Nuclear Poems - Poems about Nuclear

Hey buddy, let me tell you what's goin' down. Listen closely, you'll hear the sound of my kitchen, underground. What I'm cookin' is so hot, as it were, you might call it nuclear. I'll make some for him, some for her. I churn out the grub, hot and fast. My cooking's like a firehose blast. As much as I make, it won't last. I...

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We sat in the fallout of last year’s gift exchange— smashed angel centerpiece taped back together as good as a rogue bomb if someone mentioned it. Our voices dragged like anchors through an ocean— low, cold, summoning something older than Kris Kringle. I strained to recall a time when it wasn’t like this. The kitchen table— a battleship, whipped tension and potatoes. Dad’s knife slipped...

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for my entire life I've always been on the brink of annihilation under a wooden desk covering porcelain neck the unforgiving sirens a nuclear child petrified of being exposed to the fallout seven years of age stressed out by the alphabet thoroughly dyslexic ...

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“Was gesagt werden muss” (“What must be said”) by Gunter Grass translation by Michael R. Burch Why have I remained silent, so long, failing to mention something openly practiced in war games which now threaten to leave us merely meaningless footnotes? Someone’s alleged “right” to strike first might annihilate a beleaguered nation whose people march to a martinet’s tune, compelled to pageants of orchestrated obedience. Why?...

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Nuclear warfare?... Nuclear warfare, the storm's on the brink, How will it happen? Where will you sink? When the tidal wave of war crashes from the sea, What’s the first thought? Kids and my partner, gotta be. Holdin' hands as we vanish in the mist, End the war, nuclear warheads, clenched fists. UK next, for aiding Ukraine’s fight, Keir Starmer’s lies, truth in the night. Are we blind, do...

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Nuclear in Norway Should the Russian army occupy Northerner Norway, they know the way Last time they came and helped chase the Nazi army out and freed us was in 1945 Russia was popular after the war, Stalin was called Uncle Joe This scared the USA it quickly sent the Marshal aid there was a geo-political shift despite open borders Relentless...

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"Four" Four With that word, the world came to an end In flames of nuclear power That man did send Death Swept through Eastasia and Eurasia The scale was tipped by one last breath Oceania’s Pride Three Three giants threw spears at each other A scorching war destined to be And Big Brother Died Nuclear sunlight beamed through cracked glass Waking up the proles, who...

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Come friendly bombs, Drop on England now It isn't fit for humans now. The country where no-one wants To be one....

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the nuclear family In a nation far from here, several big explosions occurred  of such a magnitude,  the cohesion of humanity has the body, the brain, lost connection with the soul   the rebuilding didn't take long in a nation of smart and hard-working people, whose new motto was "niceness"  Modern houses were built, and smart furniture and shiny walls where a few nice paintings lacked...

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Itchy Fingers? I don’t mind dying in a nuclear war. As long as it’s quick, not a lingering bore. It’ll give the elite a chance to see the cloud. Kill off the plebs in a crimson shroud. I know their fingers are itching. To press the oblivion button. See what happens, from Moscow to Sutton. and all the places in between, They’ll watch it...

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Slowly drifting on a billowing cloud the languid liquids drench the underbelly of the moons ethereal glow. The dreamscape transitions from dark to light. Shockwaves shiver and melt into lakes of mercurial sky. Fire flashes, breathing new life into Nuclear Nights born of creative overflow....

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The loudest thing in the universe Is not the sound of a nuclear bomb hitting the ground fired by military forces Or an astroid crashing into earth from space Nor is it the sound of two major stars colliding Not even close to the sound of a crying baby Woken up by hunger at 3am...

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this death will be the life of me patches in the sky we used to call them clouds before the bombs went off and canopied us in a toxic shell; the artist swapped his brush for a brick and threw it in tantrum from a distance at some cheesy idyllic canvas and despite our decaying teeth falling out with clumps of hair and skin you...

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That was the last call. Aunt Rosie and the kids have left. They’re safe The rest have been...

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in the fifties, back in my school days, we hid under desks anticipating the nuclear bomb we thought Russians were sending not all of our body fit under there, but we still had to do it Because if that bomb was coming, we wanted to be ready...

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