"automated" poems
Months have I waited
For a particular celebration
Not of getting drunk nor even wasted
Just a quiet simple sweet vacation
Need not have to go far
It could just end up to be here
We could get in a car
Fully automated no gears
This life's is ours
Never was theirs
Now that then I know
Little could I ease my ears
To take a minute from my conscience
Allowing my minds to weight in options
A simple easy minor equations
Could be the one that set my final decision
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Somewhere there is a nurse putting clean sheets on what was once someone's death bed. Somewhere there is a police officer laying awake at two in the morning contemplating breaking his thumbs so he won't have to pull another trigger. Somewhere there is a body bag taking the shape of a person. Somewhere a warden has accidentally called a prisoner by their first name. Somewhere there is a man getting ready to pay for his glass of whiskey, his '1 year' AA token falls out of his wallet onto the bar counter. Somewhere the glass is completely empty, somewhere it's overflowing. Somewhere a therapist sitting in an empty session reading the local newspaper's obituary section wondering what she could've done. Somewhere a bullet has fallen in love with a heart, giving a whole new meaning to the 'kiss of death'. Somewhere the girl that never speaks is raising her hand but immediately putting it back down after the sound of her classmates' laughter bounces back and forth from the back of her mind to the front. Somewhere the silence at the dinner table is making a dent in a child's suit of armor. Somewhere a 70 year old man starts skipping instead of walking, he stops taking his medication. Somewhere there is a mother too drunk to sign her daughter's permission slip. Somewhere a man has stolen all of the flowers from a grave, so he can somehow feel as though he's being missed. Somewhere a child is asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she realizes ''myself'' isn't a good enough answer. Somewhere a mirror has been mistaken for a stranger. Somewhere someone is being loved by another person the only way they know how to love; whether it's through kisses, bruises, sleeping too closely to the other, or fifteen missed calls. Somewhere a man is falling in love with the automated voice inside of a voice mail because at least she will listen to him. Somewhere a 911 operator is walking into her house, hearing screams that aren't actually there. Somewhere these short stories are being broadcasted on the news, printed in the paper, whispered to a friend, or rotting in the back of someone's head. Somewhere I am whispering all of these things to a silent room full of people, none of them look up.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
stripped naked in the figurative sense, I see a girl that is far overdue for a dose of joy. so much emptiness in her eyes, blood flow has become invisible. beauty. oh so much beauty in the way she cares absolutely too much for those that are unaware of her favorite color nevertheless asks how she feels every blue moon. perfectionist could quite possibly be her middle name by the way her heart beats in sync with the spontaneous moods that show their appearance every two days or so. anxiety equals a rapid beat. "if you feel worried then you must act on it" seems to be her philosophy because when she's sad and shaky the heart must go slow.
for,
she.
is.
slow.
when the depression hits and vulnerability only shows its face behind closed doors im sure she would say that she feels as though she's suffocating. suffocating in the figurative sense, where everyone is there watching her but no one can differentiate heavy breathing in basketball practice from a ******** asthma attack.
idiots.
so numb. she's so numb in the figurative sense. you ask her how she is and each time it's an automated "good" as if practiced hundreds of times before a theatre performance. an actress. she's an actress in the literal sense. planting a smile from ear to ear even when it's an obvious gloomy day for everyone else. she puts on a show of happiness that could very much earn her an oscar, if only she were literally in the entertainment business. I can see her falling in the way her back hunches just 10 degrees lower than it had a year ago. I would recommend a doctors appointment but im hoping she learns to fix it on her own. I'm hoping it begins to appear in someone around her that maybe she isn't as okay as she seems. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't just have bad days and doesn't just spare her low moods in spite of upsetting those around her. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't see herself as beautiful. this beautiful perfectionist is so far from perfect.
maybe if someone looked a little deeper in the literal and figurative sense, they would choose to ask, after her automated response of "good", "are you really?"
-mxy
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
I say "Hello?"
Automated Female Voice: (you know the one)
"All of our representatives are currently busy with other calls, please hold. Your call is important to us."
***** YOU called ME!!!"
click
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
was uttered in a
computer generated,
non-demeaning,
gender neutral tone
by the impersonal,
unemotional,
automated,
grocery checkout machine.
"Enter your customer ID now!"
demands the artificial human.
"And... if I don't?"
I query the metallic shell
of what once was
a minimum wage employee.
There was no reply.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
Hey girl where you going?
I’m very much a talker
Cos I can’t dance good
And I never been a stalker
Where you off to my l’il lady?
Hop in my left seat for a ride
Wind it up or slow it right down –
I can get you to the other side
I’m just a country boy
And I can take you up city streets, country roads
Just a poor l’il redneck
But I’m sure I can get you to where you want to go
I got a full tank of gas
I got an all-terrain SUV
You sure do look good
Buckled up next to me
I can take you up the fast lane
I can drive you round the cones
I can take you slow through the forests
I can take you fast through 30 zones
I got air conditioning in here
Chamois leather seats as soft as babys butts
I can take you across the smooth asphalt
I can take you through the deep ruts
Putting on my aviators
Just let me know if we’re getting close
We can slip on out
Or we can take the main roads.
Just listen to the music
And i can listen to you if you like
I can rev the V8 and take you there
Be it day or be it night
I got fully automated
And a nice little gear change
I got super beam headlights
With a three hundred foot range
I can go on the straight and narrow
I can take you down winding roads
Nothing’s a problem for us; we know where we come from
And I can get you where you need to go
Yeah, I don’t dance so good
But I’m a country boy,
A nice little country boy.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 9:06 AM UTC
DON’T LET THE ROBOTS WIN
The red sun gazes upon a blue moon’s reveries
While the baker glazes over our doughnuts memories
5-9 TV talks of talcum dreams,
Suicide sweet
****** machines.
Fascist fornication with communist candy
Tastes kinda like Yankee doodle dandy
I whisper over the roar of a glazed man grazing,
Dazed, and drowned,
to the Automated telenation:
“Don’t use self checkout lines,
Don’t let the robots win!”
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
When a tweet, no longer comes from a bird.
A message, no longer written in words.
A picture, determines your current worth.
A swipe, is not for payments against earns.
Your world, no longer restricted to earth.
Your voice, can control your universe.
Games, without company, a box.
Books, used to be written, forgot.
Love was in letters, not characters.
Eyes looked straight, not down.
Communication, in touch were sound.
Reactions, were not button frowns.
Food shared, not delivered.
Noise surrounded, not muted.
Hands shaken, not email awaken.
The world was claimed, but not hidden.
An automated world,
not an automated me.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC
shes sat by the window
like a flower to the sun
burnt deep
paled lotus, mechanized motifs
cigarette, sweet parallel steams
lips pink, eyes deceased
silica tears, seeded
fiber optic designed !release
enter
automated dreamstate
delve
inside the beast
oscillating
pirouetting
psilocybe
serene
days gone underground
plagiarized by peace
prototyped the touch
she’ll never know
it’s me.
Aug 11, 2021
Aug 11, 2021 at 7:07 PM UTC
****
mit ein(e)
gernierung
of... ******
MACDONALDS
for the protestants
MCDONALDS
for the catholics...
and **** the rest of it
whoop di do d'ah
whoopsie!
**** it...
i always called the IRA
the ginger ninja brigade...
******* *****
ha ha!
is that even permitted?
like...
oopsies?!
oh ****
the steam-roller is
giving it a shot at reading
the earth,..
flat...
map on paper?
**** me... no app....
****** you ever navigate a car
through the German Rhine roundabout?
what's in it?
Dortmund.. Essen...
you know that constipated
part of the road map of Europe...
ever navigate that trippy
conundrum ******** of navigation?
beside me...
can't speak german,
won't navigate in german,
no matter how many
Mercedes-Benz they pump out
from the Henry Ford institute of
the reclining chair,
supposing
die krupps to be squidgy clean...
i think the european translation
reads:
die Dortmund Ringe...
das Rhine Ringe...
**** allocating yourself to a rally car...
navigate through that sort
of German ********
achtung achtung...
autobahn ende!
vorwärtskreis
might as well salute for a second
coming of... hítlear!
shaking Stevens?
huh?!
knee on the no contra
the know: bother...
the english won't know...
isn't that nay?
i listen to too much lawyer
jargon...
i'd love to listen to
poetry...
but... i figured...
lawyers play the slight of
the sly of hand that poets
exasperate into toying with words
to accomplish art...
lawyers? the impasse of
judgement?
**** me!
apparently the argument
goes:
down syndrome...
psychopaths...
'ere by god's grace...
much grace, my lord...
too much grace...
two salvation pointers:
(a) i won't drink with them...
(b) i won't eat with them,
(c) there is no "c" that isn't
a "d" that isn't an "e"
"f", etc!
you get a zebra...
you get a null bonus!
a ******* safari of an automated
anti hamster Boston outfit!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
I computer
Woken, I push my start button and reboot to the shower
For breakfast a bowl of italics, **** no milk, memory needs upgrading
Then to my automated job in my automated life
My thoughts are in word ,then filed in documents
My moods change with every toolbar, features and characters
I choose daily from my vast database
At 8.59 and 58 seconds precisely I am surfing
That vast blackness of space, I am never alone
Our names are inscribed on the dark side of the moon
On the super highway at full throttle of 32mb
My attention was distracted by a **** blue from clip art
Suddenly I did not see a stationary font (size 28)
After the crash they laid me out on a spreadsheet
My life deleted, my soul sent to the recycle bin.
Jun 18, 2011
Jun 18, 2011 at 8:43 AM UTC
I went and bought a "Smart" house
in a stylish part of town.
It cost me a cool million
but its features did astound.
I can control the lights and locks
with apps on my smartphone.
I can view cam every room
to make sure no ones home.
The shutters and the blinds will rise
or drop at my command.
I can start the fireplace
while flying from Milan.
The automated kitchen
can prepare a gourmet meal.
and place my grocery order
making sure I get good deals.
In my den a giant wall
is a high res LCD
It shows me sports
and other sorts
of lovely greenery.
You'd think this place is perfect
and you're nearly right of course.
I'd still like to lose the talking scale
that says "Get off, You Horse!"
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
We watch it ache and screech,
Tortured for some mercy in its misery,
We’re not allowed to wring its neck
All because the law can love a crow
Every time I mention its pain,
I get scolded. Chastised. Reminded.
This is farming country: and no one loves a crow
They eat the eyes of helpless, newborn lambs
All because farming country loves a lamb
Especially one they can eat themselves
The call on the phone goes nowhere,
Just like that now flightless, punished bird,
Concerns dismissed by automated machines,
No one bothers to come after the tone,
All because no one loves a crow.
Oct 30, 2022
Oct 30, 2022 at 2:17 AM UTC
I’m definitely Matrixed in,
feel like every girlfriend is a program,
feel like every experience is a dream,
feel like I don’t feel anything at all now,
maybe I’m a machine,
maybe I’m not a human being,
maybe I’m more cyborg than Sapien,
maybe I’m more electron than neuron,
and maybe none of this matters,
maybe we’re cogs in the vehicle,
maybe we’re abnormal cyborgs,
more flamboyant than incog,
more insignificant and important,
and maybe I’m special,
and maybe I do stand out more than most,
but at the end of the day I don’t think it matters,
because when it’s all said and done everything is just dust,
no justice,
it’s justice,
feeling a bit awkward and bazaar,
suspecting that they spiked the fruit punch,
and I don’t know for sure that none of this is real,
but I do have a pretty strong hunch,
want fresh squeezed not pre-made,
want a spontaneous feeling not an automated response,
want to stay here with you for as long as I can,
but I think that might be impossible because I’m probably already gone,
so please say something real or say nothing at all,
constantly trying to find ways to reaffirm our existence,
that’s why I still go out socialize and initiate relationships,
even though every time I do it all feels sterile cliche and pre-rehearsed,
but maybe that’s because we’re living in a Matrix,
I’m definitely Matrixed in,
feel like every girlfriend is a program,
feel like every experience is a dream,
feel like I don’t feel anything at all now…
∆ LaLux ∆
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
Driving through these city streets,
And it feels just like floating on a
Machine cloud.
Like I'm high above the
Rusted, automated mechanical world, and
Somehow softer, warmer than metal.
These heavy gears, turning
Twisted up and breaking down.
Only to be built back into order
By bustling, stoic robotics.
There is a golden glow to this
Streetlight night scene-
I can feel it buzzing, a bioluminescence
Of evanescent enchantment.
It could be magical
A never-ending fairytale, but that's
Too light, for this reality.
Which is that I'm really just
**Strung out as ****
And society seems too much like one
Of my bad dreams.
Nightmares will always haunt me, and
This doesn't have a happy ending.
This world is too real,
I long to be removed-
D I S T A N C E D .
Take me to dreamland
So I can stay high forever,
And never
Come
Down.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
I'm so tired all the time now
Everyone asks whats wrong,
and I don't even think before I use the automated reply,
"I'm fine"
But am i really fine?
I truly don't know anymore....
I'm to tired to even care about my own well being.
Am I the only one?
I sure feel like it......
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 8:27 AM UTC
**This poem can be heard as a
Spoken word (read by me)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=
IoAeA6nYH5A**
There are some who fool around
With human DNA
They say it's a progessive step
For the world today.
The deciphered human genome
Is a plaything in their hands
Just a toy to then employ
And change the state of man.
"Change your child's DNA!
He's strong as a horse!
He can be, and he can see
Like a hawk, of course!"
Just like in the movies
They've conditioned us for that.
Vampires and werewolves
And woman morphed to cat!
We can all be cyborgs!
Robotic legs and things!
We can be like Batman
But with automated wings!
Let's just look at Genesis
Look at chapter 6
Those beast/man Nephilim
Did actually exist!
The Watchers came and mated
With human women fair
The Sons of God were demons,
So we'd best have a care!
God had to drown the demon-spawn
To save the human race
The waters flooded over them
And there was not a trace.
Now God found Noah perfect
For he had a pure bloodline
There was in him no change
From God's original design.
Now, folks, what will happen
When human beings aspire
To be like animals yet again?
This time there'll be FIRE!!!
What about our tender hearts?
Do they matter anymore?
The world's consumed with evil
You'd best know what's in store.
When we're no longer human
But have a cyborg mind
Will mankind ever be the same?
Godly? Loving? KIND?
Humans enslaved for weakness
Do you find that odd?
We will be a "Super Race"
Usurp the Will of God.
Will there be salvation?
Or will it be too late?
When men go and take the role
Of the God they hate?
Be glad that God loves us!
For we were made like Him.
He wants to take us from this place!
He wants us to WIN!!!
Is this all science fiction?
Watch the news! It's PLANNED!
Babies being altered
To unnatural lifespans!
Because of overweening pride
We mess with things divine
Enter human suffering -
EXIT HUMANKIND.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Subject of forced indoctrination
Given a placebo of hope
And made to look at society
Through artificial eyes
Just another disfigured mind
Molded through the
Systematic eradication
Of constitutional freedoms
Walking with a knife in your spine
And shackles on your head
And the force-fed propaganda
Giving a false notion
Of a peaceful reality
Is this what you want?
Step away from the wires of captivity
The Automated Deity of our future
Be one with yourself
Be reborn
Not recreated
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
How you mesmerize
How you mimic the seasonal calm
And quietude of the restless ocean
How you bow in concentration
To arch your absorbent nature
And rapture in a cosmetic smile that
Swallows like a whirl pool
How you carry the gravitation field
And the forces that pull and bind
How you repel sadness and sorrow
In all faces and brighten some gloomy soul
How you set the stage for colorful dreams
And some “sweetistic” imaginations
How you define beauty in high definition
A creature of absolutely amazing design
Turning a ghostly atmosphere of earth
Into a haze of bliss and paradise scenic
Wafting some breeze of glory
Refreshing souls lost the inferno beneath
How you dim audacious eye gaze
By the razor of your eyes that pierce
How you outshine daylight and light
Outsmarting the very phrase neat and tidy
You’re the best and not the rest without debut
It’s why they find no rest and burst for you
How you dazzle and outwit
Injecting madness in minds active
Accelerating the speed of hormones
Beyond light or supersonic speed
Desire giving way to passion sway
And the vocal chords automated confess it
How you **** and make alive
When you put it short and tight
And the fabric can’t bear it a moment
Reproducing a perfect figurine clone of yours
As though you would burst out from it
Electrify and sizzle hearts inflamed
That’s how you mesmerize me
Walk no more in my sight her highness
How you catch my eye miss sacred
And reign enthroned in my frontal lobe
How you consume my thinkative energy
And gear on the driving seat of my life
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 8:10 AM UTC
A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets,
casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below.
Beneath the cascading denizens of light,
a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky,
a patient without his insurance with nothing left but
callous empty third-person reassurance,
"everything will be better" as she said.
But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter.
Save your proverbs for an open ear,
this one is half deaf and full of itself,
despite your intent,
your lack of action perpetuates malcontent.
After all we're all just passing moments
gone and forgotten, evicted,
convicted of being a gutless mime,
going through the motions,
minus a true notion.
A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak
spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities
subtracting numerals adding funerals
dividing families multiplying tragedies
It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate
we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life.
Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry,
pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince.
And I'm stuck spinning in the corner,
with my hands on my head.
Senselessly blurting out: Why?!
But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul
trapped with my head in the sky.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. [Katherine] is not available. At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up, or press "1" for more options. [Beep]
Katherine, please, pick up the phone. I'm sorry that I keep calling, I know you probably don't wanna talk to me, but please answer. I can't just sit on the sidelines anymore. I haven't seen you smile in weeks, and some days, I don't even see you. I can't approach you without you turning and walking away quickly. You're isolating yourself, and I'm really worried. Please, answer my calls, please talk to-
Are you still there? To end your message, press "1." To continue recording, press "2." To hear more- [Beep]
At the tone, please continue your message. [Beep]
Everyone's talking about it. I've seen posts on the internet, heard people gossiping about it, even the teachers have brought you up. It has felt wrong not having you around, not seeing you doodling in your notebook during class, or walking down the nature paths admiring the trees. Everyone else doesn't seem to feel the same way I do. They know, but they don't seem to care. Maybe that's what made you think that nobody cared.
God, I miss you so-
You will be disconnected in thirty seconds. [Beep]
The funeral was today. I was one of the few from our school who actually came. I tried to give your family my condolences, and I started to choke when your mother began to cry. God, the whole thing was hard; hearing family members tell stories, seeing you lay there motionless. I was happy they put you in a long sleeved dress. I didn't want everyone to see that part of you; not that it matters much, because everyone knows that is how you died.
Everyone left an hour ago. I've been sitting by your tombstone watching the sun fall into the ground. I keep hoping that you are somehow hearing these messages, that you'll call me back any minute. I'm not sure how the cell service is six feet underground, but I'm still hoping. I'll always be hoping. People will be moving on, but all I can do is choke on my words and I yell into a dead girls voice mail.
I'm sorry, Katherine. I'm so so-
You will now be disconnected. Goodbye. [Beep Beep Beep]
...
I'm sorry. This number is disconnected, or no longer in service. Goodbye. [Beep Beep Beep]
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:07 PM UTC
You'd blurt out something unforgivable
You'd yell out to the monkey in the room
Say it and I'll have to go alone
Mute your unkind mind from those things you call distractions
Sending you the truth, saying things like that are pretty sad
Your dad is an automated system
Driving recklessly, laughing at my pains
Listen turn that down, listening to your faceless friends
Skin color is only a screen blinding you
Why does it matter anyway
But you won't just leave it alone
Saying stereotypical rhymes out loud
Just leave me alone
You blurted out something unforgivable
You were screaming to the monkey in the room, which you'd soon regret
Enough was said
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Mantis, you are mad because
After our dates my head is
Standing on my shoulders;
Such a disappointment,
Should’ve been disjointed
By your love,
But nature does anomalies
Not necessarily
Related to anatomy
Can we still be friends?
Does it work that way?
I don’t think we’re enemies
Even after injuries are caused,
Yet I’m not automated
In behavior,
Hanging up on risky calls,
I am not a savior;
Secret powers: common sense.
Forgive me if I’m on the fence,
Known so many lose their heads
Don’t look back and thanks for all!
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC