"oppenheimer" poems
Atomic energy is a good thing contemplated the good scientist
But only for us good people to forget
Lincoln's, Hemingway's and Madame Curie's silent voices echoes from the sidewalk
Where people idly passes by; lost in tall low fat Frappuccino’s
Looking and hoping then ultimately wishing for a visit from Benjamin Franklin
Unwittingly employed by all the dead presidents
These days’ people know the price of everything
But the value of nothing
Makes me gallivant; my own memory warehouse
As I pose this question towards my own psyche;
What is the worst thing I have ever done?
In the name of personal achievement career elevation and prosperity
All everyone ever wants to be is successful rich and richer
Oppenheimer colleague put our modern society in to perfect perspective
Post detonation of the Trinity project - after the first nuclear test
When he gracefully quoted
"Now we are all son of *******
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
*No, no, no, Dirtbreath. I say we call the big one an elephant,
and the small one a mouse*.
Eve
I'm sure red's a better color for me.
M. Monroe
She has a face that could sink a thousand ships.
Ulysses
*Now that Hawking's dead, I'm the smartest
guy on Earth.*
D. Trump
You're too Jung to understand the Superego.
S. Freud
No. You keep it. I have enough.
B. Graham
Are you sure that's the Delaware?
G. Washington
E=Mc Donalds.
A. Einstein
Go pound salt.
Gandhi
What day is it?
Roosevelt
That's one small.... oops!
N. Armstrong
I don't remember any of my dreams.
M.L. King, Jr.
Hey, John, I can see your house from up here.
Jesus
Beaches, fields, streets, hills. Did I leave anything out?
W. Churchill
Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course I wrote 'em all.
R. Starr
It's just too big to wrap your brain around.
S. Hawking
Don't lose your head. This won't change a thing.
Robespierre
Before I was fined, I walked the line.
J. Cash
Could you lengthen the title and shorten the book?
Tolstoy's editor
What if we put the workers on conveyor belts?
H. Ford
I have a splitting headache... hmmm, interesting.
Oppenheimer
I've never liked orange juice.
N. Brown
Really? You want to blame me?
******
He stings like a butterfly.
S. Liston
#timesup #metoo
A. Boleyn
Mr. Watson. Come here. Spare me a dime?
Bell
Roebuck said he'd be back in ten minutes.
R.W. Sears
To be or to do be do be do.
Shakespeare/Sinatra
*When you call me Whitey, I get cotton pickin ****** off.*
E. Whitney
We're the team to beat!
Toronto Maple Leafs
Don't call me a Mother!
Mother Theresa
Is that a Cuban?
M. Lewinsky
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
The meeting is at 10:00 AM
So let’s begin
High above on the 38th Floor
In the Conference room, a view of new World Trade Center right across for everyone to explore
The Business Manager gave his welcomed speech
It’s was to everyone he was trying to reach
The Board shows the arrows of sales elevation in 90% results flow
However during the months of May and June show a decline of 70%
Due to the economy being extremely slow
Yet Oppenheimer helped everyone feel assured
After that, there was hands of applause
The Business Manager stated, “Oppenheimer has a solid portfolio foundation handshake
So we are known in the financial world and assets in what’s at stake
Oppenheimer Trader’s are well trained
We hit the bull’s eye being the aim
Let’s keep Oppenheimer on top
Keep focused and don’t stop
Now with that said
I will take questions from the floor
As you ask the questions, I will think then I will analyze and my outcome in concept planning surprise
Later the meeting was adjourned
Now go out and continue to produce in using what you learned
You are Oppenheimer’s success story and our talent is our glory.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 6:33 PM UTC
That Spring afternoon of my Upper-Middler year at Andover, I had just spoken with G. G. Benedict, the man who controlled, in effect, at which college you would matriculate. Columbia and Yale were at the top of my list. "Fine, fine, Tod. You've done very well here," he said. That evening, every student found a place to sit in George Washington Hall auditorium. Oppenheimer was to speak. I sat in the balcony, but I could see the man well. He looked as though he might have been around plutonium too long. Gaunt, pale, he began speaking. I cannot remember a single word he said that evening, but I will never forget the portentous feeling that came over me: DREAD (or should I say "dead"?) Over half a century after Oppenheimer's speech, humanity sits precariously on the cusp of extinction. A hydrogen bomb is 1,000 times more powerful than the atomic bombs we dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and there are thousand of hydrogen bombs we know about on Earth presently, not just the two atomic bombs Oppenheimer had. If only one hydrogen bomb accidentally explodes, scientists say that explosion will be enough to cause "Nuclear Winter." The sky around Earth will grow so dark that sunlight will not be able to penetrate it; thus, nothing will be able to grow and we will all starve to death. Every living creation on Earth will die. I think Oppenheimer, as smart as he was, knew, at least subconsciously, he had lit the fuse to inevitable annihilation of all living things.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 4:03 AM UTC
"Thus fought the heroes, tranquil their admirable hearts, violent their swords,
resigned to **** and to die." – Jorge Louis Borges, The Garden of Forking Paths
stoic labyrinthine sparrow-bone;
there is a slalom down your gullet,
bayonet curled around your neck,
you have a beak, you are lusty-smooth,
have rubble for skin, an emaciated infinity:
everything is fractal so eat your words
they are you are your rusty toenails
every footstep is a holocaust there’s
genocide under your neurons,
watch them flex and shiver.
you have soft plastic lips,
there is a vacuum in your gullet,
a box cutter carving
through your adam’s apple:
epileptics are just indecisive,
when they seize hold their tongues
they are their words you are a god
are oppenheimer and shiva,
pick favorites it doesn’t matter
it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter
flex and shimmer we are just neurons
flatlines are not ghoulish nooses,
paraplegics are just cowards,
move with conviction each step
is a genocide, you have wooden
teeth and woolen wings,
thrashes are a velveteen sunset
an edible fog, your stomach
is a stomach do not eat the fog
just know that someday it will **** you
softly and swiftly.
it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter:
infinity is not recursive
alive is not our default state
once is the only route
blood makes the blade holy
if you cut me i will bleed,
i won't blame you just know
you were only ever
that very moment.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
“We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.' I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.”
― J. Robert Oppenheimer
Father of the atomic bomb
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
The world’s gone mad,
Only one can save the insanity.
He feels the world’s sickness flow through him,
Like a virus invading his body.
He strives for sanity.
Cities will become dust,
After the cure.
Towns will become haunted,
After the cure.
Shadows will be scorched into the floor,
After the cure.
Puddles of red,
Puddles of grey,
Puddles of plastic of the children’s play things.
There will be little survival,
Surviving on little,
The floral patterns of their shirts etched into their skin.
The voices of their former society echo in their ears.
Charred ancestors,
Instant fossils.
Welcome to a future museum piece, of a savage era.
After the cure.
After the one.
After the saviour.
After the hero.
After the bomb,
The world will have gone M.A.D.
Mutually Assured Destruction.
“I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.” – Oppenheimer
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
Messiahs and martyrs
And saviors
And saints
Sacrosanct
Sanctimonious
False idol feints
Behind gates,
Palace walls
Fortified in a lie
An elaborate,
Enduring
Mythos we contrive
And apply
To the lives
Of misguided lost souls
Filling holes
With the answers
Of what never knows
How to be of this world
Without more to assign
What is so picture perfectly
Flawed by design
Intertwined with
The years we spend
Spacing in time
Agonizingly trying
To find
Our own kind
Out among the expanse
Starry satellite trance
Higher intellects seek
And destroy
To advance
The agenda, to claim
A new age
Under orders
Anointed upon
The consent
Of the heaven-sent
Nuclear bomb
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
are you the god you believe in ? does this blood soothe you so ?
are you not a bullet ? are you not not mine ? are you serious ?
why so ?
do you cleave to your wicked grace like uranium chanting Oppenheimer ?
are you safe where you are and can i say " goodbye " really ? for once ?
how deep are your shallows ? can we drown the noise precisely, my love ?
are these questions enough to see me from ?
and where are you gone ?
you're so gone...
am i there ?
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC
the theft of your heart has no home.
its only purpose is to be black
or the dark background
in one of Alex Grey's wonderful paintings
the heist defined so sonorously by me
the line which i am so concentrated to draw
all that Value which i mistakenly placed
upon your shoulders that night,
you angels! that radiate through me...
let me be your radiation, love, too
and let me shoulder my transgressions
i do it like Oppenheimer
i glowed in the same strange sort of way
always had such a romance for the poisonous,
always had such a flame with the treacherous.
"you went on for days, literally days
and your words clotted up and we watched you pick at the scabs
yes we wanted you to heal but you were picking at your scabs
no one was really sure
what the hell you were looking for."
said pete
i guess i'm alive to declare my own nation
my very own universe
and i get to tell you what i feel is creation
and what is lost to heat death
but you left me teetering, the apple of my eye
you blue as summer skies
why'd you take my breath away!?
you left my tongue so desperate
on top of the universe
at any pause,
you were so beautiful,
...
i had to die.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
On May the twelfth of nineteen forty-two,
A project was started by Franklin D.
A plan was penned to make the bombs we threw,
On Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
The bombs were named after a boy and man,
One of them little and one of them fat.
Both of them made by project, Manhattan,
No one can guess why they named them like that.
The project was held in three locations,
Hanford, Los Al’mos, Oak Ridge, Tennessee.
And with sci’ntists from three diff’rent nations,
The US, Great Britain, and Canad-ee.
The bombs that ended the second world war,
Began as the scientists’ idea.
They didn’t see then the fam’lies they tore,
They didn’t hear the “Ave Maria.”
The project was kept top secret for fear,
Of Germans, Japan, and all the Russians.
That all those countries’ spies would steal and hear
Their newfound ideas and discussions.
The morning of August six, forty-five,
The Japanese city, Hiroshima.
People awoke with no thought to their lives,
Just after battle in Iwo Jima.
Little Boy fell, over nine thousand pounds,
Plopped from B-29 Enola Gay.
Pilot Paul Tibbets in far above bounds,
Dropped Little Boy to heed orders that day.
The Fat Man fell just a few days later,
August ninth on city, Nagasaki.
A bomb of this force, made by traitor,
Not so, it’s made by those from Milwaukee.
Thousands of pounds of explosive power,
Tens times efficiency of one before.
Dropped on a village within an hour,
Explosion, explosion upon the shore.
By Robert Oppenheimer it was led,
With help from General Leslie R. Groves.
They felt great regret for all that were dead,
Those people they killed in shadowy droves.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
"everything you are
is a product of all your interactions.
you mirror your friends
or you mirror yourself."
heaven may not be a place on earth
and you may not be oppenheimer,
but now you are become death:
destroyer of worlds around you.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 2:00 AM UTC
It the fox to find a den
The raven to a bow it's home
The shrew to dig into the earth
And the trout to freeze below
The ice the snow
The months from sun
With peace i make the dark
And dark so early every day
Drawn and ugly grey
Be it by a God the hazy
Still waking to the lazy
Of the so much he to do
But mostly very little
But with the will to follow through
To makeing him a a man
And man to make a flame of such
of Oppenheimer's warning
I have now become as death
And the cool of Earth's command
So to cooling was to warmth
The march into the spring
The step into the light
The blossoms april brings
The waking of the things that sprout
The children of a forest Stout
Pine and oak speak to each other
But of this work god i do doubt
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 4:22 PM UTC
I don't like honors
It just doesn't appeal to me
That such a surreal feeling of recognition
Is attributed to such intense hard work and innovation
I don't like honors
It puts on the pedestal of human achievement
Whereas, my work is meant for the few, who arrive at it
I don't like honors
It doesn't do me good to biased towards my own
Qualifications
That's why I love contributing
Because it gives me peace in this pensive mind searching for the end
Of the vast tunnel of possibilities, where questions are answered
And answered questions are an explicable form of logic
Contributing is a logician's ebullient dream
Because this hand is meant for forgiving and not taking
I guess that's why we have the sun set on a place too far
I guess that's why we have a fascination for the beautiful
Because it helps us understand ourselves better
And feel connected with our own art and creation
I don't like honors
It makes me feel like a destroyer of doubt
Rather than the creator of fascination and amazement
We have sullied the atomic bomb
Time for us to bring up our arms in rebarbative rebellion
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 1:11 PM UTC
...and the guy with one eye said...
This street like the street before and a thousand streets like this street have had the feel of my feet on them, every cobbled stone and cut throat crack have touched these soles and they came back again to touch on the pain where each street is the same and who do I blame for that?
In the corner, Cyclops mutters as I through muddy gutters crawl and bawling my tears into ten thousand years don't make it a lake.
Take me back to my beginnings where I still had thoughts of winning before the **** crowed thrice.
ps the **** was nice,
we ate it with some french fries and a small glass of Sauvignon blanc,
I wanted red wine, the **** was dead, fine, and you get what you are given if it's living that you want.
I want for nothing now,
the prodigal returns but save the cow he gives us milk and the hands of human kindness slow caress as smooth as silk,
It had to be
the man with one eye only sees in mono
I am stereopticon
gone the blinkers,
open wide,
let Oppenheimer take his slide, but again I take the Cyclop's side, I like him, one eye guy, 'Mr Mono' my oh my he doesn't like it when I call him this.
My feet kiss street that's all I know.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
delinquent, juvenile
Sneaking with Old timers
I ride the back of the truck...
The frequence, a few miles…
Cheeky with Oppenheimer
I hide the back of my trunks
pops that question…
A Star called Scar??
My Pops’ Jazz collection
A smart old spark
Pops was that fashion
And his smart old car
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
We won the war.
We won the war.
You say it, again and again.
You hold it in your mouth because the lie tastes better
against your tongue than any of these self-evident truths.
We won the war.
Far away,
under a scattered blue sky,
Vishnu takes on the shape of the many-armed destroyer.
He holds the prince’s chin in one of his hands,
and he says,
“Beloved, thus have I formed thee.”
And Oppenheimer stands on the empty New Mexico desert,
and he runs his fingers through blood he will never see,
and he says,
“Now I am become death.”
You dream.
You dream you are brilliance and dust,
and when you wake,
you weep,
for you are nothing but flesh and bone.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC
With every spear thrown
With every flying arrow
With every javelin ******
With every sword parry
With every cannon fired
With every bullet shot
With every gas and bomb
That we dropped
Like Oppenheimer and Thanatos
We have become death
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
Let us remember Aristillus & Timocharis,
Like Halley & Galileo.
Of Zhang Heng & Dao Lee,
Like Newton & Max Born.
Of Werner & Yermolyeva,
Like Curie & Oppenheimer.
Of Paracelus & Fredrick Banting,
Like Tesla & Pythagoras.
Of Richard Feynman & André Ampère,
Like Michael Faraday & Benjamin Franklin.
Of Payne-Gaposchkin & Joseph Swan,
Like Ignacy Łukasiewicz & Kikunae Ikeda.
Of Takamine Jōkichi & Berners-Lee,
Like Robert Hooke & Gutenberg.
Of Talos Attalus & Perrilus,
Like William Bullock & Franz Reichelt.
Of Abū Bakr al-Rāzī & Ibn al-Haytham,
Like Archimedes & Johannes Kepler.
Of Aldini & Henry Russell,
Like Edison & Graham Bell.
Of Carl Bosch & Richard Fiedler,
Like Mr. Hyde & Dr. Jekyll.
Of Brokkr & Sindri,
Like Gullinbursti & Hephaestus.
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 11:00 AM UTC
Seventy Three Years Since 1945
(August 6 and 9 respectively)
Robert Oppenheimer manned
"The Manhattan Project",
a top secret World War II mission
which constituted "Little Boy" codename
for a uranium gun-type atomic
bomb dropped at 0815
exploding 580 metres above civilians
with15 kiloton blast yield reduced
400 year old city to dust
Colonel Paul Tibbets, the pilot/ bombardier
of the Enola Gay (the Boeing B-29 Superfortress
unleashing nuclear warfare
seventy three years ago today)
gives cause for this baby boomer to revisit
mentally, the annihilation,
extermination, incineration
the first of two storied Japanese enclaves
realizes how trifling my current bout
with mania paranoia, pneumonia
(from northern exposure)
contrasted with sinister malevolent
evil tower ushering
thermonuclear age epitomizing
coup de nada so graceful means
maximum military mutilation
though unwell, this inflammation poised
to be cured unlike subsequent
generations of victims
who survived atrocious, egregious, hellacious,
judicious slaughter can only
poorly be described
by this mortal with a curable
bacterial/viral infection
aghast at such wanton killing, moreso
via weapons of mass destruction
more devastatingly grisly than
those "experimental" bombs
loosed upon the innocent population,
whereby 75,000 people killed or fatally injured
with 65% of casualties nine years
of age and younger
whence offspring of survivors
evincing excess genetic anomalies
with fiery windy surface
temperatures topping 4,000C
upon terrain hallowed by ghastly
horrible deathly dominance
amidst shadow of a mushroom cloud.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 7:15 PM UTC
'Twas the night before the Big Bang, when all through the void
Some notions were stirring, towards Darwin and Freud
Superstitions rejected and hung out to rot
It’s shocking how quick we completely forgot
Where cryptical symbols were sacredly spoken
The stories upended and images broken
From out of such Chaos, a chariot of Truth
An empirical prancing of paws on the roof
Now, Newton! Now, Einstein! Now, Herr Oppenheimer!
Now listen! the odious tick of the timer
From the Apple of Knowledge forsaking the plums
For probable visions and practical sums
When wisdom, by Turing, is put to the test
Then where are those letters to Santa addressed?
If coal from the mischievous miscreant’s stocking
Keeps motors of industry ticking and tocking
Then icecaps will vanish from under the elves
And Bezos will eagerly fill up our shelves
So with glittering objects and shiny bright trophies
We bid you Good Luck with a train of emojis
Nov 17, 2024
Nov 17, 2024 at 7:37 AM UTC
Rarely
can I make this
whole thing sober...
Historically
my tendencies repeat
The overbearing drudgery
not drug enough,
to satiate,
an Oppenheimer heart
diseased and dazed...
Descend/Ascend
to keep me keen and craving,
my acts of upshot mummery
beget the beg of cleansing
Unpack
the hounds that call me
by so many other names
Let them run
me down to sweet
disintegration
Oct 9, 2021
Oct 9, 2021 at 11:24 PM UTC
Mr. Roger’s chasing stars,
I poked holes in the drapes,
Breaking the sun into shards,
Remaking Adam and Eve in different shapes,
Tyson used Saturn as a vinyl record,
I run tapes like Nile’s sidewalks,
Sound spits like a momma bird,
Bachs piano teeth eating rocks
An Astro colonoscopy,
Shakespeare creating geometry,
Dominos fall down the pit,
With an ace taped over its scream,
Aurelius slit his wrists,
Mars is a **** star,
Making me resist
Breaking aliens hearts
Louis Armstrong did the moon walk,
Fitting his glove,
He then talked,
It has been shoved
Oppenheimer implemented the bomb,
My heart stops,
Pushing the cancer,
******** atomic clocks
May 28, 2025
May 28, 2025 at 12:01 AM UTC