"petard" poems
---
What lies beneath the surface?
All the media hype?
What lies beneath your internet,
your TV and your Skype?
What lies beneath the input
that boggles your wee brain?
What's up with politicians?
The jingoist refrain?
What's up with Miley Virus,
in her fairy leotard
******* bare for all to see...
hoist on her own petard?
Is it all it seems?
A world that's just sick?
Or is it a great metaphor
for a magic trick?
While the Great Houdini
rolls up with a band
you're watching smoke n mirrors
and disregard his hands.
Televangalists preach prosperity!
Filling up the pews,
While you're watching people
going crazy on the news!
What lies beneath Denver?
The Dome of the Rock?
Are there great growing cities?
Or is all of that just talk?
There was once a mighty ship
they thought would never sink...
Folks, what's beneath's an iceberg
**and it's CLOSER THAN YOU THINK!**
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/19/2015
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:56 AM UTC
bare it straight...
the knight-fool referenced here,
me, scrabbled, scrambled writer,
moat-surround builder,
petard hole-blower in walls of captivity.
letting those inside out,
letting those outside in...
all the beloveds from
ailments hurtful,
in and ex ternality
fearful of eternality
guise of knight errant,
salve and solve,
two pocket protectors,
needy, downtrodden, love-hurting,
slip inside and hide till ready
to come out on acceptable terms
entrapped, locked down and in,
show me the walls for to break,
make the solitary unobligatory
hands holding you will lead us,
all writ on clean new chance foolscap
open sourced coded for sharing
knock knock knock
come calling,
my calling...
to come...
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
As the sky is removed from my feet
Be Good. And notice how the world remains unoccupied
however you manifest your Destiny... at best you get
Colonized by a Hoard of pure nonsense, with your own petard
hoisting the very Circus Tent of your Memoirs
and the footnotes we are actually
Plus the stars crossed and lost teeth...
a brute force merigold in a plucked grief
chiseled from the Bedrock of god's blunders
as we torment the perpetual Enigma
How we insist upon the faculty
without Divine consent ! we plunder the lumbering atoms
of our daily bread... salting the rim of sleep
couched in the misery of our very little Joys
while cursing Angels that fall on swordplay
and The Play is the very thing
your Father warned you
about
an uttering to con you from your bliss -
to best entangle the witchcraft of your sundered Love
and the shriveled thing your heart craved
when it was Good Night.
But nothing left
to **** a mocking
bird.
the martial art of winding up somewhere
you mastered long before you noticed
and you were
There
just before you arrived to get the shivers
thinking this had just ( recurred )
Just Now.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
Her nickname
Was always
Gaia with a y.
And she was.
Dancing; not so much
Reasoning.
All feeling. Analysis,
Not so much.
Me, a petard of adrenaline and
Testosterone -short fused with
Whisky and blunt logics- by
Which I found myself
Hoist with ruthless regret.
All man.
All human
Man.
We merged until we
Emerged, passing through
Each other and moving
On. Two forces of nature
Embracing.
With a broad
Enough
Perspective,
Everything
Looks
Beautiful.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
I've never been precocious
But Predication brought felicity
and intelligence has no relevance
like being benevolent for duplicity
remaining as reigning viciously
until my enemies show complicity
my boss wont know i was late, he
died in a car crash, what serendipity
no nihilism repair its ******* me
so im **** that it remains real
indigenous is my attitude cuz i feel
ruminative when immigrants steal
my land, and in my hand I am
holding the world so miraculous
but to live autonomous my abacus
calculates death comes to a pacifist
so goodbye i give the mass a kiss
and then give them my *** to kiss
while i ********** then after state
i am not a *********
So why I'm cantankerous
Or why I cauterize is convoluted and hard
To defend or guard but i cant ******
the shine of a star til i blow up like a petard
propensity relentlessly
Is pressing me til effusive
I talk trying to remain exclusive
to sanity But my whole life is elusive
So my proclivity limits me
and my ability cause being stupid
Is hard when ur insipid and predicted
the afflicted money addicted will get ruthless
while the medias news is
bias and newsless
but for so lomg now we new this
like stephen harper their useless
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
I woke up to find a bruised sky
and took apart a vicious lie
haven't I asked this question
one thousand times?
You look as if you saw a ghost
Pale faced woman who swore it true
tangled in her own petard
unaware of the smile on her face
Lackluster in the hollow light
stream undisturbed in your empty hall
you alone know he truth
that is locked behind soft lips
what can be found
behind stale eyes
what comprimise can be made?
mother confronted inside
a prism, the colors for lies
you were spilled across the floor
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 3:34 PM UTC
I met myself on a winding path
With the beach ten yards away,
Walking slowly towards me then
By the pounding breakers spray,
The path was narrow, I stepped aside
As I felt a twinge of fear,
We both were startled, I heard us say,
‘What are you doing here?’
I looked at me as I must have been
At the age of thirty-one,
And I was visibly shaken, seeing
Just how the years had gone,
‘I’m not quite how I envisaged me,
Were the years ahead so hard?’
I felt a chill and replied to me,
‘I was hoist on my own petard.’
‘What has become of our hopes and dreams,
The ones that we must have shared?’
‘I let them slip through my fingers, once
I noticed that no-one cared.’
‘I always said that I’d have to fight
For the things that I held dear,’
‘But the years have changed, and rearranged
For none of those things are here.’
With one last look at each other, we
Then parted and turned away,
I to a desperate future,
And me to my dying day,
The I then turned that was thirty-one
‘Can you tell what happened to She?’
I couldn’t remember the one I meant,
‘She’s certainly not with me!’
David Lewis Paget
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
the error rate of rage and snarl,
so very high
the youthful intolerance of every sad slight,
wearies me
the political correctness of the day spoils,
both the day and the night,
words can never harm me
who owns the truth?
the truth I belove is the opened arm,
the child comforted,
the kiss of the
parent and the child
not a fleer, or unafraid,
a grown man who has raised his fists in anger,
I defend fierce mine and my rights,
attack me with stick and stone,
and you shall run into my knife unsheathed
but the snarlers and the goose steppers
almost always fail,
choking on poisoned vitriol,
their own petard does not hoist them,
except to the gallows of the nothingness of infamy
I fight for tranquility and green pastures
where all shall lie down with whom they want
yet all I see is the valley of the shadow,
all I hear is the rattling from the valley of the bones
strange is the calm I feel, for rage is an old companion
my weapons are neither dull or rusted,
or put away for never to be used
come to me in peace, one by one,
come to me with chivalrous acts and kindness
spread like thick butter on dark country bread
I will easy embrace, protect and defend,
all the days of my life
rage against the dying light if you must,
but do not deny that rage hasten the dark
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
does the youth of today realise
it doesn't run a monopoly
of internet content?
do they? really?!
with the context of internet
banking... and online shopping...
can youth of today please **** off
with their belitteling chants
and, please use the playground?
it's become a bit like giving
an aged psychopath a red button,
to launch a nuclear weapon...
oh wait: here comes the nation
getting all paranoid... being the sole
powehouse to have... actually detonated
it on a civilian area!
yeah... russia is bad... no no tommy,
no no jim...
they're like germans...
they imploded... and felt guilty...
but instead of producing great machines
of the 4 wheels... they decided upon great
movies... guilt is internalised in many
shapes and sizes...
the french were reasonable
though...
it's a bit like that fire-cracker story...
set of a petard in your hand when it's
open... you'll get a scratch...
but set off the fire-cracker (petard)
while your hand is clenched...
boom! try waving after that...
the french were reasonable
in that they did their nuclear tests
in aquatic environments...
natural insulators...
that's actually not reasonable
in the puritan sense of the words...
where was the japanese army bombing
the **** out of the tsunami wave of
2011 tōhoku?
i swear the army could have intervened...
bombed the **** out of the massive wave
and stopping it by dividing it...
where was the *** army?
oh right... nowhere... there was a helicopter with
a reporter going: oh ha! nagasaki!
kimono sa ka!
i swear... if they bombed the **** out of
that wave, it wouldn't have travelled inland and
ever had done the damage... that it had done...
so much for the army... and so much
for the *** emperor...
eh?
you bomb the tsunami wave...
the wave doesn't travel inland...
1 + 1 = 2?
really? was that the time to consider
the question as a rhetorical ambiguity?
by the way? there's no such thing as a rhetorical question...
not in the way the phrase is dropped...
you really can't ask a "rhetorical question"
if you're rhetorically sound, i.e. readied to
blah blah for the next half hour...
who asks a rhetorical question
is not someone already performing the sophist art
of performance speech that goes: on and on, on and on...
if someone says: that was a rhetorical question...
it's just covert tactic for them to keep on talking...
what the **** is a rhetorical question?
answer? the person asking that question,
keeping up with their monologue.
a rhetorical question doesn't endorse
a dialogue... a rhetorical question, as a phrase
is a solipsistic / sophist tactic: the two
ought to be synonymous...
for the person talking... to just keep on talking
(you can do that pigeon neck movement
speaking the italics... yeah... like you're
head-banging).
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
nothing drags a frame of reference out of bed
like a fresh start on a pike.
you strap your business-end to a playful lark
and stave off the broken moons
as you Tetris the Possible
like an unknown god.
I hoist my genre by rote;
my tropes charmed and dangerous…
for the pen is mightier than the fjord
of our most opulent shadows.
My Etch-a-Sketch memories diverge
like Christmas geese
flocking to a pagan potluck
as cellular as a private moment with
a Neilson rating of zero.
I tune in when a gadfly lands on the nose of a spite,
and make a poet’s face.
I sleep like a baby on
the Titanic-
but my average epiphany
bobs for apples
in a bucket
of Northern Stars
too keen on wisdom
for a dullard’s
petard.
at first glance, every blank stare
like a horde of eyes
with pitchforks
and torch songs
made of
why?
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 8:07 AM UTC
AND NOW THE RELATIONSHIP CRISIS FORECAST ISSUED BY THE SANE SIDE OF YOUR SELF ON BEHALF OF THE MERRY TIME & KEEP YOUR GUARD UP AGENCY.
The general synopsis at mid-life is:
Late 40’s
dogged by blighted love life
new all time low
expected by that time.
new all time low
expected by that time.
***
occasionally very poor at first
becoming
moderate or good.
F**k all
(hand over fist)
******
Marriage 3 or 4
becoming a bore.
Blonde mantrap
34-24-34.
**** Mrs. Fitzroy
(formerly Finisterre)
affair deepening rapidly
expected imminent.
Getting carried away
hoisted by one’s own petard.
Chances it will work out alright
moderate becoming decreasing slight.
Fair Isle sweater left
carelessly behind in car
Eh...uh uh!
Big mistake.
Violent storm warning
boyfriend built like Viking.
Gulp...not Dover Wight!
Becoming cyclonic
...moronic.
Severe icing.
Oh ***** Despair. Panic. Flight
What more could go wrong?
Chelsea 2 West Ham 1!
Town gossip Lundy Fastnet
informs wife.
Accused of infidelities
backing off into continual lying
veering towards disbelief
clothes thrown out in street.
Locks. Changed.
Caught fast in net
like trashing fish.
Future visibility
moderate becoming poor
in showers.
Drunk. Again.
Singing in the rain.
What’s it all about
...Alfie
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 7:44 AM UTC
Lone monsters slip behind the veil
distributed the crimes among the crowd
a thousand faces or maybe more
guilt distributed with aplomb
now the fault is congealed
the largest target one could conceive
to accuse one would **** them all
hence the world is confused
too immense to fall from wounds
all are taken as a shield
while the monsters retain their place
the power granted cannot fail
repentance would be the path
for those who embrace their faults
though power will not accede
to humble itself in the fall
the master of lies laughs the best
as the holy are finally skewered
host with their own petards
against a judgment of their Lord.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180924.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 8:12 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
His conspiracy theories
Are making the rounds
Like the birther issue
As absurd as it sounds
Now it’s election fraud
In many states and towns
And nothing he says
Seems out of bounds
Millions and millions
Though it may sound odd
Have been accused
Of election fraud
But where is the proof
Bring out the truth squad
To blow a hole through it
Just like a petard
Now they say his power
Is all but absolute
Because Congress and the Supreme Court
Have thus far been mute
Never mind the Constitution
Entering the dispute
See it’s just a matter of time
Before he’s given the boot
Just because he says it
Doesn’t make it true
But he feels most people
Don’t have a clue
So he’s spreading fear
We observed as it grew
And much like the Boogie Man
He too is saying boo
Cedric McClester, Copyright ©2017. All rights reserved.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 6:37 PM UTC