"cyborg" poems
in the year 2462 those with nails protruding from their palms
will talk in ancient tongues
& sway the tribes of men to eternal love,
& endless ammunition
of the soul.
spiritus.
kin, galactic
& the golden fire.
throb the saga of man,
into hip ****** illusions and combustive color schematas.
we bury our dead in flower clippings
or skull bits.
[skateboarding rises as the highest form of intellectual sport]
thrum and plum-bum the sewers of electric babylon.
hive city reaching past gasp and wasteland,
her lips ruinous.
cement slabs and coils of fault with
vast artistic possibilities.
these skate-lords from their heaps, their clans, augmenting
& rattling bone masks
grinding themselves into meat-bit heroics
& death.
their teeth are yellowy awoken.
this is all seen globally,
via tele-cast-com-core-mind-warp-tech.
or video.
dreams impact reality
impact dreams
in such
that the cathode cortex filter, invented circa 2222,
evolves into a demi-god, a solar charged demon of unlimited knowledge.
& it mutates the psychosphere of our mainstream public mind
with countless projected memories.
[streamed alternate realities]
fills the belly and the brain,
but all those unhooked are skating.
sweet meat market.
ghost harddrives.
poor leftovers called children of the once-was-men
& their poolside parties.
they leap the rubble of centuries old plastic icons,
their boards, their weapons, their seeds and spit.
they hang chains from their necks
& spew black flame from their sunshaded boot-click
lickings.
they drink from large bottlesof elixer distilled
on old flowers
& worship archaic cassettes.
cults of cyborg women with gem-tipped-blade-additions
carve wooden planks from
groves of great oaks.
great oaken powers.
their creators chew gummies and bend time
to uphold
a proposed history of perfection.
they master pong from their crystalline towers,
& hire mathematicians to write
conceptual skate-deck algorithms,
solely for fun.
non-profit.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
I know of just too many Cyclopes,
Let me describe one of them better,
The one who preys on values of men.
So miniature he is - mere few inches,
So often in our pockets he is found,
So crooked he is with a single eye.
When among beautiful babes & gals,
He is active getting used in clicking,
Also used up is he sometimes by fishy men for fishier purposes.
This Cyclops was filming one such similar affair with a lady unaware,
Stripped naked was her body exposed to that bare,
Trick or truth, clothed or naked, she thought not about this cyborg Cyclops filming her **** ever in her wildest of fears.
The young lady is then blackmailed by the Cyclops's master,
"Be quiet about it and serve us in our industry,"
Threatened with publishing publicly of the moments - she gives in to this blackmail.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Blindsided by a rhinoceros.
Tendons, muscles, unraveling. I can't do this any--
Glitch, system failure, shutdown
Restart, blue screen, flashing cursor
Epileptic shock. Epinephrine injected
Command line. Run:
Beautiful flying objects thrown violently.
Don't open this door! Kiss me hard
And not in a good way (if you remember how),
Like when fishes try to breathe on dry
Land on jagged Rock
Climbing without
Gears spinning and clanking
*** and pan. (Glass and sand)
Sizzling in this artificial sun
Created by brainwaves soaked in
****** and LSD and yellow cake uranium
Ghostriding patterns erupting like
Stop. Fail. Restart.
Detecting equipment...
No input present. How will you communicate?
Try again. Restart.
Password required.
Why don't you eat?
These tears are making my face numb.
Put this in your arm.
Trust me, you'll love it.
You'll have Tesla coming out of every orifice.
Dancing physics, matryoshkas.
You can deny the existence of a God and live,
But if you deny the existence of gravity...
Well, just try and walk off this cliff.
"These thoughts are so scattered.
I don't even think they're mine."
Those memories? They're not yours.
They belong to your master's daughter.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We're Replicants.
We boot up, we shut down, we most definitely restart.
Viruses make us sick and sometimes break us to the point where we need new hardware.
Sometimes they break our firmware and we need to wipe.
We have command lines to perform actions, and registry keys to keep memory stored of the things we learn.
The world is our power supply,
and when we boot up in safe mode,
like
some
people
do
every
day,
we only use the bare minimum of our potential.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I must be dying, I'm only this awkward when I'm dying.
Connection timed out.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:26 PM UTC
the bottle's like a violin,
screaming demons in my stomach,
a cyborg forging information as lunch,
purging an urge for self-destruction,
my outer shell's cold but the circuits a storm,
of electrical database lifespan into megabytes of ****
see death is a story,
and my analogies are allegories,
mourning after the goriest morning is NOT worth storing,
blank pages turn into mythical dissipation,
and with that loud speaker you'd think he could pen down imagination,
a midnight gig playing with cosmic instrumentation,
for the humanoid race place your conscious on your invitation,
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 5:40 PM 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
Robot rendezvous and electric engagements
Android alimony to cyborg sexists
Weve created our technological truces
Bound tightly to this digital dance
We wont work without electronic easing
Copy and paste emotion
Upload desires
Forward your sentiments
Firewall the insufferable experience
Logout of life and reboot reality
Let the dry bones regain their flesh
The empty eyepits become filled and see
Electro-spark the cognitive cardiac arrest
And reascend the route from the CPU catacombs
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 2:28 PM 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
I've blasted my way
across the entire universe,
a member of a special operations team, we take no prisoners,
leave a wasteland behind us.
Once,
I stopped an alien invasion.
I single-handedly destroyed
an entire nation of grays
from taking over the planet Earth.
I was a hero in the cyborg wars, too.
I blew apart all of their starships,
& even unwired their motherboard.
Last month,
I defeated a whole fleet of pirates,
used my sword to cut body parts
& whack bearded-heads,
sunk a lot of their ships as well.
In fact,
every opponent
I've ever faced,
I've left belly up,
stone cold dead
behind my closed doors.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
connected with love
there lais the ****
and itchi
as a dard , a poisonous
and **** pain
love is a heartbreak,
pain is refreshing,
as an addicted to feel,
don't specting but pain
and spittings, then the suffering,
after all happens, they love me, back
after the hurt, i don't look back,
used to , feeling their
love,
after i'm trew
like an insomniac,
feeling the love
after the hurt
like a heartless man,
specting some brave femme,
that holds mi hand,
DURING,
not after is over,
AFTER THE SPITS
AND THE HATE,
y never look back.
c'est tout c'est tout.
but love is all over
after i clean my face
i can't feel it no more,
pride or wise,
who knows , who .
no regrets, im lucky ,
for trie to love,
maybe is not love , is
only passion, and pain,
like a ****** or a fool
who knows, could i love her
yes
should i love her
NO
respect and
compassion,
are essential,
should i no, could i,
maybe i can't, not being
is a curse, in some way
not being was my cruce,
and can't use it as a crutch
and my curse sting like the bugs
for the creeps system,
like a cyborg, with a camera, in my eye,
and a phone, in my ear and my ***
maybe cyborgs,
can't be loved , in
the right time, or
cowardness winns,and
is a rule, in the circles of
hate, some wankers are.
some peace and
privacy, would be cool
my life is like nutshell
the only one of y kind
no common points, all alone
nothing cost, all is easy,
love, even hate, physics,
and humanity, more human
than humans.
in the end, love
probes he's there,
watching, threw his strings,
should i could i
who knows, who knows
connected, and painful
is the road,
LOOKING SOMETHING
SWEET, AS STRAWBERRY
MARMALADE,
ON HER **** BODY
but is only pain
what's left, and the spits
on my face. should i
maybe, but i can't.
after all the pain,
and the smile, on
the creeps faces,
but connected is the pain,
with the trie to love,
but i can't love the spits
on my face.
could i, who knows who knows.
pride or wise, love o hate,
respect is essential,
in everything, love or hate.
respect is what's left, should
y love the one who help that ****
pride or wise, who knows
respect is all is left.
respect is love,
pain is not, and know
is all what's left.
sweet and itchi
**** *** hell,
like the venom,
of the snake ,
is that old,
**** heart pain.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
cyber forces glitching,
itching,
scratching,
hatching,
inside… inside…
further deeper,
latching,
onto body…
onto body…
mind,
soul,
body…
cyber forces becoming
transferring,
creating,
hating
the old,
the old.
new cybernetic soul
born modern,
born modern,
progressive process,
tradition’s torn,
torn.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 2:14 PM UTC
The dust has been lifted
Wise words from the man in the red truck
As he eluded provocative ants dancing ‘round cigarette ash
Pokemon never behaved like jackals
Or any other eighties hair metal bands for that matter
At least Pantera shredded their way out of that shtick
It allowed me to quench my thirst with neon Gatorade
And stomaching peninsulas
This is why starch as a way to mend secular viral videos
Was never a serious consideration
That right belongs to the intergalactic Prince Albert
Of the Ziggy Stardust federation
It’s what made me feel secure with crack and root beer
Can I get a signal out here,
Or did the waffle train miss me by a nano robot?
God save this illustrious choir of cephalopods and naval lint
Before they find their way into the haphazard way
I chop chicken under drunken stars
A wizard once led me to this concussion
But I cannot remember the first door he smashed with a crowbar
I know it had only been six years since Julia Roberts was in Erin Brockovich
The movie about the alien cyborg, who birthed Africanized
Native American bumble bees
Or was that merely a fan fiction continuation?
That’s when the itch in my head stopped….
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
Neither man nor machine,
these beings; being pipe dreams
were conceived by the silver screen.
Unseen by the naked eye,
they have taken you and I
by surprise like a tractor beam.
Neither the factor of genes nor factories
nor anthropological capacity.
These beings, being faculties of thought,
predetermine the preface of the plot.
© Matthew Harlovic
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
IT WAS SOME SORT OF DREAM and for a second time in my life I worked at a McDonald's but this time it was a McDonald's out of a Philip K. **** novel.. a hoveryvibe with this strange baby-blue tint to the walls that sat so quaint and silent reminding the subconscious of aliens or restaurants at the end of the universe... there was a long cyborg tube that spiraled into crafted spritz almost made to look broken and being one of the strangest parts of the dream. working at a McDonald's again made me physically ill and I could taste ***** in my mouth but for some reason it felt like only moments before I had been quietly lying next to a male lover (co-worker with a Colgate smile that tipped his lips to haunt me) and as I leaned in to kiss him, stomach swelling with the lovers melancholic ecstasy, he began to fade, his lips presings softly to mine collision shape-to-one-another as he vomited a little with no loss to his Colgate beauty (I thought him dying or skipping a day of high-school?) fading away slooowwwllyyy to be replaced by that cyborg tube with me standing above it spitting that same kind of spit which forecasts a violent throw-up from the bottom of a wretch gut. I could see the little spritz made to look broken becoming spider-webbed with my saliva until finally the ***** propelled itself from my throat and I collapsed to the ground somehow still looking in only to awake to my alarm clock - - - wheel around in bed to hear music.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
The robot, cyborg, android or whatever you called it stood over its murdered master.. Looking down with glowing red eyes.. Scanning for any form of life its master may have left.. Its purpose was to serve its master the best it always could.. It then walked the rooms of its master's house and found the rest of his family also dead and murdered.. It then gathered the entire family in the back yard.. It dug a massive hole into the ground and it buried the family together.. Father holding daughter mother holding son.. It then kneeled at the gravesite it created for its master and family for days.. Looking down at the ground.. It stayed there under passing storm and in the hottest of days.. After a month it finally rose to its feet.. Weather it prayed for a soul or simply found a program that would give him one He is now Self aware.. Eyes shining sky blue he gives himself a mission of revenge.. As he is now able to seek it.. He calls himself Rai..
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
Many times
I know my own worth
Nobody can break me
Despite my one wing
I can fly
Despite this world full of cyborgs
Even when I am created as one
I am a one winged angel
With a cybernetic half
I carry a yin-yang symbol
Within my system
Knowing I am half cyborg and angel
Many questions linger my mind
It may sound off
But I am neither
For I have my own battle scars to show
Because I've been in two wars
So tell me
What am I
At the end of the day
I'm just a cyborg with one wing of hope
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 8:37 PM UTC
Fractured black spaces
curved beneath my eyes
Fractal kaleidoscope
black sand, dust motes
Floating information
A touch to the cobweb
no - just a breath
And dark becomes light
light becomes colour
And my life flashes - as they say
Whatever I breathe is there
inside. I only see
What I want to see
and I bathe in my light
While all other worlds spin
Around the stars
As they've always done
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
Elder cocoons
Crysalis Hospice
Heaves pounding war drums
Fables of eternal bridge
Bingo and television
zombie horde lunch hour
Tennis ***** play race car
down halls tarred with lost children
Abandoned wither liver spot wrists
Silk wrinkles
Pull like neck folds lifted
newborn simba kittens
casted into this kingdom
scientists culture control
climate but not the yellow wall
It's too high for a fit cyborg
intravenous barbed wire
Cathader Penetrating
illusions of escapism
except the prison wealthy
classically conditioned
trading ice cream like cigarettes
trading blood diseases like ramen packets
There is no planned parenthood
in old folks homes
There is no distribution of free condoms
In a facility where they without medication
When you're about to win the lottery
His last day requested to bed Nurse Christine
Wheelchair ridden fumbling to open
A shaker of Mrs. DASH
I reach to help him open the spice.
Growling and Sadistic he festered:
"Let the little boy do what he can do."
I sat down in my chair.
he had his nurse ala mode.
no one will fund a ****** dispensary for old folks home.
they wouldn't use them.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 7:20 PM UTC
The world has lost its way
Addicted to lust and ****
***** and floored
Swathed by cyborg technology!!!
Lost themselves
Made bionic feelings
Of false self help
Their ways of living
And no room for laughing!!!
Their trusses are teathered
Demons with feathers
Using planes for war
Buying hypnotic's on shore
Spending money for hypnotic's
*** trade of the ******
Average being
Turned psychotic
As the hospitals are bashed with junkies
For tis,
Yes
The devil's quite spunky
Thy mind is all funky
Thine cars thou hast made roomies
As thou forgot thy wife and beau
Thou hast ruined mine view
Put lazors in space
**** babies by race
And romantic's tis
Should I even mention thou?
I chuckle and puke
To thineself I rebuke!!!!
As I seeketh reality,
Tis
Still choking in mine own claret!!!
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
A marvel of human engineering!
A cyborg of delicate mechanical balance
She swoops down
And conquers the world.
Her world-
Her section of the Earth, created for her.
Nothing left out of place
Nothing amiss.
She is the world's first crossbred perfectionist.
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 5:26 PM UTC
You, my dear, are made of flesh and bone and hopes and dreams just like the rest of us; you are no automaton, no cyborg. A mere tuning fork has more metal in it than you.
But I’ll still make you sing, my dear, my mouth coaxing soft moaning melodies from your lips. These songs are lovely, lustful little testaments to the intensity of my longing, they echo off your bouts and reverberate about your waist.
Staccato gasps and a gentle crescendo of your moans follow as I bow my tongue along your neck, plucking at your curves and ********* your lengths.
I’m no archer but I see a quiver in front of me as I pull at a string.
My chin piece is the bottom of your *** and together we play a masterpiece, your breath’s ragged cadence accompanying a mezzo-piano scream. We go on like this repeatedly, each dal segno al coda pulling one more riff out of you. Eventually my strokes and your moans harmonize and we crescendo, fortissimo,
bravo.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
a cyborg leaps 200 feet
broken out from the facility
they're faster than him
and more persistent
but he wont go back
____________________________
a girl
and i
both here
waiting
for summer
thinking
about
each other
daily
and nightly
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
Immersed
in speed limits we accelerate
and your picture is in the paper now, but the paper is a screen. We do things.
silly people have dreams while chewing gum
and talking to grandma.
She's on the smartphone; but never in the flesh, lately...
it's a drag she's getting the hang of the ****** thing
and you feel guilty like pink noise
and you wear ear plugs
you found on E-Bay
on purpose.
just everyday,
you might not be there.
you have a knack. we are the virtual celery, snapping at world's end.
burning down the up draft of a wind shear
specks in trouble
just everyday, your cyborg's heart is off center
now the center.
and your picture is never coming back
alive.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 11:01 AM UTC
Frankenstein‘s Cyborg.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Heavy Metal Music.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Frankenstein’s Cyborg.
My robo-tic child,
My favor-ite cyborg, yeah.
My robo-tic child,
I’m the reason you were born.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
God I thought they’d killed me.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
What did you do to me?
If I left, you there,
Where would you be now? Yeah,
If I’d left, you there,
Tell me where would you be?
If I left, you there,
Where would you be now, yeah,
If I’d left, you there,
Tell me where would you be?
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Move like a robot.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Work like a robot.
You’re part man, part machine;
You’re the product of our dreams.
We made you work, we made you live,
We kept the faith, we believed;
We were right, we did succeed,
We fulfilled all our dreams.
My robo-tic child,
My favorite cyborg, yeah.
My robo-tic child,
My Heavy Metal son.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Gonna be a soldier
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
It doesn’t matter if I get shot, yeah.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
I’m gonna live forever.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
Terminator X
A cloud burst into life and rained down acid rain;
The skin peeled from the bodies of those who couldn’t be saved.
The future termination just waiting to send us to our graves,
Means our destiny is already written and we cannot be saved.
So call on Arnie to save or ruin the day,
Here he comes in a rush to redeem or bring rage.
Is he good, is he bad? Let’s write another sequel,
Because we can’t get enough of this cyborg killing people.
Terminator 1, Sarah Connor is forced to face death head on.
This Terminator X is going to rip somebody’s face off
And Terminator 2 saw Arnie as a Hero,
For John Connor likes Guns ‘n’ Roses, look out here comes a truck.
Terminator 3 the machines are on the rise again,
The future is shown to us; it looks like humans live in pain.
We are obsolete; the robots now rule the entire world.
So let’s rebel and give ‘em Hell, one of Johns acolytes is a hot girl.
So stab your blade shaped arm through a chest
And hope you find the right Sarah Connor.
Dead bodies litter the doorsteps of random nests;
You know he won’t stop until he finds her.
Get Arnie some new clothes to cover his nakedness,
Use nitrogen oxide to put an end to this X-file government,
Conspiracy of robots, they are here to end our lives;
So crush their body and throw this terminator into the fire.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC