kamikazes glinting with deadly glory I hope these things because I know the dark side of stage-curtains I have seen the wizard. and if you can keep up the myth of bleached-out living then maybe someone can finally rest in peace

0

Jan 23, 2013

Jan 23, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC

glen-brunson

Amerigo-Meditation

Tonight, we will sink take 8 deep breaths place a hand on your head pray that you never know pain I hope (for your sake) there is never a locomotive in your pristine living room or bloodstains on your flawless carpet I hope your mirrors never shatter into a thousand downward kamikazes glinting with deadly glory I hope these things because I know the dark side of stage-curtains I have seen the wizard. and if you can keep up the myth of bleached-out living then maybe someone can finally rest in peace

22

**A ravaged beauty - long threatened tired life, riding appreciated Friday’s off-road cycle ride started late with a heart-choking chill head-wind blown rain - blurring my glassed vision, so I trusted into the triple lanes of colours slicing through the Vale of Neath. Here a builder’s ladder jumped boomeranging off it's white van - attempting to decapitate me - behind me it’s miss was announced by squealing brakes and crunching impacts, scaring alive splattered visions of a flat-end and being posted within a near drain. Surviving today's devilled ribbon of the dangerous windscreen imprisoned - sitting with pub bound murderous cohorts - I found off-road safe solitude’s mountain bike path East to Coelbren - joining new, a fine yet unsigned cycle route curling around Mynydd y Drum, to open views of Cwm Tawe as I pass hunting twisting through woods a single Red Kite. Then gravities speed, circles barriers into Ystradgynlais top - a narrow ribboned descent, hemmed by cars and paved children to the rugby fields. Senses travelogue - previously un-experienced, time spins slower Here the trails old section points to Swansea - winding lost betwixt fields, paths, trees and roads to Cwmtawe Cycleway proper, there to pedal beside and across Afon Tawe with repeated special offers of child saddled exhaust roaring kamikazes, bicycle maiming broken glass, proudly owned attack dogs, branch hung ball-sacks of excrement, visions of the lost ripped-away steel gated stops, hacked-off wooden fences and never-there deceitful dreams of red doggy bins all disguised what passed for hidden beauty, which he called lovely ugly. Backing-into Pontardawe to crawl away below the dark bridge, past a single inviting pub - I accompany the Tawe and it's twin a decrepit polished canal through ***** alleys - until our hero stutters, gapes then tunnels under great noisious noxious ribbons of hurtling tired.... Pressured paced life - impossible commitments, Living organic** .

0

May 6, 2010

May 6, 2010 at 12:54 AM UTC

dj-thomas

Cwm Tawe - lovely ugly haibun

**A ravaged beauty - long threatened tired life, riding appreciated Friday’s off-road cycle ride started late with a heart-choking chill head-wind blown rain - blurring my glassed vision, so I trusted into the triple lanes of colours slicing through the Vale of Neath. Here a builder’s ladder jumped boomeranging off it's white van - attempting to decapitate me - behind me it’s miss was announced by squealing brakes and crunching impacts, scaring alive splattered visions of a flat-end and being posted within a near drain. Surviving today's devilled ribbon of the dangerous windscreen imprisoned - sitting with pub bound murderous cohorts - I found off-road safe solitude’s mountain bike path East to Coelbren - joining new, a fine yet unsigned cycle route curling around Mynydd y Drum, to open views of Cwm Tawe as I pass hunting twisting through woods a single Red Kite. Then gravities speed, circles barriers into Ystradgynlais top - a narrow ribboned descent, hemmed by cars and paved children to the rugby fields. Senses travelogue - previously un-experienced, time spins slower Here the trails old section points to Swansea - winding lost betwixt fields, paths, trees and roads to Cwmtawe Cycleway proper, there to pedal beside and across Afon Tawe with repeated special offers of child saddled exhaust roaring kamikazes, bicycle maiming broken glass, proudly owned attack dogs, branch hung ball-sacks of excrement, visions of the lost ripped-away steel gated stops, hacked-off wooden fences and never-there deceitful dreams of red doggy bins all disguised what passed for hidden beauty, which he called lovely ugly. Backing-into Pontardawe to crawl away below the dark bridge, past a single inviting pub - I accompany the Tawe and it's twin a decrepit polished canal through ***** alleys - until our hero stutters, gapes then tunnels under great noisious noxious ribbons of hurtling tired.... Pressured paced life - impossible commitments, Living organic** .

12

David slings a rock Cop holsters a glock, Lizzie Borden packs an axe Mac he packs the knife, Billy battles with a club, Tommy’s gun is a sub Kelly’s got 1 too, Bazooka Joe Is Gum, Peter Gun not, Colt 45 is not malt Nor a horse, hand grenades, canons w/big ***** Doc Holiday had TB Rock Hudson *** James Dean crash his car,Hank Williams in his bar Natalie Wood don’t float, Cain killed brother, Juliette poison her lover, Whitey Bulger, he killed and got paid, deadman walking gets to eat Rodney King he got beat, got beat Mama Cass Elliott choked on ham 58,000 gone in Nam, 4 dead in Ohio, Kamikazes fall 1941, again 2001 Iraqi leader w/ a rope, John Belushi too much dope, C. Manson is alive Michael Jackson isn’t, Saturday night special is very ordinary Fast and furious is the crime, **** Clark just his time Pirate victims walk the plank, THINK, Next I’ll come rolling up in a tank Hear the whistle of my missile ***** Harry had the biggest The Derringer is small Smokey Bear forest fire Greek funeral is a pyre Too many +’s or -’s Is electrical surges Woman and child sing the dirges Walking dead Are zombies Fat man and Little Boy Are atom Bombies as for me in a blaze of glory BOOM

0

May 31, 2015

May 31, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC

warner-baxter

BAZOOKA JOE IS GUM

David slings a rock Cop holsters a glock, Lizzie Borden packs an axe Mac he packs the knife, Billy battles with a club, Tommy’s gun is a sub Kelly’s got 1 too, Bazooka Joe Is Gum, Peter Gun not, Colt 45 is not malt Nor a horse, hand grenades, canons w/big ***** Doc Holiday had TB Rock Hudson *** James Dean crash his car,Hank Williams in his bar Natalie Wood don’t float, Cain killed brother, Juliette poison her lover, Whitey Bulger, he killed and got paid, deadman walking gets to eat Rodney King he got beat, got beat Mama Cass Elliott choked on ham 58,000 gone in Nam, 4 dead in Ohio, Kamikazes fall 1941, again 2001 Iraqi leader w/ a rope, John Belushi too much dope, C. Manson is alive Michael Jackson isn’t, Saturday night special is very ordinary Fast and furious is the crime, **** Clark just his time Pirate victims walk the plank, THINK, Next I’ll come rolling up in a tank Hear the whistle of my missile ***** Harry had the biggest The Derringer is small Smokey Bear forest fire Greek funeral is a pyre Too many +’s or -’s Is electrical surges Woman and child sing the dirges Walking dead Are zombies Fat man and Little Boy Are atom Bombies as for me in a blaze of glory BOOM

34

heavy clouds hang loftily in the somber grayed skies as infant drops begin their proud descent tiny kamikazes upon our bare skin like kisses from butterflies the moan of muffled thunder interrupts the tremolo whispers of the rain as our naked toes dig into the earth's sticky-wet clay laughter drips from your wind-burnt lips like the droplets from your hair scents of sweet-rain and mellow-mud wafting through the air your wrinkled-prune hand nests within mine as we slosh and shiver upon rebirthed earth baptismal puddles swallowing our steps our sins begin to dry

0

Jan 9, 2012

Jan 9, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC

mary-torrez

rebirth

heavy clouds hang loftily in the somber grayed skies as infant drops begin their proud descent tiny kamikazes upon our bare skin like kisses from butterflies the moan of muffled thunder interrupts the tremolo whispers of the rain as our naked toes dig into the earth's sticky-wet clay laughter drips from your wind-burnt lips like the droplets from your hair scents of sweet-rain and mellow-mud wafting through the air your wrinkled-prune hand nests within mine as we slosh and shiver upon rebirthed earth baptismal puddles swallowing our steps our sins begin to dry

17

They throw bombs like I throw parties And it’s equally hit and miss Often a mess, never a success And still we throw and throw They have Molotov cocktails, While I serve the regular kind They’ll bomb your mind to pieces While I serve peace of mind. No bloodshed but ****** Mary, No barbarian, but Cosmopolitan And my Irish Car Bombs and Kamikazes Don’t bring death, but only fun And the Paradise I’m aiming for Contains gin instead of virgins And Nixon doesn’t feed the flames But keeps us frisky with its whiskey So we’ll keep on throwing parties And they’ll keep on throwing bombs And we’ll keep on serving cocktails Just to keep our conscience numb

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Oct 7, 2015

Oct 7, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC

oscar-mann

Here's to peace

They throw bombs like I throw parties And it’s equally hit and miss Often a mess, never a success And still we throw and throw They have Molotov cocktails, While I serve the regular kind They’ll bomb your mind to pieces While I serve peace of mind. No bloodshed but ****** Mary, No barbarian, but Cosmopolitan And my Irish Car Bombs and Kamikazes Don’t bring death, but only fun And the Paradise I’m aiming for Contains gin instead of virgins And Nixon doesn’t feed the flames But keeps us frisky with its whiskey So we’ll keep on throwing parties And they’ll keep on throwing bombs And we’ll keep on serving cocktails Just to keep our conscience numb

20

Tell me about the dream; *where you found yourself surrounded in a sandy vacancy and the sweat on your face glistened like wishes in a American fountain;* Tell me about the dream; *Where you saw the remains of the house your mother grew up in And how you were amazed by the black shade that skeletons could take;* Tell me about the dream; *Not the dream you had when you slept all night wanting to go back inside to your mother’s womb; the dream about the inconsistency of light in your apartment;* Tell me about the dream; *When you were five in Philadelphia, it was snowing like bed sheets like falling stars like— I can’t remember; is it amnesia— no I just can’t remember;* Tell me about the dream; Where rain kamikazes across your windows; shattering themselves into millions, for the sun to take back Tell me about the dream; *The inconsistencies of light; how a bulb dying is similar to us; the way Its flashes in front of itself just before it goes dark;*

0

Nov 3, 2014

Nov 3, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC

harrison-yang

The Problem With The Sun

Tell me about the dream; *where you found yourself surrounded in a sandy vacancy and the sweat on your face glistened like wishes in a American fountain;* Tell me about the dream; *Where you saw the remains of the house your mother grew up in And how you were amazed by the black shade that skeletons could take;* Tell me about the dream; *Not the dream you had when you slept all night wanting to go back inside to your mother’s womb; the dream about the inconsistency of light in your apartment;* Tell me about the dream; *When you were five in Philadelphia, it was snowing like bed sheets like falling stars like— I can’t remember; is it amnesia— no I just can’t remember;* Tell me about the dream; Where rain kamikazes across your windows; shattering themselves into millions, for the sun to take back Tell me about the dream; *The inconsistencies of light; how a bulb dying is similar to us; the way Its flashes in front of itself just before it goes dark;*

17

it is silent in the house, in the wee hours of black morning no sound affronts my ears but the gentle tap tap tapping of a few stray rain droplets who have made their escape falling down down down the vault of the heavens to fulfill their life purpose; like kamikazes they bravely take the fatal plunge into the abyss the sky groans as an airliner cuts through and I hear a new sound: or am I hearing it at all? more than audible - it becomes tangible the steady rising thump from my chest a wild song of native tribe pounds on the taut skin inside of me beating beating beat - tap beating a cry, no louder than a whisper is the melancholy melody an infinitesimal sliver, like a keyhole of rising Golden light

0

Aug 8, 2013

Aug 8, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC

tilly-1

sounds of night: a melancholy melody

it is silent in the house, in the wee hours of black morning no sound affronts my ears but the gentle tap tap tapping of a few stray rain droplets who have made their escape falling down down down the vault of the heavens to fulfill their life purpose; like kamikazes they bravely take the fatal plunge into the abyss the sky groans as an airliner cuts through and I hear a new sound: or am I hearing it at all? more than audible - it becomes tangible the steady rising thump from my chest a wild song of native tribe pounds on the taut skin inside of me beating beating beat - tap beating a cry, no louder than a whisper is the melancholy melody an infinitesimal sliver, like a keyhole of rising Golden light

23

My Prozac Princess Shooting Kamikazes I admit, I'm emotionally unavailable You keep looking at the time And you've become obstreperous Looking for press coverage and putting the peanuts in size order I go over your poorly hidden fragility While I work the graveyard shift

0

Jun 20, 2014

Jun 20, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC

tommy-johnson

Prozac Princess

My Prozac Princess Shooting Kamikazes I admit, I'm emotionally unavailable You keep looking at the time And you've become obstreperous Looking for press coverage and putting the peanuts in size order I go over your poorly hidden fragility While I work the graveyard shift

8

the movers the shakers the doers the bakers the candle stick and rocket ship makers a race of captains setting course on circles of pyres bereft of remorse parsing madness with words in reasons on reasons giving life meaning against inner treasons founded on tissue thin mental accumulations biases and ticks and vague assimilations with subconscious shadows over Palimpsest traces we are convinced we know our places building the self on struggling riffs captains of the dual navigating ships occupying armies assassins lens horrible secrets terrible rends are we not in control making choices weighing and calibrating hearing whos voices thinking there our own between good and bad but outcomes are crazy dragging mad do we choose thoughts from shrunken forms from rotten gods in darkest storms or perhaps possessed by invisible believers pulp hearted creatures pulling our leavers that possess our soul choose for you what you think and what you do emanations from spheres through our core to our brain ephemeral forces a patinaed, puce stained skyway of cruelty kamikazes dread goon gods crossing each other poxed ash moon can we stop reflexing with brazen compulsions can we stop lying with wrenched emotions can we defy the elements make someone care transcend all that harms and bring love to bare can we shed all we know choose to move on and choose to let go are we trapped in space and time will we not struggle Sisyphean blind or are we mere avatars in a game from x box acting out our program like a hunted down fox we have five senses to get through the day with infinitely more we could smooth out our way brains like thumb stumps form violence and hell hooves of dragons we buy and sell what is a puppet it moves as its pulled by forces beyond it is that why we are fooled are we deluded that we are the doer's could we be puppet souls of gods that are losers

0

Aug 12, 2016

Aug 12, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC

zebrablack

Puppet Souls

the movers the shakers the doers the bakers the candle stick and rocket ship makers a race of captains setting course on circles of pyres bereft of remorse parsing madness with words in reasons on reasons giving life meaning against inner treasons founded on tissue thin mental accumulations biases and ticks and vague assimilations with subconscious shadows over Palimpsest traces we are convinced we know our places building the self on struggling riffs captains of the dual navigating ships occupying armies assassins lens horrible secrets terrible rends are we not in control making choices weighing and calibrating hearing whos voices thinking there our own between good and bad but outcomes are crazy dragging mad do we choose thoughts from shrunken forms from rotten gods in darkest storms or perhaps possessed by invisible believers pulp hearted creatures pulling our leavers that possess our soul choose for you what you think and what you do emanations from spheres through our core to our brain ephemeral forces a patinaed, puce stained skyway of cruelty kamikazes dread goon gods crossing each other poxed ash moon can we stop reflexing with brazen compulsions can we stop lying with wrenched emotions can we defy the elements make someone care transcend all that harms and bring love to bare can we shed all we know choose to move on and choose to let go are we trapped in space and time will we not struggle Sisyphean blind or are we mere avatars in a game from x box acting out our program like a hunted down fox we have five senses to get through the day with infinitely more we could smooth out our way brains like thumb stumps form violence and hell hooves of dragons we buy and sell what is a puppet it moves as its pulled by forces beyond it is that why we are fooled are we deluded that we are the doer's could we be puppet souls of gods that are losers

92

Cuando los japoneses adquirieron el rockefeller center ellos que tienen geishas y la sony y samurais y teatro no y kamikazes y kurosawa y matsuo basho y panasonic y aprenden flamenco por computadora y pueden cantar tangos sin entender palabra cuando los japoneses adquirieron el rockefeller center supe que por fin había empezado la sutilísima la dulce venganza de hiroshima

0

343

Mario Benedetti

Rencor mi viejo rencor

Cuando los japoneses adquirieron el rockefeller center ellos que tienen geishas y la sony y samurais y teatro no y kamikazes y kurosawa y matsuo basho y panasonic y aprenden flamenco por computadora y pueden cantar tangos sin entender palabra cuando los japoneses adquirieron el rockefeller center supe que por fin había empezado la sutilísima la dulce venganza de hiroshima

13

i'll show you... the meaning of blood-money - die blutgeld! i'll show you for what you really are, frivolous debters, frivolschuldners! die deutsche machen wie viel wie jude-mensch sparen geld... kamikazes of debt.. i'm not repaying my student loan, not unless i am employed by a chemical company... no! **** you! i'm not paying a penny back, unless i'm working in a chemical company! no! **** you! **** a lemon and then attempt a smile! o.k. o.k. squint with our eyes an attempt at a smile... funny... the spaniards have eyes that smile ( ( even if their lips don't engage an ) parabolla... evidently two negatives make up a +... i always prefer seeing smiling if not laughing eyes, than the orthodoxy of the mouth faking it... i prefer truth-telling eyes than than the mimic of lying lips and mouth... spaniard's eyes don't lie when they're clearly laughing, joyous... ( ( for when a man cries, his eyes are "smiling" ) ), wimbledon final, muguruza... doesn't she have the perfect smiling eyes ( ( ? she does... she doesn't even require using her mouth to smile, her eyes are already smiling... its a spanish trait... no other ethnicity has that potency to create a smile with its eyes... equation: ) + ) + | = a northern lament ( + ( + | = a spanish smile... <>: and that's a rhombus.

0

Jul 14, 2017

Jul 14, 2017 at 9:52 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

in the eyes: a spanish smile ( (

i'll show you... the meaning of blood-money - die blutgeld! i'll show you for what you really are, frivolous debters, frivolschuldners! die deutsche machen wie viel wie jude-mensch sparen geld... kamikazes of debt.. i'm not repaying my student loan, not unless i am employed by a chemical company... no! **** you! i'm not paying a penny back, unless i'm working in a chemical company! no! **** you! **** a lemon and then attempt a smile! o.k. o.k. squint with our eyes an attempt at a smile... funny... the spaniards have eyes that smile ( ( even if their lips don't engage an ) parabolla... evidently two negatives make up a +... i always prefer seeing smiling if not laughing eyes, than the orthodoxy of the mouth faking it... i prefer truth-telling eyes than than the mimic of lying lips and mouth... spaniard's eyes don't lie when they're clearly laughing, joyous... ( ( for when a man cries, his eyes are "smiling" ) ), wimbledon final, muguruza... doesn't she have the perfect smiling eyes ( ( ? she does... she doesn't even require using her mouth to smile, her eyes are already smiling... its a spanish trait... no other ethnicity has that potency to create a smile with its eyes... equation: ) + ) + | = a northern lament ( + ( + | = a spanish smile... <>: and that's a rhombus.

48