"thermonuclear" poems
A light in the dark shadows burn with a spark that ignites to a bright shining flame. The dead lie in groves of lost winter souls that wander with visionless aim. A rising relief ensues in the reef of the green and colorless gold. A raven takes flight in the deep death of night to escape from the black hell of old.
These wandering, murmuring, children of god storm wrath from the heavens and **** what is good. Devour the light as they drain all the life from the world we once called our brood.
Take us away. Drain us, defame us.
A whisper in the void.
Take us away, lock us away, **** us.
A whisper in the void.
Psychonatural Antichrist, bleeding the truth from false prophets. Summoning hellfire, demonic intrigue, desecration and violence. Infernal release, a smiling god weeps and a glare of rage seeps from beneath.
In an eternal sea of stones will they forever reap.
Death will be paid to the ones he learns to hate.
Black velvet draped across the coffin of grace.
Take us away, far and away.
A whisper in the void.
Take us away to destroy and remake.
A whisper in the void.
A whisper in the void.
Enter the darkness. Into the abyss. Far away. Thermonuclear enslavior.
Stay awake. Remaining.
Give your soul to the unknown, bleed into the black night air. The savior will come soon, to take you to His room, and liberate you from despair.
Suffocate quickly, quietly. Swiftly, so no one may hear you, or catch you dying. Slip away faster and faster the tighter you squeeze the noose around your neck.
Give yourself away. Death is your escape. Death does not betray like life will.
Give yourself to they, the keepers of the fade with intent to save and desecrate. And as they say, they will be they, and they will **** and humiliate. Break you down, drag you around, deny, defy and utilize. Every last bit will wallow in **** from the hate you created and ate from.
Suffer in pain, annihilation.
A whisper in the void.
Burn alone, in isolation.
A whisper in the void.
A whisper in the void.
A whisper...
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
She's daffodils and morphine,
stimulating the heart to pulse precarious!
She's the tender cannonade of
lovesick ******
She's the trapeze wire
in a thunderstorm!
and by god
the thermonuclear bomb
of this generation!
Darling liberty
enkindle
me
cruelly.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
We watched the sun fall down and scrape its knee again, across the horizon.
Effusing amaranth, carmine, and cochineal across polluted vista.
It felt petty to issue guttural laughs, or engage the myofacial crescents beneath its visual lament as the Earth turned its back again.
We watched the sun rise, bruised, tender and shy this morning.
Its muddled contusion obviated by the gauze of fog.
A mottled neophyte -
Luminescent crepuscular rays defied dregs of interstellar debris and cloud.
Aching to kiss your skin -
In stellar cloud nursery, it eschewed the torque of orbit and gravity - eras before verity of your essence.
Humbly settling concentrically about oblate sphere, and gaseous tome.
Latterly - It altered the atmospheric pressure on the other side of the planet a week antecedently, as you clung to your dream lattice, and Earth innately turned oblate nucleus.
Its intent –
A veneration of you.
It bade the atmosphere convey a breeze echoing about your dermis, as it gilded your frame laconically, betwixt shaded steps beneath cloud and arbor.
The sun yelled at me at its pinnacle today,
Pallid bone – molten - miasma of rage
Its core missive garnered inertia – coronal plasma warping ellipsoid factions in inflections of elusive filigree
Pirouetting spicules spattered smelted torrents in the dismal anchorite
Atomic schism – silent but felt
It stoked humidity under shadowed niche - casual vaporous smears evinced no clemency.
Flesh torqued, and seized beneath itself, briny globules shed from puckered pore.
Culminations of sensitive fluid sacs scorched into the shallows of my chassis.
Insignia knit in cellular shrapnel
The sun ignored me today – or perhaps, it was I it.
Enigmatic tenacious resolution – an echo of its gravitational collapse
Inverse thermonuclear fusion
It is not fear in a relationship that keeps you apart, it is neglect of the infinitesimal.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
A stone monolith sits in the middle of a frozen field. It has seen many a eon, many civilizations fall and rise, many many years in it's cold position. Its face once that of a mighty god or a worshiped king, is all that remains. It's chiseled grimace forever juxtaposed on its stony countenance. Throughout its still existence, this grimace never disappears. All times will this grimace will endure.
The snow falls down over its impenetrable skull. It bears no notice, only surreal patience, as it slowly awaits oblivion. Oblivion! All its thoughtless mind are set on it, forever counting the days it does not know with numbers it does not know. There is no comfort here. All is frozen, all is cold. It had never chosen to lay here, yet lay here it must.
Eternally till it is dust, it is counting with numbers it does not know the days it does not know. It reminiscences on past events it witnessed, but does not recall. The wars, the disasters and the plagues.... It has bared through all with the same grimace as the creatures subjected to the horrors kneeled before it in reverence, offering it sacrifices and soul. It towered above these pitiful creatures, it watched with eyes that do not see as they trembled in its wake, following orders it did not speak. Ignoring prayers it did not hear.
So obediently did these creatures obey what it did not say! Dutifully did they destroy their own and all around them. Faithfully did they create this ****** field of barren nothingness, thee circumspect watchers of the monolith's will. An empty scourge to what once was. Beautiful landscapes of yesteryear now turned from sprawling green to turn into frozen ash, forever recounting the final moments of misery on this lifeless realm, a misery that surrounded the monolith in its final days. Consistently reflecting off of its stone grimace before it all faded away with the last life.
As the eternal years past and the amaranthine smog lies overhead, the monolith sits in the middle of a frozen field. There is no comfort here. The snow has turned to thermonuclear ash years ago. All is frozen, all is cold. It had never chosen to lay here, yet lay here it must.
Quietly it does. Frozen in place, in a frozen field where nothing grows. The strong face of monolith is all that remains. The face surveys the empty landscape before it forevermore.
Jan 22, 2012
Jan 22, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
"This is the end, my friend…"
Take refuge in the Golden Years.
Retire to an inevitable monastery
plopped on a suburban mountaintop.
Immerse yourself in the lost writings
of Nikita Khrushchev and Harry S Truman.
Learn to cook gizzards and meditate.
Find solace in obsolete atomic weapons,
enlightenment in the raw, butchered
expressions of the naked thermonuclear.
Wangle, ****** fire, and maneuver.
Get in touch with your inner Eichmann.
Devour baskets of tasty deplorables.
Stop clinging to guns and religion.
Love the fascism of the ordinary.
Become content with mere content.
Stop waving daggers at the innocent.
Wash yourself in the blood of the lamb.
Accept that Woodstock was futile.
Admit you can’t get no satisfaction.
Penetrate the goddess of unreason,
and come screaming to your senses.
Declare the dawn of the Age of Onanism.
Keep your fingers out of Pandora's box.
Bid farewell to the ghost of Joe Hill.
Depart the smothering, smooth life
of lust, corn flakes, and competition.
Expand your mind in a mushroom cloud.
Travel upriver to the ****** of Darkness,
legendary source of honeyed generation.
Attain new heights of perfect despair.
Discover the latent bliss of cassowaries,
rooted in their strong disdain for kale.
Play poker with the spirits of the dead.
These are your days of lucky revelation.
Lick magic frogs and witness lost dreams.
Arrive at the perfect wisdom of what is.
Everything and nothing, just what it seems.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC
In clear dawn’s prescient light I saw
Integrity of man withdraw,
Withdraw from that integral grace
Illuminated in that place.
A clear blue light in silhouette
Of moon and mountain pirouette,
A truthfulness of stark relief
Quite unencumbered by deceit.
Unencumbered by the paws
Of those who bare discordant claws,
They who twist God’s clear blue light
To manifest their grip on might,
Those who would, quite by perchance,
Enlist oblivion’s nuclear dance.
This hanging crescent moon aloft
Above our mountain’s darkened croft,
Delicately etched in vivid glow
Of promised new dawn’s velvet show…..
Dependant now on exchanged themes
Of thermonuclear warfare’s screams.
But then…..
Old soldiers call from War afar
To we who listen, jaw ajar,
To wisdom earnt by good blood spilt
Be of Field Grey or Scottish Kilt…..
“Fight no more this curse of War”
They, from beyond the grave, implore,
“We sacrificed our youth for thee
So thou might dwell in harmony”
In clear dawn’s prescient light they saw
A slit of sunshine’s open door,
Where sanity, just, could pave the way
For laughter’s peal to save this day.
M.
“Lest We Forget “
ANZAC Day
25 April 2017
HAMILTON, NEW ZEALAND
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
Americans live with fear.
Fear of being found out for what they are….an incredibly insecure people populating the most powerful nation on earth.
The power of Wall St. feeds their fear in the belief that the nation’s leaders and political machine have been bought and sold by big money.
In fact the only candidates registering positively in the current Primary elections are those who feed the fear. Trump feeds the fear every time he opens his big mouth.
Hillary engenders fear because she is a WOMAN who can, most probably, win the votes which will give her the Presidency in November next.
Americans fear the resurgence of Asia in China’s burgeoning thermonuclear militarist stance, the utter unpredictability of the simmering, India, Pakistan standoff
And the instability of the plump, demonic, demagogue armed with the atomic weaponry in the bleak wasteland that is North Korea.
Islam’s mobilisation scares Americans witless. The savagery of the Isis personifies all that is promised by an expanding worldwide Islamic threat.
And then there is Putin's Russia.
The encapsulation of American fear though, is painted graphically, starkly, by the nation’s absurd fascination, obsession, with the hand gun.
Everyone has a hand gun, in the car, in the office, in the mall, in the bedroom…..some even strap a hand gun on the hip to go to church.
Americans, first and foremost, fear each other.
Fear of the fear exacerbated by more fear.
Americans live with fear.
M.
Auckland NZ
13 February 2016
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
Words, once set to open air,
Gain weight.
Like boulders they can roll
from your mouth down a
slippery slope of destruction to
eventually settle heavily on the shoulders
of innocent individuals, the weight of which
often proving too much for their
fragilely constructed foundations to support.
Like a gun,
keep the safety on what you speak,
Don't point hateful words,
at anything you love,
unless you intend to **** it.
Because more deadly than any
lead based projectile what you say
will leave your mouth like
a tomahawk missile loaded with
a poisonous and corrosive payload
capable of entering a persons soul and eating it up
from the inside out.
They'll tell you your whole life,
"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."
Perhaps more people would heed this warning,
If they said,
"Your words are a thermonuclear bomb capable of disintegrating
egos quicker than Fat Man did Nagasaki, the lasting effects of which may resonate through time in a cataclysmic downward spiral you could not possibly begin to imagine, so be careful."
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
Once upon a time my name
Was bloodlust,
And in its Stygian fury I came
Like thermonuclear landscaping.
I became that furnace
Into which all
Bad ideas are tossed, and which
Generates the white hot,
Ghost hound heat
To fuel a motor,
To fill a peoples’ festering maw,
Their yawning, gurgling need
For macabre dances,
And human plane crashes.
It went like that for uncounted eons,
Only mentioned in bleakly
Humorous passing,
And spoken by dry tongues, and
Unbrushed teeth.
I danced, and crashed, and
Held court on Hell’s balcony
While the sun shed morning blood,
Again and again.
All the while, black smoke built up like
Silt on the popcorn ceiling.
That **** ceiling, which dropped
Little dreams and teasers on the carpet
To be pried out by desperate fingers
Which only proved themselves to be plaster
After I had snorted them.
That **** ceiling.
The audience, for being so large, was so quiet
Biting their knuckles, and waiting, breathless
For the final blitzkrieg that would have rendered my Poland
A cratered waste.
I did not want to disappoint, crawling like a pig
Sniffing, searching, sweating, and
Not wanting to let them down.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
Igloo
It was cosy in the igloo
A nice secluded place
Safe from the weather
Nice and quiet
No outside distractions
Just right for me
This is a special place
For the storage of bombs
Very special bombs
Thermonuclear ones
Each with a warhead
1 megatons of explosive
Amongst the biggest made
Held in NATO’s arsenal
Ready to be used
Drop them on Russia
Hit their bases
And ICBM sites
Drop them by F-16
Or the new F-35
So we win the war
World War 3
Defeat Neo Soviet forces
And inherit the earth
A scorched world of ash
Will my special igloo
Be fine after the war?
For it’s my home
Here amongst the bombs
I love the bombs
In 2 days
War starts...
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 12:47 AM UTC
Alias indomitable invincible
Donald John Trump oozes wrath
inexorably plunging every species
of life toward apocalyptic warpath
mercilessly threatentens world
wide web promising bloodbath
validating ex post facto commander
in chief as nonpareil sociopath
hence... this call to arms gives run
for money challenging any psychopath
lest inevitable according to dead
reckoning prediction of
wisest sages calculated math.
Thus one poetic footsoldier doth broadcast
dire straits emergency, and inveigh
grassroots action mandatory meaning
registered voters must
cast ballot per se
else planet Earth will...
burn thermonuclear gray
rendering oblate spheroid
uninhabitable, I daresay
if bleak forecast father time doth delay
global warming would outweigh
former worst case nihilistic scenario,
nonetheless Gaia will serve
as repurposed ashtray,
whereby inextinguishable fiery storms
approximating calculus of doomsday
nsync with intolerable weather forecasts
if complacency rides roughshod field day
defying lack of immunization oy vey
against opportunistic unfamiliar organisms
viral and bacterial agent provocateurs
microscopic gangbusters
nothing could allay
winning scrimmage play
thinning overpopulation whereby
scavengers make short shrift
plethora once living flotsam and jetsam
perhaps requiring rotting, putrefying,
goods put on layaway
(type of foragers -
reference https://www.google.com/search?
client=safari&channel=mac_bm&ei=
KECaXe_UA6SO5wLh-7gY&q=list+
examples+of+scavengers&oq=list+types+
of+scavengers&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0i22i30.
58737.70074..70997...0.4..0.223.1875.
21j2j1......0....1..gws-wiz.......
0i71j0i273j0j0i131j0i67j33i22i29i30.
wnDI0kLrKWM).
now ye might hashtag me chicken little
synonymous to Rome burning,
while Nero did fiddle,
perhaps scaremonger i.e. Cassandra
alamist bah bing away, a realist foaming
at figurative mouth with spittle,
would you believe cautious optimist,
who presents prediction,
while this poem heed whittle.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
Cosmic vibrations and toxic inclinations
Burning eyes suggesting prolonged stimulations,
I prop open the window-to have a cigarette,
But I fear the Red Queen beside me will chop off my head.
-
Now, I knew from the beginning that she was one of a kind,
The way she would crack open my psyche and see what she could find.
Strange chemicals in the savage desert sun-
The way she would place flowers into the barrel of a gun.
-
Down the rabbit hole, to the dark side of the moon
You are the mechanism to which wildflowers bloom.
An act of passive resistance, you place your palm to a tree
A testimonial expression of what it’s meant to be.
-
In a world of hate and violence, in the midst of a thermonuclear war,
You are the one that I retain my sanity for.
Wipe the tears away from your atmospheric eyes,
Planetary currents under a starlit sky.
-
Although you are gone, I will always wait
For Alice to return to the Mad Hatter’s domain.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC
The bomb’s flash is blinding,
Brighter than any kind of lightning.
The enormity of the mushroom cloud is frightening;
A monstrosity both terrifying and grotesquely enlightening.
The eyelids instinctively board shut in fear;
Adrenal glands working overtime,
More in this moment than a whole year.
Yet, eyelids seem useless,
For the reality leaves one speechless.
In this moment, you will see an X-ray of your own vessels and bones.
It will feel like a ghastly omen, like the earth itself shakes and groans.
And then, the shockwave hits, gut-wrenchingly raw;
A fallout so powerful, it might break the bones you just saw.
A cataclysm of impossible energy, an apocalypse that ends in sheer awe.
The nuke –
Admired and feared from afar,
Trepidation come alive, a door to hell left ajar.
The symbol of being forever at war,
Apocalyptic nature in its demonic core.
Loved only by its makers,
Hated by most living on earth’s many acres,
Respected by all.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC
gimme a flaming pumpkin seed
for i wanna do some trouble
create havoc down below me
hypseronic devil craft
created by man to ****
thermonuclear detonations
wherever i wish
got 122 nuclear warheads
snug in my belly
each one a city killer
or able to destroy an army
kicked out by springs
easy as having a beer
nobody or nothing
can touch me
unlike me upon high
easily the most evil weapon
riding my own shckwave
skipping the atmsophere
into space where i reign
the winner of all wars
before they begin
but winning without mercy
if they start
soviet russia my target
and any one else
who wants to dance
my flaming pumpkin seed
power beyond god
created by america
to rule you all
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC
Far moost o' me
three score minus one year
tethered upon terra firmae where
planet Earth doth veer
(spins upon the global axis
(tilted 23.5 degrees from the plane
of its orbit around the sun),
terrestrial genesis (perhaps accompanied
for Pete's sake by Gabriel
blowing his horn) in all honesty unclear
boot more oven concern
points to thermonuclear
and/or subnuclear
war, particularly at forefront
of thine primate noggin
actively hypothesizing
theoretical armageddon,
when non plus ultra gravitates
with e pluribus unum necessitating
each individual to bend over
and kiss his/her rear
goodbye unless total merciless queer
hue loss atomic fallout immediately
incinerates e'en
the moost savvy profiteer,
which aforementioned prognostication
arose from overbear
ring hazy, hot and humid
dangerous heat spell near
lee approximating insufferable
temperature nearing triple digits
(along Eastern Seaboard
of United baked States
makes this human,
an immediate convert to climate control
(though he happened tubby already)
basking, glorifying, and luxuriating
within delightful 60º Fahrenheit mere
really expressing gratitude for such
creature comfort donning my
stretched out birthday suit,
(yet thee moost comfortable leisurewear
then thrift store "special bag
mountain of clothes
as mooch as Yukon sales,"
no matter mine ill mannered
mirrored reflection doth jeer
at such a sorry sight, and/or
laugh reading interlinear
monologue colloquy,
which message gleaned between lines,
and should this poem be red aloud,
thy ******** passion linkedin
with humming HVAC, ye would hear
courtesy hove cochlear
(hollow tube in the inner ear)
sensitive to deafening sounds...so beware!
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
I want to write my fans
Some more lines about kissy face
And beautiful flowers and lakes
And rainbows all over the place.
But, it is difficult to do today
Because a country of loons
Has elected to take office
A few hundred crazy buffoons.
They are turning our country
Into a place of us and them.
And thermonuclear holocaust
Will be a crazy person’s whim.
A megalomaniac playing soldier
With absolutely no regard
For the outcome of his madness
Makes pretty poetry very hard.
It’s extremely hard to come by
And harder yet to conceive
Because true poetry and art
Only come when we believe
And nothing about our fates now
Are anything other than incredible.
What the GOP has cooked up
Is nowhere close to edible.
To me writing fluffy words in rhyme
Is much like Nero and his fiddling.
I can’t just tap dance for the toffs.
I mean, who would I be kidding?
So, don’t expect hearts and flowers
Or many lovely June, moon tunes.
A completely stupid country has left
Us in the hands of bull goose loons.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC
**** power
You are a powerful baby, embossed perfection. You are a ****** toughness and I need only you alone, you have *** power, attraction to you as a chain wrapped around me pulls towards you, muscles stronger than metal,
You are the highest peak of ****** tension, excitement, amazing admiration, you are a powerful thermonuclear explosion of an ****** You have the sexiest genes, you have the ****** power you excite me so much, right up to the ****** divinely **** Grateful, sweet, hot moans like the roar of a lioness. You're a powerful lure for real men. Piercing in love, extremely attractive, alluring bright image that goes into the soul and heart. Your skin color is so attractive to itself and so much excites. Attraction to you is strong and powerful as steel, an ******** is stronger than stone, **** and chest are more perfect than any other model.
A chur hot, sexier than you nothing and can not be, you are superior to all in its beauty. Physically perfect deity of the pantheon of gods. You are my *** dream, the empress of beauty, your juicy body shapes are just perfect, as are the features of your infinitely beautiful face. Your appearance is gifted with magical charm - it's magically beautiful.
Author: Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:37 AM UTC
Love sits like a rock, ticks like a clock,
drops like a thermonuclear warhead.
Never ending, resists bending, snaps
back like a palm tree after a beach storm.
Unfazed by summer's heat, talks on a beat,
grand standing through each of our eyes.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 12:45 PM 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
{i. Synapses}
A moment’s unfathomable pause;
Drifting in polarized rows of orbit
As the planets vibrate autonomously.
Set courses of motion to fall;
Deities of amber marked with gradience
In columns separated by generations
Of the science of religion;
Unbound and with pure neutrality.
Neurons connected by stardust mildew
On the cosmic breeze of a comet;
Sailing by the passing galaxies
To the cerebrum of the universe’s
Central nervous system.
The bridge between logic and reason
Is built for the sparkling atoms of thought;
Purging doubt and mystery
From the corners of our minds,
And eliminating the inhibitor of
Satanic, and Godly free will.
{ii. Purpose}
March to the sunrise
With the rhythm of a supernova,
And rejoice in the lunar light
Away from the solar cataclysm.
Ritual of space;
Thermonuclear, beautiful grace
Of the genesis fusion of hydrogen
To ultimate iron.
Smothered in subatomic promises of creation,
The journey of light to shadow
Is split apart to reveal its voided entrails
Of fractured physics;
Never again to show remorse
For simply being the messenger
Of purpose.
Nov 8, 2020
Nov 8, 2020 at 2:07 AM UTC