Best Radioactive Poems
As Balmy
Comets Dazzle, Exhaling
Fragranced Gold; Haloed In Jasmine Kisses~
Lyrical Moon Nimbly Orchestrates
Peace, Quenching Radioactive Stars, To
Unwed Vain Woes; Xylophones Yield
Zephyrs.
See if you gave an E to Batman
Would he be hyper vigilant
Darkness obscured your danger sign, imperceptible but not benign.
My dreams flowed into a high electric field, our minds taped and concealed--
Your heart was radioactive; all my emotions were refractive.
I sacrificed full support before the strings were cut short.
The promising harmony in our memorized words matched us backwards.
"There is always a possibility" . . . caused susceptibility . . .
Bitten by beating betrayal was a poor, pitiful portrayal.
Heart radioactive, skin magnetic, and eyes apologetic--
I emitted isotopic tears as I enveloped my vile fears,
A sharp gamma knife damaging our decayed friendship by a half-life.
Heart radioactive, skin magnetic, and eyes apologetic--
The nuclear attraction in an atmosphere of chain reaction.
Exponentially drifting apart in your radioactive heart.
Like a mushroom, war blooms with the dark,
Armies troop on and incendiaries fly on.
Mercenaries are cold and greed burns red,
Hearts are so sore and the civilians cry on.
06/05/17
To say I'm excited about going to college is like saying Godzilla is big - you don't get the complete picture - you don't see the buildings crumbling and civilians running for their lives. Leaving for college is one of those foundational moments in life...
My mind’s been racing, I’ve felt a disquieting anxiety and I realized what I’m experiencing is a new kind of sadness - a “delta” strain new in my experience.
In less than a week I‘m off to college and I can’t help knowing that things will never be the same. I’ll step out of this house or we’ll hug at the airport and somewhere in there - I’ll cross a line.
Will my childhood be over or is it my adolescence? I’m not sure.
Oh, God, should I hand in my key??
I can hardly let my mind linger on the subject of leaving - it’s as sensitive as a tooth - it’s radioactive.
The most fleeting or off-handed reference to leaving and my heart hammers, my throat clumps and the room transforms into a thrill ride that starts to slowly spin until the floor drops a bit like an elevator. 30 seconds of focusing on leaving and I’m a muckle of tears.
I’m mindlessly, Flamin' Doritos excited about college (the going to) but like a sacrifice, or a coin - there’s a cold, flip-side, almost death-like sadness (about leaving) happening too.
So far, I think I’ve masked the sadness, with the cat’s lazy poise and razzle-dazzle and I’m sure this feeling of loss is some sort of pre-home-sickness that will pass. Until then, I'm stoically trying to wear a big-girl skirt here.
They do not hear the ticking —
yet the clock is wound with fire.
A nation's soul disintegrates,
not in war,
but quiet decay,
like atoms split beneath the skin
of time.
Invisible,
but certain.
No sirens sound.
Just silence —
thick with warning.
From the Delta’s oil-slicked veins
to the scorched bones of the Northeast,
from Biafra’s unburied grief
to the herder’s unmarked trail —
the land hums with fracture.
We are splitting.
Like uranium dreams,
rich but unstable,
our unity held by brittle bonds,
our leaders shielding lies
instead of truth.
Decay is now destiny
unless the core is cooled.
Justice bleeds in whispers:
the child in Benue
whose school collapsed;
the mother in Kano
whose hospital never came;
the youth in Onitsha
whose voice was muffled
before it rose.
These are not isolated cries.
They are chain reactions.
Critical mass is near.
You cannot weld a nation
with oppression.
You cannot seal cracks
with slogans.
You cannot bind brothers
with bayonets.
Fission feeds itself.
Discontent is now isotopic —
passed hand to hand,
wound to wound,
like fallout.
So who will neutralize the core?
Who will cool the rods of injustice?
Who will wear truth
like lead-lined courage?
Not tomorrow.
Now.
Because the half-life of a nation
shortens
with every lie,
with every stolen hope,
with every silence
where justice should speak.
And when the break comes —
not with a bang,
but a vanishing —
let no one say
it was sudden.
We
were
warned.