"computerized" poems
What do you know of war?
First person shooter
Simulated gun fire
computerized blood splatter
What do you know of war?
Tag team alliance
Kids slaying kids
for virtual dollars
What do i know of war?
I saw the carnage
Devastation, the horrors
The smell of death
What do i know of war?
The pain haunts me
every day
every hour
It NEVER goes away!
War ain't no game, bro!
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 8:53 AM UTC
i pull in to work
pour in the door like a refugee
fumble in my bag for a
microchipped key fob.
it lets me in the third entrance,
slurring curses that reverb in the hall.
i stumble to my desk, clock in
with my computerized time card
and make my way to the coffee ***
it always has this smirk, like it knows
it's my saving grace.
i hate the coffee *** for that.
i hate the coffee ***
insert earphones
High Violet by The National.
sounds penetrate my ears and swirl
in my head,
sending sparks from the microchip
situated just behind my eyes
that tells me there are only grades and work
and television and pin-up girls.
monday morning, i will file a complaint against
myself
i need truth through camera lens
i need honesty
i need deeper meaning
a drunk girl kissed me under gilded mistletoe
once
when i was 16.
i need more than that.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 2:40 PM UTC
They say something is truly computerized
yes or no? yes or no ?
which one? which one?
BETTER throw a dice if you wanna know
but no
it is a BIG YES of course!
that’s what they should be saying - truly
THEY.
WE -
however -
we don’t have a proof
that it truly is so
and we never may have
and actually we don’t even need to spend our time to find out
if they are right or wrong
It is more important to understand why we discuss this matter here now
and we can explain the reasons in two basic steps:
1- believe not and do not become a blind believer -
to whoever - to whatever- no matter who - no matter what -
there is no one who can tell you the truth
but you -
you may not need to like it all - but
that’s always for a good reason -
if you make it good
2- understand what is of essence now - thus - the thing- maybe a poem- maybe a result of a competition - maybe this - maybe that -
why that specific thing comes to my/your attention now
So
it does not matter
if it is computerized or not -
what matters is
I see it and it communicates with me
and with my senses
and is at my attention
it manifests itself to me here now where I truly am
does not matter how it manifests - but it matters that it manifests
and the answer to why
is by my experience creating an action -
Only what I can neutrally and non-judgmentally witness I can purely experience -
and purity
has surpassed frights
and purity
has no addictions
and purity
does not swing from moon to sun
but remains centralized-
and purity
needs no temporary replacement that serves to escape from one pain- discomfort to another
but purity is ultimate self - is itself by itself
therefore what is presented to me here now is not other than what my consciousness is manifesting as -
it is not a test -because we have passed all the tests -
there is no teacher other than the self-
it is such that we are moving on -
on a path of knowing of our own true nature
And now
that ‘s why!
that’s why!
There is a dove
in love with me
comes to see me daily
and listens to my songs
it ain’t matter if it’s not the same dove
although I know it is
not because it looks alike
but because I know it is
and still it ain’t matter
if it’s not the same dove
because there is a dove
in love with me
comes to see me daily
and listens to my songs
adoringly
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 6:48 PM UTC
frantic antics rewire my brain,
almost as if it were never a brain at all—
circuits and switches and copper thread,
my computerized cerebellum, my inorganic head,
as biology becomes machine.
what powers my body,
this metallic monstrosity?
there is no plug, no battery—
only the cogs and gears of a watchmaker's fever dream
and sheer, dumb luck.
because, while they stood around
and waited idly for my parts to rust,
i was killing time in a vacuum,
ignoring the earnest embraces of air and rain.
and thus, here i rest,
with the sound of my own meek ticking
thrumming against these pink asylum walls
but because i stayed awake to tell the tale,
and to rub their sordid noses in the dirt,
i suppose my isolation was worth it.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
We have seen the magic bullet
Cure all disease.
Cows won't go extinct.
Lush, green pastures run to the waters' edges.
Twisted ankles in gopher holes are passe.
Trees are well-placed for shade beneath a relentless sky.
The lands are full, plush and crowded
With work-a-day leather. Wool is everywhere.
The barren creeks are clear of poison.
The grunts and runts of the stead
Blissfully graze, munching towards our tables.
Brown eggs thrive in computerized out buildings.
We are idle. No wars, disease or poverty.
It is either life or death by choice.
We implant, are implanted, removeable,
And sustainable as any Victorian.
In place of the Immaculate Heart,
I hang a picture of my old pet, Sophie,
Walking on a balance beam,
With a strange black V high in the sky.
And with all this, we grow fat.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
This is for the girls who lie awake at night,
Pulling at the blankets to keep them warm,
Drenched in sins of deprecation.
Tossing and turning on their twin size beds,
because there is not enough room to fit expectations,
let alone their own.
This is for the girls who stare at themselves in front of their mirrors,
Pinching at the extra layers of skin that hang around their tummies.
Rolls of "fat" as they call it, I prefer the term "beauty."
This is for the girls who have shoulders are backs plastered in scars.
From the bras that were one cup size to small, overly adjusted and tightened straps.
This is for the girls who fall prey to the fallacies of magazine stands,
captivated by the cold letters bleeding off the covers:
"Three hundred, sixty-five ways to style your hair!"
"How to get the perfect ****
"Turn off the lights to look good naked!"
"How to make him love you!"
Pull apart the flesh, look beneath your skin,
you are not defined by the number of eyes that manifest lust towards you,
you are not the hands that plead to saunter their way toward your hips,
You are not the number of inches that space out your thighs.
Or the visibility of muscle that line up on your stomach.
You do not need to look good naked,
don't turn off the lights.
Your **** looks fine
Stop falling victim to the media
To the photo shopped ads of puppets who look nothing like you
Because your real
and if you want a man to love you, he must learn to accept you
with your extra flaws, our scars, and rolls of fat.
Because that sack of bones known as a model on a Cosmopolitan cover will not keep him warm.
It is inscribed in the atoms that make you a person
you are a three dimensional beautiful masterpiece
you are not a computerized pixelated image
reshaped and resized retouched and revised
stop letting society dehumanize a woman
your a woman
all the fury to slither through you limbs until you shake with and anger and purpose, acknowledge the value of your worth for you are more that just a waste of paper and space, you are space, you are human, your alive, and beautiful
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
Though my outward appearance may seem somewhat complex
-In this Hard-wired soul
It is the machinery that's run by electricity that generates creativity that would vex Einstein himself
-But it is all relative to this hard-wired soul
Because it was through the wire that I calculated the desire or rather my need to aquire the programming need to love you
-But it wasn't that simple for this weary hard-wired soul
Because I am based upon logic so when I try to complete what I had started the numbers just overrun like a leaky faucet
-You just may be too much for this hard-wired soul
And on one day I twitched, skipped and even began to glitch just from the thought of loving you
Because while the assembly may be perfect for this computerized hermit I still cant calculate if the chances are worth it, so maybe I should just hit reset and accept the regret of not having the correct programming for you yet
-But you ought not sleep on this hard-wired soul
So I beep and I peep, and you reply with a positive tweet the answer this old machine always wanted to hear
I could have cried if a computer ever tried because my data began to skip and glide a most unusual stride
Because she said yes.
But my circuits are fried!
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
SANTA'S GETTING OLDER AND HIS EYESIGHT'S NOT SO HOT
HIS MEMORY IS FADING TOO, THERE'S LOTS THAT HE'S FORGOT
LIKE WHERE HE'S BEEN, AND WHERE HE'S TO AND THE THE HELL IS HOME?
AND WHICH WAY IS INUVIK WHEN I TAKE OFF FROM NOME?
THER'S PLACES THAT HE'S BEEN TOO, THAT NOW HE CANN'T FIND
IT'S NOT THAT HE'S FORGETFUL, I THINK HE'S LOST HIS MIND
THE ELVES ALL STAY AWAY FROM HIM WHEN HE'S AROUND BECAUSE
HE'S ALWAYS GOING ON ABOUT THEIR RELATIVES IN OZ
THEY TELL HIM HE'S MISTAKEN AND THAT OZ IS NOT THERE
THAT IT WAS JUST A MOVIE, BUT SANTA DOESN'T CARE
HE SITS AROUND AND MUMBLES AND TALKS ABOUT THE PAST
ABOUT HOW THINGS ARE CHANGING AND KIDS GROW UP SO FAST.
"BEFORE COLUMBUS SHOWED HIS FACE..I HAD THIS THING DOWN PAT"
"I NEVER MISSED DELIVERIES BACK WHEN THE WORLD WAS FLAT"
"THE TIME ZONES HE CREATED WHEN HE PROVED THE WORLD WAS ROUND"
"GET ME HOME TWO HOURS PRIOR TO THE TIME I LEFT THE GROUND"
"I LEAVE AT TWELVE, DO MY TRIP AND I GET HOME AT TEN"
"I CAN'T REMEMBER IF I'VE BEEN...SO, I GO OUT AGAIN"
"WITH ALL THE MAIL THAT I RECIEVE, IT'S GETTING RATHER TOUGH"
"SO LAST YEAR I COMPUTERIZED TO ORGANIZE MY STUFF"
"I DESTROYED ALL MY INFO AND STORED IT ALL ON DISC"
"I LEAPT INTO THE FUTURE AND I TOOK A MAJOR RISK"
"MY ATLASES I TOOK AND BURNED, MY LISTS I RIPPED UP TOO"
"I DIDN'T NEED THESE THINGS NO MORE, NOT WITH MY IPAD2"
"WAY BACK IN MID DECEMBER THE PLUG SLIPPED FROM THE WALL"
"I DIDN'T HAVE A BACKUP, AND SO I LOST IT ALL"
"MY ELVES THEY CANNOT HELP ME, IN FACT THEY SIT AND LAUGH"
"BECAUSE LAST YEAR WHEN I AUTOMATED, I CUT MY STAFF IN HALF"
"IT'S GOING TO TAKE A WHILE, IT MAY BE A FEW YEARS"
"BUT I'LL DELIVER EVERY GIFT WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM SEARS"
"YOU SEE, I'VE GOT A CATALOGUE AND I'LL ORDER FROM THEIR SHELVES"
"WHO CARES IF I GET MY STUFF FROM THEM, OR IF I GET IT FROM MY ELVES?"
"I THANK YOU ALL FOR LISTENING, BUT NOW I'VE GOT TO SCOOT"
"YOU SEE, I DROPPED SOMETHING OFF WRONG AND YOUR GIFT'S IN BEIRUT"
"DON'T WORRY YOU'LL STILL GET IT, JUST CHECK BENEATH YOUR TREE"
"IT MAY TAKE A LITTLE WHILE, BUT I'LL GET IT THERE....YOU'LL SEE!"
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
No one awakes knowing
That today is
The day
That you're going to die.
Death doesn't
Call to confirm your appointment
(No calls either
Human or computerized)
You can't cancel
Or change
Your mind when you arrive.
It doesn't matter if you
Have insurance
Or
Promise to pay on time.
It won't ask you to
To sign an ROI.
Death doesn't reschedule.
Death accepts no excuses
It won't wait until
It's a more convenient time
Or have you check
Your schedule
Your bank account
Your ethnicity
Your marital status.
Death won't take
Your past history.
It won't give you a coupon
Bill your mom
Take a bribe
Or
Give you a referral to
To another specialist
On his time
Or for that matter his dime.
Death has no bedside manner
Won't prescribe you drugs
Doesn't care what your
Father does.
Death won't even
Look you in the eye
Check your side
Listen to your complaints
Or successes
Show compassion
Or
Give you
An empathetic understanding sigh.
Death takes no names
And takes no answers
Death has no samples
Studies
Or sage advice.
However death is like
Waiting for the dentist
Your turn is going
To come.
Sleep is called
Mini-deaths,
All of this
No wonder I can't sleep
And by the way
Death doesn't schedule
Follow up appointments...
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Poems are born and given
names like people are don't they?
vested with special brainy wings right? then ejected!
as if birthing slides
help push them through
a cyber time machine
computerized world
poems seem to travel
as in rockets to space
yes that fast!!
Others ballooned by air
in baskets moved slowlier
or in simple rainbow sorted
balloon batches and
then gone with the wind!
inflated by helium air
initials inscribed on each
from the parent poet or poetess
"A lot more happens
to poems"
Lucky few reposted by the
holy sages of H.P
a few more seem air lifted in
an eye blink secluded in mysterious arenas
Jack in the box boxes!
private uncirculated rooms
there reveared?
All poems in my world
seem firstly inspected by
the same compassionate
doctor, few masked Knights
powerful mystery kings
birds of song, purring cats
even angry dogs all sorts
same crafty nurses seem
to eagerly revise
their parchment scrolls
and from there nothing
is heard of these
baby boomer poems
or if ever are read by others again who can tell? It's unclear unless a fee is paid
its like having children
really isnt't it?
that must be sent away as in
time machine missions once named treasured revised
adored then freedoms grant'd
some poems will make it explored reapearing loved reposted moving priceless!
other poems perish
by green with envy
other muses hubbering
curiously around
lizards wizards snakes
all sorts.
Poems seem to travel
dead silent through
a cyber mirror
Twilight Zone
~~~~~~~~
By:Karijinbba.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC
It was an all black car
Where ever the action went it was driving into adventure being far
It could be a mountain trail
It might be across the globe with anything but fail
But the Knight-Rider car with the nickname “KITT”
However, the car being energized and totally computerized was it
I had the opportunity while vacationing in Downtown Los Angeles to visit Universal Studios Hollywood
This is the place where all the Oscars stood
But let me fill you in a little secret
There were several other Knight-Rider cars
I will call them “Stand in Autos”
When the original Knight-Rider car crashes beyond repair
You can always depend on many many spare
Yet the Knight-Rider car was always on the move
There were thrills in action to prove
But for the moment don’t move
For example, a racing car in competition that thinks it is more Tech
But wait, the Knight-Rider car having flips and tricks being the Knight-Rider car having effect
Eye on technology in having its own elect
I almost forgot, I met the man behind Kitt’s wheels, David Hasselhoff
We actually spoke in person one on one
David Hasselhoff has height standing among
Knight-Rider car has driven into the night
But there is a spotlight giving it light
Yet the Knight-Riding car says goodnight.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
mix the numbers up
fill the lottery card out
give the girl five bucks
grab that slip of paper
clutch that sliver of hope
now you hold the possibility
in your veiny freckled hand
god knows it could be
a passport to riches
a path to paradise
a ticket to eden
or is it more than money's lure
this scrap of computerized pulp
it should flare like a strip of lightning
this invitation to rapture
this portal to freedom
this license to dream
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 2:26 PM UTC
Out of stardust from the sea
More than what we thought we'd be
We've come do far from sinew and bones
To our new computerized homes
Each time any tries to step back from nature
It pulls back, luring us closer
For as much as we live in this space
It lives in us, in every place
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
Meandering streams
have cut deep chasms
into solid jagged rock,
disappearing
skyward,
up into
the Heavens.
The tinkling
of occasional goat-bells
& the twinkling
of a million sacred lights
soothed the soul.
Stars so close,
as if you could reach out
and touch them.
A brilliant night sky so beautiful,
made you realize
the sacredness
of this glorious creation.
If it wasn't for
the nocturnal copters
with their infra-red
computerized machine guns
ripping up targets,
you would think you
were experiencing nirvana,
not witnessing
such deadly devastation.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
Hioheprenazine dreams
In sight of crispy creams
Computerized cognitive testing
I found her body arresting
The women wanted Jean Beliveau to buy them
Firm white peaches - so he fried them
Yonder girl bit in with a left arm left useless
All taxation claims hence were baseless
I recall pineapple scented gin was popular
Like the movies of Francis Ford Coppola
Raining over south Napa Valley
Into the arms of Kirstie Alley.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 5:31 PM UTC
Bricks break and time disposes of the dust,
Death to death the traces of life are visible in the rust, the moon is where I hide by fears cause I only want to think about them at night, and the ocean is where I want to die because I don't like what mammals have come to stand for and coral seems more fitting of a casket than bedrock,( and my mom could never afford a waterbed.)
My favorite part of life is watching the pieces fall into place and people fall away, nobody notices themselves eroding and eroding each other till their weathered joints are crunchy with exhaustion and the only literary tools they use anymore are personification and repetition,
I wanna die before this moon Soul becomes new and before the smoke blows away in the wind and the ice drips into a pool of Zen and missed chances
But not because I'm sad or could never part because I'd like to see how they change and have no choice but observance.
I wanna be in the room when a star is born and I'm not talking Hollywood or a computerized version,
I wanna watch over millions of years as the universe picks every particle and places it perfectly as the swirling storm of beauty heats and expands into celestiality.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
A point some may say is not so
Poetry maybe the bud of philosophy
This is a point in my head, I suppose
yet, an emotion in my heart, I know!
Poetry could quite possibly be
What fertilized
The study of philosophy
Poetry has become a whimsy of the past
Evidently fluency of the word
Is a talent that interest has
Supposedly surpassed
The world has become computerized and numb
Philosophy has become secondary
Some who are seeking knowledge see philosophy as a crumb
As if it is not important
To understand man's soul
To write within the heart of wisdom
So that man does not turn into lumps of coal
The next time you read a poem
Let it's aroma last
Absorb the philosophy
Do not make poetry fluency forever part of the past
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
-
i grew up watching men strolling across
the moon on TV, feature films of rockets,
mars monsters and light trips into infinity
and beyond
believing we would be living
in this "future world" by the
year Two-Thousand—
but the imagery of space shuttles parked
along the streets, rocket bubbles zipping
across tree-top avenues and astronauts
spinning end over end while they wash
high rise windows with computerized
squeegees finally came to an end in 2001
realizing thereafter that
we may remain here on
Earth to throw bones at
our adversaries—
until the last one perishes,
still stranded
in orbit..
s jones
Mar 2022
.
Mar 30, 2022
Mar 30, 2022 at 6:15 AM UTC
The stripes in one ear.
But through the other, the music of,
timers, chatter, lunch dates, and gossip,
heels clicking across the floor, black, yellow and glossy.
Steam, glass bottles, plastic bottles, recyclable cups and coffee beans and nuts.
Hipsters...
Pomp and derogation and self empowerment your the sake of self indulgence,
and the who knews of what firsts,
and the ******* iPhones!!!
Everywhere looking out there apple eyes, winking at their older brothers,
openly mocking their lack of flash and exclusivity,
(secretly resenting their rarity, in a world washed in white).
Its the 3.
The 4.
The 5, 6, 7, 10!
Look how clean,
Look how much I payed,
Look how little is left of myself, as my own.
I am one.
I am unique.
I am original.
You are one, of a million others.
You are unique, in your perspective of the world.
That of a carriage horse with blinders, led by his driver to buy and throw away and buy again...
You are original.
You are.
You are unique.
You are beautiful.
But you are Nieve, lost in the sea computerized ******* produce.
So you,
you one in a million.
You unique flake of snow, with a pattern all your own.
Let me take you from this place.
To the beginning.
Where the apple got his name.
Where the trees grow fruit to eat.
And the only music is that of the wind.
And the water.
And leaves in the trees.
And when you feel, rather than hear.
You will be the thing you want most.
Yourself.
Yourself alone.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
I live in a world without faces
My friends are screen-written in black
Via virtual reality, we speak
Through computerized smiles, we laugh
I know what each one is doing
Every second of every long day
My own moves are ripe for the viewing
So, too, the great thoughts I will say
We chat and we email and text
Rarely catching a voice on the phone
God knows whatever comes next
Will leave me busy, but wholly alone
The experts from so many places
State we gain more, with time, than we lose
But if in gaining, I lose only faces
Then I’d trade for the olds, all the news
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 11:27 PM UTC
You tainted this site with your fingertips
Your presence, your words
I came here as an escape--
Or a justification?
But you held me confined
And gave me no answers
Now I am back, but every megabyte screams your name
I hover over the search bar even though you have disintegrated
Yet I still expect your poems to make an appearance
To either kiss me like I would have wanted you to
Or stab me like I know too well you did
But nothing
Your existence has been wiped out
I have no reason to return to computerized data
Other than hoping you’d come around too
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 4:08 PM UTC
1. I live in constant fear
of the goose bumps on my skin, waiting,
expecting the hair on my arms to stand on end.
Pinprick needles
pushing up through my skin.
2. My mother can’t sleep through the night,
constantly checking for some visual sign
of telepathy, her cheek permanently frozen
to the screen of her cell phone as she lies in the lightless room.
3. My sister’s habits habituate
into those of a lightning bug in the daytime.
Unusual and unexpected, five toe touches
on this carpet’s edge, seventy-two
fingertips on her own eyelids.
Idly fidgeting until it is time
to zip around in blinding light.
4. Day after day I am weighed
down by mountains beneath the ocean’s surface,
chained, hovering just above the break,
gasping for dear life and
screaming for salvation.
5. I can’t control my thoughts
(my thoughts control me).
6. Thought bubbles in my head
only float for a little while, clouding
my vision and crying for their lightning,
as thunderbolt after thunderbolt stikes—
anxiety sounds like the color black.
7. I lie on cheap sofas spasming and sweaty,
skyscrapers of disappointment
looming over my miniscule banged up
Toyota of a body. There’s a dent on my side door.
8. When I sit, still as a smudge of black ink
left over on my thumb, I pray that the vending machine
won’t steal my money—I only have two seventy-five in my pocket.
9. I call my dad. He is the messenger.
10. Any two words can spearhead a revolution; my eyelids always lose and the floodgates break down, the people in the streets scatter for safety.
11. If I think about the future, the sky becomes one gigantic storm cloud, the world becomes a tornado, and everyone survives but me. The heavens turn dark and I am thrown
into a world made up of a computerized font. Courier New.
12. Courier New is very monochromatic. An angular typeface. My face is pretty round.
13. When the storm ends, I am black and white with exhaustion, a pressure washed pane of glass, waiting
to again need a thorough cleaning. The pressure washer comes every few days.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC