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Valo Salo Aug 2015
killimportantmodernlikemrwarbombgotdirtylovecaredirtbeautifullife­secondgodreallightknowtimenakedtearjustworlddieheartdeaddevilhuma­noidvladmomentwanteyesmusiclonelyrespectnewssaygoodwordsburnheave­nbighateairdeathwhiteyearsfreecaught machine guess right blood human night lost town bad burning hair born wild black car eat ate likes democracy planet pope newton make hands forever way live look alive thinking end oh work old living sick sun drive song bed tears cold clean police blind fat spit men pop law tells boring moral religion religious child's it'll soul thoughts intelligent tell cause flesh lips feel dying kiss ****** trying self history course justice pure deep **** try leave broken mountain brain owns child dog universe bleeding going lights insane build makes runs imagine stupidity bright stupid rich children quiet worry bite nothingness monster hell image exist crash millions **** holy terror satan hungry thousands ******* behave sentences tv nation ****** christians 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eaters delusions flaunt gonorrhea vegetarian taxes rockets leash ripping rational pirates embarrassing dolphin nationality shipping ****** thanksgiving goods deals hopefully nephew flounder kennel ****** communists erupting haircut gays ku klux chins justin draped cerebral usa ***** puke ***** fraction neutral warren fornication belive batteries stoning chopped buddhism tolerate enlightened antibiotics dependence mae apocalypse irrational vise pets comedians sympathies somalia crises terrorists breakdowns peppermint biological ***** disobedience ****** vandals hippie fakes mac bombing nosebleed mafia infamously lesbians berg stylish pr dubai burgers production cruise commander embryos presidents clones gluttons chock ******* illegitimate iphone philosophical yucatan refuges celine inclusive spam dion sanitary waddling mullahs nationalism karl ***** remix sensationalism psychopaths techno disney www punks bombay pomme rappers stucked elixirs bjork mutilations allright lagerfeld enormously elton rabies damien hirst capitalists ravers idealism salaries allready freddie zeitgeist dictatorships invoice asmile berlusconi scarified subjectivity riped ozzy snobbish bnp mcdonald we're you'll we'll beethoven's god's men's arseholes queen's feet's elizabeth's putin duck's einstein's poppop puppy's pig's buffett warhead self-satisfied post-human poo-poo 15 2000 fannie pictorial laundries ****** mahmoud caliphate woodworks biebers frites wonderfulmeaninglessness mujahedins fwarhols pseudo-subjectivity anti-document exstraordinary ahmadinejad behavelike muthafukas somethingeverybodyreally yourlanguage crucialenemies sayevil alicense yourselfwear thatyoudon'tlike someheavy reallymeancontrol andindulge swastikasneversayaword oneincludingyourself yourselfagunandplaywithknifes eraseany heartace parkistan bashra iq's entertanier 28000000 märsk mc-kinny möller onepays isharshand muthafuckasdrop representingallthat toyesor ifno hintsaboutyour tosmallviolentgroupsin societylet 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Perri Jun 2015
I am as bitter as pure cocoa
As sour as a warhead
More layered than a jawbreaker,
To protect myself from someones
sweet tooth.
But I hope one day,
Someone sees that I am actually
Sweeter than taffy,
More vulnerable than cotton candy,
And more delightful than Turkish delights.
I hope to fulfill someone's cravings.
Caleb John Jul 2018
There's a bomb headed in this direction

The explosion will be bigger and more terrifying then anything this world has ever seen

This warhead will hit and destroy the world

Everyone has a way of escape

All you have to do is give up your fight against the God who loves you

He will save you

He wants to save you

The only way he can save you is if you accept his salvation

Don't be victim of your own sin

You see your sin created the warhead

You have doomed yourself

But Jesus can save you from your own doom

He loves you

He died for you so you don't have to

Give up your false gods

They won't satisfy

They're not enough
I was born in grave clothes
Raised in grave clothes
Unaware I even bathed in grave clothes
I didn't know the extent of my decay
Like the bones were expose in my face but I didn't have reflective glass to see my flesh
I was on a rotten path
Death would have been the only prize at the end of my race
Strongholds wrestled my thoughts and subdued my brain
Bone marrow deep I was linked to Adam
Lord knows I wasn't Abel
Dna tied to  blood imprinted on the ground I had more in common  with Cain
It's true a heart beat of sin causes death to course through vains
I wondered how could I be treated
Something was missing something was needed
To my shock it was Jesus
Clear! He got my heart beat right
With that resurrection power
Made my heart see light
He changed my life
I started to realize that the same power that raised Christ from the dead
Was the same power that lived in me
That does more than allow me to breathe .
It brings life back to limbs riddle with rigor mortis
It's reverses  decomposition brings back what death has stolen  
It's  uncontrollable like a lighting storm.
It's unadulterated
Once it hits
It's changes landscape  like when a nuclear warhead is detonated
Hoover dam generated power
Turbine engine spending power
Lift the dead out of sin power
Tectonic plate shifting, erecting mountains from plains power
By one name only can we be saved power
Second coming cracking the sky power
All knees shall bow and all tongues shall comply  power
Corruptible turned into incorruptible in a instant power
Rebirth repositioned repurposed repented power
Turn  what seems to be a lost into a win power
It is finish the precursor to the release of infinite power
I could never be the same because  the spirit lives in me gives me power
My arteries are laced with a burning flame
A roaring wind, a groaning earth, a raging sea crashing waves
The impact of several elements crush the chains of a slave
It's the same power that said come forth Christ friend walks out the grave
The same power that moved the stone a borrowed tomb turned to a cave
It's the power of the Resurrection
In a world full of aborted life
It breeds conception
In a world that attempts to abort Christ
The church still  cries out in reverence
Changed death for us now it's portal
Changed lives of stop watches into immortal
Resurrection power a glimpse into the eternal
inhumanity Oct 2016
emotions suprressed
for 5 years or less
i'm not complex
i'm just basically depressed
this weight on my chest
a plate on my breast
shields me from jest
bulletproof vest
bullets of happiness
cardiac arrest
please put me to bed
pass my last test
then let me face death
i got a lot on my mind right now
kirk Feb 2019
Different words we will seek out, some are new and strange
The Enterprise has left dry dock, she's the only ship in range
We'll explore the distant galaxies, find other new life forms
There has been stars and nebulas, and hostile ion storms

The star ship Exeter has been found, orbiting Omega Four
Only uniforms remain, and the crew they are no more
They have suffered a disease, No one is left on board
We must beam down the landing party, lives we can't afford

Captain Ron Tracy has gone rouge, violating the Prime directive
While in pursuit of long life, this was his main objective
Crystal remains of the Exeter's crew, was it the planets evolution
The Omega Glory can be solved, with the American Constitution

If your not of the body, then brainwashing could turn sour
Mr Sulu is in paradise, just beware of the red hour
Hooded lawgivers are out there, for the bidding of Landru
Waiting for The Return Of The Archons, another Starfleet crew

Stella would chastise Harry Mudd, but he didn't get annoyed
Finally having the last word, with his special wife android
The arrogance of Harcourt Fenton Mudd, with a touch of eccentricity
Many androids created in I Mudd, a planet of multiplicity

Is Professor John Gill guilty, of a prime directive violation
Advanced technology has been used, to create a **** nation
The Planet Ekos is contaminated, evolutions set off course
Zeon pigs are off the street, to evade Patterns Of Force

Trelane wanted fun and games, It was time to make a stance
An ancient duelling pistol, may be Captain Kirk's one chance
Challenging The Squire Of Gothos, who is the sharpest shooter
War games against four federation ships, with The Ultimate Computer

The Mark Of Gideon was Kirk's blood, and Odona was infected
Kirok experienced The Paradise Syndrome, before the asteroid was deflected
In the body of Mr Spock, Henoch didn't have no sorrow
Will the essence of the captains mind, Return To Tomorrow

Plato's Stepchildren used telekinetic abilities, to force an interracial kiss
Zefram Cochrane's in love with The Companion, in Metamorphosis
We are stranded on a planet, something's threatening our lives
Body cells are being disrupted, so protect That Which Survives

A Requiem for Methuselah, Flint is part of ancient history
Miri is a young woman, the Grup's disease is now our mystery
Klingons in Errand Of Mercy, tried to take Organian's turf
A warhead in the past was detonated, in Assignment Earth

The Lights Of Zetar invaded the body, of Lieutenant Mira Romaine
Bread and Circuses gladiator sacrifices, a fight to the death again
Lost in the past will we get back, from All Our Yesterday's
Lazarus is positive and negative, The Alternative Factor's split two ways

Was the creature made of rock, we didn't know for certain
A fight with history's greatest foes, behind The Savage Curtain
Janice Lester captured Capitan Kirk, he could not elude her
She took over his body and ship, in Turnabout Intruder

An impostor is on board the ship, Kirk has been separated
Men have good and evil sides, but now there segregated
Does passive need aggressiveness, a malfunction caused their sever
Transporters need to be repaired, to splice Kirk back together

These are the voyages of the crew, of the enterprise
Many officers have died, and we've said our last goodbyes
Missions placed in the ships logs, along with crew memoirs
Our adventurers may continue, with our trek to unknown stars. . .
Back by popular demand is this the third Star Trek poem, featuring the episodes :

Season 1:

Miri
The Squire Of Gothos
Return Of The Archons
Errand Of Mercy
The Alterative factor

Season 2:

I Mudd
Metamorphosis
Return To Tomorrow
Patterns Of Force
The Omega Glory
The Ultimate Computer
Bread And Circuses
Assigment Earth

Season 3:

The Pardise Syndrome
Plato's Stepchildren
The Mark Of Gideon
That Which Survives
The Lights Of Zetar
Requiem For Methuselah
The Savage Curtain
All Our Yesterdays
Turnabout Intruder

These 22 episodes represent the last episodes that appeared in The Original Live Action Star Trek series. With my previous 2 poems based on this subject, this completes a trilogy of poems which cover the whole of Star Trek The Original Series originally aired from September 1966 through June 1969
Other adventurers and missions do feature Captain James T Kirk, First Officer Spock, Doctor McCoy and the crew of the Original Star ship Enterprise some known some not so well known all of which are a continuation of the ones outlined in my poems.
I am not sure these will materialise in any form in the future but other dimensions may indeed reveal further adventures. . .
If *** is a weapon, she shoots to ****.
She left a scar, there,
Beneath my chest for the thrill.
The pain refuses to abate. And like the throbbing of a toothache,
She numbs my will.

If looks could ****, she’d be a weapon
Of mass destruction.
And the hollow she wrought with ease in me,
Betrays her lack of skill.
Now, like a warhead of doomed love, she strikes,
And blasts my cursed will.

Yet I’d have her sent on me still...
Ashley R Prince Sep 2012
If I was a candy
I'd be a sour
warhead.
Pink.
The longer you
let me sit,
the sweeter I get
and at the very
center
is a gooey bit
that goes down
easy.
Everybody loves
a peppermint,
but I'm not that
plain.
Nevermore Aug 2014
These are the end times.

Judgment is coming
For our iniquities and apathy
For the ****** of the unborn
For worshiping money
For voting Democrat
For buying non-biodegradable products.

Or so they say.

I don't enjoy discussing
Or even hearing
About eschatology
When and how and why the world will end
Which is what seems to pervade the air at home
Every time the conversation suffers an unfortunate lull.

Some cathartic culmination
Of a Deity's wrath
No doubt for all the
***, drugs, and rock & roll
Humanity indulges in
On a daily basis.

Hearing about the end --
Demons born to women
Automatons wearing human skins
Talking animals
Seems so redundant.
The signs had been here all along.
We've been living with them for ages now.

What if
Instead of a violent, sudden cataclysm,
The end comes
As an implosion
Drawn out over billions of years?
What if the second law of thermodynamics
Is the prophesy
Doomsday prophets overlooked?

There are no aliens coming
To **** and subjugate this planet:
We're already here.

This is the end
We've been simmering in it
Fighting and spitting and cursing
In puddles of our filth and hate

The end has been unfolding
For the past few millennia
As humanity continues to multiply
Like rats beneath New York.

And here we are
Making plans
Getting married
Hoarding money
Getting **** drunk
Too busy preventing
The little apocalypses
Of our petty lives.

We're planting gardens
In the shadow of a warhead.

We all saw it coming
We were just too busy to care.

My world's already ending
In bits and pieces anyway
At random intervals

Every time I let someone in
And she inevitably leaves
Taking a piece of me with her
My sun dies in agonizing degrees

Even a quiet infatuation
Eats away at me
Crumb by crumb.

All those theories about the end
Forget them.
I'm living my own apocalypse
And surrounded by human-sized
People-shaped versions
Of the Four Horsemen
So shut up already.
Valo Salo Aug 2014
burn down matters
burn down stupidity
burning cry for love in
Newton Town.

******* phones
bombing clones
leave a message in
Newton Town.

warhead or war
washed out mountains
burning rivers and burning hands in
Newton Town.

forever nothingness
all streets are all empty
you know nothing happens in
Newton Town.
Said she would love him in winter
And summer, regardless of what the
World might do, even sin and Lucifer.

Though Apollo should forge his warhead
In the fiery furnace of the sun,
Though Diana vacates not the bed
Of succulent roses in the morn;

Yet, with him said she would tarry.

But she left him unannounced;
With another has she been hooked.
Blaze Anderson Sep 2014
You are hideous and horrible
Your voice is like nails on a chalk board
As you taunt younger children
You are like a monkey on stilts
The way you try to fit in and know you don’t
Your face is like a cat that just ate the world sourest warhead
When you scowl and glare at your new enemies and old friends
You are like a snake
The way you sneak your good grades into the trash
Then you lie and say you failed
You are like a horrible gossip channel
Making fun of others to bring you higher
You are like an ongoing cycle
Changing all the time
Like time
The way you keep going and never look back
You are dumber than a box of rocks when it comes to life
Why?
Because you gave up on your true friends for fake ones
You stepped over a dull dollar for a shiny dime
You are like a siren
Making people see what you want them to see
But not you what you are
Just another nerd like me.
Stratton Jun 2016
Sun Metal Warhead
Back from the New Dead
Through the stars to capture me
Rapture car through galaxies
Who would've guessed, he had a pistol in his pocket
Barrel through the waistband baby
**** it, **** it, **** it
Went off like a nuclear wasteland rocket
Mediterranean
Silver bikini clad
My little Alien
Come sit on your landing pad!
The pious pie squared
With erudite crumbs
By worthy chefs before me;

Topped with faith, theory
And porous facts;

Sliced by a dead president
In a top hat;

Tainted finger wagging
My tail
From school to jail;

Loaded bus painted
Greed, white and blue;

Driven at the speed of life
By an atheist
Who once knew God;

Then traded his peace
For ten pounds of sin
And a nuclear warhead....

~ P
(#TenPoundsofSin)
3/21/14
nick armbrister Apr 2020
The civilian islanders living on Guam have only 14 minutes to flee North Korean missiles.
What will they do when the enemy birds are fired?
So few minutes to get to the shelter.
Will the shelter be enough to protect them?
Nobody will know what type warhead the missiles carry.
Not till it detonates and unleashes devastation.
Some people don’t care about the threat.
They chill out at the beach surfing or reading.
Or go to a barbeque and drink ice cold beer.
And go to a club with a pretty lady and dance close.
Who cares about a fat madman’s threats?
If he fires a single missile it will either miss or be splashed.
Then his nation will be reduced to ash and rubble.
North Korea failing to exist except only in memory.
Adding to the list of dictators and regimes that were ******* insane.
This latest one targeting Guam due to the American base
Jesse R Anderson Apr 2014
I have special gifts, but I'm misunderstood
(It’s whispered I’m mad as a hatter).

That's because, when I choose, I'm a wisp of smoke;
A thin tendril of tenuous matter.

Sometimes, I'm a two dimensional plane,
Like a steam-rollered cat, only flatter.

I can be a glass sphere, full of poisonous gas,
Contemplating a reason to shatter,

Or a hot detonator on a hydrogen warhead
(Think lit cherry bomb—only fatter).

Today, I'm the link between monkey and man,
I don’t know if I’ll talk or I’ll chatter.

I just know that I’m special, very special, indeed,
Because when I show up—people scatter.
The Dedpoet Feb 2016
Its a divine day to think about
The apocalypse, to walk along
The final shores before the
Tsunami take me!

I take a walk in the night wonder,
I look on hopeful stars and think
If the inter- continental ballistic
Nuclear warhead will strike down the skies.

Sometimes in abstract silence,
I see comets the size of a football field,
They pass me by and say hello,
But they never seem to end the world!

And standing upright looking into
The oblivion, I feel the cool breeze
And sense the Ice Age coming on,
Then it all comes to a stop:

I realise I am just a man with
Too much time on his hands
Watching networks news and
Find that the end of the world is
Everyday.
Fear mongering trying to keep the people under control.
An unpredictable man has hardware
Flouting its strong resolve for us to see
A missile projecting with awful scare
The world pleads his insane obsession's flee
Diplomacy's will urges a quelling
Our quaking planet seems truly unsafe
Danger's loud note he's lately spelling
We're hearing the meaning of rasping chafe
Containing his ambitions no easy task
A deaf ear chosen by commo warhead
Why is the question we must now ask
The provocation feels like a dire dread
International sanctions ***** him down
May they limit the threat's barbed crown
Michael Marchese Apr 2023
Like Lucy saw Jesus
One day in the woods
No good deed more egregious
Than ghettoes
And hoods
But with armies like these
Who needs even
Have policies
When with ease
Reading
His enemies’
Strategies
Breed,
Outcompete,
Then delete
Actualities
Factual
Lacking,
Class
Gun-blasting
Tragedies
None more conspiring
To firing
Squad
Than the tyrant
Behind it
All’s
Fallout with God
Tyler King Jun 2016
THE REAGANS KILLED MY BEST FRIEND

THOUSANDS MORE DEAD, THE PLAGUED MASSES PLEADING TO BE MADE CLEAN

THOUSANDS MORE INCARCERATED, THE JUNK SICK DESPERATION VOMITING UP DEMONS IN JAIL CELLS

THOUSANDS MORE HOMELESS, DEEMED WORTHY OF NOTHING MORE THAN SPARE PENNIES AND BARELY CONCEALED DISGUST

I will not let the blood be washed away
I will not let history paint you as Saint
I will not let you be made holy
I will not become another casualty in your war
Not while I still have a voice
I spit on your grave
I see red
I bleed red
I am red
I am a rifle
I am a nuclear warhead
I am a Contra weaponizing loopholes in the law to **** my enemies with
I am Osama bin Laden as the Crucifed Christ
I am the AIDS victim drinking drop by drop of toxic blood while the hawks of war stifle laughter from gay jokes in their capitals
I am the ****** bashing my head into a wall hoping to destroy the itch before it destroys me
I am the beggar who the wealth never trickled down to
I am the mental patient met with closed doors anf nothing but ammunition to soothe the screaming in my head
I am the workers on strike chiming out the death knell of the unions and my own autonomy
I am the Soviet child living one badly timed joke from holocaust

I AM THE DEATH MASK OF YOUR ANNIHILATION
I AM THE DAMAGE DONE
I AM WASHINGTON BURNING DOWN
I AM MOSCOW INSOMNIAC
I AM HINCKLEY IN MY DREAMS I **** YOU EVERY NIGHT
I AM WATCHING YOU RISE AGAIN
I AM TERRIFIED OF YOUR SURVIVAL
I AM READY TO DIE BEFORE I LET YOU RESUME CONTROL
I AM SICK OF LIVING IN YOUR SHADOW
I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE
nick armbrister Jan 2019
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...
I cry

I cry without stopping





infidelity known.

she speaks.


a swarm is simply a swarm


I nod
blood spills from my ear.


a lance.

a knife to a fight.

short of a trophy
I prove myself.


star of track of field

six in the morning child

again


alas they say memories swing round


bad off

NATO orders my artillery to leave


die
(all of his connections)

die
(all of his corrections!)


its fingers
its denim

sweet sickly


the need to taint
its need to taint


of rose

of lace




and the nauseous chariot


I hear a man tell me to lower my pants


five fifty child molester





rumors of a wasp's nest.





Climb dig and burrow.

Four people become one warhead.


a family forgets it is first

a weld forgets it bonds



still a spider.

suspend my fangs



a jar



Orlando



Missouri



states away a kiss mimics a drone.


She
darker no.
now darker yes.


with shameful splashes we recover.
Gather and mourn in a corner.

a drink? a meal?

Yes, his favorite.

Her favorite.

Swallow.

First chew. Through salt and oil.
Find there the meat.


Excrement rots?
Fertilizes?


Or does it sink?



there

now our tears join.


With sodium we are one.

I'm drinking your blood
and you are doing many thing to drink mine


Chaos on this doorstep.




With you tonight.




remembering twenty five years ago


a signature is needed

a window to nail close.
a match to ignite
and a legacy to squabble over


life shines
i give birth
his mother
and i


and I'm praying he sees the same flake fall twice for the first time

and I'm praying he enjoys courdory

and I'm praying he has my mother's green eyes

and I'm praying he has my will

and I'm praying he knows my grandparents loved

and I'm praying he has my father's eye for beauty

and I'm praying he never knows where I came from

and I'm praying I haven't witnessed too many falling stars

and I'm praying I've not broken a heart


and I'm praying


i know it's wishful thinking


see thirteen species go extinct
see my mother cry
gnaw on iron bars
give more than have
gain a scar
smother an infant
bury a corpse
live their life
stroke hair


enjoy peeled grapes and tomatosoup with no vomiting


destroy a legacy


I reach into a wet trashbag
I feel hair and bone


I clean up and I grow up



myself molested
myself molded



a ******



two

three

and now it was eleven

twenty two?



then I wake up
and I forget



(hoping this would always **** me)


and I want to know why
I guess that's life.
Ask yourself among your cups.
Or ask yourself twenty years sober.
Ask yourself "Why did Robert Carroll Spear remove himself from my life?"
Cry hot tears. Give yourself to that embarrassing gulping for air.
Words always hurt.
And my emptiness is a metric of pain I thought to be impossible.
Maybe I'll cheer up.
Phil, Peg, Andrew, Caleb and Sarah, these are my last words to you.
I will never forget you.

But.

If I were ever given the opportunity to forgive you,
I'd turn away and live my life as if I never knew you.

Choke on those chunks of flesh you've removed from other people.
I chew still and methodically the fatty lumps you five have left behind.

Tragedy
Mitchell Jul 2014
A pressing matters
Ink
Bleeds through the
Thin
Newspaper pages

We read the times
To see
Things we cannot fully
Under-
Stand.

Bullets, they **** off
The page
And into our homes.
Bombs, assassinations, whispering
Drones.

Are we lucky to be
So distant
Or will this create a
Disadvantage?
The streets they are
Cold today,
Perhaps soon to be filled
With righteous panic.

When the clock strikes war
Who
Do you think will be
More prepared?
The violent survive,
So
What of the fair?

A man of war
Holds
Their gun

Like a nuclear warhead
Like an AK
Like a sabre
Like a rock
Like a stick
Like two hands

To protect
What they think
To be

Theirs.
Mark Parker Jun 2020
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.
Hi.
Michael Marchese Sep 2016
Vaporized
Nuclear skies
Dehumanized
Before your eyes
Let shadows stain
Your throne of lies
And downfall reigns
Fill your warhead
With haunting cries
Of burning dread
When no replies
Or tears are shed
For the melted, faceless dead
No peace is spread
No words revised
In treaties forcing all complies
Pledge to disarm
Then supersize
The god complex
Hellbent disguise
Is worn instead
As profits rise
For sycophantic
Suits and ties
The circling vultures' hunger fed
On stuffing pocket carnage prize
Then hollow carcass speech is read
And every empty promise said
Selling us this freedom guise
While purchasing our dark demise
And sharing it
With our allies
Until all cents of life is bled
At the expense of those who've pled
To end the violence
We devise
An age of terror we have led
As hate and fear in flesh embed
A fusion bomb
That greed has bred
The human race
Runs ever-red
Mankind erased
And in its stead
A fallout zone
Is our deathbed
Terry Jordan Feb 2018
Words will love time
Family soul looked dead
Mother night, Brother fear
Best dark, crooked dog
Hears invisible moment
Stay, bear, speak easy space language
Remember hard space days
Language spaces cry
Christmas music power
Beauty seeking kiss turns to Irish evening news
Sun met snow going to watch miles
Die waiting, making clever men strong
Cat lives learn pure poetry
Wide storm a false friend
Morning feels close, feet pain weaving peace
Help poets let eternity cut fruit apart
Blue depression wins, full darkness leaves
Seasons retire watching river
Sea sorrow sold joy
Feeling deep sound things
Abandoned blame returns
Blind hearing grace checks wild mistake
Running, driven-spent moments
Sorrow creating joy
Hold hands, find play
Lost lake born a pale moon
Fresh dance worth breathing
A breathing garden paradise
Cool quicksand reaching a slow wait
Bless living fires' straight rain
Forgive driving, thriving resentments
Listen wisdom, tomorrow care needed
Glory course closer, savor ordinary beach comfort
Search, child, higher purpose tune
Human blood hearts rose, amazed
Alpha lessons support warhead, cruel promises cease
Remind denying Miami
Doppelgänger prophets flash resistance
Mourn cruising, drinking, washing tears
Women aware, believing Today broke
Fly locked room, pulling neglected history
Leaving social standing, familiar village wedding
Revealing cursed leaping boy
Gambling high Democracy
There are 7000 words that I've used in writing and posting poetry, so I printed them and started circling phrases within them that sounded good to me.  Sounds like nonsense...but is it?  Anyone else tried it?
Ithaca Dec 2019
The sound of crimson rain descending from large, black clouds and landing with a vengeance on reinforced steel echoed solemnly throughout the night sky.

This post-demolition city was destroyed beyond recognition after the warhead hit.

Barren streets decorated with scattered rubble and the smell of decay saturated the night air. The radiation caused the rain to turn the color of blood; the blood of the millions of people that the projectile disintegrated.

Just North of the blast radius, a small, barely standing apartment complex stood ***** from the broken ground.

On the second floor of this hotel of hell, two teenagers, a boy and a girl, were quickly becoming men and women; their pleasure loud, but never heard.

Above them on the third floor, a woman hung **** from the ceiling. Her sickly body covered in boils from the radiation.

Two floors below, seven skeletons were spread equidistant from each other. The boy and girl had moved them surreptitiously after doing something with them that even I would not in right mind divulge.

The fourth floor was a horrible sight. A dying baby screaming helplessly; his mother and father lying dead beside him; they both shot themselves. The baby was born with six tiny, black eyes, and no legs to crawl. He’d take his last breath before the sun rose in the morning.

The boy finished his act, and took a large puff of a cigarette. The girl, completely satisfied and lying in blood, chose the needle. The boy followed.

It was their escape. A way to leave the pain of being orphaned by the war. Every single loved one and friend was slaughtered like cattle by the enemy. It was only them now.

This was their first night at the makeshift hotel, and they came willing to die. Together. They knew the radiation would overcome their sickly bodies.

There was nothing left to live for.
No place to call home.
Hölle auf Erden.
O night divine.
Andrew Rueter Aug 2020
After harmlessly crossing your border
          you take our friendship hostage
guarding your perimeter with sandbags of arbitrary etiquette
a no man's land of manners separates us
   you snipe from your defensive position
              so I retreat and start strategizing.
Consulting my generals to discuss your tactics
  they advise me to start stockpiling weapons
                and to start looking for weaknesses.

There is a counteroffensive to your intentions.
            While you were destroying my satcoms
a successful infiltration of your command center was accomplished.
Once your defenses were understood
           your flanks appeared vulnerable.
                      Blind spots were revealed.

You only sign a treaty once your resources start depleting
then you ignore the rules I'm reading to give me a beating.
          So I'm building up my arsenal and
enriching my uranium in this centrifuge
                             where we spin in circles.
My nuclear option is prepared and capable.
                  Pacifism is more appealing than violence
     but when you try to erase who I am I must take a stand.

Armed with an ability to attack
I get a warhead on my shoulders
               found from old schematics
you shared with me while I fought your enemies.
               They were never thrown away
now they're dusted off and revisited
to make your walls crumble
and incinerate you flag.

Your nation starts hiding from what they were once confiding
                              after my nukes obliterate your infrastructure.
Rebels and runners fill fallout shelters and basement bunkers
                                         hiding from the radioactivity in the air.

Everyone's death equals success proving I'm best
        so I develop a permanent wartime economy
                                      and fire missiles mercilessly.
There's no difference between fighters and civilians
             because some insurgents are chameleons
                                      so I **** them by the millions.
                        The more weapons I get
                        the more needless death
                        until the only nations left standing
are those that have stockpiled weapons of their own.
Lynn May 2018
Cut
Whenever I cut I feel okay at first-
I feel calm and mellowed down-
and then the wave of guilt hits me.

Its almost like eating a Warhead candy
and forgetting how repulsively sour they are.

Or like forgetting to stir your Greek yogurt-
then it leaves a foul taste at the back of your throat.

Instead of a terrible sour flavor,
or a nasty taste at the back of my throat-
I get the urge to ***** after I cut.
I don't know whether its guilt... or what.
But I hate it

-Lynn
ah !
AsJay Nov 2018
I’ve always been that body
That would just sit back and observe
Another guy that’s so lucky
To take a woman I’ve tried to deserve

I find myself looking at a mirror
Searching for fragments in my skin
Why can I not find the inner warrior
That can take what I should win

All I see is my injuries
The stress engraved on my forehead
Limbs so frail; I’m weak at the knees
My mind is a fired warhead

It was her that I fully desired
How could I be too late?
It’s like I was too deluded or wired
Before she concluded my fate

We’ve all got scars
I know that much
But we can die at any time
So what’s the rush?

I just want this year to be done
Quick like it’s already been
I cannot recall it being fun
Hurry up twenty nineteen

I wonder what the future brings
Will I explore or stay alike?
I’ll wake in January as the songbird sings
Before I set on my hike
This Year... what a year it's been? It's gone qucikly hasn't it?
This poem is the newest creation from the hatch and is about my perspective of how 'this year' has been.
In the poem I speak about certain events that took place throughout the course of the year, my literal thoughts while going through traumas [fifth paragraph] and questions for the future as I really REALLY don't like the month of Decemeber [hence why I'm realeasing this on the last day of November].
----
Hope You Enjoy This Poem...!
What Do You Think?
Comment & Let Me Know!
----
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
feeling peckish, i'm storming around the thought of a perfect poached egg on toast, with houses of parliament sauce to boot.*

you know that you can only become
mad once, right?
problem is: you can become
sane twice... the second time you
become sane you realise
the unfathomable:
   all these people in my life: are ******* mad!
funny that i was supposed to be
the "madman"; i guess not being
honest, and not being blunt does to you:
the idea of english two-faced politeness
creates an national ethos for the russian
observation of said: "eccentricity" -
and with the situation with islam -
i find myself wishing for a cold war II...
this war on terror has too many
cliffhanger moments...
    at least with the soviet union we knew
that dropping more than the 3rd nuke
meant it wasn't profitable to make war...
dropping nukes never makes for
profiteering war barons / dogs...
a nuke warhead is ransom money,
but a million ammunition rounds?
that's business.
you're looking for windowlickers?
find 'em elsewhere;
everyone ought to have known that
the cold war nuke fear was a scam...
nukes don't make wars into profit...
nukes do not make war dogs...
                wars are not fought on
ultimatums -
                 they end on ultimatums -
wars do not begin with terrorist ultimatums!
there are investors to mind!
you will get more money on
ammunition in the 100K+ numbers
than a single nuke...
                                  pity the fool!
hey, if the ***** mohawk said it:
  he's not saying it for anything other than
an A+ grade in highschool.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
/i couldn't stomach the burden of a perfect german, hence this, algorithmusdeutsch... then again, like the Marovigian might have said: german is perfect, in making mistakes pretending to sound intellectual, barely clinging to a razorblade, suffice to say: when drowning... but at least german, a cushion, and a pristine canvas to dig trenches, blush a zeppelin warhead plop into London cement... and then mind the Bavarian whittle shittenholen... enz... must be enz, und plu- arable... namely remnants of a day, and an unfinished crossword puzzle...                  
        
           vorher narzissus,
   schattensuchende
    klatschen ein gla-ß-ee,
und entstehen
     ein gehockt krähe-
lauren,
          sheutod...
      carboxylic açid

and all things germanic...
slingshot into elder saxon
and back into
cosmopolitan *******,
a timid fungus like a tongue
hiding in a pyramid of
   signatures in bones from
within the grave;

   hard to imagine
that it took a ******* hog snout
to become a botanical
Sherlock 'olmes...

       as ever,
   the Cockney Surd...
namely 'aching,
   which translates itself
outside of the local 'appenings...
   odd: the laugh is yet
to be perfected.

- playing the xylophone
   at the nativity play -

       schatten, schatten
  werfen on ein(e) mauer...


occupational hazard,
  like the saxon N
    in between vowels to avoid
a tongue numbing spiral,
an eye rather than a eye...
gambled through two faces:
a 6 and a 2...

lost coordination with
the poly- prefix germanic
of: the the the (point),
id est -
post scriptum:
   I'll ensure that tongue of
theirs will become a *******
saxophone,
than a timid wrigglingua testimony
of a tapeworm...

   came the pillar of Atlas
and the Zeno talltale of
Achilles and the tortoise,
before the mile became a kilometer,
subsequently
       a metre, centi-, milli-...

and 0 = the perfect divisor
     "number":

  far cry from the Kantian negation
made compact, like
everything Kantian, per se,
compact packaging,
******* tourist he would have been,
if first he left the routine,
and then Königsberg...

          last time I checked though,
I have my A through to Z...
   0 isn't exactly a number if not
a doughnut tale of a squashed
omicron...

    pity they managed to undermine
words... funny...
from words came the icon...
    oddly enough painters are
in the confines of the same asylum
criteria of desperation...

colours are apparently a tier above
words... oddly enough...
words can conjure images,
colours... a look at them being
expressed, and they thought
cubism was bad....

    ******* are all other the place...
and if they are not contemplating
punctuation marks,  
they should be showing syllables,
and if they're not even doing that,
we'll,  my friend: diacritical
marks are the highest asking...
I'd love to see a truly punctuated
painting...

   a painting is one thing:
but the work in progess to accompany
the harsh censorship of
the artistic masochism,
    is quiet another...
a painting is hardly going to be
utilised into a chair...

          sollte ihre spiegelung
   verlassen du,
     als geieraustern: innereien...
schauen ihre schatten...

as ever, within each language,
at least a few letters spare,
namely the remnants
of a once great monopoly
and power broking priesthood,

that ****** aesthetic of
epsilon and eta...
      remains of the day and
the castrato singalong
     remnants of Greek in:
the sigh in dentistry...
   prior to the sleep and the wisdom
teeth being pulled out,
asking
       the anaesthetician: quo vadis?

- because they never actually tell
you, to take treat antidepressants
akin to amitryptyline as if they're
sleeping pills...
              just before bedtime...

    a ******* knockout to boot,
and my joy at a ***** popsicle...
because I would never think
about drinking with someone,
and that misery of conversation,
or the current, generic,
exasperating poetic maroons
   without a Defoe in sight...

and word that became flesh
that became an image...
           such the poverty of language,
but words, but words they bellow
like cretins who never
saw a cow being towed into
a slaughterhouse, bellowing
a torturous epiphany too late...

orange that didn't become an Ibizian
freshly squeezed hangover cure,
and more an O'Hara opinion,
     so more to the point:
words, just words they say...

   hope to high hell and the gates
of Tartarus that I never ask such
people for directions...
   namely they'd speak that
  right is "right"
    or the upper tier of
Copernican ronin...
       flimsy ******* luck,
coming across this cult
      of aluminum wrapped
  on their heads:
           humanity reboots.
Dennis Hernandez May 2020
When the words will reach,

Will speak,

What voice will ring?



The voice of the hidden

Who dedicate themselves

To hiding in plain sight

Making their home

In other people,

Their lives

Of other lives.



The voice of the warhead

Who battles for pride

Though

No one is proud

Nor the victor

Victorious,

But held with self-doubt.



The voice of the mute -

Selective of course.

Reminding others that the

Silence they bare

Seeks to scold them.



The voice of the  

Starving child, overfed

With humility. The one

Whose nibbles were not enough

To break the chains round  

His ankles, rather those

Pearly whites of his, once

Replaced by yellow commodities.



The voice of the Concubine

Whose lust has been traded for more lust

Whose dresswear daily resembles

Peace by piece, bit and bit,

Her master, whose love of himself

So great, he seeks himself in her.



The voice of the somnambulist

Who is weary of dance

And game.

Who if awoken

In the middle of his act

Will not know it.

— The End —