"driverless" poems
We laugh.
We have too.
When automotive executives speak about the electric cars running the future.
Why?
You say.
Okay, for a better word ask?
Many of us aware this will only work completely if they eliminate gasoline.
Yes, if our government legislature passes a law stating it.
We saw how they dictate high definition rules with television to the states.
The electric car reminds us of the fools behind driverless cars.
That alone is a hipster joke to various people.
A mind must operate the various options of the automotive.
When to stop?
When to move?
We know mistakes have occurred presently with this method
What's next?
Driverless planes with no pilot aboard.
Calling all mountains, look out!
Calling all skyscrapers, be aware!
Even other aircraft just flying in the air.
So, here we are?
Listening to others pushing the electric car.
Eventually, you have to charge it.
****
How long with that be?
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 7:37 PM UTC
There is no driver - go anywhere for a fiver
Pod - cars troll Milton Keynes by no means
seen piloted in four years time - where's mine?
Then they come together in the land of never - never
The sat-nav tells us where we're going
ready to alight when it's finally slowing
what will they think of next? Send a text
with your suggestion - normality's in regression
No one is to blame when there's an accident
nothing is seen to describe an incident
however, at least no one can go on strike
and I won't be reduced to travel by bike
The atmosphere is electric, technology hectic
it was bad enough when we decided to go metric!
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 2:20 PM UTC
More urgently than driverless cars
we need more car-less drivers!
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
I passed a drifter sitting on the edge
Of the I-49 on-ramp
As he gave me a fleeting glance
With his thumb up-stretched.
Then I passed a driverless car
On the highway's shoulder,
Dented and sun-bleached,
Whose owner is probably sitting in a cell.
Every commuter and traveller:
We all pass these stranded souls
And remnants on our way to wherever,
Without a second thought.
The shredded tires and shattered bumpers;
Skid marks as a testament.
They might as well not exist.
Just last night I read about some woman
Seen on a security camera in New York --
Eating a burger, of all things --
Witnessing a car plow into three people on a sidewalk
Across the street from her.
She turned around, walked off.
Two people died in that moment.
It makes me think about those charity commercials
Of starving children that no one likes to watch,
And how the marketing team thought
Those desperate scenes might inspire
Someone to help.
But, even when tragedy is right next to someone,
They seem to go about their business:
Business as usual.
We have left ourselves alone,
And alone we decay.
By: Forrest Jorgensen ©
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Ones and zeros hold the key
For the eventual displacement of you and me
Must we unbind our worth perceived
From the job and identity we’ve received?
Seems so I’d say, why just this year
A driverless truck crossed the country clear
We must keep meaning, a useful place
for to preserve the human race
Or will it be synthetic ******
While good ole’ Maxo does our chores
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 11:11 AM UTC
Many conspiracy theories get the connections and convolutions right. What they get wrong is the distracting end game, when the truth's so clear. Just look at the results. The rich and powerful always escape culpability, escape punishment. If the evidence proves too blatant, creating nets of legal and PR complexities keep the farce of "justice for all," while maintaining their Old World nobility.
Victorian inbreds and mobster charlatans, cutting corners and destroying civic morals, just to grab up more Earth. Soon their cheapness will became ubiquitous. They'll all end up in imploding pleasure submarines, dining on deadly raw foie gras, or barreling off a crumbling bridge in a driverless car.
Aug 13, 2024
Aug 13, 2024 at 11:51 AM UTC
All that remains
is the semblance of a human culture
that used predication and harsh lines
to guide the gray sedans
driverless
parked along the highway
blanketed in this dust
obvious orange glows indicate it is always dusk here
but I have a pizza riding safely in the backseat
I have to go to my sister’s apartment
the bank teller
with a one bedroom apartment
cat
grocery list
and a square sedan of the future
sleek grays and other deceptions
have rendered this entire City worthless
cars are there to remind me
muzac is all we have here
so silence truly is golden.
Never burst through a door in this City exclaiming you have a pizza. Rather place it gently down
on the plastic wooden dinette set that is never used while
a T.V. is on and buzzers are buzzing
audiences are oohing, and static light emanates
from this one bedroom hell hole designed to interpret
gray as a new City Ordinance.
My sister has officially declared herself mayor of Grey Symmetry City.
(This is my definite clue to bounce)
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 12:22 AM UTC
He liked the idea of space.
The final frontier.
Smoking stars on Saturn's rings.
Yeah, that would do it.
The five o’clock rush was a *****
The eight a.m. rush was a double *****
***** ***** *****
People on phones.
Wanting to know how their shares were performing.
The wife trying on outfits.
That’s a performance.
Your shares, Titanic comes to mind.
Yes sir, your shares are performing just as i told you they would.
They’re somewhere in between my lies, and my imagination.
They say we’ll be driving driverless cars soon.
The five o’clock rush is now down to just a *****
The eight a.m. ***** *****
Two driverless cars were caught at a strange hotel.
The court ruling found in favour of the drivers, Mr X, and Mrs X.
Blaming software problems.
The judge put that into his little black book.
Yes sir, not only would i put my life savings into that company, i would remortgage my house.
Nice little island in the sun, no phones.
The crash was blamed on driverless cars.
No one at the helm.
The judge was having none of it.
Subpoenas were flying in all directions.
Mr and Mrs X had fled the country.
It was all in the little black book.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
THERE WAS NO TIME TO WAIT TODAY,
YOU HAD TO CATCH THE NEXT LIFE OR STAY FOREVER,
THERE WAS A WINDOW WHICH WOULD OPEN FOR YOU,
TO GIVE YOU A CHANCE TO USE GOOD ENDEAVOUR,
AND WHEN YOU GOT THERE IT WOULD START AGAIN,
A NEVER ENDING CIRCLE, A DRIVERLESS TRAIN;
I WALK BACK THRO' CARRIAGES TO FIND THE DRIVER
BUT THERE IS NONE - ONLY GOD IS IN CONTROL,
ONLY GOD WILL TELL YOU WHEN ITS TIME TO GET OFF,
YOUR STOP, YOUR DESTINY IS NEVER ENOUGH
TO SLOW THE TIME, WHETHER YOURS OR MINE;
THE ASTEROID IS COMING, YOU HAD SO MANY YEARS,
TOO LATE FOR TRAINS, TOO LATE FOR TEARS,
I'LL CATCH THE NEXT LIFE TO ALLAY MY FEARS.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC
written a long time ago.
Aghast
Sans shutting the dresser fast
Lest drawing to cloths to the past.
Akin to dredging up sedimentary muck
That metaphors me whence getting stuck
During adolescence – which lasted decades
each 'n to barreling driverless
heading toward
a garbage disposal dump peed truck
when me entire being felt utter yuck
Holograms of former life inhabit
childhood each dresser drawer
Which furniture about five feet from top to floor
Encapsulates invisible fractals
of me and contrived lore
Iron nick lee, the latter increases
as sands of time increase more
Find mine gaze drawn to hash marks
(from Matthews’) fingers did score
Within the veneer epitomizing strife that tore
And rent psyche asunder
exemplifying unseen civil war
That raged within façade of placidity
Hosting mailer daemons in this yahoo –
nobody could see
Re:
Clawing to cleave copper handles of me
Synonymous with malevolent genie
Hell bent of wreaking havoc
and thus clamored to break free
From shuttered jumbled wardrobe
stale garments some mold e
bereft of taking a tumble
in washer and dryer to air
Perspiration from boyhood pores,
with a skinny body when bare
As would be immediately clear
By many I did fear
Whose gaze akin to a scorching glare
Exhuming a suffer 'n soul silent leer,
especially when viewer near
Gaze glued at tchotchkes
like skeletal frame, with palm sized rear
Analogous to that boudoir – over there
Where housed baggy garments,
yes even under wear
Ill fitting hardly worn hand me downs
a haunting clasp from yesteryear!
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC
Prototype robotic semi-trailer truck gets rolled out.
It’s tricked out with speed control, radar, lidar,
Autonomous braking, collision avoidance,
Sensors, cameras, GPS.
All manner of state-of-the-art tech replaces the driver,
The imperfect driver
Who needs to sleep, who stops to eat,
Who speeds, snorts amphetamines, smashes into hapless sedans.
The automated truck has no such weakness, ten-four good buddy.
"The driverless future," a suit boasts in boardroom.
Another job fades, like waning daylight
On that endless ribbon of highway.
Shortly, pitch darkness will descend
And envelop the countryside.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 2:28 AM UTC
Hanes moves to New York a week after our meeting. I ask him why on the phone when he tells me.
"To get away from all this normalcy. I can feel it leaking into my pores like a hot honey. It drags me down...weighs me down. **** I've lived out there before, I could probably do it again."
I tell him he'll be fine. He doesn't say anything, but I hear him nod into the receiver, knowing full well we both know being fine is worse than being suicidal. At least with that, there's some risk.
We hang up and I look out the window of my apartment. It's trash day and the sun is high up in the sky, glowing hot like a new light bulb. There's not even a wind in the air. The trees that stand behind the apartments across the street are still. They bring back an image I'd seen of 50 places to visit before you die. Four trees cast in black shadows with a backdrop of hot orange rock. The sun looked to be burning the hillside with its heat. There was no life, just rock, sand, and near to death bushes that looked more like piles of ash than shrubs. Wonder was not the first feeling I had when I saw the photograph; it was abandon.
Overflowing trash cans and driverless cars are the only things on the streets. Everyones at work. Gotta' make money somehow. My desk is spotted with empty coffee cops and half empty red wine bottles. Folded pieces of paper with squiggly black pens marks are jammed in between books I've been telling myself to read for months. My gaze slides back to my window and I wonder where all the drivers are to these empty cars. Somewhere else, I tell myself.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC