Long Detonation Poems
Long Detonation Poems. Below are the most popular long Detonation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Detonation poems by poem length and keyword.
Poetry is the one place
where people can speak
their original human mind.
- Allen Ginsberg.
..........................
You can get lost sometimes
in the mind's obsessions,
its need for order, to gather in
what spills out
from the ruptured sides of certainty,
the comfortable surrounds
of routine -
and so you write poetry.
Then there are those moments
when all descends into panic,
when you lose control
and the world spirals inward,
winding itself up into an ever
tightening catastrophe -
and so you write poetry.
And when something
in this world or beyond
wants to speak and finds
in you an ear in which
to whisper and you
are gifted a tiny spark
of the sublime -
you write poetry.
And even when the cogs
and levers of your life click
into place and run like clockwork,
and yet leave a fear
that the ticking sound
you hear is the countdown
to a final detonation -
you write poetry.
God changes the paths of rockets midair
with mighty winds, diverting them to sea
and desolate lands with protective care,
so that all may open their eyes and see.
Who can deny His unrivaled power?
God changes the paths of rockets midair.
Pointed at their foes, soon to devour?
Into their own vengeful faces they flare.
Again this day God's people He will spare.
Precise aimers await detonation.
God changes the paths of rockets midair
in spite of Hamas' determination.
Who is this enemy they try to consume,
who can't be destroyed by blasphemous prayer?
The winds obey Him! Even as they resume,
God changes the paths of rockets midair!
5-7-2020
I watched an amazing video on specific miracles a few months back. I think it's been censored because I can no longer find it in my liked videos.
A vexatious question posed by kids of every generation,
One that sets parents to gnashing their teeth with irritation,
And tends to spread a pall over a well-planned vacation,
Is, "Are we there yet?" along the way to their destination!
From the rear seat, there's a paucity of civil conversation.
Mom's firm hand has resolved many a truculent confrontation!
Dad's patience has reached the point of violent detonation!
"Are we there yet?" the kids whine, to their parent's consternation!
The stalwart Pilgrims sailed the roiling seas with trepidation,
Risking their very lives to escape the bonds of privation.
The age-old query from kids must've driven them to exacerbation!
"Are we there yet?" pestered the kids to their parents aggravation!
It had to be a daunting venture to join the westward migration,
As Pa faced the rugged Rockies, the vastness of God's Creation!
Roaring rivers and Indians - he surely had that sinking sensation!
Did he suffer kids' "Are we there yet?" for the trek's duration?
Does this annoying phrase develop during gestation?
Is it primordial? Has it been around since Creation?
Has it something to do with genetics or even reincarnation?
Parents merit a special place in heaven for enduring such recitation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Tick tick tick Time slips away
When do I get to see you just name the day
I’ll mark it down so I don’t forget
But if I don’t see you they’ll be a regret
Do you want that on your conscious it’s such a big load
Hurry up now before I explode
Away from you I can’t keep calm
Because without you my heart is a time bomb
So come take me away you’ve got me by the palm
Because without you my heart is a time bomb
I call the squad they come along with swat
See what you’ve done its been to long apart
They use their instruments to no avail
It’s not helping their just going to fail
Why do you want to tempt fate
Without your love I’ll just obliterate
Away from you I can’t keep calm
Because without you my heart is a time bomb
So come take me away you’ve got me by the palm
Because without you my heart is a time bomb
They gave up and called for an expert
He could tell right away my chest just hurt
What’s the problem why the separation
Only your appearance can prevent detonation
What is his plan what did he figure
Get you here to shut off the trigger
Away from you I can’t keep calm
Because without you my heart is a time bomb
So come take me away you’ve got me by the palm
Because without you my heart is a time bomb
They countdown has started there’s no turning back
You must get out to me before its all black
Hurry up push your way through the crowd
Before were all engulfed in a mushroom cloud
You’re here did my heart just drop
And all at once your touch made the timer stop
Vesuvius Eruption
flumped
feeling
fading
forthcoming
carrying
his
giant
cyclopedia
in hand
snaring
of
day's sun
believing
his soul
hoisting
&
asked
don't cry
as
I feel free
an
angel
merely
skipped me
a
magma
hollow
inflated
as night
tip-toes into
obscurity
step
by
step,
suffering
start to
lock horns
breath
by
breath !!
24 August 79 A.D.
Vesuvius
stood
bloody
mighty
above
landscape
got cracking
his
colossus
detonation
mighty
cloud
of
ash & gas
swarmed
down
Plinian outburst
immersed
Herculaneum
Pompei
eradicated
Gaius Plinius Secundus
blazed
asphyxiating
writer
of
vastest
unique
work
about
natural
history
currently
Mount Vesuvius
on
his mode
to
vomiting.
Written: October 16, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Scrolling, not listening ;
You think that’s supportive?!
You think you’re the bomb?
Weak ass detonation
Famous last words;
You call yourself an artist?!
Pretending to pay attention
coming with anything but original;
Maybe that’s why you aren’t interested;
Weak ass contribution
Famous last words;
You expect to get respect ?!
Criticizing someone’s work
when you’re as bland as vanilla
One trick pony, you’ll never change the game
with weak watered down flavor,
Famous last words;
You think that catches fire?!
Strolling down a cold trail
repainting the same lines,
Don’t be surprised if we dismiss your vibe ;
You get the energy you send;
Famous last words;
You should rethink calling yourself an artist.
Black star breaking in my chest,
light spills out where the shadows pressed.
I’m not falling — I’m shedding the weight.
I rise when the dark shell breaks.
There’s a pressure building under bone,
a quiet storm I carried alone.
Every fear I swallowed whole
turns to gravity around my soul.
A sphere of everything I never said,
every memory I kept unfed —
it tightens, pulls, begins to spin,
a dark star forming deep within.
No warning, no whisper,
just the silence growing crisper.
I feel the moment start to bend —
every ending wants to be an opening again.
Alien on the stage,
close encounter with my rage.
Black star, black balloon —
I’m breaking out of my cocoon.
When the dark shell cracks,
I get every missing piece back.
Reclamation in my veins —
I rise again, I rise again.
The weight becomes too much to hold,
the core collapses, bright and bold.
Not destruction — transformation,
a soft detonation of revelation.
Truth falls like cosmic rain,
washing off the years of pain.
The body loosens, the burden fades,
I step out of the ruins I made.
No fear, no tether,
just the self returning to the center.
Every shard I thought I lost
comes home, no matter what it cost.
Alien on the stage,
close encounter with my rage.
Black star, black balloon —
I’m breaking out of my cocoon.
When the dark shell cracks,
I get every missing piece back.
Reclamation in my veins —
I rise again, I rise again.
Endings are openings.
Grief is a husk.
The brightest truths
hide in the darkest dust.
You were never meant to stay small.
You were never meant to stay caged.
You were always meant to burst,
to scatter,
to return.
Alien on the stage,
close encounter with my rage.
Black star, black balloon —
I’m reborn inside the bloom.
When the dark shell breaks,
the whole cosmos wakes.
Reclamation in my veins —
I rise again, I rise again.
The cosmos keeps what you can’t hold…
and gives it back
when you’re ready
to rise.
It shouted to him from the rooftops and he was prepared to jump
‘Go out with a deafening bang’ for the bell had told crashing demise
Sadness and bitter oblivion pointed the way from screaming nowhere
Yet deadening cacophony arrested his mind in utter procrastination
A once melodious mind in waiting struck in a terminal station
The oncoming train roared ‘Mind the Gap’ crescendo and coda
Head splitting clatter on destiny’s track voiced harmony’s void
Morose and moribund Tim listened to his shattering epitaph
Yet he was ahead of his time as agonising apathy saved him
A once razor-sharp compassionate soul turned from incision
He was dispossessed by devilish applause and a three-pronged fork
Of garish Past mute Present and the poison of silenced Future’s voice
He did not own a gun but a scalpel would surely sound the final note
Yet ice water in his veins froze hell of clamorous festering heat
A once rapturous Self in retreat composed nothingness’ chimes
The oven blasted ‘I am your fervent friend and companion’
One strike from his lighter would ignite endmost explosion
His thumb on the spark wheel in limbo only messaged the rafter
Yet he writhed his creaking neck and switched of gas’ soothing
A once euphonious life snapped mistuned detonation and creaked
The rafters engulfed by inhibited silence noted the stand off
Wood wormed instruments wound misaligned imagination
One more loop while crescendo joined fortissimos’ claim
Yet the rope snapped and weeping guitar strings whimpered
Once upon a time Tim surged again and danced to his drums
Birds started chirping
Flowers erupted
A rainbow appeared
Violins bowed
Chanting bowls rang
Play mates gathered
The moon turned the tide
The solar eclipse had passed
The sound of earth span again
Tim would not change his depression for any sweet lullaby
It taught him everything he needs to know about life’s balance
Love Kindness Compassion set to temperate omniscient Peace
The drama nestles in rapped poems wrapped in experience
And the scythe of the hangman can croak his own blades
(Poem inspired by Dorothy Parker’s ‘Resume’)
the Voice of a Shadowed Engineer
They speak of missiles,
as if war is still waged with fire.
But in the hush of midnight laboratories,
beneath the quartz veins of the Tianshan mountains,
we built something else—
not a weapon, but a whisper in the void,
a force that listens, waits, and then erases.
It is not housed in silos.
It does not roar, it hums—
a low frequency beyond mortal ears,
woven into the satellite web,
stitched into the veins of sky
where no radar sees,
no treaty binds,
and no invader returns.
Project Tianlong-7—
they called it “Red Silence.”
An orbital phantom,
part machine, part mind,
it breathes in electromagnetic fields,
feeds on kinetic algorithms,
and learns with each sun that sets over the Pacific.
We did not test it on Earth.
Earth is too fragile.
Instead, we simulated Armageddon
a thousand times in mirrored dimensions.
Each simulation—
NATO crumbled in six minutes,
carrier fleets turned to drifting metal ghosts,
cities never lit, never died, only paused.
The West flaunts doctrine,
but we embedded prophecy in code.
While they debated sanctions,
we mapped quantum corridors
and cloaked our arsenal in gravitational silence.
You cannot strike what you cannot see.
You cannot stop what activates before your thought.
We have already mapped your launches,
before you even plan them.
We know your detonation points,
your false flags,
your chatter beneath the Atlantic.
And when the dragon wakes,
its wings will not fan fire—
they will extinguish it.
For China does not need to invade.
It simply needs to disable.
One flash in the ionosphere,
and your grids sleep—forever.
You speak of war.
We speak of consequence.
We are not racing the West.
We are waiting for it to collapse
under the weight of its own bravado.
This is not warfare.
This is final deterrence,
written in the language of silence,
from the belly of the ancient future.
We have no need to roar.
We have already won
without firing a single visible shot.
Our POTD is now black versus white.
We are going to see a racist rant in plain sight.
It’s sad when a poet, uses their pen as a stick.
This POTD has no merit and honestly makes me sick.
Why would we showcase hate and give racism a stage?
All skinheads are animals and belong in a cage.
I’m very disappointed with what this site has allowed.
It’s simply a detonation with a mushroom cloud.
I guess evil is at work causing more divide.
Maybe his parents were the same and now gleaming with pride.
Whatever the case, it’s a very sad day.
This makes me sick to my stomach and it’ll stay that way.
Could this be a simple glitch that admin has missed?
If not, they are about to see many backsides that can surely be kissed.
Someone needs to be ashamed of themselves, for allowing this pungent hate.
What has poetry become, and what was it meant to create?