boom poems

nuclear axe

man with an axe must cut the cable

for the h-bomb will go off

and fry them all if he fails

he must sever the power

and risk being fried like a fish

his island mates'lives are his

tho one is already dead

he was the shark bait

to allow his pal's salvation

which will be short lived 

if he fails to chop the wire

a big fat wire carrying the juice

a million fucking volts!

the plane is on the way 

to give a signal to the trigger

then the bomb will fire

and a sun is born white light style

and the test will be postponed

till they plane crash survivors

are rescued and their story told

the nuclear arms race received

a slight delay to save lives

before the axe

their seaplane crashed by the island

they thought they were safe

but it was fake salvation

for an event was planned

a massive earth shaking event

britain's bomb program continued

TAT GAL

TAT GAL 
My friend does tattoos. The needle work is simply exquisite and of the highest order. You can have a sample if you think long and hard; after all, a tattoo is for life. From tribal to custom, stopping of at portraits and scrolls, there's something for everyone. Even your mother! Give the Ol' Dear a gift voucher and watch her get inked. I want Lisa to do me a gothic image, maybe two ladies on a gravestone. Not ghosts mind you, two academic ladies looking at Victorian graves are pleasing to my eye. Need to book an appointment and I'll be with you for my new ink. Till we meet, take care tattooed tattooist lady.

Inwards

Inwards
Admiral Nukhimov lies in the usual position, on her side, on the seabed with sixty four bodies still aboard. Hit by a freighter Pyotr Vasev making a disaster. Two divers died while retrieving bodies from the wreck. 

Eighteen people standing upright behind a glass screen, led out one at a time by a diver, giving him memories he’ll never forget, awful. We don’t replace the dead with the living, leave them there. A 1986 tragedy. 

Sixty year old ship, second time she sunk! Used in Operation Hannibal with the Gustloff, another German liner. Both doomed. One torpedoed, one hit mines. Salvaged by Russia and rebuilt, forty years of service. 

Old ship lasted so long, about to be scrapped but took four hundred and twenty three souls with her. Another tragedy at sea, a fine ship gone.

WITCHING HOUR

WITCHING HOUR

As the witching hour approaches the witches gather in the ruined stone circle.
The moon is full, clouds scudding across her pale face. Candles are lit and placed in a circle and the wine is passed around.

Now the witches start their magic, the intensity of it gaining strength and power.
They cast their magic circle and call up their own Gods and Goddesses to help them with their spells. 

All in black and purple with silver jewellery glinting in the moonlight, this is the witching hour, a time when the witches are in their element.

Only they understand their magic work that connects them with their magic world of nature.

Section Three Deviant

Section Three Deviant
You Sir are strange. 
I've never met anyone like you. 
You pick up freshly fallen conkers and eat them. 
Why is that odd? 
You dip them in dog crap first. 
I've seen you kiss a cat on the lips. 
Normal? 
Not when it's been dead three weeks. 
Then there was the time you said you were from Mars. 
But your passport lists you as Venusian. 
Is it fake? 
You'll all be getting a picture of my friend, by email forthwith. 
I never sent it; he did. 
By thought alone. 
You should see the shit he sends me. 
Photos of all types of crap. 
Real turds. 
I delete them and he imprints them to my mind. 
Now I like and respect the guy. 
He's nice and polite but a tad different. 
I suspect he'd like my brother. 
He was quirky. 
Would he tolerate him eating his dinner with his feet? 
No. 
But he would like his awful Japanese singing which is his party piece, 
while wearing an old Kamikaze crash helmet. 
Just wait till you see what he does with a tattoo gun and a cactus. 
It's ever so funny! 
I wish everyone had a friend like mine. 
A Section Three Deviant. 
Totally screwed in the head, 
like the rest of us.

featherbed moss saddleworth england

tandlehills country park royton 2