Best Bomb Poems
Cherry Bomb
gross and red
deflowering natures way
cherry blossom pop
~*~
Have yourself a Haiku Contest
:) SKAT :)
So strange this land, old and yet young.
Where is this place of tall green trees,
and grey-haired men in unknown tongue?
they must have traveled summer's breeze.
Adobe brick quonset "chalets"
mud-soaked roadways in all the blocks.
WACs and wives and waifs everyday
midst hollyhocks and four o'clocks.
Los Alamos*, this place must be.
A land of Oz 'neath bluest sky.
Where science dealt humanity
a fatal blow, then watched it die.
A perfect paradox is this.
How splendid to contrast the two--
a lovely place/a devil's kiss,
and wisdom sprinkled like the dew.
I left quite soon but still recall
the secrets hidden on each page.
The lilac mountains looming tall,
their perfume of fission and sage.
August 5, 2022
"Terra Incognita"
for This or That, Vol. 13, poetry contest
by Edward Ibeth
*Los Alamos Laboratories, New Mexico, are where the atomic bombs were
created then dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan in WWII.
all governments
are corrupted in some way,
exploiting the delivery of storks
that baby-boomers like to think are
precious gifts, but we are dropped bombs
to make this s***-hole new, paint it blue, not
for boys, but for our united sorrow, yet we
will still not give this stolen land that toiled
name like you do. we will paint it pink, not for
girls, but for the faded fire, bright and not
upon a spectrum, because we will not
put stickers on specks in an infinite
cycle, because we are just dots
of destined waste, longing
to get along
Black Powder
---------------------------------------
He waits offstage, his posture tense,
his gaze locked on the audience -
his first in years.
He blots the sweat that wets his face,
then walks onstage and gets in place,
amidst their cheers.
In bowtie, vest and dinner tails,
he's dressed down to his fingernails.
His face is flushed.
His eyes close tight, his breathing slows,
beyond his sight, the tension grows
The house is hushed...
If he can pull from knurled old trunks,
the Magic that their world debunks,
he can pretend
(at least until the curtain rolls)
it's still his show, and he controls
it in the end.
Illusion casts no lasting spell.
No, in conclusion, he's not well,
so... shifting gears,
he lifts his hat to loud applause,
black powder sifting out like gauze...
and disappears... *
---------------------------------------
there he was
in his white coat
afraid of our reaction
as he dropped the C word
we watched it bounce off the floor
and hang there suspended
no one reaching to grab it
we all sat there with a blank stare
pretending to be deaf
frozen in disbelief
biting our tongue
holding our breath
limp arms down our sides
it couldn’t be
how could it be
wanting to unhear the word
but there it was
in all its ugliness
in the middle of the room
while the coat made its exit
that throbbing C word
loaded and sobering
resonating in our ears
leaving us in shock
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~THE POWER OF TWO~ 2020
AP: 1st place
You may think that I am famous
Can't recall my name but
You've seen me hang out with the stars
Believe me I'm right there with ya
I'm in their every picture
They don't know me but I know who they are
Thought it'd do me a world of good
To move out West to Hollywood
And try to get my name put up in lights
I myself see nothing wrong
Being the king of the Photo Bomb
Though I'm still matinee and not full price
When I see a major star
I run up to their fancy car
And kindly open up the door
They all give me the strangest glance
When they can't quite place me yet
They feel they've seen me somewhere before
I'm at the next table in the restaurant
Sitting smiling nonchalant
Big toothy grins when the flash bulbs go pop
I'm the guy by the swimming pool
In the Speedo looking cool
Waiting on the Photo Bomb to drop
Or the guy on the red carpet
Expertly placing my spinning head
At the perfect strategical angle
So when the picture does appear
In all the Major Rags for years
I'll be more famous than Charlie Rangel
Those of us that'll never make it
Can anyone really blame us
For trying to slide our way to the top
It's all I really know how to do
If you really must know the truth
My only claim to fame...the Photo Bomb
Megalomaniacs, from any era,
all have the killer extinct gene
A beastly desire to bring everything
to the brink of nothing
Oh, how some would love to channel
their inner Nero
To make civilization come crashing down
in a smouldering pile
of rubble, ashes and smoke
They love playing the villain role,
being the anti-hero
Mad fiddling amidst the burning fumes
of cobalt, sulfur and flesh
Maniacal laughter bursting into an apocalyptic torch tune —
a melting pot melody of humanity doomed:
Blow it all up,
burn it all down
Let every wail be covered in dust
Empty the vials,
overflow the cup
Drink the nectar of nuclear lust
Feel the cannibal zeal of madness,
taste the consuming mushroom fear
Every breathing soul getting naked snuffed
Blow it all up,
burn it all down
Let every cry be smothered by dust
our home grown monarch
shall swing open war's hell gate~
h r
s o
u o
m m
c l o u d s
i n
b l
o o m
Commander-In-Chief Obama, now these bastards have beheaded an
innocent American Citizen, you need to call steady air strikes until you have
blown ISIS TERRORIST GENOCIDE KILLERS off the face of this earth! KILL EM'
ALL! They are even beheading little children who will not convert to Islam Jihad!
No one on this earth is safe as long as they and other terrorists of their ilk exist,
including HAMAS, ALQUEDA, ETC. They say they will hang their flag in the White
House, it's time to take care of business
NOW! NOT LATER! :(((
Well, there is only one way to say this
the best one man can
to put this down in words
to explain it to you my woman...
Okay, you're the grand slam home run
that won the world series
a touchdown late in the fourth quarter
by that Seattle quarterback, you know his name...
You're a slam dunk baby
by Lebron from that long shot line
you're a cold Corona
no baby, you're a fine wine...
You're like a new tool set from Target
like having a silver and gold tool
you're an exquisite diamond
like the world's most expensive jewel...
Well, to keep this all real
to me you da bomb baby
that's all I can say
the best special friend for me!
“F Bomb”
By Nate Spears
I got the heart of a man name Malcolm
The visions of Martin Luther
The tongue of Emmett Till
The brains of Medgar Evers
Can I get a window seat
Away from defeat
Can I get park for the kids to play
Next to the spot
Where Rosa refused her seat
Langston in my pen
Proud, young, and free
Handsome and intelligent
The government targets me
First,
In a second
My history is a blessing
The court system in racist
Society shows the traces.
There once was a girl named Sabine
The cutest one I’d ever seen
She had curly hair
And a teddy named Bear
And her bedroom was perfectly clean.
Sabine had a brother named Jude,
A generally radical dude,
Who liked to play games
And call Sabine names
Until Mommy said, “Stop being rude!”
Jude and Sabine lived in France.
Their parents had met at a dance.
Scupper, their mom,
Had said, “Whoa, you’re the bomb!”
When she first saw their daddy, named Lance.
Along came a baby called Paul.
He started out small but grew tall.
He slept through the night
In darkness and light
And his parents said, “We have it all!”
Lance built his family a house.
It was just the right size for a mouse.
And a spider or three
And an ant colony
And a partridge, a quail, and a grouse.
The lot of them moved to a shoe.
A kitten lived with them too.
His name was Réglisse
And he loved to eat grease
And the occasional chocolate fondue.
The garden they grew was a dream.
The bees in it made clotted cream.
The milk cows made honey
And the apples looked funny
And Scupper killed weeds with hot steam.
A pigeon lived in the arbor.
The grape leaves provided safe harbor.
It pooped on the bench
But it spoke quite good French
And eventually found work as a barber.
All of the children grew up.
Their parents adopted a pup.
Jude made perfumes
Sabine painted brooms
And Paul invented the cup.
Commander-In-Chief Obama, you need to call steady air strikes until you have blown ISIS TERRORIST GENOCIDE KILLERS off the face of this earth! They are even beheading little children who will not convert to Islam Jihad! No one on this earth is safe as long as they and other terrorists of their ilk exist. They say they will hang their flag in the White House, it's time to take care of business
NOW! NOT LATER! :(((
blinding light
rolling thunder
fires from the gates of hell
On December 7, 2013 a bomb blast killed former Lebanese Minister, Mohammad Chatah and several others. Less than an hour ago, another bomb blast took place in the Dahieh area in Beirut. My husband is away....my daughter is out at a friend's house, and I'm sick to my stomach of not knowing......where is safe, where can we go? This is the latest Post on FB by a student of mine showing a picture of the explosion. "New Year....New Bomb."
I'm tired of this. I'm tired of the rest of the world turning a blind eye. I'm tired of feeling guilty because I'm in my nice warm house and there are Syrian refugees living in tents. There are little children dying of the cold. I'm tired of hearing of the blood of martyrs being spilled. I'm tired of hoping and wishing for peace for this country and knowing....it will NEVER be. I'm tired.
I'm tired of reliving fear. Tired of worrying about the safety of my brother who lives in the downtown area where all the political figures have their mansions. I'm tired of hearing him talking about some embedded glass shard working its way out of the skin of his face...even now. He and his wife were injured in the bomb blast that killed Prime Minister Rafic Hariri years ago, scarring their faces for life.
I'M TIRED OF THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I AM TIRED...
Eileen M Ghali