Best Atomic Poems
The sky is a Luciferian estuary
rolling and roaring in crimson flames,
a twisted design of detonated debris,
like splitting sighs
from internal implosions,
raining fragments of the past:
matchbox memories
piercing through suffocating silence
as time tortures the mind
with flashbacks of floating fragility…
O invisible moonlight,
pour me a purple potion
to erase the pain behind
perplexed pupils.
I no longer desire to be
cast in the clamorous clusters,
convicted as the captive ~
a ghost of games
playing on the bones of brokenness,
this cave of shame,
this cell of hellfire,
this emotional shrapnel,
reflecting self-loathing nightmares.
Perhaps I crowned myself
the commander,
leading the devil’s disciples
into a war assembled from fear…
And this heart ~ a metallic maelstrom
mourning in the turmoil of melancholy ~
breaks from the inability
to step beyond wrathful walls
to a landscape of holiness,
to seek the footsteps of pilgrimage.
For I am caught in
the whirling whispers of
spectral regrets,
replicating rectangular ruins,
electrifying the empyrean
with greyed grief
and yellowed yearning.
Pondering ~ am I the blasphemer
in the cross-eyed faces of monsters?
Am I the breath
that trembled ~ disrupting the peace?
Am I the empty spaces
filling the crystalline cracks
between haunting hours,
while darkness devours
treacherous tales
climbing from the
archives of devious agony…
But can love gift this skeletal sorrow
a twilight-kissed cloak of hope?
Will heaven be a witness
to these bleeding carvings
within the tall pillars
of my splintered spirit,
while the dying lamp of life
slowly fades and waves farewell
in faint colors ~ depicting misery
like demons decaying,
shaping a sadistic sanctuary
of malignant madness~
a familiar insanity inked
as a heinous home…
Atomic Canary
Angels seed
The death bell tolls to the masses
Putin ill be your dog
Netanyaho ill be your dog
I love this land
This is where I want yo die
Sing a song
Soul from the Earth
All of us tresspass
Some other country wants your ass
Not direct assimilate
You out on a street leaving your home
Lay down your arms
Leave torture to horror shows and horror shoes
A Cruel subjugation to remain
No name Generals
Agressive canaries
I saw angels renegation
Turn your water on
War be a boring
So make some tea
Innocence of a god prayer word
The innocence of a crime
Defeat me arches back back back
Disposing substance OG
Evil tourists
Fake rich
All in the way
We take your one life away
So much truth in homeless
Cherished mansion
A surreal prosperity
A tattered shack
In front of my fireplace
I read a book
Its not Captain Hook
It's time to see what is
One life and what we give and what we take
Who decides
Our fate
plain thoughts on minisclule changes, leading to life altering outcome~
Sub-atomic particles
the atoms they form
molecules, cell organelles
cells, machinery of life
organs, organisms
communities and ecosystems
planets, solar systems, galaxies
galactic clusters and their inverse
black holes the doors to other
universes, a contradiction
in terms.
For language and its shadow
consciousness must hold matter
the material world snugly inside concepts
theories and hypotheses to be
experimentally verified using vision
and the other senses, collecting data
and interpreting the known facts
accumulated over time.
Can matter
exist without a consciousness to behold it?
Believing in
our mortality (the species)
we have created God
(a supreme being)
probably not carbon-based
to encompass every universe
but is God
inside or outside
consciousness? Can God
tell us what to do
or must we tell God
alone
what to do?
Here is ego
projecting personality, exerting force
on community, asserting the existence
and predominance of component DNA.
An already hackneyed theory that DNA
survival drives
procreation, personality, savings bonds
everything but poetry (most poems included).
Mustache, cowboy hat
horse whisperer, gulag master
Odysseus, King Lear
salvation in the details.
Yes, these personalities individual and interesting
as opossum, bear
oak and ash
beech nut, pine cone
Grand Canyon sandstone, Green Mountain granite.
Memento on the Moon, our demise that’s too soon—
since ancient moral laws, our reasoning had flaws.
The Ten Commandments bold, the wisdom of old told,
its light spread in a rush, but now collective hush.
Man’s creation will bloom, like destructive mushroom
casts the atomic streams over our shattered dreams.
Echoes of progress vast – tyranny’s shadow cast,
encapsulated whim in firmament now swim.
The paradox of Man of should he if he can,
or must he heed balance between greed and lost glance?
I saw the mushroom cloud
Far out on the horizon
Tried to ring you
To say goodbye
But the EP
Had already
Killed the phone
I would never make it home
Never ever
Ever
More urgent
Is it to tell
How you feel
About the ones
You care for
.....
.....
.....
Tomorrow may
Not come
As I woke up
It was a beautiful
Sunrise
With birdsong
And morning dew.
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.
My atomic lover, chemically induces me.
Transforms me into substances and breaks,
Down, my anatomy.
He starts with my mind, as complex as it may be
Changes my compound structure, my neurons
To transmitters, stop functioning naturally
I no longer can process, the capability to reason freely.
He interrupts my thought pattern, and emotionally challenges me.
After the mind is stimulated, he advances to my heart
A vital organ, made up of 4 chambers, this is the crucial part
My heart cannot transfer, what the mind is telling me
It races out of control, in all urgencies.
All my senses then awaken, with one single touch
My vital signs, are compromised, as a passionate persuasion erupts
My heart skips a beat, at the thought of his loving ways
So pacient kind, and understanding, never ceases to amaze
An ignition starts, that revives the heart. I can never give enough praise
My atomic lover, I will love you till my, departing days.
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.
I promised to make his dreams official
He feared his desires would appear superficial
Yet still he fought and pushed me away
And the love I require remains self contained
I offered him light and security
These words can't be heard on his sound frequency
He attempts to hide in a blanket of silence
Blissfully unaware he's purely transparent
It's not what he says, it's the undertones
That tells me there's gold in his veins and bones
Waiting to be discovered, to be unearthed
Evidence, proof of just how much he's worth.
Farting for 6 years can create an atomic bomb
Seems the military should invest in beans.com
That'd be a smelly war
Really soil your drawers
So don't light a match and just remain calm
New Mexico bears the burdens of its once-sleepy past--
when awakened to join the current century at last.
To give birth to the fledgling Atomic Age
It still wears the perfume of fusion and sage.
They must go to the land of fiestas, Indian bread.
Shaken from sleep to design moments of dread.
Muddy roads carried scientists, from land and sea,
to the top of a hill clothed in springtime's majesty.
Where, after a summer's welcome downpour,
bloomed lavender verbena and wild irises galore.
Where sweet-smelling sage and rain-splashed pine
competed for mistress of passions unmined.
Placed in wooden boxes they learned to call home
were unsuspecting families, the secrets unknown.
The wives joined together since numbers are safe;
their children becoming the desert's new waifs.
Some became friends with the Indian maids
who helped to restore sense to the masquerade.
They bought Indian rugs, turquoise stones for their hands;
visited their pueblos, learned about their proud lands.
Many a morning, when water wouldn't flow,
they sat in wonder and watched the town grow.
Soon there were horses to ride up mountainsides.
With friends, life was doable, they could abide.
Then finally, when the blast trembled the Earth,
they understood the conspiracy needed in fission birth.
Some called it a monster, some called it a friend.
At any rate, their journey there would soon end.
Some departed, some stayed on The Hill
still smelling the sage but recalling still.
the sound of the blast sounding thru time,
Smelling sweet pines, watching peace decline.
She texts me
anticipation builds
clearing my desk
still time to kill.
Five O'clock finally comes
dashing to my car
heart pounding like 100 drums
traffic stretched out so far.
Red light, yellow and green
driving down road and sky
seeking seductive eyes serene
a stop sign gets in my way.
I stop to buy her flowers
so deserved is she
bringing purpose to empty hours
with spell binding sorcery..
Finally she is in doorway standing
our eyes glance and meet
she kisses and hugs me
an atom bomb goes off under my feet.
I sit here
Writing my poetry,
A tray of atomic fireballs
Sit in front of me.
I put one in my mouth
It feels like my tongue's on fire,
Feeling like I walked
Across a live wire.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Nov.29/2004
My gawd..... are they HOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A little town bathed in light
Green fields, blue crystal rivers
perfect roads, winding this
way and
that
Perfect People in a Perfect World
dogs wag tails of joy with,
children, feet skipping, enthused
The lawns neatly cut, sprinklers
lead water into Perfect gutters
bikes ride, kites fly, games
played
Darkness looms upon the hills
A black snake, it creeps towards
its Perfect prey,
A red-eye, writhed in smoke and atoms
crashed and Booms in the distance
Harbringer of Death and Decay
CHANGE
A little town bathed in ash
Dead fields, red rivers running
Roads uprooted, winding this
way and
that
Perfect People in a Perfect Tomb
dogs tails lay unmoving
children's feet crumbled together
lawns overrun, sprinklers wash
running red into over-dosed gore
plugged gutters
bikes are mangled, kits torn
games of politicians abrogate all
A small music box lays dead-center
playing, echoing across the town
the only memory of hope and suddenly
GONE
gone, lifted away by the midday
sky
blasted out of existence
choked by ASH
A little town bathed in Time