"buffers" poems
practicing mental gymnastics
insipid memories
seeping their way past
defensive buffers
remembering repressed poisons
as a catalyst for making
wiser decisions
lackadaisical reactions to
sharply defined parallaxes
warrant an immediate shift
fractal spectacles
the labyrinth of my innards
inhale the cosmological smoke of suggestion
words become meaningless
when repeated exhaustively
semantic satiation
slicing away at true intentions
paving the way to
false inventiveness
shallow river beds are loud
prouder than their counterparts
insecurity overshadows
a lack of faith in the faint of heart
everything worthwhile
falls apart
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
i can't believe i'm living out my life's
10 seconds of stupidity with
an un-payable debit account security
of future credit, loans, debt and moaning...
**** me double twice blind with a joker in hand...
of course i'm stupid, i got educated in
a world that pays you back with menial
labour, to look pretty... seriously,
don't do the stupidest thing imaginable and
get yourself a university degree, unless
you're a woman, that's fine, you'll get to
meet and voluntarily wet your ******
with the next president of Romania,
but we need idiot mechanics, and believe
me, i'd rather oil up car pistons like
stroking giraffe necks of Myanmar women....
from **** generals cited through to Epicurus' citation...
believe me, i wish i was smarter,
most of posthumous fame is a regard of
obstructive i.q.,
we were believed to not take offence at our
exposure to systematisation
which educated both thief and banker...
none of the two differ... both excusable buffers...
we trusted people... trust was our biggest idiotic remark...
and now the earth in spin... for endless maxims:
it's like that... and that's the way it is;
no wonder i end up watching serial killer
documentaries.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
I am glass,
sharp edged and *****
offering reflections
or even visions.
I am glass,
inanimate and still,
giving scars and taking scratches.
I am glass,
fragile and careful,
put only where it's safe.
I am glass,
receiving buffers and renewals,
shining brightly and glistening
in a new sun.
But not too brightly,
sometimes reflecting no light at all.
Because your fingerprints are always
embedded in my surface.
I am glass.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 12:55 AM UTC
I’ve been in every angle of love.
Love is not good.
It doesn’t matter which viewer you are,
It’s just not good.
I’ve been the one who gives,
I’ve been the one who receives,
I’ve been the the one who gives and receives,
I’ve even been the outsider.
And none of them feel good.
Now I’m with someone that,
For the first time,
Embraces more than I do.
And it’s funny, because I don’t love him.
I like him,
But I don’t love him.
And I don’t know why.
Whenever he searches for my hand to hold,
I smirk,
Or when looks at me, asking for a kiss with his eyes,
I melt.
And when we sleep together
It’s never for ***
It’ll never be for ***
We only go to bed when we want to go to sleep.
And when he puts his arms around me,
And lies his head on the back of my neck,
I grab his hand, and fall asleep.
Now I’m a huge snorter,
I snore in my sleep,
Pretty badly by the way.
But I never snorted when I slept with him.
And it’s funny how my soul doesn’t burn when he comes to my mind,
Instead it reboots and buffers around,
searching for something that’s missing.
The love and passion that I have for another man.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
I hear the world is full of pain,
Flooding, terror, acid rain;
Music, theatre, laughs and art,
Whiskey, coffee, beer and darts,
Rainbows, glaciers, hiking trails;
Rare Pepes and EPIC FAILs,
Overwatch and Pokemon Go;
Donald Trump and Bernie Bros;
Dreams, and Drugs, and Rock n' Roll,
Dharma, Love, and the eternal soul,
The Holy Quran and the Higgs boson
Tajwid in Geneva, QFT in Tehran.
Yet day by day I sit and type
Edit, grep, compile, pipe
All that a system smoothly might run
Ashes to Ashes, Zero to One
'''
npm install; grunt &; restart nginx
docker run -d me/interests; pkill sleep; pkill ***
nice 14 nutrition; rm /etc/cron.daily/exercise
pkill -STOP judgment; scp foodler:'**/{burger,fries}' ~
'''
It's rather ironic that this metal you see,
Seems quite a better multitasker than me
Whereas It stops its world to switch one task for others
My open descriptors always overflow my buffers
Whereas it take new patches with a simple 'apt-get'
My resolve for upgrades I quite often forget
And when its health checks fail, we regrow the ASG
But my self won't reboot. et memento mori.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:35 PM UTC
We are not born with hatred swirling around in our skull
It is something that is built within the structures of our environments
This civil war whose bombs wake us up in the morning
and whose grenades disturb our sleep.
We are not born with fatass/faggot/nigger/spic/dyke/slut on our tongues
This is the product of this billboard society that teaches us
to spit daggers rather slip our tongues around and caress
We are not born in fear of the other
It is not genetics that implore us to engage
in the ongoing battles between
fat and skinny
black and white
religious and faithless
straight and curved
Our world is a wasteland
filled with our soulless cardboard cutouts
doing nothing more than occupying space.
We examine our fingertips in search of identity
and are shown skin that has been scrubbed smooth
by the buffers created to stop our minds from
expanding too wide and our dreams from growing too big.
We look to the too-distant stars for directions but must turn to a foreign map
to tell us where home is.
What we are born with is excitement.
With adventure running through our veins.
With eyes the color of flawless wonder
and skin scarred with wisdom.
We were born with longing.
Longing for a great escape.
For rebirth.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
no matter how far I've come
how much I've been doing better
I always return and succumb
to this deep and chronic fetter
the darkness slowly creeps back in
too tired, to scared, to restless
maggots wriggling under my skin
psyche becoming monstrous
I know the feeling all too well
like an old friend I can't let go
encasing me in a protective shell
personally fitted not to show
I find I've changed drastically
yet still not much at all
just a child dreaming fantastically
a forest fairy in the fall
the more I learn to love myself
the less I'm fond of others
a dress up doll atop a shelf
with poor emotional buffers
I wonder what it's like to live
as oblivious as you are
what it feels like not to give
your years to itchy scars
Nov 2, 2022
Nov 2, 2022 at 2:24 AM UTC
When you grow up:
You realize that "love"
isn't mommy and daddy
kissing each other before work
Because they don't anymore.
And you fell in love
but the boy spit on your face
then slid down the slide.
You realize that a heart
isn't just a Valentine's Day card,
but it pumps blood through your body.
And it keeps you alive,
but lots of people die
because their hearts break.
And that boy
who pulls on your "heart strings"
isn't pulling on anything at all.
Because "heart strings"
are found in heart cavities
and he only wanted you to put out.
You learn
the concentration gradient from lungs to blood
is the reason you can breathe in oxygen
and breathe out carbon dioxide.
The pretty tan you get from the sun
is actually radiation poisoning your skin cells.
The contents of your abdomen,
and the functions of your organs.
The pH of your blood
and the buffers that help maintain
homeostasis.
Welcome to the world.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
I know Im not suppose to
Share my problems
Yell or cry
Not for now
Or ever
Never let people know
But I confess
Confide with the fact
That my personal veins
And my blood flow
Have these wounds that were meant to be
The scars of someone else
I try to fix myself
With the smiles I see
They walk, stand upright
"Be of good cheer"
Pretend to be healed
I am worse
Because I "can" fix them
Because I am fine...
Because I am what I should be
My body is due
Long overdue
It buffers the colds with
Half hearted beats
Double chocolate chip
And peppermints
But I turned to
Euchalyptus
Because of the snow breaths
To temper the hellfire
I keep inside me
I can say Im okay
Until you are
But I will find myself
...you will find me
Hung against the sky
Or on a Christmas tree branch
Like an ornament
The angel
Above joseph and mary
Who is happy
Who is suspended in air
Tied to a fiber string
Tied to forever
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 6:07 AM UTC
You existed; lived simply to love me
At least that’s the way I thought
Until the ghost of you no longer see
Made bereft and left me overwrought
I thought I was all that mattered
Was your centre; your whole life
Your own hopes and dreams shattered
When you became my wife
You did your job. You kept me happy
Catered and bowed to all my needs
But me like a greedy puppy. Yappy
Selfishly caused your soul to bleed
The more you seemed to do and give
The more I grappled to take
The fact you had lost the will to live
My selfish brain no dent did make
I thought you were just bluffing
You couldn’t be so depressed
So lazily I carried on; did nothing
Broke you down in final test
They said they found your little car
Your licence cards, and keys
Angry engine humming. Doors ajar
At the docks down by the quays
Of you they said they found no trace
The currents there were stronger
You would wash up in some other place
They would find you. Just takes longer
Months have gone by but still no you
Has washed up. The police have said
The protocol. What they now must do
Is officially declare you dead!
She couldn’t handle it any more
Suicide; she took her own life
Her husband killed her to the core
Destroyed this doormat wife
So now I wallow in my guilt
Too little too late; now realising
The man she nurtured. Fed, and built
She killed herself despising
She has gone…….
In a cottage garden in Bordeaux
A lady sits smiling; quietly contented
Tragic suicide. Drowning. NO! All faux
Make escape her living hell tormented
She’s glad she saved that money
Stayed strong when life hit the buffers
Gorge on new life sweet as honey
While her hoggish husband suffers
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 8:16 AM UTC
93 million miles Ra’s rays travel
and light your cratered face
as you rise between monoliths
where janitors man buffers
and ambitious white collars sit by crumpled fast food wrappers
devouring data, dreaming of their own ascension
while you climb ten floors a minute
tomorrow, our wide world will shave a corner from you
in a fortnight, you will be a white whisper
though surely as our stone spins, you will again
become gibbous--then regally full
inside the scrapers, the buffers yet buzz,
the aspiring giants yet yearn for more
while you remain, silent light in the night,
unperturbed by their folly
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
She started
Learning what is in front
Colorful
Simple
Stimulating
She learned a lot
Beyond my understanding
Composite
She talks about
Internet
Buffers
Trends
All complex
To my understanding
Easy for her learner’s brain.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 9:58 PM UTC
nowhere to go
noone to be when i get there
im all alone
a refugee from humanity
going spare
got to go on
get going or get gone
get off at the next stop
regardless
between here and eternity
or seize the controls
let it roll
take the brakes off
see what fate offers
crashing headlong
forever headstrong
into the buffers theyve erected
marking the end of my line
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
in the end
when corridors
stand empty
lights turned low
linoleum buffers
working
back and forth
promise me
no lingering
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 10:54 AM UTC
Oh lonely code thy process all forlorn
Loops but to toil in thankless servitude
Unpraised for wit but savaged with ill scorn
At each found bug or flaw that thou exude
Yet if thou fork and then do spawn a child
A mother's mirror born of innocence
To share life's load, transactions reconciled
In mutex'd memory twixt each paired instance
Thy yield increased would empty buffers make
To give thee pause to take a cycled breath
And running on anon until a break
Or Control-C brings unto thee a death
An orphaned child thy memory would keep
Or die, or zombify in restless sleep
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
What if the Sphinx ran out of riddles?
Or more pointedly put
Grew resigned of the many that stood before it
Those stuttering in fear
Or those too clever to stick around and converse
What if the Sphinx
Finally shifted its gilded gaze
Unto itself, realizing
Its vast intellect was stifled and stuffed
Into the gaudy an unappealing role
Of an obstacle
Stagnant
How its glittering streams of bright consciousness
Would twist downward into the deepest drain
And the Sphinx thus thoroughly empty
May content itself
To pick up a phone
And shuffle in silence
Searching in-between buffers
Alone
Like the rest of us
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
His wishing he could go back to the days where he didn't feel dead.
To the age of 21 when things were fine and he still felt alive.
Everyone's telling him, there's nothing wrong, that it's all in his head.
But they don't know the struggles and fights he had faced to survive.
His had enough, his all burnt to cinders on the ground.
Feeling, about as void as the space between sky and land.
"Last call for passengers at gate 9" the intercom sounds.
And just like that he's gone, with a one way ticket in hand.
In another country wind buffers the carriages of a train.
She's staring out at the quickly passing lakes and trees.
Quietly admiring the scenery, lush and dripping with rain.
And enjoying the silent moments and little things like these.
Lost in thought to the steady rhythm of the carriages flight
Slowly at first, she discards her empty list of reasons to stay.
And suddenly she's floating, dancing under the starry night
Her eyes soften and she smiles as the train takes her away.
Now they're both just nameless strangers, wandering souls.
Building new bridges to set them alight and watch them collapse
Walking from town to town, picking up pieces to make them whole.
They're just traveling far and wide seeking The Great Perhaps.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
Bleeding buffers,
pressed against
a world that pictures...
ramifying colors--
spidering glass that crackles.
What a beautiful
headdress.
Stasis of newness,
plus and minus the
headiness of years.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 1:48 AM UTC
on some days
words ma k e don' tsens e
eyesscanthroughletters,onpages
pause at commas
and move along arrows
and the brain...
the brain buffers...at its own
...pace
on those days especially
you must gather your feelings:
listen to what they think,
nod your head in agreement,
smile at them the kindest smile you can,
and tell them,
thoughts are not facts.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 11:50 AM UTC
I tried to erase your file
But the system hesitated
An error thrown
"Too large to delete"
Yet the process had already begun Recursive loop had started
Unearthing forgotten unformatted data
Memory overflowed
Buffers shattered
System crashed
Only corrupted data remained
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 2:24 PM UTC
One could argue happiness buffers creativity
While pain greases the slide
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 10:59 AM UTC
yes I am aware
that voice
inside the skull
speaks to me
late
at night
please do tell
I want to know
who this is
impulsive feels like
ecstasy, too good to
be true
cycling everyday through
the same simulation and
some
how
somehow there
are
buffers
the
paranoia envelopes
me
like a
warm
blanket
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
Red Red Red Red-of-the-Media Blitz
Annie helps in bulk; Please note; Differ from tree; However, the form
is an e-mail format, the onscreen color the same color as the glass glasses
1: Our patience, Alchemy; We are translated Dead
It was late, Russia has been and is blind
and gloomy
A heart full of love; Because they are the Customers
Meditation is not only in the Lord
and Diana, 1 have Sun in Asia; Read what is the truth?
and in a land where no one is in heaven
Uspensky, this change is to improve
ideal for winter legs
And Paul has said: | What did you see?
1've got a lot, 1'm sorry.
"Water is death." 1 and seven horses
1 found in exemplary four bright stars;
And, again, not every city ...
1 did not hesitate, and thus what faxed, not rubbed;
1, is in the dark, and in the East and violence;
1'm in my dialect and 1 think it's imaginative and follow:
For example, hot drinks,
and the products formed from the one into two explosive buffers;
The first crash off the equator in Egypt ... and what color gloves in the countryside;
turning tomatoes into tomato, which is a fraction of the start of St. John;
Maecenas' minutes and it was found in Virginia, no cash;
Virus, women and children, death is colored
full of carrots
Fine flavor.
In the computer industry, show the electrical process
They alone. Recently, separately; | All safety in air and sea
open air sky
Monthly Monthly Monthly Monthly Monthly Month
Golden discovered wall
Beware of the hot summer of the water;
And begins with her husband John,
of Facebook security of this Dieties kit? Today, less than the car was in a wheelchair;
Energy and mass, tend to it
And his wife with towel; and consumers
When the ill girl in Busan receives love letters from John, she
can not be strengthened by it or the fruit.
The version of Ruby to the ******* lacquered; screenshot
Easier for a year;
Maecenas, especially of the Prophet, and now we know
What is to be done;
one agreement at a time, so ...
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
Sleep and dreams
Make everything bearable
This is my favorite part of the day
When the room is dark
And my bed is soft
I wrestle a few memories
From the clutches of a forsaken antipsychotic
Let them float for awhile
Hoping for more eventually
I can feel the fated-to-be-forgotten
Psychedelic glow of the Ambien
Kicking in
Who knows how long these trips last
None of it remembered in the morning
I love the way it pulls no punches
Sleep and apple juice
For dream making
Such thick darkness
Buffers sound
But I hear what I can hear
On the journey
And it sounds good
My whole life in 3333 songs
With a few notable gaps
The result of artists who won't allow
Their music to be streamed
They can't hold out forever
Soon enough the soundtrack to my life
Culminated in this room
Will be complete
Wired
I can pump it in non-stop
To remind me of who I was
Of who I am
But for now I have all I need
Time loses it's grip
Space forgets it's place
I sink
I float
I sight-see
Works of art no one will ever see/experience
Colors unfamiliar
Landscapes untethered by gravity
Roger Dean meets Salvador Dali
Meets Pink Floyd meets Sigur Ros
Until we reach that place that is not wrapped up in time or space
Meet the gas giant goddess
Responsible
Recline in her ***** unaware
For a few hours of peaceful integration
I renounce all occult knowledge
Procured over the years
It has warped my thoughts
It has too often taken my eye off of the prize
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 1:00 AM UTC
We went to sit at the front of the train
In seeking that extra thrill,
Marlene and me, and a guy called Kane
Who came from Mulberry Hill,
I hadn’t known him at all till then
He said that he knew Marlene,
And she had smirked when he said he knew,
She didn’t know that I’d seen.
Now this was one of those super trains
And we knew how fast it could go,
Over two hundred clicks, they said,
They certainly put on a show,
We sat in the very front window seat
Could see where the driver sat,
He wore a coat of orange and green,
A ridiculous pork pie hat.
Well, finally someone had signalled ‘Go’
And we rumbled off down the line,
To start, the engine was going slow
The driver had plenty of time,
But then, once out in the countryside
He must have been feeling the heat,
For it went so fast, down the track at last
It threw us back into the seat.
The trees and the meadows were flashing by,
No sooner there, they were gone
The little farms and the rustic barns
Like the gardens of Babylon,
Marlene was pale, I looked at her face
And Kane he was almost white,
‘I think we’d better move back,’ he said,
‘I’d like to get home tonight.’
I said I’d stay, when they both got up
And moved to the back of the car,
I didn’t want to give in to fright
We wouldn’t be travelling far,
But we missed a stop, went roaring through
And I looked where the driver sat,
He was slumped on over the speed controls
With his pork pie hat in his lap.
When the speedo said a hundred and ten
I first thought of throwing up,
It reached a hundred and ninety when
I did, in a paper cup,
The driver lay there, dead on the stick
As far as anyone knew,
We couldn’t get into his cab to check
And as for the train, it flew.
I joined the others, up at the back
And wrapped myself round a pole,
So when the rescuers got to me
At least they would find me whole.
The others stood, and clung to a rail
That passed up over their heads,
I said, ‘Get down, that metal will fail
And both of you end up dead.’
They wouldn’t budge in their deadly funk
Their eyes were popping and white,
We hit the buffers at General Trunk
And both took off in their flight.
Kane headfirst like an arrow flew,
Marlene went more like a ball,
So where Kane went through the windscreen first
The hole was narrow and small.
Marlene, there wasn’t a piece intact,
A rescuer known as Krips,
Said he had just been checking around
And found her child-bearing hips.
I got a terrible rupture where
The pole almost cut me in half,
Since then, I don’t ever travel by train
But stick to a horse and cart.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC