This poem was originally written for and submitted to Writer Monk's monthly poetry contest on social conscience August 1, 2026
Morning rose over two cities
that no longer knew their own names~
light too bright, silence too large,
that felt like the world forgetting how to breathe.
Shadows clung to walls where people once stood,
soft silhouettes of lives interrupted mid-gesture,
mid-dream.
The air carried a strange stillness,
as though time itself had bowed its head.
And yet from the scorched earth,
from the quiet ash,
from the trembling remnants of what had been~
a small, stubborn pulse began again.
Hands reached for hands; voices rose in prayer.
Memory gathered itself into a vow
that sorrow would not be forgotten,
and peace would not be postponed.
Even now, the sky remembers
the day humanity learned how fragile it can be.
Atomic payback made impact dramatically
Physics split minute energy into mammoth
Allied forces warned Hiroshima, Nagasaki
Destroyer of worlds, Now I become death
Military master, Japan, thought threat outrageous
Devastation loomed, four tonne 'Boy' understated
Captain William Parsons' eleven crew couragous
Strategists secured success in moment awaited
Mortally haunted, Heaven bound warrior, Tibbet
Executed bitter battle's end with dual blast pinnacle
Blood fry in nuclear fire equals life's instant inhibit
Barrel of boiling tar nuclear, dark enemy formidable
Warfare honing hails modern science triumphant
High flying stealth hit dismissive city, Hiroshima
80 000 obliterated in blast's mighty circumference
Spurred surrendour from horror, West's redeemer
War's tragic trail of destruction is never desirable
Japan's lax defense conceded their due fire cease
Bleeding Harbour sped innovation for global survival
Deadly allied attack rendered long needed peace
15th August 2020
Lucifer, To The Enola Gay
by Michael R. Burch
Go then,
and give them my meaning
so that their teeming
streets
become my city.
Bring back a pretty
flower—
a chrysanthemum,
perhaps, to bloom
if but an hour,
within a certain room
of mine
where
the sun does not rise or fall,
and the moon,
although it is content to shine,
helps nothing at all.
There,
if I hear the wistful call
of their voices
regretting choices
made
or perhaps not made
in time,
I can look back upon it and recall,
in all
its pale forms sublime,
still
Death will never be holy again.
Published by Romantics Quarterly, Penny Dreadful and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: Hiroshima, Enola Gay, atomic bomb, explosion, mushroom cloud, Lucifer, Satan, Devil, chrysanthemum, sun, moon, voices, choices, World War II, war, death, violence, science, power, conflict
I am spinning my radioactive waves today.
Alpha beta gamma
There they go!
Beta gamma alpha
Even faster.
Gamma alpha beta
Man can they fly!
I am radium.
My atomic nuclei is rapidly disintegrating
So please get under your desk, school children.
And put your tiny fingers and arms over your heads.
So you will be safe.
As heart combine into one atomic bomb
the start awaken to a new world.
Adventure, danger, safety and warmth
in one category.
From smiles and car to worry and pain
all exist in the goodness of one another.
In that, pain the backbone to strength.
I once constructed the basic components of an atomic bomb.
All I needed to activate it was some plutonium.
In physics an A grade is not what I received.
Yours truly was given a physics grade of C.
Imagine what the A students could have done.
Imagine if they were angry at everyone.
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