Let's plant trees
and let's plant flowers
One tree a day
two roses an hour
If we do this for a year
there'll be no room
for the cannoneer
or the bombardier
A dream, you say
I suppose you're right ~
At least we'll smell pretty
when we fight...
Like the bombardier beetle
with an advanced weapons system attached
It can expel an intense hot, pulsating jet of words
the fluid it blinds the frog before he can croak
aiming its turret in any direction with accuracy
After the ejection of each explosion
that of the boiling pressurised fluid
we can see the bug in politics talks hot air from the rear
a weapon system that science can't work out
I can see now why they dig for
it helps to cover over their trail in leading the blind
over the cliffs where they fall victim to a deadly cause
that shifts the whole nature of things to suit tyrants
those whom play a hand in killing
There is a lady
In my Soups,
She writes poetry
As she stoops
To think about philosophy
Or talk about life's mystery.
And everytime I read her songs,
I must use the dictionnary
To understand the rights and wrongs
Of her deep dip-in poetry:
I sent her back
A bomb attack !
Bombardier acorns
pop against asphalt armor
bounce off, spent brown shells.
I gaze above from my grassy station
While lying on my back, the cumuli
Traversed the sky in noiseless slow-motion.
Great day! I thought while fixed upon the sky.
Then casually a bird flew overhead
And dropped its cargo off all over me.
In life a little rain must fall, instead
A bird brain passed its bowel of feces.
What does one say after being pooped on?
C’est La vie! What else can happen to me?
I’ve been a target of defecation
If I’d a gun that bombardier be shot.
I’m not that feathered class aves port-a-pot.