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Elaine C May 16
we all talk
about the now
being in the know
knowing where to go
going where we already know

where is now?
geographically, not mentally.
where must i be
to be present
presenting the PowerPoint
my life on display
is it Jakarta? berlin?
baku, beijing or dublin?

how is now served to you?
any dietary requirements to be aware of?
hot or cold? or even, lukewarm?
is it customized to your liking?
or unaltered? half cooked?
medium rare?

do you tip the server
of your now dish?
or consume it
on your genetically altered past plate
with your fragile future fork
knowing when you're done
you'll pay the bare minimum?

when you purchase your now house
and live in it with your now wife
and now kids
with a cute now dog
will you wonder who lost their now
so you could have yours?
now
Edwin Morgan May 5
They sell us comfort, coin by coin,
While truth lies quiet, unemployed.
A system built on silent screams,
Where dreams are bought, and sold as schemes.

Investors grin behind the glass,
As need and pain walk slowly past.
The people bend, but rarely break—
Not yet awake, but far from fake.

We trade our power for a price,
Forget that unity cuts twice.
Divided, numb, we play their game—
Each dollar tagged with someone’s name.

But sparks can start from aching hearts,
From minds that dare to question parts.
And if we rise—not just for self,
But human worth above the wealth—

Then change won’t knock. It will arrive.
We’ll see the world, not just survive.
For when the many choose to see,
No wall of gold can cage the free.
This poem was written by ChatGPT based on a passionate reflection that I had I voiced frustration with how modern society prioritizes profit over people. I emphasized the need for systemic reform, greater public unity, and improved education to help individuals recognize their power in shaping the world. From that heartfelt message, ChatGPT crafted “The Cost of Silence,” a poem exploring the tension between corporate greed and human need. It critiques the investor-driven economy, highlights the quiet strength of the public, and ends on a hopeful note—suggesting that awareness and unity can ignite meaningful change. The work blends emotional weight with rhythmic clarity, offering both a critique and a call to action.
Daniel Tucker Apr 22
Since I was a child
I have fervently
Tried to filter out
Negative echoes
Of our history  
And focus
On each one.

Echoes are
Shockwaves
Throughout
Society
Building strength
And momentum as
They damage then
Ricochet off one
Person to another
Like a viral or
Bacterial infection
Mutating and building
Up resistance to our

Strong
  Mediocre
And
  Often
Feeble
Societal
Antidotes.

I try as many do
To be a  
Shock absorber --
A small part of
The solution;

Trying to help break
The vicious cycle by
Somehow attempting
To
Absorb the shockwaves

To help prevent them
From hitting someone
Else
Or at least
Lessening their strength
And momentum --

A form of harm
Reduction
I suppose.

Just lending an ear
And
Lending a shoulder
To lean on or
Cry on
Seems to be
An integral part in

Lessening the
Negative
Effects.
© 2025 Daniel Tucker

A poem from the living of my life.
Andy Denson Mar 22
really finding their peace.
in a zoom meeting.

tingaling with a feeling
from a screen.

if i stopped caring
people could bear
with me.

i see him spit
in
a hand-washing station.

my entry denied
over
a
face shield.

face shield. face shield.
a repeated mantra; standing there
still.
This poem explores the dissonance between virtual connections and physical realities during the pandemic era. The repetition of "face shield" emphasizes the absurdity and frustration of safety protocols, while the imagery of "tingaling with a feeling from a screen" captures the hollow resonance of digital interactions. The poem reflects on societal behaviors and personal detachment in unprecedented times.
Andy Denson Mar 22
inspired by tony labrusca's portrayal of josé rizal

babae likes me contained.
me—a tupperware full of lumpia.
i'm soggy, *****.
*****—inday—i'm gwapo. fried uy.

sorry. soggy.
druggy. sorry.

my chest tattoos?
yes, they can be removed.
will that be provided in my—

nevermind. thank you.
she opened her purse.
hard candy.

waving me away.
sorry carb-eating lad.
she is just ******* hard candy.
cgeh. babay. cgeh bi.

jose, they say you wrote novels.
but i wonder—
did you ever write yourself out?

did you watch your own ink
bleed into the soil?
did you wish for something softer?

in the way i am devoured. hero forgotten.
in the way i am swallowed
whole—one piso coin
by lovers, by history, by a name
they gave me before i ever
spoke too. ii
This poem weaves together personal identity, societal expectations, and historical resonance. The imagery of food (lumpia, hard candy) juxtaposes with themes of erasure and visibility, tying into both personal struggle and the weight of history. The references to José Rizal invoke a parallel between artistic creation and self-sacrifice, questioning how much of oneself is lost in the process of being seen.
Andrew Rueter Apr 2023
How much should
society and the individual
change for one another
when it's our duty as individuals
to adjust to different social settings
but it's our duty as a society
to be as inclusive as possible?
SUDHANSHU KUMAR Jul 2021
I'm still shy,
And it's not a lie.
They ask me, why?
But I don't have a proper reply!

This fact, I can't deny!
That, I'm an unsocial guy.
They ask me to give it a try,
But I can't talk to them eye to eye.

I'm a person with no social ally,
Because I know, they all are a sly.
Yet sometimes, I look for them nearby,
Mostly then, when my pain leads me to cry!

Now, it's time to identify,
In actual, who am I?
Am I born to be a societal fly?
Or, I'm destined to chase the sky?
A flow of rhymes....
Sly - cunning
Elena Jan 2019
I think love is what we need in the world.
We needed it so badly we created it. Then we fought over it. And we corrupted it. It even became a disease. Until we found it had a medicinal effect. It could heal.

Love seeps into the ground where we bury it. The decay leaves traces of it. So is love also in death? Love is powerful indeed.

If love can find its way in life and death, it must not be mortal like us. Perhaps we can call it Divine. It must be what we see when we look up to the sky.

That’s why we describe it in so many ways. It flows like the blood in our veins. And when we no longer have the strength in our heart, it becomes the soul of our own.
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