Best Obliterated Poems
#One should be cautious in starting a war, but
once begun, it should be carried out thoroughly#
#Quote by Hirohito circa Dec 1942#
Onslaught
As little boy fell over Hiroshima,
a demigod dismayed how it grew
Into a fat man above Nagasaki,
Hirohito said, so I’m the devil too
Both are one, and the same person,
to say otherwise is splitting atoms
When two suns appear overhead,
an emperors duality, cannot fathom
And necessary evil is a dubious sin,
willpower making its choice that day
Expedience worked saving millions
I’m firmly on the side of Enola Gay
Reckoning came, not a flash in the pan
for marching POWs to death, at Bataan
Also, Pearl harbour, Iwo Jima, Guam
Midway, Okinawa, Tarawa, and Saipan
Job’s done, the mission accomplished
a time to celebrate, peace be strong
our conscience does not need absolution
obliterated by belief, we did no wrong
Little Boy/Fat man, US code names
for the atomic bombs in WW2
Pick-A-Title, Vol 32 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Prompt chosen Onslaught
07/11/22
fat girl cries
big fat tears
splash
crash
down her chubby cheeks
down her pillar like neck
which was once
much like a swan
now gone
fat girl sighs
big fat sigh...
a heart groan of a sigh
from the empty place inside
where beauty's not allowed to reside
fat girl sleeps
a big fat sleep
time obliterated
memories conjugated
into happy streams
peaches and cream
all over her dreams
everything perfect...it seems
fat girl awakes
a big fat awakening...
life must go on
she lumbers to the mirror
stares at her big fat figure
rolls here and there
and though she acts
acts like they're not there
she's not allowed to forget
she's not there....
not yet
she exercises
torturous kilometers by
holding on to handles
beginning the treadmill
to help her say goodbye
to the fat girl
who is pretty on the inside
but unseen
unseen
people are so mean
she medicates
they fabricate
rules...
she must subjugate
the need
to drown her sorrows
to eat it all away
why is she alive
alive another day?
fat girl cries
bit fat tears
her big fat fears
grow though she shrinks
kilograms slip away
will it ever be OK?
will they love her for her mind?
will they ever be kind?
to the little girl inside
who tries to hide
fat girl cries
will you dry her eyes?
Eileen Manassian
Knowledge gained liberates or mutilates.
Ramifications of reality’s realm reached
make your insides want to abandon the body ship.
Rocking back and forth as you hurl dry acidic pain
expelled by the force of shell shocked lucidity:
You’re not good enough to be loved.
Breathing in is treason.
Your heart demands release of life’s lease.
On the kitchen floor
crumpled dreams drag to prostrate form.
Alone…..
Every reason to stay is obliterated.
Ascorbic failures scream.
Heart blood transforms to salty rivulets.
Self-loathing usurps the throne of belief.
"Appeasement sacrifice,” it sagely suggests…
"Your life!"
Relevant Reasoning...
For someone for whom love is cell oxygen
grey matter food
supreme soul sustenance,
life without full bodied Love is death.
Might as well...
Cowardice cackles and goads….
The cut isn’t deep enough.
Red streaked line mockery of mental hell feels
abhorrence breathing between the sobs
that one hears …
No one hears
Troubled mind has drained desirability’s delight.
Not strong enough to live not strong enough to die,
you are spent…
negligence purged.
Silence begs to benumb,
yet a reminder remains.
The thorn of truth finds a home.
Embedded in my side,
it won’t be denied.
Removal immuned
it is unseen by naked eye-
exposed to the naked heart.
With every movement of love making
matrimonial mattress yet exudes
the faint scent of virginal dreams...
Pain permeates
It digs in deep.
Nothing will change.
YOU cannot change.
You are unlovable.
You're troubled and troubling brain
takes beauty down to notch of insane.
Give it all away.
Lavish and ravish.
Obsessively bid for love
while you auction respect away,
but herein is the cursed truth:
You are not good enough to be loved.
You never were.
You never will be.
For Charlotte's Heart and Soul Contest
September 2, 2014
Implant within me a seed monthly, though the pulverization derides me. Let it conjure hope and solace to shatter my reality as venomous weeds entwine it, sickening me as I lay still in the liquid birthed from my own fruit. Implant within me a seed; let the feral roots ensnare it, suffocating my every breath and cell until it ruptures--obliterated within my frail and aching tree. It be destined to return but stripped of the avant-garde its predecessor once possessed. Implant within me a seed; it’ll part for months, leaving my psych mangled as blood seeps through trypophobic perforations crafted solely by its hand. The seed, thriving as I decay, renders its final blow the day we die. Implant within me a seed; force it into a sanctum where it does not belong, and let fate, warped and distorted, contort my marred soul. That which I once refused to acknowledge shall now delude my senses, forcing me to reach for those who feel not love but only pity for my aberrant roots. Implant within me a seed; let me perish within its absence, yet perpetually suffer under its presence. Wound me with my own creation.
Your end creates you
It will return to rip you
Plant it, watch it die
Ah, the rustic charm of our old uncovered bridges
built in a century not quite on the verge of major industrialization -
back in a time when connections were vital
for fledgling communities just starting to survive and later, to thrive.
They spanned an entire era with a semblance
of simplicity and romance, providing shelter
in a world still moving slowly yet steadily toward progress.
It was not long before they’d be left behind.
Today we travel across vast expanses of bridges – uncovered ones
from which the world we view flies past us
through the windows of speeding automobiles
and virtually from screens of phones and computers.
No longer are we isolated from the world.
Today’s bridges span global communities
in a society where everyone on the planet is privy
to almost everything happening everywhere!
Today’s bridges, forged of steel, are longer and stronger.
We take them for granted, feeling secure in our convenient technologies
as we communicate and travel at faster rates
than ever dreamed possible two centuries ago.
Alas, once the last remnants of such things as
old-fashioned covered wooden bridges are obliterated,
they will be as ancient Egyptian artifacts viewed on Google
with less and less interest shown by each new generation, and
the yet unborn poets of tomorrow will one day write with nostalgia
of today’s uncovered bridges of steel.
Aug. 27, 2017 for the "Covered Bridges" Contest of Craig Cornish
The Bullet from My Gun
I am propelled like a bullet from a gun barreling through space,
Through your flesh,
Through the time you have misspent on this Earth now ending,
Too late to regret the bending trigger of my gun.
I penetrate your vagina,
Your mind,
Your sense of inner self,
Tearing through your false resistance like a runaway train.
I cannot stop, I am momentum now.
Ripping through your many lives,
Decimating your hopes for the peace tomorrow that now will never come.
Because my trajectory is certain and yours is a wet pipe dream.
You are obliterated into fragments by the curling of my finger.
Now Isis will never find you.
Fear is still a man’s best friend:
And a little pressure goes a long ways.
The world in 100 years ... Oh, perish the thought
Former President, Ronald Dump, who was cryogenically frozen following his assassination after winning the ‘No Bull’ Peace Prize in December 2018, has been successfully defrosted.
Ronald Dump recently defeated his son, former President Barrrrron Van Dump, in the lunar by-election. President Dump will be taking up his forty year term at his office-in-the-round penthouse suite at ‘Lunar-Tic Towers’. This magnificent golden palace-like structure is situated on the fringes of the 29th bunker on the dark side of the moon. Naturally, it is a member’s only golf club and entry is strictly by special invitation only. It will be staffed by scantily costumed Honey-Bunny girls and models who the Dump handpicks. They will attend to every need and whim of his guests, unless he requires their expertise "handling."
President Dump will be supported by his android wife, Argenta, (humanoid model number 3060 with real hair and life-like body parts) who superseded the old model 'Milionairluva', who sadly could not be revived due to silicon and botox poisoning which ran rampantly throughout her Barbie doll body
The Lunar-Tic Towers will be totally off limits to the paparazzi so there can be no photographs taken of the Irn Bru brewing facility of his favourite drink which was banned in Scotland. He seeks to insure that no "fake news" stories are leaked by the press.
In his bid to tackle rising unemployment, currently standing at 99.6%, Dump will be advised by his new best friend and strategist, Kym Dung Hung Lo. This humanitarian almost obliterated the human race by detonating a nuclear warhead at the Dung Hung Lo Toy Factory which was caused when Dung Hung Lo threw his dolly out of the pram. So impressed by such a move, Dump hired him and invited Dung Hung Lo to be his number 2 to succeed him.
May God bless the earth, what little is left of her .. she needs all the help she can get with these two lunar tics in charge
6/1/18
100 year Contest sponsored by Brian Davey
Oh, my dear honorable poet!
Words recess when I write about you
For, they start loving you
You were a sincere lover,
when you wrote about love;
You were a lovable mother,
when you wrote about a child;
You were a faithful leaf,
when you wrote about trees;
You were the struggling last breath,
when you praised the air;
You were the righteous river,
when you sang about the falls;
You were the boundless sky,
when you sang for the birds;
you were the yearning bare land,
when you wrote about the rain;
You were the trustworthy soldier,
when you wrote about patriotism;
You were the jubilant mother nature,
when you wrote about nature;
You were the powerful priest,
when you praised the lord
Through your worthy words,
you gave life to the abandoned swaying rope;
Your notable notes,
persuaded songs to the singing koels;
Your incredible imageries,
granted countless ideas for the poets;
Your romantic rhythms,
enriched soulful meaning to the ragas;
Your powerful patriotic songs
obliterated the superfluous fears
and your proud personal life
taught us self-respect
Note: September 11 marks the death anniversary of India’s firebrand poet and a revolutionary thinker from Tamil Nadu, Subramania Bharati. In a relatively short life span of 39 years, Bharati left an indelible mark in India’s history as not only a Tamil poet but also as a national icon.
Your expectations are carved into my eyes...
Their shapes melt in my dreams
The face seen in your postcards
Is not that of your soul Istanbul...
Living apart does not change your seas
Your waiting landscapes offer themselves
Thoughts do not remain still
Istanbul rests its weight upon my loneliness...
White fish swim in your living past
Seagulls float in your memories
Obliterated friendships stay awake till dawn
Anatolia rises from your horizons Istanbul...
by Uzeyir Lokman CAYCI
Traduit par Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by F.J. Bergmann., 2002
WISDOM
He had a thought,
He said a word,
He performed an act.
Looked back!
The word didn’t agree with
The thought,
Neither did the act with
The word.
He was perplexed!
He forgot the thought,
Erased the word,
Obliterated the act,
And
Started anew!
Myriad tryouts after…
He managed,
The word to agree
With
The thought,
And
The act with the
Word!
He achieved wisdom!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
23 APRIL 2013
*Athena (Minerva), Goddess of wisdom, daughter of Zeus, was called “thrice-born” for to be wise meant to think correctly, to speak correctly, and to act correctly.
knew a young man when i was a
young man whose life had been
screwed from the get-go/HEWA
SADRIFTINTHATWAYTHAT
SOMEAREWHENYOUCAN
LOOKINTOTHEIREYES&SEE
THESTARS/HADALLHE
NEEDEDHADENOUGHTOGET
SOMEGOODSTUFF&YETTHE
WEALTHOFSADNESSINHIS
EYESGREWTHEMOREYOU
CAMETOKNOWHIM/seems
his father was a test pilot for the
us of a & a company who spends
money to buy congressmen &
presidents in order to get more
wars started in order to make
more bombs in order to sell them
so that taxpayers can buy them
so people they never meet in
person can be obliterated in
their name/HEWASUNLUCKY
THEDAYTHATTHEYTOLD
HIMTOGOUPINABRAND
SPANKIN’NEWRIDESAYIN’
THATITWASSAFEKNOWING
HE’DDONEITAMILLIONTIMES
BEFOREBUTYASEETHEY
WERELYING/YESITISTRUE
YOU’REGOVERNMENTLIES
TOYOUEVENIFYOUHAVE
TESTFLOWNPLANESBEFORE
SOTHATTHEYCANGOTO
OTHERCOUNTRIES&BOMB
THEMINTOASH/what happened
next anyone could see coming a
mile away for the plane stayed
in the air for less than a few min.
& down it came killing the dad
of the guy i knew & leaving a
mother & son now without the
man they loved so much/AND
WHATFOLLOWEDWASALONG
LAWSUITINWHICHTHEYOUNG
MAN’SMOTHERWHOHADJUST
RECENTLYPASSEDTHEBAR
FILEDAGAINSTTHEUSGOVIN
ORDERTOGETSOMEKINDOF
“JUSTICE”ASIFITEVEREXISTED
INTHISLIFE/SOTHEMONEYCAME
&THETWOOFTHEMDIDN’THAVE
TOWORRYABOUTMUCH
FINANCIALLYAFTERTHATBUT
ONTHEDAYHETOLDMETHESTORY
HESAIDWITHATEARINHIS
BLOODSHOTEYES/”i would give
every penny of it back, just to have
my father still alive.”
Many memories have I beheld
all present and all knowing
a loving family I protect
within these walls, years flowing.
Alas, the bookends of time
came crashing down this night
devils danced in wicked winds
evoking scorching screams of fright.
Now suffocating, a flaming pyre
I perish, obliterated by fire.
Written on 1/13/2018
A continuation of The World Above Me, a special collaberation between myself and my good friend Justin Connor
8/17/12
------------------------------------------------------------------
The shelter opens its door to the world above me
Never have I seen so much destruction
My eyes get used to the brightness,
An unwanted tear trickling down my cheek
But once they are accustomed to the light,
I want to close them again
I feel the urge to turn back
But they push me forward,
Whispering low, consoling words
I look around to see what humanity used to be
Before the devastation
And I marvel at what the old world used to be
But one question remains:
Why did people destroy their lives,
And end the world we used to know?
I walk my feet on the unknown terrain
Ruins. . .debris. . .the air placid and still
All around is rubbish
My mother whispers a prayer from behind
And then I wonder. . .
If God was ever here
As I look around I notice a book
Lying there, upon the ashy wreckage
I pick it up and read. . .
It details a nation’s fight for freedom
A large statue of a man is in the building I stand by
I stare at the brazen figure in awe
The features are crumbling but here it still stands
Watching over its obliterated land
I squeeze the book in my hand
His eyes show loyalty and courage
No sadness—not even a speck of fear
Looking more outwards I see a tall structure
And past that a building with a large dome
The architecture of the old world amazes me
What wonders men have done—could have done
If they hadn’t let each other come undone
In violence and death
Yet still I wonder how these incredible buildings
Could possibly remain after all that has happened
Like the buildings, we have survived
And hopefully, through lessons learned,
We can thrive
My father tells everyone to clear away the ruins
People even use old machines with cranes
The old world is gone
But from the ashes we can start anew
We were in the shelter for the good of humanity
And now, because of us,
There is hope
Older does not necessarily
equate to wiser -- but wiser
can often make one seem a lot
older; in fact, robbed of youth
by poverty and war, I have
sadly met, too many premature
ancients: -- cynicism
in their eyes; where
should reside bright, hopeful
gleams -- dreams, obliterated,
man's faux surface designs over-inking truer light,
little more than colorful
tattoos
of ever
deeper
representation
of spirit
terminating
blight --
He drank, thirsting for her;
with stygian lips pressed to her neck,
She was exsanguinated.
The squalid night-beast, left her lifeless body,
behind an alley dumpster.
No moonlight betrayed the remnants,
of his latest meal.
Any slight remorse, that he felt,
was obliterated by the metal-sweet taste,
upon his vile tongue.
He was alive again and
there were more than enough prey,
to nourish him, for an eternity.
Aerial bound, for his charnel palace,
he would sleep like the god he fancied himself.
For eight-hundred years he had perfected his hunt.
His travels had taken him through the steeps and berms,
of antipodal continents and he had viewed
what most humans, could not.
The hellish beast loved the hunt,
as much as, his meals.
When prey inadvertently approached his abode,
it was left free;
he savored the taste of the chase,
as much as, the catch.
The elixir of life was ambrosia;
The likes of which, he’d not tasted in his mortality.
How he longed to thank the beast he’d once feared, for bestowing immortality upon him.
When the next gibbous moon took its flight,
the cravings awoke him.
Dressed in his finest, modern day attire
he set upon his task.
There’s a peculiar thing about Vampire,
they fancy themselves invincible.
Old vampires, like mortals, are often,
Over confident and become careless.
On his last hunt he lost his head,
to the single swipe,
of a large were-claw!