29 July 2011


There are no reasons left to argue,
No means with which to fight.
Our stamina is gray-haired and gasping.
Our weapons are wrinkled and limp.
We tremble uneasy on broken shins,
10.30.2006 - Huntsville, AL
Image from if winter ends
Useless fists held up in vacant fury,
Battered and ignored.
Even the earth doesn’t remember
Why I hate you.

Our scars won’t bleed anymore.
They're tired too.
There’s no winner,
No trophy, no victor.
I just want you to know it was me.
You want my headstone to crumble.
Into never having existed,
Mix it with the dust of my bones
And blow them off into a wind
That no one remembers.

We can both console
Our lonely selves in loss.

Only the tiniest grin forms
At the old corners of my granite lips,
Thinking that at least,
We’ve done it to each other.

I got inspiration for this poem from a poem by Lolamouse and her poem Waiting for Petrichor. It's a very good angry poem that can't seem to be angry any more. What happens when anger is all you have? Or not anger, but just a need to fight? I've been digging some angry poems lately! Oh, the title and the picture are from Cold War ideals, namely the fantastic notion of Mutual Assured Destruction, which I guess did, maybe kinda work-since we're not destroyed yet.


Are you cool enough now?
Stupid, fumbled banter
Flopped you and your dumb words
In the drink.
Annoyed glances
Growled into angry glares.

Best to keep that foot in your mouth
And out of the sharks’.
They have more teeth than you. 

Ever say something that you really shouldn't have? If you happen to be in the wrong place, it could really put you in a pickle. The title came last. It just really seemed to fit. I used words from Three Word Wednesday- fumble, banter, and glance.

28 July 2011

First Kiss

If I could talk to a star,
I’d whisper to one,
“I’ve always loved you.”
I’d understand
The celestial science of her elements,
The chemicals of her composition.

And I wouldn’t care
That she was just
A bright, gassy, nuclear thing.
That her heart was filled
With superheated heavy metals
Instead of love.

She would be empty of emotions
And longings for my human body
And thorny malice.
She'd have no need to deceive,
No means to lie.
My telescope and spectrograph show me her everything.

I'd let her gravity ensnare me
Into blissful circles
Until my orbit decayed.
I would close my eyes and spiral in
For a final first kiss
As my smiling atoms vaporized. 

Image from www.salzgeber.at.

 I had this idea a while ago, but only put a few words down. Now I put a few more. Sometimes I think a star would make a pretty good woman.Posted at Promising Poet's Parking Lot's Thursday Poetry Rally.

24 July 2011

Something Happy

No poem here. Just something happy to counter the murder/death/war poems I posted the last couple of days.

The Conquering

The Conquering
Rides in on Panzer tank treads,
Flattens a scorched path
Like Conan with gasoline.

Burning Tank
Image from egon voyd.
The Conquering
Takes no heed,
Takes no prisoners,
Gives no quarter to children.
Their bodies burn like the others.
Stack them in the schoolyard.

The Conquering
Has a thousand blades
To cut every fleshy thing that runs.
The reckless Conquering
Burns everything it sees.
One torch for friend or foe.

Corpses like coal figurines.
Skin and bone rise up as black ash
And fall earthbound like volcanic death,
Stifles the Conquering torch
And burns in his throat.
With a last conquering breath,
He chokes his enemy into each alveolus
And falls
Just as stiff and dead as everyone else. 

Theses fairly unpleasant thoughts were inspired by a couple of songs: The Battle of Nevermore (Zeppelin) and All Apologies (Nirvana). More particularly, the inspiration is from a particular line in each song. "The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath" and "choking on the ashes of our enemies." I also heard War Pigs on the radio today.

20 July 2011


If I were a killer,
I’d leave blood on my hands
To smear the stain twists of my fingerprints
Across the nighttime smooth of your window pane.
I’d use my pistol in broad daylight
And bang warning shots at the clouds
Until the bystanders
Would stand and watch.
I’d detail my intentions
With a spell-checked note,
So that if they got me before I could explain,
I would have already explained.
I’d want you to know.

Just a little something. Look for it at One Stop Poetry's One Shot Wednesday.