"animatronic" poems
Man and mouse holding hands, beholding
what they have done together.
A magic Marcelline, MO:
a portal to lands that beckon, but never compel.
Trees, silent water, castle walls dividing
off magic gardens and sacred
spaces.Tiki torches leading in
to a real rainforest with fake animals,
fedora'd adventurers and no dust
or hunger or poison. A whilring, infernal
rocket sprung from the mind
of Jules Verne, raisng your hopes that
one day you'll own that jetpack,
flying car, ticket to the moon.
A fairytale castle, draw-bridge down—
a glittering carousel inviting from behind forbidding walls.
A fort with wide open doors that fear only animatronic
Indians and where every frontiersman is a hero to be
emulated by your children.
You need not choose right away.
No need to be hasty. If you wish, you may
choose to stay here, to linger, the aroma of the popcorn
cart competing with the fragrance
of the popcorn blossoms on the sheltering trees
and the flowerbeds decorating, protecting
Walt's silent, inanimate memorial,
until the stars come out and
the crickets chirp in the voice of a
conscience content, and popcorn
lights form haunting outlines, constellations
telling whispered stories and seductively
suggesting that tomorrow you stand
in line for a new ride: falling in
love, signing the papers, applying
for that loan, giving it just
one more chance. Here, you cannot
sleep, but you will dream.
And rest in the heart, in the womb.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
*Lightning Enchantress & Her Diamond Absolutes,
Moaning Fluxes Of Her Satellite Pursuits.,
Phantasmal Intents In Her Indigo Silhouettes.
***** Eyes & Animatronic Bliss,
Her Cherry Lips Calling For Her Symphonic Kiss,
Inimitable Raindrops & Iridescent Perpetuity,
Condensed Laments Of Her Kaleidoscopic Sphericity,
Purple Palisades & Platinum Charades,
Pheromone Verses Of Her Propelled Shades,
Shapeshifting Reveries Of Her Hourglass Fictions,
Charming Archangels Concealed In Her Convictions,
Glasshouse Perspectives Emitting Luminescent Predictions,
Magnetic Canvas & Her Stainless Vibrations,
Her Aesthetic Amour Diffusing Amplifications,
Satirical Saga In Her Spiritual ******
Lyrical Charlatans Of Her Velvet Creativity,
Crystal Flowers & Supernatural Dreams,
Befuddled Effigies Of Her Cryptic Realms,
Her Feral Gleams Illustrating A Prophetic Queen.
- 02:32 AM -*
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
Remember when i tried to cook you
you said no, and i hugged you so tight?
you strangled my back
and i didn't fight
now i have the lipstick stains from last night
Did that kiss mean nothing?
or were you testing me?
rip out my stuffing.
so you'll see all the animatronic parts.
Whistle while you rip them out
and follow the sea of blue.
you'll find out soon that you have time to ****
but the time will just **** you.
Drink all the drinks
breath all the breaths
you've been given an invitation
from your old friend, Death.
because while you're still living
the gold turns into glass
and what you thought was bad
becomes the fragile past.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
I think sometimes you forget that I'm real.
Days pass by, a text message in the midmorning.
Another later in the afternoon.
Its been a while since you've told me "Goodnight".
It hasn't gone so undetected.
I keep myself defended. No photos, no updates online to remind
You that I'm human.
I've come to this conclusion as I drift further from you.
(not by my will)
I know it because I believe that when you and I are face to face once more,
When you hear my voice speak your name,
Hear its hollow inflections,
And see the shadows in my eyes,
You will remember.
It may not change everything or anything at all, but perhaps I'll no longer be
A robot, fictional character, or fading memory.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC
I am made of earthly fibers
Human fears and human features
I'm designed for entertainment
People toys for mindless creatures
Faces pass by the millions
I see the lives I cannot live
I see the many I could be
If only weren't I stuck in steel
Nothing here is even real
Days of hours of my routine
Self-destructive programming
I am made of thoughts and actions
Tracing circles, running in place
I reset when you round the corner
Ready for the next new face
Lovers pass by the millions
I see the lives I cannot live
I see the souls that they can be
If only weren't I stuck in steel
Nothing here is even real
Days of hours of my routine
Things I've heard and things I've seen
Always to be what I've always been
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 1:37 AM UTC
The palindrome falls on shadowed riots,
clamoured mediocrity
and fever of falsified truths-
hyper-normalised until we’re writhing
in animatronic snake oil.
What’s worse, the hysteria or the disease?
Over-indulge the fascists
kiss their fists as they flail in cognitive dissonance-
white knuckles dragging to the rhythm of another media blag.
Patriotism cradles their fear and wraps it in red, white, and blue;
a stifled tricolour vision,
bathed in sanctified blood-clotted volition.
They’ll never let them come clean
they need their repugnance,
and inability to see that hope is an option
but the disparity is always just a news broadcast away.
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 3:01 AM UTC
I want to be a war machine
I want to rupture spleens with a gleam from my eye
I want to spread suffering in lines waiting for lies, just in time to ignite a stupendous sight in one phone call
I want the call to arms to be in the alarms of emergency vehicles
I want the residual survivors slaughtered after given my word as to the **** of every daughter in my New America
I want to just stare at ya as you plead to be spared
Beheaded and laughed upon, kicked down the stairs
I want to judge you
Smother you in your filth
In your guilt
I want to starve your kids with empty ingredients
I want to **** on my **** and smear it in your ears while beating it
I want to stare in each and every eye, as it dies with the burning sky in its frame
I want to scream the names of the slain, from burning castle walls and call, for lost love to return in the squirm of man
I want to demand, flesh from the best of the best, in a contest against the peasants
I want to topple your towers down, in tickling sounds, from trumpets bound in space
I want to spit in your face, drown you in doubts and smack you awake
I want to decimate your graves, and from the tenth left make, toilets for my torturers, in sweltered pits of **** remains
I want the world to shake in the hunger pains, of every fat ****** with burrito stains in his lingerie
I want to serenade an angelic raid, on your made up play, of plastic soldiers eaten by animatronic vultures, as I smolder the beaten toys on the floor
And I want
Really really want
More
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
Animatronics pretending to be human,
pretending to be animatronics!
They have stolen my rights!
I am no longer human!
I have already been through this!
I should have seen this coming,
They said they come in peace!
It is just like in the movies,
I have already been through this!
We all knew this day was coming,
Because they told us it was coming!
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 6:48 PM UTC
while figuratively hunting
and pecking around me noggin
force hum theme to write about
lo and behold, the solution
stared me right in front
of my little **** nub nose with gentle clout
cuz, as an avid bookworm, the dictionary,
I enjoy expending hours
to drink up etymological history
relating to the origin and
historical development of words
and their meanings.
with no shadow of a doubt
and most times, this animatronic,
the technique of making and operating
lifelike robots, typically for use
in film or other entertainment
dogmatic, enigmatic fugee dooby
brother beastie boy
(actually a mwm) dislikes to flout
his abilities, hobbies, interests,
as aches hike kant imagine being treated for gout
a disease in which defective metabolism
of uric acid causes arthritis, especially
in smaller bones of the feet, deposition
of chalkstones, and episodes of acute pain.
Boot lemme return full circle
to thematic core curriculum aye started to aim
and express gratitude
to the ghost of Noah Webster,
who gets credit yet also blame
if some snide haughty guttersnipe,
some slovenly individual feels snubbed,
and hence, living personage, said descendent(s)
of oblivion, whatever unknown
man or woman to living persons
stake a valid claim
that his/her many generations removed
heir (Harris), and or heiress ancestor (proven
with tangible researched reportage,
then cited with countless
prestigious explorers of English language),
that a daunting scrivener perhaps
even a courtesan or rich dame
rightfully ought to receive the fame,
thus such living relative might
upend the huck cult personality be game
to dare challenge secure historical niche
ambitiously held by Mark Roget (1779–1869),
British physician, natural theologian
and lexicographer. It was released
to the public on 29 April 1852.
The original edition had 15,000 words,
and each new matured edition
of the Thesaurus grew larger.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 12:55 AM UTC
Don't know what to do
When death is in every turn
I'm trying to hide
With mistakes I never learn
...........
I wonder and look
For hints to the Sorcery
Before I am found
And once again put to sleep
..........
They are the best pets
I like the one thats so blue
If you know the game
You know this is a Haiku
............
Animatronic
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC