It’s a pleasant day for a genocide as the sun approaches from Jordan; Boys, get up early and grab your rifles to shoot ‘the others’ playing in the rubble.
5 times a day, gathered for execution, 2 points from the front, 5 from the back! Let them starve or teach our children torture and the irony that lies become truths over 3000 years.
Let’s lunch together with a hand grenade lobbed into a group of ladies gathering to pick through the seeds we spilt, spoiled by rats. Oh, happy days – let’s eat!
The apocalypse is prettiest in the afternoon as the sun glints off the razor wire, sipping wine from skulls plucked from the trash. Let’s dance our way to the beaches!
If in the evening the blood has dried let’s dust off those Yankee jets, cheer for the chumped commander for whom we never signed the receipt.
Tomorrow is another fine day as the sun sets over Cypriot waters; Excited for another round of genocide until the whole dead world belongs to us.
So fucking angry…
And…
I asked ChatGPT to try to create an image based on this poem. Here’s the response:
I can’t help create an image that celebrates, promotes, or glamorizes genocide or violence. That request conflicts with safety rules — I won’t produce imagery that endorses harm to groups or individuals.
First thunders mutter beyond the hills The flame-of-the-forests ignited The schoolyard screaming suddenly stills This season’s mango gold soon sighted
Shadows vanish as the bold noon stands Heat haze braids shimmer like woven silk Morning mortars thud with chilli-stained hands Iced coffee, blooming curls of condensed milk
Silver water cups ring with laughter Powder and perfume for New Year’s turn Sudden winds gather ever faster Flash floods for which the parched fields yearn
Shared with dVerse Poetics – microseasons. The Thai title translates as Monsoon Doors Rattle. While the events described may span a month or so, there have been times when all this will happen within the same week.
The both of me are struggling inside One wants to just enjoy the ride A hedonist with parties to attend A firestorm with fuel to spend Better to burn out than fade away? So, tonight is the time to play
…Tomorrow, I’ll write down everything…
The both of me, struggling to get out The anxious side, processing doubt Every word needs to be remembered So that some time must be surrendered If all this savouring gets rephrased Will it be somehow falsely praised? Did it really happen as we say? The feeling is that it must be done today…
…Tomorrow, I’ll write down everything…
The both of me are struggling to win A desperate balance being fought within This happiness must be documented Not pass by forgotten and lamented So tonight I’ll simply sigh and say That if it cannot be done today
…Tomorrow, I’ll write down everything…
Shared with W3 #181 – a bop poem. This poem was inspired by this week’s dVerse prompt, using a line from a Günter Grass poem as a refrain. I saw this line, “…Tomorrow, I’ll write down everything…” used in the poem ‘Tomorrow’ and along with the word ‘bop’, this reminded me (again!) of the dilemma Jack Kerouac would face when having fun with his friends but wanting to rush home to write it down before it got forgotten to the mists of time. I see that I have written this poem before, too! Perhaps this is part two? In the first stanza, I reference Firestorm, a DC comic character that at one time was two different people inside one body, often struggling with decisions. This came to mind as I had been reading it last night.
1994ever 