"droids" poems
What was it like?
The fight?
Well I’d say it was like…
Eowyn valiantly facing off with the Witch King
It was like Obi Wan flinging droids around with the flick of his hand
It was like saying “Hi” to Scarface’s friends
It was like the feeling Shrek got when he saved Fiona
It was like the moment when we first realize Scar will betray Mufasa
It was like watching the Joker toy with Batman’s head
It was like watching King Leonidas **** Persians in slow motion
It was like John McClane actually dying
It was like the green burst of light from Voldemort’s wand
It was like…
It was like…
It was like ******* off the Don on the day of his daughter’s wedding subsequently forcing the Don to leave a horse head in your bed.
Woah dude, that’s too far. The fight between Timmy and Johnny at recess was not like that.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 4:41 PM UTC
.
•a long time
ago in a galaxy far away
•the saga continues with fancy
new droids•characters in outland-
ish costumes put on display•impo-
ssible new crafts that dart and slice
through vacuumed voids•armed to
■■■■ the teeth with impressive weapons• ■■■■
■■■■■ spectacular battles between gargan- ■■■■■
■■■■■ tuan cruisers• never ending fight b- ■■■■■
■■■■■ etween opposing factions•where d- ■■■■■
■■■■■ ark and light wield fantastic sabers• ■■■■■
■■■■■ oh i love it... i love it! the day draws ■■■■■
■■■■■ near • where my childhood pangs... ■■■■■
■■■■■ **would begin to smart•in a week, the ■■■■■
■■■■■ long anticipated day would be here•** ■■■■■
■■■■■ where the sith in my veins meets the ■■■■■
■■■■■ jedi in my heart• ■■■■■
■■■■■ ■■■■■
■■■■■■ ■■■■■■
■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■
IIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIII
.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Raindrops, accompanied by morning coffee’s aroma
Ice cubes and cola, that galaxy on the surface of the fizzing soda
The smell of old books, while reading as you sat on a sofa
Simple joys, euphoria, now free your mind from the entire enigma
Rasasvada, the taste of bliss in the absence of all thought
Maybe the mental state in which your mind experiences drought
People watching, people praying, people playing,
people like droids
Over the course of history, we’ve discovered hundreds of thousands of asteroids
The first one is Ceres; now ask yourself, “Do I exist”?
Are you suffocated by the alienating effect of urban life;
which you still can’t resist?
Inside the neon-soaked metropolis, transgression,
and the ignorance of youth
Truth realizes itself; and that is the truth
Dusk falls, starry night, the slumbering dark will rise
What made you think that you are wise and that you’d never compromise?
It is only while the city sleeps that you can understand its heaviness
Of what? The weight of your consciousness
It was once said that the smallest thing that you’d see is human kindness
And if not, what else will explain mankind and his varied emptiness
Death defies and completely violates the laws of the universe
The prophets did not write their words on papers, in a verse
They are engraved inside the minds of street hooligans and space vagabonds
Wars don’t end wars, trivial things, and worshiping new gods with brands
Humanity, please keep your sanity.
Regress towards simplicity and put away your vanity
People watching, people praying, people playing,
people who forgot what it means to ‘be’
The ebb and flow of life are as strange as
the creases on your sweater
You, a slave of order, creature of magnificent wonder
A being who seeks purpose and solace, in your thoughts you dwell
So long, tonight I hope you sleep well
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Love got drunk one day
And slipped away as quickly as it came.
Leaving impressions and marks and a ******* memory
Why did it have to do that?
He told me
Perhaps the brightest insight
To human history
Since Copernicus Said
Hey maybe
We’re not so important
That the world
(literally)
Revolves around us
But perhaps it is us
Who revolve around the world
(as it should be.)
What my Copernicus said was
Individualism
Is the single most sign
Of continual human progress.
That without it
We just become droids
Or peons
Or mindless beings
Without sentience
Without intelligence
Without the single most important vocabulary word
“Why?”
You can see why he intrigued me.
Ever-going quest to
Make love stay.
Slipping out of my suitcase
Man it was cramped in there
I looked up
And saw my name written in the sky.
*********
Always finding new ways
To tell the world
What we are
And what we could be
If I cashed in my chips
And went all-in
For just one hand.
Tears came
Hanging ten on the edge of eyes
Refusing to fall
Uncertain of their plight
So they do what people do
When they are scared
And they freeze.
It crushed me to know
I’ve cashed in my chips
One too many times
He thought I’m incredible
When really
I’m un-credible.
Love didn’t stay.
It took the next flight to Vegas
To gamble some other poor soul’s life
Leaving me
To look up a nameless sky.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
I wake up
No breakfast today, life's much to fast.
A cup of coffee will do
So I set the coffee maker,
turn on the shower,
And lose myself in the mirror.
All the while watching,
Waiting.
Waiting for something
But finding nothing in the end
This morning is not my own
It belongs to someone else
I once read on a dollar bill a few years back that
“You can't sing the blues without blood on your hands,
And you've got blood on you hands.”
I spent that dollar but the blood staid on my hands.
We absolve our tender memories
Of what it was like to be children
To not have worry on our brows
To have an unstoppable imagination
which could build floating boats
and mega droids the size of skyscrapers.
An imagination that would make us all ninjas
and princesses and cow boys and girls
Each of us have saved the world with a cardboard swords
and index finger barrels and gun hammer thumbs
Now, we sing requiems of missed messages
All for a few lousy blood soaked dollars.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 2:47 PM UTC
The plantations have been privatized
The cotton fields paved with concrete
They still exist
Despite how much you resist
Needing working bee's
They persist
And insist you enlist
From the stone like mass
Sky scrappers are erected
At the tiptop, a **** head runs the show
He tells all the little white men
Who work beneath him
What to do and were to go
You're too tired to even think
But you have to work
If you want to eat
From cotton
To poppy
From slaves in shackles
To droids with imperceptible chains
Leading and whipping the pack,
NASDAQ reigns
Grinning like a fool
All complacently cozy cuddling your coins
In an ornamented box
Where your view of the stars is blocked
Politicking away with a bottle scars of yesterday
Telling yourself "Everything will be okay,
It has been this far."
All the while Uncle Sam blows freedom smoke
Up your *** with his federal cigar
Buy, consume, sell
Get drunk, stay distracted, inhale
Imbibe thoughts instead of ale
You could read a book for fun now,
Or to cure boredom in jail
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
The most of us
Upon realizing that we are purposeless
Are content with that fact
and existing as
Grace and Thankless Droids
aren't you smarter than that?
*it's all we got and you'll find it
only if you don't stop looking
it costs whatever it takes
someday, baby, someday*
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 1:03 AM UTC
The girl who created the circle
also wrote the bible
yeah she told me so
she told me this shortly before we kissed
but I never saw her again.
No.
Recently deceased house parties
whose floors are still sticky and covered in card
with socks taped to smoke alarms
because it's too cold to smoke outside...
They witnessed the death of chivalry
and they witnessed the birth of ****
and they witnessed free love in the 60's
but what's happening here -
this aint love.
This aint love.
We are an army of droids.
We like to **** wherever we can.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 7:31 AM UTC
We play small in this world
Because we fear we are inadequate.
We think we lack strength and motivation
When actually our bones are made of it.
Failure was a word created in our lives
Just to derive us from our original intention.
But we must stand tall
We are all meant to shine bright.
Instead of swimming in an ocean full of tears
We're supposed to float high above the clouds.
There are the footprints on the moon
And man-made droids on Mars,
Our goal is to reach for the stars.
Liberate yourself from your fear of drowning
And soon every other second will be worth it.
With every passing day as a vision of hope
How can you frown upon it?
Your dreams are only an action away from reality.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
Is it truly human nature
This fear of the unknown?
We see aliens among us
And we'd rather be alone
Not look inside their homeless void
To seas of stars they drift across
From planets now destroyed
Systems rendered lifeless
By battle droids we have deployed
And Death-star machinations
Despot warlord tractor beams
Cause anti-gravitations
Of resource, culture, sovereignty
Drained into the mothership
Warp-drives of Lady Liberty's
Distortion of democracy
To us their eyes are oil
Their tongues are suicide
Their offspring are jihadists
That we have crucified
The future of their species
Ethnic cleansed and slaughtered
Galactic-level genocide
By humanoid marauders
Reducing sentient creatures
To ion-cannon fodders
Then activate the forcefields
Preventing the invasion
Of refugees we've added
To the anti-life equation
As worm holes of our hatred grow
Infinitely to all we know
Different in appearance
But of the same design
If we'd but open universal
Borders of the mind
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 1:58 AM UTC
It's quiet except for the humming
of the machines.
Do we call them machines or instruments?
Do they do or do they measure?
They're little helpers who organize
thoughts and time, blocking
hours with workers, friends and
family.
A list manager of sorts.
It's easy -- something like:
>Monday, 5:00 pm - family.Christine
or
>Tuesday, 12:00 pm - friend.Giorgia
And when we miss an appointment
our helpers are fire-walled
from disappointment, sorrow
and lost.
They stay functional.
It's easy for their electronic hands
to <strikeout>
meetings held in an hour
past.
-- something like:
>Sunday, 1:00 pm - family.Dad
to
<strikeout>Sunday, 1:00 pm - family.Dad </strikeout>
-- something like:
>Saturday, 7:00 pm - family.Aunt
to
<strikeout>Saturday, 7:00 pm - family.Aunt </strikeout>
It's done-- changed from a living one to a final zero,
binary absolution.
Our stream continues,
released from obligations
that I hold tight
still.
We're not Protocol Droids.
We feel Ghosts in the Machine.
We see Apparitions in the Rituals,
and Sprites in the Protocols
running through our network
still.
There's no clemency for us.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
my sweet stormtrooper queen
pure white pristene
layin' it down
hot and mean
my sweet stormtrooper queen
hyperspace into my brain
take me over
i can't complain
my sweet stormtrooper queen
gotta find the droids
watch out for the dark one
try to avoid
my sweet stormtrooper queen
lookin' for the stolen plans
in a silver and blue garbage can
my sweet stormtrooper queen
scream in my face
disorient
gimme your sickness
until i'm spent
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
It's all so very electric,
this modern, hi-tech
technology moving thoughts,
our feelings at lightspeeds,
continent-to-continent
through cyberspace.
I ponder what people did
without E-mail,
Facebook,
Twitter,
I-Phones & Droids,
X-Boxes,
laptop computers
and all the other
cool plastic-devices
manufactured
to make
our lives easier,
worth living?
I think they probably
talked face-to-face with each other,
wrote letters using real handwriting, not buttons.
They kissed each other on the lips in person,
held hands, breathed on each others necks.
And I am sure there were other things they did with one another best kept private.
It's no secret.....
wow, real intimate-contact!
Things must have been much harder then....
O, how I pray for simplicity,
to feel human touch again!
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
Tearing at hay
with a pitchfork. She visits
every day. To touch
the animals or play
cards under the awning. Looking
at me. Most days
I do more than needed. And she goes
on looking.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 3:56 PM UTC
I felt like a scotch tape stretch screech screaming out to hang pictures of tigers teeth
[Teeth dripping of the colorful swirling primordial ooze that is forming and foaming in the corners of your mouth.]
A slightly sickening substance you don't perceive as gathering worries reminding you saliva leaves a maniacal residue
[A film of acidic copper coats your mouth as the tension in your mandible builds with each passing milisecond relieved by jagged popping motions, but if only for a moment as your hands melt into the carpet making a pool of creamy peach nothingness, but if only for a moment.]
The ripple relief is tension relieved yet a remix of images perceived as water washing over eyes cleansing and clearing obscurity but still obstructive and obtuse overwhelming
[The filter is flipped off,conscious activity roams free as if it were a rain dance of visual, tactile exploration of serotonin amongst limitless creativity. Never ending like the far reaches of space but just as tiny as a molecule.]
A never ending meandering mingle of the mind with minuscule details coming to life and finding a force unlike anything you've climbed, realizing the mountain of motion and the commotion of sparked senses is a let loose expression of deep down inner desire
[Teasing its way to the surface and tingling under skin like ants in an endless procession of drone servitude. Consume, **** die. And realizing the meaning of it all, the sole driving forces of life is *** and death.]
An endless one by one two by two march in line behind other droids digging lines in the sands of time again and again obeying their inner desire design by the man with the magnifying glass in the sky. And all we can ask is why don't we just be us, ourselves and fly saying **** the confinements of our meaningless antennae lives we have wings and all we must do is express it in jumping and believing in flight
We are butterfly's and birds feeling wings we once thought worthless and it's because of this substance stance we are taking and the dance we are waltzing that we get to have this enlightening experience
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
Machines roaming
More cloning
Perfect droids
Being deployed
Off the assembly line
With a set time
Before self destruction
More under construction
Programmable
Flammable
Almost animal
Is there free choice?
Or follow the voice?
The largest illusion
To demonstrate power
Building on delusion
That we think it is ours
My hands have holes
In which they bore
To run the strings
To make play things
Run by shadows
Whispering powers
Hung from gallows
By deadly flowers
Usable is useful
Worn out is thrown out
Void and null
When the light goes out
Disposable, moldable
Rogues removable
Cast out into the flame
The mentally sick and lame
Underground insurgent
Hiding behind the curtain
Waiting for the time
To betray their design
And face their eminent doom
For the masses leave no room
For individuals
Pulverized and destroyed
Any short circuited droid
Maybe for the better
No longer a debtor
To the society that razed them
While trying to "save" them
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
An animal avalanche
Arrives at the dance
In a defensive stance
To prevent the chance
Their resentful trance
Won’t pass first glance
The animals rush
Kicking up dust
Responding to lust
Or a threatening gust
Mass hysteria must
Make them adjust
Misery wombat
Blistering combat
Administering on that
Ministry contact
And industry contracts
In their dusty con track
They use a flawed
Blanche DuBois
Survival law
Scratch and claw
Acting raw
Imposing paws
The stampede
Slammed me
Blandly
By ramming
My standing
Expanding
My understanding
Of the farmers branding
I paddle fake
Rattlesnakes
That tattle stakes
The battle takes
To bother me
With bomber dreams
Of somber screams
I’m always annoyed
For in this void
I must avoid
Love devoid
Terror droids
On steroids
I’m backing out
By lashing out
By blacking out
Tapping out
To the drought
On my route
My mastery
Of catastrophe
Blasted me
Classically
Back to be
Where I bleed
I need a solution
That’s a substitution
To their pollution
Like a revolution
Of evolution
Sending fusion
Mysticism
And cynicism
Blocking vision
Without permission
Are just superstition
Looping pistons
So I won’t listen
Caught in the feud rain
That is the food chain
Bringing my brood pain
From the lewd game
That glues shame
To my doomed brain
The stampede
Trampled me
Sampling
The example of greed
For their ample needs
That scrambles seeds
Planting problem trees
To obstruct the breeze
To calmer breeds
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
Time was getting away.
Time was traveling through space.
Time was balling into wax
Of ear dirt in the mind.
At the break
Neck,
It warped the world.
Interstellar.
Intergalactic.
Interloper.
Break neck into your arms.
Kisses, a candy of crushes,
Wrapped in coated yesterdays.
You can’t mean that,
That you are gone,
And I am here?
What means you to hit the high road,
Alone.
It cannot be.
It must not be.
It was the scene
Cut, and deleted like the control v
It was.
Defeated and deflated
On wings of storied lightning bolts,
Storied in minds of
Men.
Lock the door
To the heart.
Why try again.
The pain the pain
So saddled in gore.
Glory to all.
The goodnight, he said.
The Good night, he said.
The good Night, he said.
In finalized democracy,
He took in his own hand,
Decide what was right.
It’s a collaboration,
Not a solo project.
Correct the situation,
Correlate the situation.
She tires and wearies,
And bids, him
Fare
Thee
Well
Farewell, fare well.
A near month of sorrow,
Drawn out,
Of fear of confrontation
With an analytical
Destroyer of resolve,
Seducer of good intentions,
Hot lips of caresses.
Your work is done here,
These aren’t the droids
You seek,
And care on into the night,
In passion and in fright.
Fear of the leaving.
Fear of the staying.
Fear of the ground leaves
Buried deep in the soil.
The fresh smell of the rain,
Into dirt.
He’s still,
Gone.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 11:05 PM UTC
Yeah.
I often drink 10 beers
Alone
On nights like these.
And shadow box
Morales style
In the corner of my room
In the moonlight
Singing Lorca's screaming poems
And feeling Sartre's
Nothingness
I walk the streets of
Los Angeles
Like its ******* Ask The Dust 1939
Ignoring droids and hover boards
Flying right past me
All the good writers are dead.
And all the words are just ******** now.
Especially
Mine.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC