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#drones
Her laugh like tiny drops of gold, Her countenance like none I’ve seen; A glance at me—my heart-beats hold Inside a place I’ve never been. I think that I should maybe die, Her hand tracing new memory, Nostalgia falling from the sky, Each fading touch a remedy. Her body, soul, and spirit, three, From part-to-part I do adore; Her smile of guile, my bumble bee, One step ahead forever more. Stand still, as I am left behind, So out-of-step and out-of-sight; Faint trace of honey on my mind, And one more dream of one more night.
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May 2
May 2, 2026 at 12:27 AM UTC
It'll End In Tears
I'm scared they say there are drones above our head they say they came from the darkest place of death I know how I should feel when all of this is real scared what if it really is this time what if in a month or two no one survives what if war breaks out where death stands proud where guns shout loud I'm scared war where everyone search for a rope when peace turns into hope what if I dont get a grave a stranger in a maze what if I won't be brave I'm s c a r e d but people help the people right? just as the song hold on look me in the eyes I'm scared everything will be okay I hope
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Nov 3, 2025
Nov 3, 2025 at 11:51 AM UTC
the news will become history, someday
I am going to scream Until you can hear my voice Coming out of the slick screen. Stop the odious violence! There is too much violence and injustice, In our lives and in our streets. The authorities and the Police, These days, are not there for Justice, For all citizens in our counties and cities. I am going to scream That there is too much mayhem on the screen, Too much unbearable pain for the spleen, And too much chaos and violence in our dreams. Stop the killings, Stop the bombings, Stop the evil drones, Stop destroying the zones. I can hear the cries of the young babies, I can feel the pain of the innocent children, I can see the tears of the poor women, I can understand the weakness of strong men, I can fully comprehend the fear of the elderlies. Yes, I sympathize with them and their tragedies. Yes, I can feel their emotions and maladies. I can hear the screams Coming from the streets. I can hear the cries of our sisters, I can see the blood of our brothers All over the streets. I can smell, feel the pain, This is insane. Look at the video tape, There is a white cloth, a drape, On a dying body. This is sad, awful and crazy. I can hear our people saying: Hands up, don't shoot! I can see other victims lying In the streets, crying And yelling: Do not shoot! Nowadays, violence is everywhere. We are soaked in a ****** terror. This is hell on earth. It is hard to figure Out this nonsense. There is too much violence, And that makes no sense. The cries of hell can pierce the eardrums. The Police now have military stuff, bombs Sub-machine guns, drones, tents And they can drop atomic crumbs. There is too much bloodshed in the neighborhood. Stop the killings, hand out books and food, To the people, instead of tear gas, and injustice. Our people's lives matter. We all had a father and a mother. We all want to live happily in one piece, In Peace. Copyright© July, 2015, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
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Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 11:42 PM UTC
Sick, Sad And Mad About So Much Violence
I am going to scream Until you can hear my voice Coming out of the slick screen. Stop the odious violence! There is too much violence and injustice, In our lives and in our streets. The authorities and the Police, These days, are not there for Justice, For all citizens in our counties and cities. I am going to scream That there is too much mayhem on the screen, Too much unbearable pain for the spleen, And too much chaos and violence in our dreams. Stop the killings, Stop the bombings, Stop the evil drones, Stop destroying the zones. I can hear the cries of the young babies, I can feel the pain of the innocent children, I can see the tears of the poor women, I can understand the weakness of strong men, I can fully comprehend the fear of the elderlies. Yes, I sympathize with them and their tragedies. Yes, I can feel their emotions and maladies. I can hear the screams Coming from the streets. I can hear the cries of our sisters, I can see the blood of our brothers All over the streets. I can smell, feel the pain, This is insane. Look at the video tape, There is a white cloth, a drape, On a dying body. This is sad, awful and crazy. I can hear our people saying: Hands up, don't shoot! I can see other victims lying In the streets, crying And yelling: Do not shoot! Nowadays, violence is everywhere. We are soaked in a ****** terror. This is hell on earth. It is hard to figure Out this nonsense. There is too much violence, And that makes no sense. The cries of hell can pierce the eardrums. The Police now have military stuff, bombs Sub-machine guns, drones, tents And they can drop atomic crumbs. There is too much bloodshed in the neighborhood. Stop the killings, hand out books and food, To the people, instead of tear gas, and injustice. Our people's lives matter. We all had a father and a mother. We all want to live happily in one piece, In Peace. Copyright© July, 2015, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
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The drones have made themselves known. Who knows where they come from who knows where they go? This could be the end for all we know. White blinking lights swarm the skys, sporadic patterns, deep state lies. It seems that we are accelerating into crazy. But our leaders assures there is no threat. (How would they know?) P.s Where can I purchase one of these crafts?
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Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 8:52 AM UTC
DRONES OVER THE EARTH
Lawrence Hall [email protected]   https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com                          Are We Looking Through Sauron’s Eye? Through our glowing palantiri we watch Dark images, shadowy and flickering Ghostly men gathered around machines – Are we looking through Sauron’s eye? A silent flash, and structure disappears Enveloped in blackness and liquid flame Arcing bits of metal and bits of men - Are we looking through Sauron’s eye? Are we looking through Sauron’s eye? And is that eye now turned on us? A poem is itself.
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Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 11:17 PM UTC
Sauron's Eye - multiple attempts to download
Lawrence Hall [email protected] https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/ poeticdrivel.blogspot.com Are We Looking Through Sauron’s Eye? Through our glowing palantiri we watch Dark images, shadowy and flickering Ghostly men gathered around machines – Are we looking through Sauron’s eye? A silent flash, and structure disappears Enveloped in blackness and liquid flame Arcing bits of metal and bits of men - Are we looking through Sauron’s eye? Are we looking through Sauron’s eye? And is that eye now turned on us?
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Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 8:16 AM UTC
Are We Looking Through Sauron's Eye?
Under the Christmas tree Are toys for you and me: First we have our personal phones; Now, we can each have our own drones… They fly high – they fly low – Hovering to and fro. Like eerie will-o’-the-wisp they fly… Appearing like dust specks in the sky… They fly high…they fly low… We can’t see where they go… Suddenly here! Silently there! Like ghosts, they show up everywhere! Like aliens, out of a nightmare – Disappearing, ev’n as we stare… Under the Christmas tree Are drones for you and me…
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Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
Drones for Christmas
weaponized microspace; insects dying off from mysterious diseases;   whole species of birds disappear mysteriously; insects replaced by nanodrones & genetically altered clones;   & drones AI self-propelled cameras & bombs: Nicolás Maduro knows first hand & will surely testify to all of this
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Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
flying is for the birds
when the heads of nations forget dignified tones we are well on our way to that „clean“ war with drones
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May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
drones & dignity
same sketch cloned day sundown station schema office workers signed off shuffle numb curbed chaos train clatter shifting gears clashing sound noise assaults savaged senses lulls into stupor's rhythm cardboard sentinels stare blind frames fixed on blanched orbits disjointed huddle inciting life's vapid echo
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May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
what's it all about... ?
Illusions of skydiving in a kimono are not nightmares that awaken her in a sweat each night Fantasies of floating like a drone creep into morning daydreams Unprepared for make-believe no kimono hangs in her closet Each day she stands in front of her full-length mirror stares at perceived imperfections as they thicken before her eyes Friends don’t notice each misplaced mole or cellulite pleading to hide from any audience Co-workers notice her post-it-note headline “Intelligent Perfect Women Skydives in Kimono” affixed to the cubicle wall Today results of her search for kimonos of various colors is carefully placed in a folder entitled skydiving
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Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Pipe Dream
Every five minutes they come whirring like copters for war slashing through immaculate peace you crave to blanket your day with Those speeding three-wheeled gadflies are kings of small streets and act like you must pay them to Extricate you from a cluster of doomed and dusty eggs and bacon deliver all that racket in your head every time you think about buzzing drones on your meatloaf in your heart in your dreams on your hopes on your thoughts about how marriage should be a man and a woman now one soul in two bodies living together committed fighting for stable “everydays” The roses look damp bouquets of mums on the kitchen table you pouring hot coffee; the mug you took two hours to pick out is punctiliously stained.
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Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
Drones
Most accidents happen near the hive, near the home. That's why I chose to be a drone, and go it alone. Buzzing, stinging, pollinating, all for the good graces of my queen's throne. The workers sitting at home, wishing they were me. Out collecting pollen like a bigger, better bee.
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Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
Better Bee
Blackbird shadow death witness the spiraling madness glide silent over once vital beehive shorn gray paper thin sip raw honey hardening in the merciless heat nourish the suffering concentration-camp thin jutting bone slack skin reflect the boundless light of a shield wrought from love honor these golden futile gestures they are not infinitesimal grains Blackbird with beaded sight testify *do not avert your eyes*
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Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 9:42 AM UTC
Blackbird
This is America. Our spirits don't speak English. This is the land of the natives we extinguish. This is the nation we take what we want. its the material possessions and money we flaunt.Sending Drones to your country killing your kids, but in America were the drones stupid.watch whats on the TV and buy what they sell,conform to our ways or go to hell. this is the way that they arranged it.IT DON'T take quantum physics to explain it. give it 5 years and they'll be tapping our dreams with product placement.
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Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:02 AM UTC
This is America
I spot a drone today; No bombs, But with plenty o’ potential – A will to malice, To malcontent, to ****** I seek it south And at its zenith, Above dissent, And the bastion that’d never know Better, from worse. So too, I spy it over the sands And over cave, Over Manhattan, over perdition, And over “god,” over greed, Over "great," and ********* Guaranteed; A glistening, wrought silver teething, “Dead,” come one wrong, Word, or whatnot, Anything antagonist “corporate,” Our contradictory content, Blessed, this, “Complacency,” – indiscriminate. Unbeknownst and melancholy-ridden, The bombs have dropped, And for some time now, A sooner to be eternity Whilst we’ve managed nothing but The simplest of slumber; We’re lucid but one second And sheep more so the years. The flock afar-critical, As abstained become the hours, The minutes, until, “then,” Atop, “when,” Whilst we learn again to breathe, Maybe even dream, And relieve the nooses continually Knotted by others – It’s an imaginary rebellion. Sure. And I’m sure you’d agree; Yet still, I soak a nightmare’s sweat Whilst we gladly assume our Peasant’s role And as long as we do, “They’ll,” gladly assume their Thrones.
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Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
Empire America
so sick of the media hype got drones whatching over watching what you type, heard a runner for the big job say, if you were thinking about joining, the dark side, he'd **** you with a drone ray, no trial, no qualms, no lawyer, no Psalms, they'll **** you if it looks like you "might" get blood on your palms, who reads minds to see? when did we lose democracy? Since when did the land of the free, become the land of the huddling masses, and afraid, I'm not drinking the cool-aid. Media tells you what they want you to know, keeps you scared at night, so you'll go where they want you to go, so you buy what they want you to buy, fills our young minds with propaganda and mis-info, Wake up America, you still have rights, wake up America, it's not about blacks or whites, wake up America, land of brotherhood, don't trade your rights, for fabled comfort, from dark knights, stand up as brother and sister, stand up as Mrs. and Mr. and together make your voice be heard, before it's too late, before its too late, Is that a drone or is that bird? shhh don't speak so loud, you might be heard. (c) dm 2015
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May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
So sick of the media hype
Change On the horizon Pockets are empty Black meets blue In hues of the pain of yesterday Change In hand The vending machine's empty Six miles out of reach, out of juice, And out of gas Change The television channel Vapid Anchors are empty Teleprompter madness In full make up and air conditioning Change Her mind Her heart is empty Abused by the fallacy in the word love On the lips of liars Change Of venue His smile is empty He feels the souls too deeply There is no one here to notice the smile isn't real Change A life The Child's eyes are empty The streets are kinder Than the junkies who sold him for a fix Change The world The people are empty Media drones brainwashed Into apathetic zombies That is how to stop Change
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Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
CHANGE
oppression reigns from above unseen hellfire a fallacy can't be seen so it is not there? oppression exudes from the ground translucent, sticky rise up and fight! but always stuck sinking down while the tar fills open mouths oppression is ingrained in hearts blinded by the masses ******* the lifeblood from freely flowing veins oppression is a paradox making everything too simple, too complex too small, too big too easy, too hard closing in on both sides follow the light at the end of expression lest you be crushed
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Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
Untitled
Grey-Green-Red-Brown Dawn stains right through a.m. sky                      so the atmosphere                      looks weird today. The forecast calls for heat again; that silent, seething drum that beats         the blood-drenched dollar sky-- beats out a March of Ages-- beats us copper lumps to shape. The shelf we Occupy on this drifting westward continent, constructed from the flesh that fell from our fathers' hands, from the bones of distant lands becomes a dusty storage closet         for the corpses of our days Our days--aha. That's supply and demand, kid. What's a life but flesh-time? And what's time if not money? Nothing! Nothing is anything                    but money. You. Are money. Like time. Sleep well tonight. And set your clock. You gotta work to buy their robots that **** Mid-Eastern skies (and Midwestern ones alike) Sink real slow beneath the surface of that rising ocean of noise-- growing louder--hot air melting ice caps. Watch that boiling, acid ocean roll in on the tide and sink beneath the waves of noise--                of monotone voices-- sawdust seasoning on cardboard-- crying, "These colors don't run!" and, "Stand your ground!" and for fun, when bored, answer the                  Call of Duty. It's that silent, seething drum beating 'gainst THE TERRORISTS while we deny the summer heat as we sweat in SUPERBOWL SUNDAY dreams, Like it beat against the COMMUNISTS through all our TOP GUN weekends, Like it drums up portraits of               vampire fanged IMMIGRANTS                                            and ILLEGALS while we guzzle our BEER and sweat beneath those acne-scarred skies on the FOURTH OF JULY. Sleep well tonight And set your clock. Don't wanna be late for work, to buy their robots that **** Mid-Eastern skies           (and Midwestern ones alike). What's that hum outside your window tonight, whirring, buzzing                  droning beneath the blood-drenched dollar sky?
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Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
American Re-Runs
Grey-Green-Red-Brown Dawn stains right through a.m. sky                      so the atmosphere                      looks weird today. The forecast calls for heat again; that silent, seething drum that beats         the blood-drenched dollar sky-- beats out a March of Ages-- beats us copper lumps to shape. The shelf we Occupy on this drifting westward continent, constructed from the flesh that fell from our fathers' hands, from the bones of distant lands becomes a dusty storage closet         for the corpses of our days Our days--aha. That's supply and demand, kid. What's a life but flesh-time? And what's time if not money? Nothing! Nothing is anything                    but money. You. Are money. Like time. Sleep well tonight. And set your clock. You gotta work to buy their robots that **** Mid-Eastern skies (and Midwestern ones alike) Sink real slow beneath the surface of that rising ocean of noise-- growing louder--hot air melting ice caps. Watch that boiling, acid ocean roll in on the tide and sink beneath the waves of noise--                of monotone voices-- sawdust seasoning on cardboard-- crying, "These colors don't run!" and, "Stand your ground!" and for fun, when bored, answer the                  Call of Duty. It's that silent, seething drum beating 'gainst THE TERRORISTS while we deny the summer heat as we sweat in SUPERBOWL SUNDAY dreams, Like it beat against the COMMUNISTS through all our TOP GUN weekends, Like it drums up portraits of               vampire fanged IMMIGRANTS                                            and ILLEGALS while we guzzle our BEER and sweat beneath those acne-scarred skies on the FOURTH OF JULY. Sleep well tonight And set your clock. Don't wanna be late for work, to buy their robots that **** Mid-Eastern skies           (and Midwestern ones alike). What's that hum outside your window tonight, whirring, buzzing                  droning beneath the blood-drenched dollar sky?
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