Long Atomic Poems
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Oh please for the sake (and sock e)
of brethren deemed friendly, i be
see-ch ye with genuine humility
to desist launching nuclear missiles.
This American bloke put his lock,
stock and barrel of gunmetal faith
in mister Dennis Rodman to serve
as a figurative lightning rod against
any aggressive actions that would
set in motion the end of civilization.
Not only would the majority of homo
sapiens (yes, some clusters of earth-
linked yahoos might still remain a
live) suffer a nasty, short and brutish
death, but also other flora and fauna
could be equally annihilated. Under
stand able, those grievances against
sanctions against the populace of north
Koreans (who most likely experience
unfair hardship) fuels resentment against
the hegemony of western powers. Many
of these societies authoritatively bran
dish their devout pledge for concurrence
with democratic principles. Any endemic
protestations declaiming objection to
the American way affect an immediate
alarm. Imposition of so called "puppet"
regimes get forcibly installed those
countries leaders who run counter to
capitalistic productivity. This one anon
a muss citizen of those fifty states also
takes umbrage how might of american
to predominate and demand that other
nations follow suit solely based on what
agrees with those like minded in power
sans the brotherhood/sisterhood of vast
swaths of the global population. No
great expectations (by dickens) to affect
passionate sentiments per those pea
poles somewhat hermetically sealed
off and separated (viz - by the demilitarized
zone) from the billions of other human
beings. Thy sole missive from one older
mwm dreads locked linkedin catastrophic
chain reaction of events once atomic war
fare triggered by the disgruntlement over
some differences in outlook could possibly
resolved via "active listening" and access
to exchange a word of reconciliation. As
one flawed chap prone to his own bouts
of anger, he attests that more positive plea
sing results can prevails with the treat of
world war three diffused in a manner that
plays less havoc once unleashing of weapons
of mass destruction occurs!
Form:
1.
This is Truth that to you, mortals is now speaking,
I’m the one that in the kernel of everything that exists resides,*
That no human has ever seen**, up to this very moment and
No one, I affirm will able be, eyes to set upon my
Divine essence!***
2.
I know, the vast majority of you believe to be with me, very
Well acquainted,
Some even declare that the best of my friends are and
Instead of me, they could do the talking
Even there are those who boast to be my associates and
The ultimate reality only them to know
Thus
Each one of them “his truth” declares according to his doctrine,
Fervently maintaining the veracity of his established principles,
The principles of his policy, his history, his religion, his morals
That with me, the Truth, I assure you, have very little in common.
3.
So, I the Truth, with many faces came to you be known
As different colors are always used to paint my visage,
Colors with hues of their opinions to better fit their purpose
According to the era they are living in, their reason and
Understanding
4.
If a day, I the Truth, among them decided just a walk take
Certain am I that no one of them, would able be, me to recognize
For the bigotry that is deep in their uninformed heart planted
Unable has made their eyes the supreme Truth to identify
5.
Enraged am I, of all those criminals who kill in my name,
Regardless of their color, creed, sex, ethnicity,
For even if a little bit they knew me, never would they
Commit a crime
For
I, the Truth next to God live. It’s from Him I draw my existence,
Impossible thus for me it is, divinity’s will to disobey
And commend someone to do something that is immoral
Because God is love*** and love, you should know my friends,
Never commits a crime!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
07 OCTOBER 2014
* There is nothing that we with certainty know because the truth is found in the depths of each thing!
Democritus, Greek philosopher, 5th century B.C., the father of the atomic theory
**No man has ever perceived the truth, neither anyone in the future will know it but only opinions of things we will have for the reality of things!
Xenophanes, Greek philosopher 6th century B.C.
***John, epist. First, verse 8. “He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love!
(Woe to Ariel: Nuclear Armageddon)
Amos 9:1-10, Mat. 24:15-16, Ezek. 8:16, Dan. 7:25, Eph. 2:1-3, Rev. 22:16
1
Faith caught me praying for the Evening Star
(My Lord, afar). In my state of worship,
I did not shed my tears aloud because
Men stood to face Yahweh with sinking eyes
(In them, God’s love was unfound); hence, their hearts
Did resound with cursing psalms for nations
With felled bloody kings and godless damned souls;
For souls who stir the mortal sins foretold
To Daniel by the mouth of God; souls bound
By unseen fetters and demonic things,
Where warlords make peace through unholy wars
That destroy Israel with heartless flames!
2
Oh, wind-songs and wind-songs of whispered pains!
Satan’s rebellious kingdoms have no brains,
Nor mere reasoning to declare them sound;
For this brood dwells in Hatred’s rotted head—
The most grounded men wasted by maggots
(Since rogue atoms riddled Man with cancer),
While Yahweh stood mute amid the strong vibe
Of wind-piped nukes watching peculiar-heirs
Piss on atomic rocks, with their wasted,
Malign cocks. Ariel! Oh, Ariel!
Of humankind’s atomic clouds, beware:
Mists bear the carnage of the toxic air!
Jerome F. Shoemake
my essence to nose as honey to tongue
purifying power moves you to One
rooted and decorated I stand atomic
down from seventh heaven cosmic
I’m tough, hardy, regarded as Old School
though ever-new coloured petals drool
milky sap as sacred unseen ambrosia
woven in fifth sheath, Atman’s kosha
Adamic my aquiline profile I breathe
connection memories, ascension eased
brain wave entrainment silent reviewed
time-space exquisite pure quarks exude
seraphic perfume as garden valance
invoking blissed emotion within balance
sanguine I worship, triggering transmutation
darkness to loosen my blossom’s salvation
pastel or bright in sunrise dewy morn
connecting to dynamo ancestors shorn
sighting me is intriguing immortality born
abide beneath my falling petals each dawn
sensations edenic across my butterflied
c e r e b e l l u m spied
my innocence your life awakening
earth minerals my satiating ~
———————————
Placed : Third : Contest : Tree Personification
sponsor : Tania Kitchin]
27.9.25
GOLD AWARD POEM: Allpoetry: July 26
Touching is something that people take for granted
A thing of youth
Age deprives
you learn to live without touch
Do you remember what it was like to touch silk and skin
Do you remember what it was like to kiss
Gentle soft skin against gentle soft skin
It's a guilty remembrance
as if I am perpetrating some kind of crime
How dare I
How dare I
remember you when you may not want to be remembered
Silk is the word that always comes to mind
Like running my hands over water
Oh God I did love water
Swimming is one of those things I don't do
any more
To be wet when you're young it's so beautiful
Your features are purified and exaggerated
and extraordinary and beautiful and clean
You are never more beautiful in youth
than when you are wet or cold and flushed pink
To be wet when you're old
it's just
to be seen in all of your imperfections
ashen and dry even when wet
Age doesn't like to swim
And age is not improved by cold
But I remember when I used to swim
like a dolphin dipped and dives
and stopping to catch breath
I would float my hands on the water
rest them on the velvet surface
caress it and feel its definition
it's otherworldly texture
It's atomic form
Silken and otherworldly and impossible
just as you felt to touch
How could anything feel so completely soft and pure
and right
Our world is losing its water just as I am losing my water
My beautiful world is drying
I'm dry
I dream water and remember the books that you wanted me to read Dune
In which water was so precious that even tears were saved only for those you love the most
I deserve to know the blueprints of my eyes...
You deserve to know why the rose dies...
I want to know God's compromise...
You shall know how Love writhes...
Your eyes were designed to see death...
I see the world, I see life, I taste breath...
You see suffering, you taste soul falleth...
I witness love wonderful, I feel God speaketh...
You mistaketh moments, for Eternity's birth,
you confuseth care, for justice calleth...
Do my eyes lieth, teach the Devil's spelleth...
Your eyes dreams distorteth,
they corrupteth what your heart seeketh...
Why must the rose dieth...
So to live truth pureth...
What truth does the rose liveth...
All that cometh in the Shadow, expresseth in the Shadow, of the Shadow passeth...
God's compromise your eyes spilleth,
revealeth risk righteous...
God gambled with the grave, to spawn spirit, to sow soul rebellious...
God fell for Freedom, shattered Itself for the stars, for the sake of raw consciousness...
What does God searcheth for, does God great pain possess...?
God seeketh heat in ice, pursueth pain in living purpose...
Is God the Architect of Good and Evil consequence...?
God is wise and weeping wilderness,
the lust of creative intelligence...
God compromised His eternal innocence...?
God became a diamonded metamorphosis,
panoramic pulse in prowling permanence...
Does Love not make life real...
Death makes life real, as love makes you feel,
so too, death be your soul's appeal
for self sacrificing survival,
to endure the relentless ritual of mind vital...
Is Love a prisoner of prophecy unlawful...
Love is captive of a curse called carnal,
you see, Love is a procreative energy primal,
flesh fanging nerves of the physical,
exhilaration of ego inflamed emotional,
atomic sparks splicing matrix mental...
My heart is designed to see Life total,
I am a fire fed by faith phenomenal...
Take me, to where Love learns no more
of suffering heartbeats sore,
to where the sky wants no more of thunder galore...
I cannot take you to where God need not explore...
J.A.B. 03-12-2025
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.
No mustard bombs are dropped
No audible or silent shots are fired
No planes are necessarily blown or hired
No flags are deliberately flown or flapped
No soldiers crossed the borders
To fight, to conquer, to kill or to die
No generals sent orders
To invade, to dismantle and to decry
However, citizens all over are coughing
Vomiting blood, suffering, and passing
COVID-19 is the deadliest war to fight
Thousands are dying and are now dead
The invisible enemies are toxic and bright
Millions are too weak to fight and are in bed
They are so sick that they want to give up
The ubiquitous enemies are wild and ferocious
Where are the superpowers that can shoot-up
And annihilate all perpetrators who are hazardous
To our health? The entire world is on lockdown
In quarantine, and at night, we're on curfew
All of us are anxious and scared. The poor clown
At the corner, is weeping. He was ditched by the crew
Who left him to die. This is a serious and deadly battle
The whole world is in danger. We're all in trouble
We cannot hide and we don't know where to run
The hospitals are filled up to the highest maximum
The corridors of the morgues are heavily crowded
With corpses and the cemeteries are mummed
It's like a quiet fiasco, a mournful silence is spread
Worldwide. No atomic bombs are dropped
People are dying. The prognosis is absolutely grim
The parishioners are praying. No priest is allowed to stop
To the churches or to the cemeteries. Hope is slim
We can only dream of better days. No shots are fired
But many people have lost their jobs. There's no economy
Health comes before wealth. This coronavirus is a mystery
This is a war that we shall unconventionally win. We're tired
Of being in quarantine. The walls become our new enemies
We're confused and nervous. We're under siege like zombies.
Copyright © April 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
All life came to a grinding halt
while Henry Bemis was in the bank vault.
He went downstairs to read a few pages.
During lunch, he read passages written by sages.
Henry’s passion was for the content of a book.
Curiosity always had him taking a look.
An atomic blast obliterated all civilization around.
Not another living thing in the city could be found.
Self-survival became the top priority.
For any signs of life, Henry scoured the city.
He stumbled upon the remains of a public library.
Something good came out of that atomic blast.
To read books, there was time enough at last.
After Henry broke his glasses, he became lost.
There was nothing for him to do after the holocaust.
Based on the Twilight Zone episode “Time Enough At Last”
Lucifer, To The Enola Gay
by Michael R. Burch
Go then,
and give them my meaning
so that their teeming
streets
become my city.
Bring back a pretty
flower—
a chrysanthemum,
perhaps, to bloom
if but an hour,
within a certain room
of mine
where
the sun does not rise or fall,
and the moon,
although it is content to shine,
helps nothing at all.
There,
if I hear the wistful call
of their voices
regretting choices
made
or perhaps not made
in time,
I can look back upon it and recall,
in all
its pale forms sublime,
still
Death will never be holy again.
Published by Romantics Quarterly, Penny Dreadful and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: Hiroshima, Enola Gay, atomic bomb, explosion, mushroom cloud, Lucifer, Satan, Devil, chrysanthemum, sun, moon, voices, choices, World War II, war, death, violence, science, power, conflict