"missile" poems
The punitive silences,
the bad atmosphere they generate,
the mind-games they use to try to **** you in
are telltale signs of the toxic person.
It could be your in-laws, a parent, coworker, your boss or spouse,
a sibling, a roommate, boyfriend or girlfriend,
someone you want out of the house.
Toxic people want to make you miserable.
Especially if you're a decent sort, they hone in on you like a heat-seeking missile.
They spew their negativity and blame it on you.
They lie constantly, or twist the facts to suit their changing needs of the moment
and they never apologize (so don't expect an apology, ever).
With a toxic person there is no reciprocity.
They sprinkle their toxic dust on you. It makes them feel better.
Their ulterior goal is to demean you, to make you feel smaller.
They project their worst tendencies onto you,
find fault with you for traits you don't possess---
a shadow of the **** that lurks inside them.
They try to dictate the emotional atmosphere
through their attitude or twisted mood.
They drain you of your energy, bring you down,
They'll always find a reason why your good news isn't great news.
Their agenda is to cut you down to their size,
to manipulate and control
to **** you over while they play the injured party.
Confront the bully. Speak up to the manipulator, the trickster, the backstabber.
but beyond a certain point
there is no point in arguing with them.
Don't try to change the toxic person. You can't.
You'd have better luck changing an orangutan into **** sapiens.
Only a shrink could change them, and then only if they hit rock-bottom.
Don't try to justify yourself. It's a waste of time which would only draw you deeper into their net.
Set boundaries to keep their negativity in check.
Stop trying to please them.
Let that toxic somebody in your life know you're onto them
and they can't get away with it anymore.
Don't fall into their trap, don't get caught up in their life-dramas
or try to get them out of trouble. Don't let them instill guilt in you.
But try not to take their toxicity personally.
Remember, it's them, not you. You are not to blame
though they desperately want you to feel you've done something wrong.
If necessary (and if possible), delete the toxic person from your life and move on.
Know when enough is enough.
Saying good riddance doesn't necessarily mean you hate them, it means
your own well-being comes first.
Immunize yourself. Preserve your inner strength.
Set your own rules.
And, when possible, just walk away.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC
(a brief love story)
1/
The morning sun warmed the dew
from the opening rosebud;
a bee visited the fragrant heart of the rose;
the breeze tumbled a petal to the water,
drifted the pale petal across the surface of the water.
You surprised me gently.
2/
I thought - hoped - the emotional baggage
was safely in the locker,
just for once,
just overnight,
but like a Houdini homing pigeon
it escaped,
it came back.
Like a smart missile locked in on thought patterns
it found the target,
penetrated the armour,
and suddenly
just after midnight
I knew how Cinderella felt,
her new world ****** back
through the vortex,
as the life we call real returned.
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
I may not do things traditionally
But I'll get them done eventually
If they're the things that are right for me
I'll be okay and set myself free.
In this life of turbulent strife
pitted and ripe with rotten tripe
a sunlight bright pains my sight
but your soothing ice cools my vice
The aid you paid is not ready made
it gives me hope I'm not just a dope
your love is more than a pity rope,
slivered and raw it gives me splinters
But luckily i'm in for a treat
more than a friend sent to mend
oh yes, you're more, my candy store
settle my sweet tooth you randy *****
unwrap the rainbow you insane *****
ride the rhythm of my *** prism
a rod shaped crystal built like a missile
cocked locked and loaded it cant miss-ya.
explodin' and remoldin' the fabric of time
an infinite blanket wraps us entwined
in a frantic romantic purely satanic
ritual of reality, the utmost sensuality.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
at three times the speed of sound the SR-71
was so fast it didn’t need to hide, but when
I met you we were slower, metal walls covered
in black reconnaissance paint, sonar silence.
blackbird, shy
sometimes you bit your lower lip, or my
eyes drowned, and we looked down and I cursed
my stubbornly earthbound feet, but blessed
be the stars that crossed for us to meet.
blackbird, cry
under the cozy cover of quietly building-up time
we moved on. when the back of your hand
brushes my face it slowly lifts another brick
of something sturdy into place.
the way your palms get clammy with excitement
when you point out planes coming out and in,
the way your eyes light with joy and nervousness
at my reaction is how I feel when I lean over your shoulder
and point out jupiter in the sky.
blackbird, dry your eyes
the hello was slow, but goodbyes move
faster than sound. we finally found saturn
and then time ran out.
standard procedure for the SR-71
in the event of a missile lock-on
was to continue being
the fastest thing in the sky.
blackbird, fly
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
I get the crust and the gristle of a thistle once a missile shooting out into the sky and I cry, wonder why. Never sure what I feel for the meal of a deal and then words more like air slip the breeze in my hair, butterflies in the skies killing what kept my alive. Oh too bad, well how sad, if the songs last lines din't matter it'd harm, it'd make the soul so very mad. Here I fall, there I stand like a robot dancing to the tunes. It's demand. Hear I laugh, hear I cry. I hear the screams and feel the burn, so why? Why unsure, of what's telling me my life is so impure. Threatened heart, from the strings that wrap it, tearing it apart. Feel the clench of a bundle of what you yourself have drench and so benched. And you threw to me the horror show, I never so have thought would reckon me to be. I, to be, it's master and it's longing family, here I cry. Hear "I" cry. For I exist in heart, but never, not in mind. There I stand once again as a memory of all that I pretend. If I tried, to be real, the pieces fall apart inside. So I hide, then I quiver and I shake as 'me' is inside. I can touch to the shelter covered in the unbelieving, underachieving to be who I know I am to be. Or at least what you see. I crush the old me and start anew, though I grew. I, immortal to myself have stomped the true. And I become something greater than simple little shrew. Do not lie! For I see with one eye, the look through me. What you see is a host, not the ghost, that lives on. "Awh, look at me. I'm so strong!" Laugh along. Child there. Where? Oops, forgot to care. Now I stare, towards the end that's never ending like this script. Never ending. Twist and bending. Don't kid me, I'm no kid. I'm the body of a youth, but I am dead. I've destroyed myself, if others didn't do a perfect job. Hold up stop! I'm letting go, a bubble that will pop. It will burst, destroying me, if it doesn't **** me first. Here I stand. Hear I cry. There I go. I have died.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
The clinical nature of your tests leaves me
A cynical crater of a mess
My interest begins to wane
When your quiz sparks pain
Like little droplets of rain
Falling on the window pane
Of your picture
That once was scripture
But now seems impure
And superficial
Destroying my hope
Like a missile
You probe like a lawyer
And act like Tom Sawyer
And expect my interest
But I have none to feign
When your image is stained
By the grueling test I went through
That revealed your inner truth
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
In this fRaGmEnTeD cage,I hear checkpoint moans;
anticipating our prone-positioned
brothers and sisters held
Prone positions against walls
Prone positions against fences
Prone positions against vehicles
Prone positions against buildings
Prone positions against prone positions
Slam-whacked, bloodied, occupied
like our great nation; like our souls
I remember a prophet's call, " love your neighbor
as yourself "
I hear Palestine weeping from Jenin
to Hebron, from Jerico to Gaza seized
I hear lamentations about blood tales
I see only FrAgMeNtS of our land
I see FrAgMeNtS of our proud people
Lo and behold my Palestine quakes as an earth quake
Doves scatter skyward as a prophetic omen
Blue skies and Sun momentarily claim victory
Then inhumanity's ugly face:
America to its Indians, America to its blacks,
America to women, America to its gays,
America to Mexicans,
America to South and Central America,
America once to Southeast Asia,
America to Islam, America with its war crimes,
America and Israel both innocence died
So, we pray Koran's verses upon our prayer rugs
We gesture all hope
The apartheid surrounds us
The dead talk to us
The smoke surrounds us
Perhaps better days we say
Entwined with bizarre everydayness
we accept sleep with fits
Fits without food;
Fits without crucial welfare
Roads, shelters, mock us
sculptured by missiles and bulldozers
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign of terror
We pray upon our prayer rugs
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign terror
And oooh how those awful missile FrAgMeNtS fly
and Muhammad cries with anguished tears, in this writtened
legacy...in written legacy
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:21 AM UTC
Intense eyes, a majestic eagle,
circling high, is the air she carries,
a samba dancer luscious, who strikes
blow after blow with her belly button,
central stage always is hers
a bird of pray elegant on the look out,
the heightened awareness from
a sense of clear danger present,
is the reward she assures,
to him every minute for being her escort.
Rub her right, rub her wrong,
find what it would bring was his itch
the eagle woman conceals nothing,
keeps her eyes keen, wide open,
her mind a radar, focused on
what is to happen the moment next,
from mid air like a missile she swoops down,
stand still for a moment and then strikes,
she is on her prey, but he has
slipped away, at the precise moment.
Both are in awe of each other, but smiles,
on the dance floor they are glued to each other,
he now plans a daring plot,
named "The sword of Damocles"
she is of two minds, love this game,
finds him fitting the bill,
yet the bird of prey awaits time for the next raid
"He is made of dainty stuff".
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 6:12 AM UTC
You were born in the cold black heart of the Cold War, under the fist of
Eisenhower, under the satellite eye of Mother Russia—1960 America.
Chinese Year of the Rat. U-2 Pilot Gary Powers forgot to **** himself.
Space Race Baby looking up at stars she does not comprehend—
the world is big, the sky is bigger—Shhhhhhhhhhh: huddle under your desk in case a big, black, bomb falls down and burns you so bad you feel nothing but cold
cold cold;
huddle inside yourself in case your plane is shot down over Soviet soil
and everything turns to red, turns to blood, turns to your fingers shaking and your eyes stinging, and you think about that time when your mother told you about the Year of the Rat being associated with white,
with the Chinese color of death. You think: This is it. There is where it ends,
but this is not it; this is not the end. You will die in a hospital bed
in 49 years, so just give it some time, alright?
Khrushchev and Eisenhower can play Tug-of-War and
Vietnam can burn in the meantime.
Mother, when you were born you could not breathe. Mother,
when you died it was because you could not breathe. Mother,
when you are not here I think of Gary Powers not having time to press “Self-Destruct,” of the Year of the Rat
choking to death on
Lily of the Valley,
of learning how to talk to the 58,286 dead Vietnam War soldiers. I want to
know what it is like to look up at the sky and fear a missile strike smack in
the middle of winter. I want to know how cold the Cold War felt to you in
the Chinese Year of the Rat, and what he felt when U-2 Pilot Gary Powers
fell like
Lucifer
into the arms
of Mother Russia.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
The beach should be so special,
I want to go to a beach with you.
I want us to go to a private beach,
And give you an Australian greeting.
My missile will touch your bombs,
And then make way to your silo,
The Australian greeting is ****
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC
Not too distant beach tree sways in distance
Mandala Rorschach blot patterns dance like celebrating Salish drum circle
There's a hallow college sound of crime show to my left
Bickering with the occasional crush of,
**** my job is stressful."
A sleeping armadillo composed of quarks reflective within a drop of water
Fallen from the bottom-bulged North 49 canteen
A foot and 3/4ths away the snow-white generic of a ***** coffee mug formerly host to a Tetley green stands silent
Reminiscent of the eternal stillness of a mountain range
Fibonacci's name rings inexplicably from tilting branches
And I can't help but wonder if I would be grasping his hand in grasping a branch.
19 years alive and I can't help asking if I've grown-up too fast
Or simply grown into myself.
I feel old
young
and somewhere indescribable most of the time
and it's funny I cannot even fathom the length of 22 years.
A deflated balloon yellow like trend pants or sunrise sits like dejected missile
No longer screaming towards Gaza
No longer screaming.
A Holiday Inn Express pen sits with a ready-call number
Part of its mustang flame
If its quality of penmanship has any parallel to hotel service
Perhaps I'll stick with hostels.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
It seems only yesterday ...
he came by
and spoke to a crowd of curious children....
who have come from all over the country
to see and hear their mentor...
among the thousands assembled there was I
with a book and a pen ...
ready to imbibe ideas and vision from my mentor..
our dear president...
my nation's MISSILE MAN...
the same hero who
stepped out of the premises of the Rashtrapati Bhavan
and stepped into our MINDS....
IGNITING THEM ....
with DREAMS.....
BIG ENOUGH TO CHANGE OUR WORLD....
He taught us that HAVING A SMALL DREAM IS A CRIME...
HE SPOKE OF THE LIMITLESSNESS OF THE MIND....
The possibilities of YOUTH ....
How to transform
a developing nation like ours
into A DEVELOPED NATION......
How to wipe out the stigma of corruption
and EMERGE OUT OF SWAMP.....
AND LEAD INDIA
IN ITS PROGRESSION TO GREATNESS.....
All i can say now
at this point when the whole nation
is mourning the loss of our beloved teacher......
is a promise
to take the torch of IGNITED MINDS....
and light every single mind ,
ever single family,
every single street,
every single village,
every single town
and bring out the true potentials
in the BILLION PEOPLE WE HAVE IN OUR COUNTRY.....
AND MAKE YOUR VISION 2020 A REALITY.....
Let me pledge that
my actions will be a part
of making that vision come true.....
Teacher, dear president, dear sir,dear captain adieu....
#RIP@DrAPJ
Return If Possible
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
I can hear the lonely air whistle
As we fly on this time missile
The wind chimes
As it carries time
A time that is quickly fleeting
When it's death we'll be meeting
So as time keeps flowing
My anxiety keeps growing
Like the Reaper's scythe
It used to be a knife
But now it is my crescent moon
That will take me to my tomb
Time keeps passing
Time keeps thrashing
My skin is hardened
As my mind is smartened
I gain my impurity
From my seniority
But time slows when I'm with you
And you can erase the color blue
Please pluck me from your fandom
So we can tackle time in tandem
The clock keeps ticking
The clock is tricking
Me into thinking I have time
And so I begin to climb
The sands of my daunting hourglass
Sand hits the ground becoming my past
Your absence makes sand fall faster
My life becomes a natural disaster
I'm stuck in a sandstorm
Only you can reform
For the power of time
Covers me in grime
Time's gavel
Is my calling
Time travels
As I'm falling
The minutes feel infinite
Until they're gone forever
If we could be intimate
Time would be pleasure
I am missing seconds
As your kissing beckons
I start to float through time and space
Whenever I witness your lovely face
But that's time I'll never get back
So I must get my life on it's tracks
And reset my clock
And reset my ****
So I can see time clearly
And watch it float near me
Because in a life without your love
The passing of time fits like a glove
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 4:51 AM UTC
In a dream,
she follows me towards
The crevice of the world.
My mother, indigo raging
like a sharp scream within my brain.
I would never rid of her peculiar grin.
Her smirk, a missile, seeks out
the errors of my ways.
But life after cunning life,
She finds me settling at the root
then cuts me off.
I sit sustained here
in the moment composed
and waiting on her return.
She is the real culprit
of my shadow.
And knows this strange abyss.
I choose to keep her away
In the silence between my breath
To begin loving her from afar.
In hopes that she will one day
find herself without a curse
And out of her mad little box.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
dry fire,
dry ice,
quiet liar,
quiet mice,
rendered humble,
rendered missile,
sharp rumble,
sharp thistle,
total jarhead,
total *******
something guarded,
something makeshift,
fastened underneath,
fastened monopoly,
melting dragonsbreath,
melting catastrophe,
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
***A Woman's Reflection on Her Reflection (Valence and Value)
one poem, written by two authors***
~~~
**Ever the analyst,
A mirror functions as surface to
Parse the fleeting constant
Of youth's beauty.
From genetic gift
Of symmetry and bone,
To technological tampering,
Until the equation is solved,
As experience and character
Models and maps the result.
The answer, a reflection,
Of individual valence and value**
(written by S.D., a woman)
~~~
(written by N.L., a man)
unbidden and unannounced, a
"not fully formed poem,
but a simple reflection"
inbound missile arrives inbox,
armed with silent power,
the lethality of the
Holy Unexpected
the man reflects
on her mirror-on-the-wall's
fulsome reply,
parsing the words of a
woman's reflection,
while gazing on her own
every human's momentary glass notation,
but an instance of summation,
a human poem, whose editing,
unceasing
a comma here,
a period inserted,
an eye shadowed, an eyebrow tweezed,
a eye dark circle line added,
to tree-mark time's authorship
all these
but a person's
excerpted extraction,
notarized,
then auto-erased and revised,
as out of date,
instantaneously compromised
but,
***it is upon the conceptual,
valence and value,
more that the man reflects perpetual,
less on transitory morphing changes of
exterior mortality
while overlooking her
glassine realization from behind,
he concludes:
every reflection,
no matter how oft the snapshot,
the unfleeting constancy
of the combining of the
princes of principles,
valence and value
that he witnesses,
in the calming pool
of her eyes,
(those borrowed windows into her soul's well,)
so well reflect
her unchanging greater finery,
her character
this reflection,
metamorphosis transformed.
into a planetary permanency poem,
high placed in his the firmament
of their conjoined sky***
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
The first time I kissed you (again),
we were sitting in your car,
under shadows and street-light orange,
and the impression I was going inside.
But then I found your NERF gun,
which you said was for robbers and slow drivers,
but proved more entertaining for girls
who like to sit in your passenger seat.
So we broke into a scuffle
in pools of orange light
abandoning seat-belts and any pretence that I was leaving
to wage an epic war
inside a parked car
over ownership of the polystyrene darts.
The end came when a missile was lost to your backseat,
and we both reached for the NERF gun,
and that kiss I'd been waiting for since I'd first put on my seat-belt
materialised between the space above your handbrake
and a little plastic gun.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
When within my cells there rages war,
For a second breath I’d stare at the stars;
The old world thickened under my feet,
Yet across my sorrows the ends would meet;
So to renew these aspirations of ours,
Perhaps on a missile on its way to Mars.
("We are past the third wave,
past the coastline,
past the coral reef.")
No I haven’t always been there for you,
In these gardens we’ve walked around and through;
From green to red, vice-versa and so forth,
We’ve gone past Saturn many times before;
Now I’m on my way to a distant shore,
Paddling the bloodstream of my heart.
("We reach through the gate,
the threshold of no-return,
far beyond Saturn.")
Amidst curiosity and its pulsations,
Of skies infinite, a stubborn astronaut;
It’s time to decline and lose it all
Or time to rise up and answer the call;
Fractions of a split-second, a trigger;
Wings spread to the dark yonder.
("The moon now floats behind us,
It cicatrizes our scars as we sail
Far into the night.")
The journey into the unknown
Always finds a way to take you home.
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 1:03 AM UTC
"The global bull market has continued its seemingly relentless advance, unchanged by geopolitical concerns…….."
• The Israeli-Hamas conflict now blazing in Gaza, Palestine, two military forces locked in a deadly struggle to the end, killing and maiming thousands of ordinary citizens.
• Malaysia Airlines flight 17 blasted out of a clear blue Ukraine sky by the Bus surface to air missile
unleashed by the Pro-Russian Separatists killing 298 unsuspecting, innocent, international travellers.
Culpability denied by all.
• Anwar Al Awlaki, the American born Cleric, directing clandestine terror attacks and assassination by Al Qaeda beyond the Middle east into Asia and Europe.
• Deposed President, Mohammed Morsi’s Muslim Brotherhood, responsible for terrorist activities including multiple car bombings throughout Egypt.
• President Bashar Assad of the Alawite minority, an offshoot of Syria’s Shiite religion, waging religious genocide against his own nations people
and now in open conflict with the Muslim uprising Sunni forces of the new Isis Caliphate.
• The beheadings, slaughter and terror unleashed by the Sunni, Isis Caliphate uprising rampaging through Iraq.
• Russia’s sudden invasion and forceful annexation of the Crimea.
• Russia’s brutal pressure on the sovereignty of the Ukraine through its clandestine weaponry supply and sponsorship of the Pro-Russian Separatist Forces occupying the nations East.
The Middle East is now…an Apocalypse.
This epoch of cruel waste
Where man kills man
For God and gold,
For power’s lust.
Where the Sword of Calamity
Wields destruction and death
On those who can least afford it
By they who should never impose it.
**In the face of all this …..an unbelievable prioritization with this headline quote from today’s NZ Herald….
“There are financial risks to be endlessly jumping at shadows…to overreact to market noise!"**
UNBELIEVABLE!!!!
M.
Auckland,
NEW ZEALAND
31 July 2014
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
It feels good first
That punch you throw
Powered with adrenalin
Triumph! you crow
Losing control
Each threat you shout
Driving Emotion prevails
Anger has clout
Primal howling
I cannot speak
A volatile Damnation
Beneath my feet
A fiend unleashed
A dark winged thing
Wrenching the curtain aside
Madness is king
You’ve crossed the line
There is no doubt
Dimensions of cruelty
Madness wins out
No forgiveness
The devil cheers
Waylaid in selfish desires
Demonic fears
Fear holds its breath
Sardonic gloom
Too turbulent to control
Foreboding doom
Peace is exiled
No looking back
Thrusts of heartless violence
Repression hacked
Paradise lost
Cherished hatred
Surging over boundaries
Nothing sacred
Stuff of nightmares
Robs me of sleep
Letting go with a vengeance
Monster’s relief
I cannot bear
This heavy weight
Id’s inner realm
Desolate hate
Transcendence shows
All states of thought
Each a world unto itself
Not shaken off
Silence that grudge
Revenge aint sweet
It turns back on you like a
Missile seeks heat
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
.
ICBM
ICBMICB
MICBMICB
MICBMICB
MICBMIC
BMICBM
ICBMICB
MICBMI
CBMICB
MICBMI
ICBMICB
MICBMI
ICBM ICBM
ICBMICBM ICBMICBM
ICBMICBMIC BMICBMIXBM
ICBMICBM ICBMICBM
ICBM ICBM
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
In between my legs
is my missile and
I want to launch
it to your crotch.
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 3:25 AM UTC