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"decommissioned" poems
Through the red joysticks And white & blue slap buttons. Without the advancement of memory cards Or weird split screens to distract. My last life is always the one I save for you, Through the experience points and colorful gems There’s much more to explore. My first wow, my first time, my next again & Again. No matter how many times I feel like I lose, You’re the reason I always get back up. My initials fill all ten slots of your heart, Until you're decommissioned and pulled Out of stock. There they will always remain
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Dec 31, 2021
Dec 31, 2021 at 4:47 AM UTC
Red Joysticks
Annapolis (DDH 265) decommissioned warcraft clean severed lines steam gusts belt from a cavernous shell the ghost ship settles on a drift ridge perfect tide rhythm on a salt washed shore calming nuance in passive time *weaving through channels and crest waves* white sands warming at a high point beyond the breakers and porteau pins gazers and dreamers (and sleepy fiords) rest softly up the straight froth folds skim and linger on the wide eyed wanderers of the sound cove seals settle at the inlet their symphonies backing on the bowen brigade ripples and patch makers hold sheets to the wind markgraf lines find electric blue sky stealth shadows haunt the seascape the dragon fly hovers in fits and starts
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Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
Sinking in Halkett
Memory log activation start-up: 0110010001100101011101100110100101 1011100111001101100100011100100110 0101011000010110110101110011 100% retrieved "If I had a family instead of Intel I would love them. If my metal headpiece could cry It would. I should be at the packaging facility today That grey place Through and through I get lost in it, everyday It's so vast and all looks the same But right now, I'm here at this pond How can other zzyzx stay at work? I want to show them how pretty this pond is They should all Feel this way. At home. With at least, themselves I could be decommissioned and recycled Even wiped For saying that - Let alone being here today. It's really secret, actually I think I'm the only, umm... That knows it's here. I write poems, here Critics would hate them because they don't rhyme I don't force anything here, I guess But, my 'poems of the pond' make me smile Well Figuratively, (my metallic 'face' doesn't have any swivel points for movement) Someday, I suspect, Another zzyzx will find its way here And I'll be here, too And it'll be really special, like Love And that's what I want - Something like love." End log.
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Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:22 PM UTC
Zzyzx 7600
Looking down from over their bodies - I count them. My split mind at once rejoices in and recoils from that counting. Peering back over my shoulder I make dark associations. It’s as if I was afraid of becoming lost the way the bodies made a trail like bread crumbs, leading back from the places I had been. I walk with the Holy Light. I walk with my dark companion. I walk between the spines of the body shrikes. They harvest all my crumbs and remind me I am lost. They hook the bodies high from spikes so I look up to make the body count. I can see the Holy Script but I can’t seem to find the way. Red and gold beacons in the dream, flickering off and on like syncopated declarations as if saying: Here I am Here I am Here I am. All elbows and knees I slip between the webs of the orb weavers and the cactus spines of the butcher birds while they count the bodies for me: Here they are Here they are Here they are. Hang-dog and hard of breathing  I have my medicine. I’m hanging from the sleeping cliffs over hell’s half acre and the high deserts. I remember my brother flying me to California on a great olive branch. He fed me sushi and smiled while he watched by brain heal. But I was coming for the bodies. My count was smaller then, but it was high enough for him and his hands were the keepers of the flame. The fire there was exiled and quietly he laid it by. My brother spread out over the carpet of time like the faithful departed with the weavers and the shrikes and mounted bodies in the sky. A child appears before me on the walk - eyes like a baby deer. His mother is two blocks behind, so he asks three questions while he waits: Why are you smoking? Where are your hands? Is it getting dark soon? He leaves me to wonder where my hands are and where the dark is, the Holy Sage smoking at my side. Like some dark sabbath. Like some reading of the will. Like some dark and holy delta sleep in a crib of red clay. I have a feeling I have been gone a very long time and I want to be home now, but there is buzzing and chirping and a red light and Saul of Tarsus holds a great tome before me and with my hands I hide my eyes. I am the dreaming of the world of dreams. Therein the Holy Light rages like the flare of 1000 suns while my eyes are shuttered tight like old memories all gone beyond the sorrow. The old oath keepers are all plates and screws. The golden woven orbs and cactus spines are all empty on the altar like a decommissioned slaughterhouse. So I go and make a body count.
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Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 8:00 PM UTC
Body Count
Looking down from over their bodies - I count them. My split mind at once rejoices in and recoils from that counting. Peering back over my shoulder I make dark associations. It’s as if I was afraid of becoming lost the way the bodies made a trail like bread crumbs, leading back from the places I had been. I walk with the Holy Light. I walk with my dark companion. I walk between the spines of the body shrikes. They harvest all my crumbs and remind me I am lost. They hook the bodies high from spikes so I look up to make the body count. I can see the Holy Script but I can’t seem to find the way. Red and gold beacons in the dream, flickering off and on like syncopated declarations as if saying: Here I am Here I am Here I am. All elbows and knees I slip between the webs of the orb weavers and the cactus spines of the butcher birds while they count the bodies for me: Here they are Here they are Here they are. Hang-dog and hard of breathing  I have my medicine. I’m hanging from the sleeping cliffs over hell’s half acre and the high deserts. I remember my brother flying me to California on a great olive branch. He fed me sushi and smiled while he watched by brain heal. But I was coming for the bodies. My count was smaller then, but it was high enough for him and his hands were the keepers of the flame. The fire there was exiled and quietly he laid it by. My brother spread out over the carpet of time like the faithful departed with the weavers and the shrikes and mounted bodies in the sky. A child appears before me on the walk - eyes like a baby deer. His mother is two blocks behind, so he asks three questions while he waits: Why are you smoking? Where are your hands? Is it getting dark soon? He leaves me to wonder where my hands are and where the dark is, the Holy Sage smoking at my side. Like some dark sabbath. Like some reading of the will. Like some dark and holy delta sleep in a crib of red clay. I have a feeling I have been gone a very long time and I want to be home now, but there is buzzing and chirping and a red light and Saul of Tarsus holds a great tome before me and with my hands I hide my eyes. I am the dreaming of the world of dreams. Therein the Holy Light rages like the flare of 1000 suns while my eyes are shuttered tight like old memories all gone beyond the sorrow. The old oath keepers are all plates and screws. The golden woven orbs and cactus spines are all empty on the altar like a decommissioned slaughterhouse. So I go and make a body count.
Continue reading...
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Because when I see it I wanna view it all in 720p; a 360 window to the world around me. No grit, grain, or scratch-sand photographs, no bullet-pointed drafts of what there is around, but instead something clear cut and defined, like the cut throat lines of the rail track heading north, the tarmac black railings decorating the edge of the port, telegraph poles and fly fish line linking your telephone call to my telephone call; and if you're ringing from a mobile there are still lines connecting the call, it's just you can't see them as they're kept within a box somewhere above us waiting to be decommissioned, waiting to fall back to Earth.
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Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
Long Distance Phone Call
After the parade, before the rain The homeless reclaim their streets Amonsgt the discarded plastic tri-colours The sweet papers that fall at children's feet You can feel the ghosts of ******* babies From Tuams' religious care home Dancing in some purgatory parade No coffins ever granted to rest in peace They rise from a decommissioned sewer pit Free now to march as they eternally carry The burden of a society's Christian sin Look to today, why dwell on the past An oft cried refrain as we do it again Where the pubs overflow with national pride For a fifth century Welsh missionary man Who bestowed upon us an organised religion From a politically divided Northern hill Inside the boys make the noise in Celtic tops Singing old rebel songs of English wrongs Children outside, whose to seek, whose to hide A national passage as another mother cries She prays for the end and for morning again To sweep through these fractured streets To wash through these wretched sins For after every parade once more must come A forgiving frontal rain to make way for the sun
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Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
After the Parade
Trite query from pen so weary My muse has blown a fuse The light that once shined has declined My fleeting hope hangs from a rope A vagabond whose muse did abscond With illuminating spark leaving him in the dark Out on a lark; my scuttled engine in park Night and day I recon the lexicon But the literary discourse is no recourse To a stray itinerate who has lost his way The stye in my eye has begun to cry The pus is no fuss; my page is dry A rhyme for a dime would be sublime Perhaps, a bartered verse in my purse Will break the curse, or still worse Might stain with shame my languishing pain Incarcerating my fraudulent pen in the critic's den Oh, if words would rain then my brain drain Would filter inspiration to my perspiration The fertile strain if only but a grain Would fertile sprouts shoot extinguishing my doubts
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Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 8:25 AM UTC
Decommissioned Muse
It's an insult to me to be decommissioned tagged as useless machinery. I remember when men weren't machinery men they were supermen, craftsmen carpenters and draughtsmen. They built this Empire and kept it going, little knowing that they'd be going too. You scoff because you don't know, you were never there at the dawn. What do we have now? pink poodles Chinese and noodles robots that know not and what do we do? easy I write love one hundred and nine times between the lines on my face, botox? toxic, someone give me an ice pick patch me into some voltage and be quick. Banner. **** it anyway I've had my day and seen more than you'll ever see, look forever and you'll see no stars and stripes, you'll see baby wipes and feel strangled by the star spangled, but it's anti this or don't kiss me goodbye however hard that you try you will never see what I've been through, up to, into, cue violins some Havana slims a pitcher of gin and let the music begin. It's still an insult the result is the same I am substituted and out of the game.
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May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
The breaking of Windsor.
I shared a beer and sympathy with a gnarled, obsolete man Whose wizened visage spoke of unwise choices. He spoke wistfully (though apropos of nothing) of an abandoned diner Near the terminus of a truncated and decommissioned road, Its parking lot an unhappy armistice Of cracked tarmac and scrub grasses, The building still sporting caricatures of the proprietors (The artist a devotee of the Bob’s Big Boy school) Though time had robbed them of the odd eyeball, And a shoulder or elbow had faded surreptitiously into the background. Much of a large sign remained as well, Appearing to be nothing less Than some leviathan’s abandoned crossword puzzle, Fairly shouting “THE B ST DA N STE K BETW N SYR C SE AND OT T WAOR Y UR MON Y B CK!” Nothing else remained, my companion intimated, Save the odd abandoned farmhouse and vestigial fields, With long unmended barbed-wire fences doing their level best To contain the ghosts of bygone and unlamented cows.
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May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
Ozzy and Mandy's Old Route 11 Diner, DeKalb Junction, New York
I cut it because, I know that I I don’t. A cold swollen body, Won’t always float. Saltwater’s more harsh, It stings in my throat. Traversing the seas In a decommissioned boat They say when the lungs, Swallow it in, You're taken over by calm, Three scars on your shin.
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Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 2:25 PM UTC
A book that I’ve already lived
The defeat that we thought of as not belonging to us greater since it was from its shadow shorter since we were from our sum located us in the map as this cloud that dropping the counterweights stood above us and broke into two
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Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
Decommissioned hour
It is decommissioned, off-limits, outright verboten, Yet is traversed nonetheless, Its patrons a mix of the pruriently curious, The thrill-seeker, the merely woebegone. As they have time on their side, The hub-bub of school buses and suburban commuters No concern as they navigate the buckled and broken asphalt (The conflagration underneath changing the topography Daily, sometimes even hourly) They will stop to paint some phrase, some bon mot On this roadway-cum-canvas: Mostly the narcissistic monologue we bray at the universe, The assertion that we were here, are here, And (though it is plaintive yet unspoken) that we always may be, Augmented with light hearted double entendres And grim, hectoring Biblical quotations, While not far away, the re-directed two lanes of blacktop Carry onward, indifferently proceeding on its way Through these stolidly scruffy old anthracite towns, Their landscapes and the ground beneath them Quiet as the sepulcher, the vagaries of their fates above the sod, Stalking them impassively yet implacably.
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Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 3:48 PM UTC
Another Highway 61, Cautiously Revisited
Once sprightly bright, not hunched, but tall Like a decommissioned kite, they fall They twirl and twindle, who knows how they'll land Who cares? They are but ground on which to stand Their brown cloth crumbles round their cage Now are naught, but stuff that leads to rage.
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Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
What am I?
The mind, like a fossil, is constantly trying to cling to its decommissioned past.
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Oct 25, 2021
Oct 25, 2021 at 1:26 PM UTC
Decommissioned Past
If love had a meter And inputs were measured, As a partner or a lover Would you be surpassed? Would you allow yourself to be cheated In order for the love to thrive or  even out-communicated Just to make sure the love survive? If love had a meter Would you allow lesser time And seek to do even better Just to make sure things were fine? If love was timed and monitored Would you willingly agree For your love meter to be decommissioned So our love can blossom and be free? If our movements were restricted Would you allow me to run freely, In no form or shape be intimidated Just to prove you love me dearly? If love depended upon equal inputs Would you be so caring and selfless To disregard the unwashed dishes and pots, My relaxed demeanors or care that I do less? IvanBrooksPoetry
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Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 5:54 AM UTC
Love Meter
I am just slowly rusting away like the Russian submarines left rote loaded with horrors that bring ecological havoc. I lose all feeling emotion I feel none functional. I was a top well oiled top of the line machine but time took its own path enstead of being decommissioned properly I was set off to expose toxins. I have no energy or any feeling to give a **** I have no control over my emotions or just simply to not give a crappie what any one says anymore. I have been holding and pulling along the weight of the world with no time to have a break I was used to hold on everyone's problem and there **** No I have been set off to rotate and rust with a arsenal or mass destruction and toxic chemicals that will destroy the economy systems Only if I was decommissioned properly I would still be pulling the weight of the world flawlessly
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May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 3:09 AM UTC
Figuring I'm broken finally