Lilly Gibbons Jun 12
In Descartes reading misery, contemplating life.
letting go is torture, keep momentum rife.
Seek out the pro's that teach the winning game,
searching for bragging rights, craving all the fame,
Nobody stops to calculate as words tear and multiply,
yearning for the screens real truth, never asking why,
the bumps in narrow roads deepen, crawling closer to the curve,
are pedestrians ready, have they rehearsed how to serve?
jerelii Jun 5
The evolution of our era
called it millenial
bright colors, wild, free
it’s unpredictable
though wide variations of collection
could find their different angles;
picture memories
you’ve witnessed
it in moving dreams
of hope
through the new clique of it’s statuses
update here in a single minute,
second or hour
We can’t suspect how big
is the impact of social media;
technology that we’ve been
attached in our whole life
do we really need to breathe
in this kind of level
of revolution?
I use a 5 random word generator see if I could write a poetry out of this five words.

It’s been a long time since I write here
Aa Harvey Jun 4
Silent thoughts

Candles burning brightly bring visions to my eyes.
Shadows dancing in the corners give this room a supernatural vibe.
As I sit here under the covers, all fears are held below;
I gaze into the broken mirror, in a room with no visible windows.
Curtains hide the outside from me; pictures hang on every wall.
Unopened boxes still sleep their long slumber;
They have sat there since the fall.

Unread books sit on the bookshelf;
The dust has gathered on all their pages.
Cobwebs hang like Christmas decorations,
They show the footsteps the spiders took;
They have been there for ages.

As the cold air slows my heartbeat, I could have been here for a year.
So forgotten, so complicated; there is no-one left to cheer.
I have tried to change the channel,
But everything just sounds the same.
I have tried to feed my hunger,
But my body refuses and so it remains.
A thirst calls out for a glass of water; legs are aching for some help.
If I hired myself a waitress, maybe I could help myself.

Candles flicker in their actions; a silhouette fills all above.
There is a ghostly face on my ceiling; swiftly it changes and all is mud.
As the wick burns down to nothing, I prepare to make a stand.
I am reaching out for lightning; fire in my hands.
As I strike another cigarette with the last match inside the pack,
I carry the flame across every candle; I will have to soon sleep or act.
I whisper words into the emptiness, as several thoughts go passing by.
I take hold of my loneliness and put it out of sight, out of mind.

A man is speaking on the TV and I do not like the news he has to tell,
So I press the off switch at the television,
So I am no longer under its spell…
The sound of silence is beginning to annoy me,
So I flick the switch on the radio.
Another old man tells me something new again;
I need music not this breaking news show.

I try and fail to read a fictional story;
The fading light no help at all.
Remembering former days of glory;
Newspaper clippings on the wall.
All the frames have cracks along them,
Where they have fallen to the floor before.
The memories that live outside my head,
Are entrapped in photo’s that are boxed up against the wall.

I need money to change my life,
But changing times are always hard.
A moth is living where there should always have been plenty of cash.
I take out all the plastic cards…
And I throw them in the trash.

Counting pennies like an accountant;
I don’t just wear this hat for fun.
Another winter of discontent;
Crying out to feel the sun.

Breathing clouds because of the cold air;
Toes are asking Santa for slipper shoes.
I lost my will to try a long time ago;
My heart is not mending, it is way too bruised.

Body aching from a lifetime;
I never give it a second thought.
The clock annoys me more and more,
With every tick-tock and with every chime…
I’m too old to be closing doors.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Aa Harvey Jun 3
I see

I see pictures on a blank canvas.
I see images inside your image.
I see the tranquility within the madness.
I see a beautiful world only I can envisage.

I see words where none are written.
I see winter gardens on a mid-summers afternoon.
I see Macintosh before it was ever bitten.
I see colours of sunlight when all illumination is from a moon.

I see history designing your future.
I see the past repeating here and now.
I see technology; forever advancing roots of a router.
I see an empty space, with floating ice mountains in the background.

I see Fuji rising over Emoji.
I see all in jigsaw pieces.
I see connections where no attachment should be.
I see the perpetual wave;
Beauty never ceases.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Aa Harvey Jun 2
A new dawn.

When we all have virtual reality;
The next step in our technological evolution,
Will be to attain a sort of telepathy,
Where our mind is connected directly into the web
And then who knows what comes next?

Our brains will seek information along the information highway
And our thoughts will be uploaded directly into the internet.
We will create our own type of diary, the thoughts of us all;
Then the final connections will be made
And completely change our planet.

A new way of thinking and seeing things differently;
The olden days will fade away to become our history.
The robots will be born and humanity will grow lazy;
Spending more time in this new reality.
Our second lives will become our actuality.

We are just about to take one step forward for mankind
And our movements will be controlled, by the thoughts within our mind.
Our subconscious will be more prevalent than it ever has before
And upon us will be thrust a new dawn.

(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Dean Russell May 29
When I was sixteen
I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
This made perfect sense for I sought seclusion
From fright in my mind; I was hunting a delusion.
What was wrong and what was right
Could never be far or near or protected with might.

When I was seventeen
I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
This made perfect sense for I hated my mind.
Suffocating in a body howling with mistakes scared and lined.
Escape was hollow and deprivation
When a cold numb murdered little sensation.

When I was eighteen
I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
Laughter and warmth within and around,
Let us take a photo to capture what was lost and found.
Often I will reminisce about the night it all made sense
But I cannot remember it all, let loathing commence.

When I was nineteen,
I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
Now, I did not understand
For I could feel and touch and fall and land
Without sorrow or destruction at what I could not achieve.
Everything that happened, I knew now it was time to leave.

I am twenty six now,
And I remember when I was told I was a ghost in the machine.
Digital memory captured it all
And a scroll reveals the forgotten, the joy and the fall.
I didn’t realise at the time we place our spirits into devices so lean.

So let me tell you;
Guess what?
We are now all just a great ghost
in a pocket machine.
using technology in the present will remember your past and can predict a future!
Tyler Matthew May 23
Machines are only as beautiful
as the nature of their function.
Consider a grandfather clock --
a handsome combination
of practicality and playfulness,
symmetry and simplicity
(though quite complex within) --
wood and steel joined perfectly
to inform, entertain, and intrigue.
     Conversely, a television lacks
such subtlety, making it
almost malicious in its capacity.
In its nature is the intention
to render nature, itself, obsolete.
Where a television aims to
make us forget,
a clock, for instance, serves to
remind us that it is time to
start living -- and what could be
more noble or more beautiful
     than that?
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
If happiness is all about gaining
Why on earth the nightingale laments
on the red, red rose blossoming?  

The answer doesn't lurk  
inside the computer's silicon chip.
The man gives mind to technology
it doesn't know how to cry!
But a human mind does whether
that is rich or poor it does a mater.
Aa Harvey May 7

Broken TV, phone line cut off;
Electric meter empty, friends have been lost.
Bottles all drunken, food beginning to rot;
Clothes torn and fading, all hope is gone.

Money all spent to pay the rent and the debts;
Eye sight fading, nothing left.
Body decaying, love life non-existent;
Pity and mercy are not forthcoming,
Everything is lost in an instant.

Dirt on the skirting boards and on the walls,
Ambition without power.
Green water in the vase underneath the dead flowers;
One minute past happy hour, the milk tastes sour.

Laughter not possible, arms too weak;
Broken are the sandals that slip beneath my feet.

(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
They used to give chocolates; you remember
sausage-worm fingers diving into
boxes of the unknown, sharp, sticky
tears as someone is pushed too hard
the box springs to heights unfathomable
here, it hurts just here
but only two eyes are on the boy's chest
pupils up at a dappled ceiling where
wet paper crackles poster paint dust
making promises to spectral parents
as not to get that one which gets
stuck in your teeth.
Now, you hover at a mouse
waiting for someone to toss you
two letters, maybe three
like a wrapper in the wind.
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