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East or the west, Computer is Waste
Surrounded by mouse, Having no Taste

Operator is a fool, Is never ever Cool
Always in haste, Does Cut and Paste

Encounters error in memory, Shooks his Head
Filled with terror, Shakes his Neck

Restarts his computer, But in Vain
The computer Reports – 'Disk Boot Failure'

The operator restarts, again and again
But no more gains, only pain and pain

Hits the CPU with his Boots
But still the computer fails to Boot

Kicks the Monitor with his Boots
The Monitor Screen gets shattered

The operator gets an electric shock
Utters 'Good Bye World'

Long live the computer, In the Future
To send peoples to the lovely Heaven

Free of Cost – Free of Cost

By the way, If anyone finds himself in the Hell
Then just blame His Highness Great Charles Babbage
Just for a laugh
I wrote this unpublished poem  15 years ago in 2005. Today found this in old diary and published here.
The Composition of Shadows (II)
by Michael R. Burch

We breathe and so we write;
the night
hums softly its accompaniment.

Pale phosphors burn;
the page we turn
leads onward, and we smile, content.

And what we mean
we write to learn:
the vowels of love, the consonants’

strange golden weight,
the blood’s debate
within the heart. Here, resonant,

sounds’ shadows mass
against bright glass,
within the white Labyrinthian maze.

Through simple grace,
I touch your face,
ah words! And I would gaze

the night’s dark length
in waning strength
to find the words to feel

such light again.
O, for a pen
to spell love so ethereal.

Published by Contemporary Rhyme and The Eclectic Muse. Keywords/Tags: writing, poetry, night, monitor, glass, phosphors, webpage, internet, social, media, world wide web, facebook, twitter,  maze, labyrinth, sound, pen, ethereal
The Composition of Shadows (I)
by Michael R. Burch

(for poets who write late at night / by monitor light)

We breathe and so we write; the night
hums softly its accompaniment.
Pale phosphors burn; the page we turn
leads onward, and we smile, content.

And what we mean we write to learn:
the vowels of love, the consonants’
strange golden weight, each plosive’s shape—
curved like the heart. Here, resonant,

sounds’ shadows mass beneath bright glass
like singing voles curled in a maze
of blank white space. We touch a face—
long-frozen words trapped in a glaze

that insulates our hearts. Nowhere
can love be found. Just shrieking air.

Published by The Lyric, Candelabrum, Triplopia, Romantics Quarterly, Iambs & Trochees, Hidden Treasures, ImageNation (UK), Yellow Bat Review, Poetry Life & Times, Vallance Review, Poetica Victorian. Keywords/Tags: writing, poetry, night, monitor, glass, phosphors, web, page, internet, online, social media, sound, files, white space
Ek Sep 2018
A monitor sight fixed on a scene
as they talk and talk away
my eyes scan mumbles, shoulders, hair screen
as I had nothing to say

I'm shrouded by a heat blanket
that I got when I broke both legs
I fixed it on another planet
and then I wished to be in bed

My camera's offscreen stuck offstage
while my mind roams the empty rooms
but blindness causes people rage
because all they see are tombs

The word's they echo off my mind
but I'm too far away to respond
mindfulness isn't always kind
and they'd rather I be fond
Monitor
Watching me
Reading over my shoulder
Danger lies in depression
Fear
I just want to be normal
Dauntless
Not this
Not me
Monitor
Watching me
Watching
I can't breathe
Silence is key
Staying alive
The true goal
But how
With this monitor?
4-5-14

— The End —