Long Smithereens Poems
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Vladimir Putin itching
to loose nuclear bomb
end of the world scenario ofttimes
iterated throughout history
though an atheist (actually Unitarian),
no doubt this, that or another psalm
countless times the Bible
references Armageddon and doomsday
impossible mission to remain
cool, collected and calm.
Whether affiliated with donkey or elephant
Democrat or Republican viz
blue war red respectively
political hot issues don't amount
to a (Sam) hill of beans
when Sword of Damocles count
approaches zero hour
as global tensions mount
signaling increased chance
trigger finger will free
avast nuclear winter
(across world wide web) re:
leasing plethora, pyrocumulus
mushroom clouds tree
mend us planetary explosions
annihilating webbed wide
world, an irrevocable
indeed earthlinked debacle
spelling widespread species
multitudinous extinction
ex post de facto after super
bowling powers (wannabe) vied
to wrest empowerment spanning
entire realm sans third rock
from the father, sun and holy ghost,
who turned substantial pock
kits of flora and fauna
once populating oblate spheroid ad hoc
significant swaths of life forms
pulverized and/or turned to ash
transformed into radioactive wasteland
after war mongers brash
lee usurped hegemony
(ruling inhabitants
of Gaia with an iron fist
with a smidgen of flavoring
courtesy of Missus Dash
superfluous taste enhancer,
when sibling burnt offering views
between Venus and Mars incendiary
tolled mourning news
smithereens sole remnant
poisoned every square inch
from weapon of mass destruction
that did cruise
engendering thick noxious fog
disabling fox but not cockroach
while smoldering seas and continents
skull and crossbones didst poach
amidst the gasified, liquified, pureed
where holographic ghoulish super bowl coach
rendering lifelessness home for menagerie
where virtue trounced vice as organisms
(particularly one primate) didst try
(predominant 21st century simians)
tool heave with amity, comity, and empathy
animals and plants an experiment
that went awry
presaging a nuclear winter with nary a winner
implicating mankind as the absolute sinner
instantaneously after Doomsday Clock
signaled point of no return
where grim reaper the sole grinner.
What If There Was No Tomorrow? - The Polar Ice ‘Cap’
- this time it’s burnt and curled upon a new head. The
sweet smoke of his sugarloaf effigy black as night,
surrounded by a material red trim, below Parliament houses
blows political greed into fiery smouldering smithereens –
then it floated and landed after years, drifting, onto
the crown of a man: a business man portraying
wealth and class; here it sat above suit and below sun. The
American dream swirled with scotch and the tip of a bowler,
only for the same piece (restyled of coursed) to later sell for
pounds to make the pupils of any impoverished person pop:
his Hamburg with a knowing dent in back, how it span and
spun from black to grey and back again around Hill’s peak
to be dyed again and tilted just so. Now it’s pillbox pink and a knitted
O of a name/shape-sake that covers her head where her husband
had a target upon his. Watermelon-pink colour dye actually: the very
same fruit palette of brain cradled in her hands at high speed.
This latest star attraction of Burgdorf’s no doubt was, decades
prior, nothing but a mix of lifeless green and sludge brown from
grass and cud - metallic dead daises ducking over No Man’s
Land. A Brodie: styled on a not-yet-pulled pin grenade atop
beads of sparkling sweat, dripping slipping salt where now
a pedal controlled sewing machine stabs and pins sequins into
veils that hide brides with (it must be said) the same success
that protected Fawkes’ Plot or Churchill’s reputation or
Jackie’s husband and the slaughtered soldiers’ skulls - but
still the accessories twist into fascinators fancy enough for
mothers to weep below, only to find the box dish or bow
to be knocked akilter during the traditional bouquet mad
dash - then up – up – up! into the air before landing anew,
refreshed as a Gatsby or Hijab, perhaps a Trilby or Zucchetto;
better yet, the Boater or Sailor we’ll need when the hat that covers
all our heads smoulders and peaks when next dented and melted: a
loose grenade we can’t be veiled from, nor refashioned nor restyled
when the next season’s must have
will be a copper and bolt
protective Diving Mask
for the drowning tomorrow
from The Polar Ice 'Cap'.
(The Spanish conquerors of the
Americas read out their legal
document, the "Requerimiento",
to the Indians. Failure to comply
meant the Spanish were free to
do what they wanted.)
Conquistadors in Vera Cruz
found themselves a radical ruse.
If pillaging was muy, muy lento,
they just whipped out Requerimiento.
Composed in fifteen seventeen,
this document was ultra-mean.
It won more scraps than Robert E. Lee,
was deadlier than DDT.
Suppose you met an Aztec mob
that wasn't happy to be robbed,
and far from handing on a platter
its gold and silver, wives and daughters,
was minded to contest the matter,
Requerimiento got unrolled.
In legal Latin, gooks were told
with lots of quid and quod and quaem,
exactly what was sought of them.
The royal writ was read aloud
to help the puzzled Aztec crowd.
So none may later look askance,
the dinks got every sporting chance.
All the Aztecs had to do
(clause forty-nine of section two)
was pay the pope an entry fee,
accept infallibility,
and send some gold to line his coffers.
Who could baulk at such an offer?
Clause fifty-eight - the Spanish king
must get his cut of Aztec bling.
They're hazy over "king" and "Spain"?
We'll have long decades to explain.
They don't respond? It simply means
we blow them all to smithereens.
The finer points can wait till later.
Non-compliance means they're traitors.
We've read the thing, so now we're free
of all responsibility
for theft or damage, flood or fire,
and if perchance it should transpire
that they don't dig what's going down,
why, take it up with Cross and Crown.
Thank God it's not like that today.
Before we step into the fray,
we tell them they're a "conflict zone",
and send in laser-guided drones.
If they accept their crude religion
is now a dead and pointless pigeon,
and take divorce and teenage moms,
then we won't use our cluster bombs.
There's other stuff here, on our list -
like Coca-Cola, lobbyists,
The Dukes of Hazzard, John McCain,
obesity and acid rain ...
at least we don't do like before,
and sell them, as we wade ashore
to occupy their ancient land,
some junk they'll never understand.
Virtual trophies (wife for I)...
offered, husbanded, and collected
when winning solitaire
Nothing beats that exaltant rush of adrenaline
watching the computer generated cards
automatically routed
to their respective suite (spot)
(after they get turned face value up)
generates countenance to evince a grin.
This heart felt diamond in the rough
gamboling ace of a man
learned to call a spade a spade
soon after joining the culture club.
Within an alternate universe
another Matthew Scott Harris
destiny manifested beckoned uber lyft,
his militant doppelganger
(created entirely of antimatter
since birth of universe)
decked out in camouflage fatigues,
dead set on collision course
to annihilate each other
if and/or when we inevitably meet.
No place exists for yours truly
to run and hide
especially hermetically sealing
(while waxing poetic) himself
with booking selfsame mortal
within a read (reed) out hideaway,
hence impossible mission
to ward off sealed fate
lest (markedly) both of us
(even if reaching out
to bridge reconciliation)
blown to smithereens
methinks I and mine nemesis
would be wiped out
(cue the Surfaris song titled wipe out)
as if Thanos snapped.
The aforementioned scenario
far more horrifying than
livingsocial within human zoo
where *****sapiens primates,
an aggregate of many
a cruel genealogical yahoo
outliers rowdy unlearned without xue,
an essential constituent
of the body electric kool aid acid test
smartass who spout colorful retorts
analogous to up the wazoo,
but much more explicit,
therefore audiological
viewer discretion advised
unless one feels confident
to cast a magic spell using voodoo
ideally invoking debilitating, horrifying,
lustrating newt trill eye zing
permanent state of danger
or threat accursed
trumpeting lout can never undo
especially when joker is wild
whereat apparatus tricked out
fastening pollexes courtesy thumbscrews
perchance re-evaluating my person
when crafting image
conveying torturous schlock
after ye did pleasantly review
other writings of mine that did skews
toward humanitarian connectedness
painstakingly minding my peas and queues
wracking my brain
regarding creativity to peruse.
The sun set low
And my heart split asunder
The wind blew hard with traces of slow
Darkness spread around and pierced deep under
My blooming valley of roses
Causing them to wrinkle and writher
Poison seeped through my immaterial illusionary world
And caused my heaven a devastating destruction
Smithereens of cutting glass started flowing in my blood
Caused me to shed tears, which made my imaginary world flood
The night seemed eternal, the silence so bloody
Chilled my nerves with horror so relentlessly
Stung my heart with so horrible notions
O how I wished I could lose myself in a twirling motion
With sight and tears, my head rested to a weak slumber
Jerked awake the next morn with a head struck with thunder
The tears so mercilessly had intervened with my peace connection
To stay serene for the next few hours was something beyond imagination
O how I dearly desired the whole ordeal was just a wicked dream
But reality chases one even in a protective realm
Ambled I feebly with a heart soaked in dolor
To a room which I considered my treasure trove
Where I had hatched all my sunny memories and flourished in their fragrance
Where flowed swiftly my memory river with steadiness
With broken sighs and a distressed heart
I set forth to design a beautiful card
But relinquished my work before it was accomplished
Well aware I was that fate would not have it acknowledged
With uncontrollable emotions and a heart filled with desperation
Broke off into a million tears which filled my sea of emotions
With withered reminiscences and scattered notions
How I wept! With great pain I sobbed
As if of worthy fortunes someone had me robbed
My plight seemed everlasting, my love ever flowing
Through the misty valleys where there was no hope of blooming
Into long cherished dreams and sentimental illusions
If it was God’s ordained Will, then there was no solution
Except to bear the whole trial with forbearance
But I failed to practise that, and made undesired interference
In matters where things were already so bleak
But I ensured that my next few months were doomed to make me weak
That’s another story, I desire to abandon it for now
Sometimes later, so farewell for now
Now you’re turning to the south
To save your battered face,
To claim some sort of victory
By flattening the place.
If soldiers cannot win your war
You’ll bomb and you will shell:
Blow everything to smithereens,
Turn towns to living hell.
Your army isn’t up to much:
Fighting’s too much trouble.
Instead, you bomb the place to bits,
Reduce Ukraine to rubble.
There is no place of safety:
No shelter can survive.
You bomb the schools and hospitals;
You bury them alive.
You keep civilians bottled up,
Deprived of heat and water,
And when you say you’ll let them out
You lead them to the slaughter.
You say you’ll let the buses leave
(At least, that’s what you tell them);
You wait until they’re moving out
And then you start to shell them.
Now you’re using cluster bombs
With fuses that delay.
You aim to kill civilians;
You think that’s all okay.
Your brain is wired up differently,
The Devil rules your mind.
You are an aberration:
The worst of humankind.
You’ve overstepped the mark and put
Yourselves beyond the pale;
And we’ll have lost our self-respect
Unless we make you fail.
Diplomacy, diplomacy,
Diplomacy is dead.
The only language Russia speaks
Is bullets in the head.
We can’t believe a word you say,
You are inveterate liars
And you are making Russia
A nation of pariahs.
Do not feed the crocodile,
Appeasers please take note;
Although we may be last of all,
He’ll have us by the throat.
When this war is over
And when Ukraine has won,
We all must hold you to account
For all the damage done.
You must pay reparations,
Just as at Versailles;
You must not wriggle out of it
No matter how you try.
You must be made to pay the price,
The senseless, futile cost
Of murderous destruction
And all the people lost.
Your leaders must stand in the dock
And all the ranks behind:
You must be made examples of
The worst of humankind.
There is no longer Fog of War:
Your crimes are all recorded
And catalogued for all to see.
Your sins will be rewarded.
What’s happening now must never fail
To prompt us and remind
Us just how vile and evil are
The worst of humankind.
I find it complicated
When I feel very much jaded
I find it oh so extremely hard these days
To express myself as a bard in many ways
It’s simply shameful to say the least
That I was introduced to the dark beast
It’s simply shameful to say I’m worse off tremendously
If I’m falling away on the edge of ecstatic, enigmatic negativity
You don’t listen to what I say, what I say
You talk nonchalantly all night and day
Your eyes still glisten and it does what it may
But, do you really obey or do you turn away?
Don’t know what I’m doing here
But, I’m so full of fear, my dear
I need a reason to believe in myself once more
Give me a season of growth and security to soar
My hopes are shattered into utter smithereens
Waiting for happiness in store to intervene
With my sadness to the core in my pre-teens…
For, I’m handsome in my pain left unseen
Your keen, green eyes glimmer anew
Your monstrous, disastrous love flu
Got me under your dazzling, insidious spell
Dark and sinister was my thoughts of pell-mell
I’ve been awfully misunderstood for several, mindless ages…
Never really realizing that I’ve been through so many phases
Recognizing myself in another light all over again…once again…
Wandering in the woods of my mind, ending up in your den
Since I was born,
I was so forlorn…
Wondering when is the time I grow up and find
That all the happiness inside was truly left behind
I could’ve sworn
I have been torn…
Pondering how in the world I got into this stage in life
That has brought me so much bitterness and strife
This monster is devouring all of me deep down
Maddening, distressing anxiety is my crown
And from the inside out,
I’ve been sprawled with doubt and I’m left to roam another route (and I angrily shout)
And from the outside in,
I don’t know where to begin when I am left with this abominable sin (mercilessly from within)
I don’t know where to begin — my faith is rather paper thin —
When God forgives my sins from within and I’m His earnest kin
I find His mercy complicated, yet simply full of prudent brilliance
This jaded, pensive poet I once was but now, I find true significance
2/14/17
At similar and different degrees
Animals, humans, and objects proceed
At lower and higher speeds
By the land and sea
Near many trees
Bearing fruit, or mainly leaves
Far too many display greed
Being naive, with intentions that deceive
And mislead
I believe
Indeed
I'll succeed
And achieve
While following through on deeds
As I aim to exceed
Burned, dug and pulled weeds
Some of which got cleaved
And eventually heaved
Into a orderly pile before, after or during the eve
Pollen in the breeze
Causing those allergic to sneeze
Near and far from hives of bees
Some pray on their knees
In the midst of Summer heat or Winters freeze
Evidence and other items getting seized
Some but not all could be got back through paying fees
What was difficult for many, may have been done by others with ease
Regardless of if they have prestige
A vast amount of cuisines
With greens
And or meats, some of which considered lean
Either following or breaking the creed
In the midst of, or behind the scenes
Handmade crafts and figurines
And others created by machines
Instead of charging in with a head full of steam
Better think and heed
While trying to grasp what it means
Do you agree or disagree
That is not all that it seems?
Areas with weather considered extreme
Occasionally turning things into smithereens
Another night where I didn't dream
Whether I did or didn't fall asleep in front of a screen
Can the soul be redeemed
Despite there being no guarantee
Finished tasks solo or in a team
Above and below terrain having ravines
Dirtied up, scuffed and cut my jeans
The same could be said for my sleeves
Not yet have I had mead
Or paid for a limousine
Close and beyond places known for the occasional stampede
Could it have been preventable with vaccines
For afflictions and disease
Above and below streams
As well as submarines
However this all may be deemed
There is no hidden strings or schemes
It is good to read
Brain, body, soul and spirit need to feed
Intervene
Got to switch up the same old routines
And reign supreme
By: Dalton Ogletree
Cats from Earth eat fish on sunny beaches
(Umbrellas optional, not included)
Unlike sharks they use tiny teeth to chew
And get motion sickness when traveling too
Seas hold goodies for feline nutritional needs
(Canned dolphins and goldfish don't come to mind)
Health considerations are forefront for all kitties
Mars has no menu of any kind
The trip from kitchen to couch is tiring
Fat cats dislike all travel including space
Mars is far, too far away to go for cat food
Felines are all about lazy
Stores on Earth are closer, (but closed)
Little critters don't eat red rock formations
Metal machines are better suited for taste tests
Programed for soil sampled treats
Expectations are high when there is gravity
Cats can't fly…. They stray (on 4 feet we think)
Don't be surprised… Cats can't fly
(When they do, they use rockets)
Even so... Why Mars? (They can't afford it.)
No money…. No pockets
The red planet has no milk or fish
Cats starve without their favorite dishes
Death is not a pretty sight
Emails are hard to recover on distant planets
When dead, lifeless paws make it even harder
(Cats don't type to begin with without a cause)
Cats like to breath oxygen once in a while
Some like to live outside the liter box
Live out nine lives lazy on a more inner planet
The 3rd. one out to be precise
The Red Planet is not so kind in that regard
Not equipped to handle little kitties needs
Meteorites crush their tiny heads to smithereens
Messing up their fluffy fur and happy day
Radiation burns them to a crisp
Life on Mars is harder than you think
Craters cause more than aches and pains
Frost bite gets in the way of play and pleasure
Like we said
Cats on Mars don't live so well without oxygen
They could die from lack of food and water
Or even overexposure to themselves
It's better they stay home on Earth
The place where they come from
That way they can be fed
Instead of something worse
In the end this is something else
Cats On Mars is just a title
There are no cats on Mars
Only turtles
"Beyond lychgate lies future death" she says,
cucumbered eyes slid back under cauliflower sky,
brimming smithereens of harkening demons.
Been in saddle some time since torchlight began,
a child's silent castle ago. Chaos-times cut alleyways
through rose-lettered circles, reads trashy maid.
The journey fell sword north along shield path.
Peninsula late to temple-crawling fiend
and settle princess patter dust. Like trick glass
the moon palace emanates, a chain works
its crystal door. A shore of bane swims world-sick
with fire-wing ticks abreast, dragon-headed air:
happens to be, as the world burns...
Spring chickens looked at first
grasshopper leaves, blossoms.
Empty saddles of burnt Autumns
sit with moccasin thirst.
One ruby night ago, vampire night,
made movie set by tail light.
Wrench of fog came loose and fell.
Eye of moon too close, well...
Winged skeletal open sheet,
sanguine collar of his neat.
Began by serving up the meat.
Legs he tossed, and arms and feet.
A rise and shine ago, luster of sight,
out of scene the farmer goes.
Steel machine cranks horizon bright.
Scroll up the title i suppose.
Barn stall features dingy leather
where lasting gleam slips by candle.
Recall adventure, mural by weather.
Motion eye attached to handle.
Scoot across encrusted bucket,
folded over the eating depth.
Put filthy Kraken atop it,
swished around the damn mess.
Brave journal follows company
down the water-taped steps
to where there isn't any.
Sealed flame lights diver's quest.
A cave away, keys of hassle,
swim to shore with hopes unravel.
Brute force thunders far within.
Exact the sword to have them send.
Enter bar stool and order takeout.
Hostess charm enhanced the make out.
Her fuel adds flames to very fabric.
Her fists were fiery, action: magic.
Out of dust broom closet knelt good
ole nuke we ended up sneaking places:
peaceful village of the caring hood,
small reaches, to parking spaces.
Twisted hair in castle braids,
scoundrel bristles painting raids.
Countdown pistol official use,
punching bag for ogre face.