"generated" poems
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This poem is self translated version of my Hindi language poem titled "शिव लीला" published in pratilipi on (June. 2018) Can be read through the link ==>> https://bit.ly/2Z9Z57t
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His neck has entirely turned blue due to Kalkoot, This is just a Leela of Shiva
He has taken everyone's pain and sorrow for the betterment of the world
He is the keeper of all the three loka's and also called as Trilokinath
He hold the holy Ganga in his locks, but do not drinks a drop from it
He sits on the yellow Tiger skin mat and keeps meditating for years to come
He satiates hunger by Datura and Madaar and drinks Bhang to quench thirst
He has a marvellous third eye through which all the three lokas are visible
Sitting in the Mahayoga posture, He keeps on concentrating and meditating
Brahma and Vishnu also bows before him with respect and feels blessed
Such a beautiful holy Leela of Shiva. Nothing else but Shiva's holy Leela
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Kalkoot(Line 1): A poison generated due to Samudra Manthan ( The Churning of the Ocean by Devtas[Gods] and Asuras[Demons] )
Leela(Line 1): "Divine Play" (Just a pastime)
Shiva(Line 1): A God (The Destroyer) in Hindu Mythology
Loka(Line 3): Three three different worlds/realms. Swargaloka, the land of gods; Mrityuloka, the middle kingdom of men; and Pataloka, home of the Asuras, the fallen gods, and demons.
Trilokinath(Line 3): The Lord of the Three world/realms.
Ganga (Line 4): The Holy river whose flow and speed is controlled by the locks (Jatas - The thick hair strands) of Lord Shiiva
Datura and Madaar (Line 6): Poisonous plants (Datura stramonium and Calotropis gigantean)
Bhang (Line 6): Poisonous plants (Cannabis Plant)
Mahayoga (Line 8): Also called as Mahamudra – The Great Gesture (a posture for meditating)
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 12:15 PM UTC
Hypothetical lust
Generated electrical impulses,
The very same that stirred your heart.
Pulse – stifled, still,
Cochlear arousal (still)
The same that heard "I love you"
Physically imprisoned,
We tremble from the pain
Yours in your mind, mine in my brain
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 1:19 AM UTC
was uttered in a
computer generated,
non-demeaning,
gender neutral tone
by the impersonal,
unemotional,
automated,
grocery checkout machine.
"Enter your customer ID now!"
demands the artificial human.
"And... if I don't?"
I query the metallic shell
of what once was
a minimum wage employee.
There was no reply.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
i.
mo chroí, do not dismay, we art not chained global slave's, as tis
We art ourn father God's chosen; we need to bringeth hope to those lost, wearied and broken.
ii.
mo bhanríon, these stanza's art ourn song's, ourn voices shalt carry on, as peach-faced lovebird's in the dawn;
iii.
a chuisle mo chroí, holdeth me closer, embrace mine visage, we must be Argus-eyed, in the coming soon explosional shock, for this terrace of dirt shalt shaketh as rock's, back to the sand- dusted, eleven-fifty-nine's on the clock;
iv.
We were created together, verily for this reason, to emit forgiveness and compassion, if even for one planetary season; also we were generated distances ago, then we were soulmates as still now- though then at that time, thou didst not know. I weaved intimately in and back out of thy soul, thine past spirit memory faded, before now I was thy king and thy whole. When we were sent to earth to taketh human form, ourn affections from kingdom's ago were forgotten and mourned, though tis mine lass when I saweth thee again, I kneweth thou were me, as tis I'm thee mine sweet, mine Jane, mine best friend. So now that I haveth thee again, back Into mine reach; we'll spend eternity with the saint's, well learn together, and we shalt teach......
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose ) dedication
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
a HOME credible THE BISHOP accusation ADMINISTRATION is PARISHES one MINISTRIES that, SCHOOLS after RESOURCES review SAFE ENVIRONMENT of EMPLOYEES reasonably CAREERS available, CONTACT US relevant MAKE A GIFT information BISHOP’S FAITH APPEAL in LOVE AND JUSTICE consultation AFRICAN AMERICAN MINISTRY with CATHOLIC CHARITIES the PLANNED GIVING Diocesan CHANCELLOR Review OFFICE OF CONSTRUCTION Board HISPANIC MINISTRY or CAMPUS MINISTRY other CRIMINAL JUSTICE MINISTRY professionals, STEWARDSHIP AND COMMUNICATIONS there YOUTH MINISTRY is FINANCIAL SERVICES reason MODERATOR OF THE CURIA to MAKE A GIFT TO THE CAPITAL CAMPAIGN believe SOCIAL MEDIA POLICY is FAMILY LIFE MINISTRY true VOCATIONS
The soup today is not what it could be;
We’d better search out the old recipe
Explanatory Note:
I fear the poem as written fails, which is my fault (perhaps I have lapsed into fuzziness from reading Leonard Cohen), so here is a bit of exposition:
The words in small print are a quote from the Bishops of Texas (long may they wave), generated by some in-house scrivener, about what constitutes a "credible accusation." "Credible accusation" is not a title in civil, criminal, or canon law, and it appears to be some sort of Article 58 (cf. Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago), a means whereby anyone is guilty because he has been accused. It stinks.
Also stinky is the behavior of some few priests and religious.
Anyway, I pulled the quote from a diocesan web site, and scattered among it in LARGE TYPE categories from that site. I stirred 'em all up in a soup because the matter of paedophilia and the bishops' responses seem to be a soup, making it difficult for a "good simpleton" (cf A Canticle for Leibowitz) like me to understand.
May God have mercy on us all.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
Home and contentment are synonymous
The desire to reach,
while innate or evident
quiet or curious
keeps a continuum over discrepant cultures, the world over
An opulence of love and warmth
Having one ingredient can make fertile the other
One without the match, make an ordinary or secondary batch
Making one rich with joy, their other can be broke and remote
seeking satisfaction
Home is not a location
or bricks of residence
But a written word in deep established sentiment
An atmosphere cloaked in the unfalter
The taking of arms to conclude their hold
developed in elements of the affectionate
No disaster, constructed or natural
could alter
As I am now,
locked in the shadow of shades lost
surrendering independent power in a momentary yield,
On hands and knees, bloodshot and in need of a shield...
In need of my one...
the imperative relevance of feeling her
That selfish influential significance that creates safe harbor at journeys end
Generated by the glow of resolve
in the home of her arms contentment
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 9:04 AM UTC
Even as I grow up
All I have learned
Generated from
Living as a scout
Everybody proud of me
Started when you said I
Could fly with the Eagles
Only took me 7 years
Under your wing I fly
Till the end
A tribute to my dad. The man who taught me how to fly with eagles. Ill fly with you again someday. I love you.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 5:42 PM UTC
SpongeBob SquarePants is an American animated television series created by marine biologist and animator Stephen Hillenburg for Nickelodeon. The series chronicles the adventures and endeavors of the title character and his various friends in the fictional underwater city of Bikini Bottom. The series' popularity has made it a media franchise, as well as Nickelodeon network's highest rated show, and the most distributed property of MTV Networks. The media franchise has generated $8 billion in merchandising revenue for Nickelodeon.
Many of the ideas for the series originated in an unpublished, educational comic book titled The Intertidal Zone, which Hillenburg created in the mid-1980s. He began developing SpongeBob SquarePants into a television series in 1996 upon the cancellation of Rocko's Modern Life, and turned to Tom Kenny, who had worked with him on that series, to voice the titular character. SpongeBob was originally to be named SpongeBoy, and the series was to be called SpongeBoy Ahoy!, but these were changed, as the name was already trademarked.
The series was previewed on Nickelodeon in the United States on May 1, 1999, following the television airing of the 1999 Kids' Choice Awards, and officially premiered on July 17, 1999. It has received worldwide critical acclaim since its premiere and gained enormous popularity by its second season. The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie, a feature-length film adaptation, was released in theaters on November 19, 2004, and a sequel is currently in production, with a projected release date of February 13, 2015. On July 21, 2012, the series was renewed and aired its ninth season, beginning with the episode "Extreme Spots".[2][3]
Despite its widespread popularity, the series has been involved in several public controversies, including one centered around speculation over SpongeBob SquarePants' intended ****** orientation. The series has been nominated for a variety of different awards, including 17 Annie Awards (with six wins), 17 Golden Reel Awards (with eight wins), 15 Emmy Awards (with one win), 13 Kids' Choice Awards (with 12 wins), and four BAFTA Children's Awards (with two wins). In 2011, a newly described species of mushroom, Spongiforma squarepantsii, was named after the cartoon's title character.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Have you watched the vast Sky?
Do you allow yourself to do this?
Are there any chances in life
To make you provide extra time?
In the morning, before Sun-rise
The Western Sky will be bright
With wonderful display of clouds
A beautiful look, Sky will have
When Sun comes graciously
What a wonderful light display!
Announcing His nice arrival
Clouds will run ecstatically
In the evening when Sun sets
Like a shy girl's lovely cheeks
Eastern Sky will be romantic
Giving red carpet to the Moon
After hard-work done for that day
Sun will go elsewhere to do duty
Twenty four hours are His service
No rest at all and so truly unique
All the stars come during the night
To give us joy and peace and hope
Their twinkling will be remarkable
They only preserve our happiness
The Sky is a place of real bliss
As rain and light come from there
Heat also is by the Sun generated
Moon is a boon supplying wonder
Today watch the Sky for a change
You will be flooded by thoughts
A new idea will emerge in mind
Surely this will act as a remedy.
mvvenkataraman
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 1:46 PM UTC
The Creator looked at the elephant and said:
I made you big so you could be gentle
To the mouse he said: I made you small
so you could walk tall
But over millions of years you two could exchange
places and one become the other.
I know I shoved the lot of you in an Ark
Because Noah was being a pesk asking for rain
when his washing machine ran dry
So I had to fill the oceans to stop that old man
from complaining all the time. Besides I needed the bark
from the trees of the Ark to make me a small tug boat
to carry some DNA samples of my own, in case,
the lion ate the cow, the tiger chewed on the cat
and the fox tricked the rest with his cunning ways
You see, my friends, there was no grass, or snakes
or bird cages, or trees for the monkeys to swing on.
I thought of many things before I gave the building plans
to Noah and his sons. Only one was a builder the rest
were bums, who never held a hammer or learned how to
tie two bits of trees together, leave alone building
an ark to hold the worlds whole creation.Thankfully
there were no real estate agents pushing the price up
or bankers charging interest. The mafia thought of charging
an entrance fee for each pair, but before they could do that the rains came pelting down and the tickets got washed away in the storm.
So you see the Ark was a joint venture between
The Americans and Chinese and Indians
because they were willing to multiply quicker
than the rest once Mt Sinai rose up to meet the
oak leviathan from underneath.
And so my dear elephants and mouse
and fox and snake and bird and
lion and tiger. Noah and his wonderful Ark
was a script written well ahead so that Russell Crowe could get
a part playing Noah in a computer generated extravaganza
where only the actors and actresses who could afford
to pay a price to be in it - were involved.
The rest of mankind be ******
Author Notes
Quirky.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
Are we capable of making sensible choices?
when our own logic is generated from organic matter; a brain heavily influenced; fueled on random flashes, hormones, pheromones, testosterone, diet, desire, the air we breath, the need to *** or a simple cup of tea; all of which alters our body ~ ((Our chemical bag)); a fragile echo system constantly at odds with other elements.
Our fuel, our input influences the way we think, Yet our ego tells us that we are in control; and that we makes our own choices.
Put your hands on your hearts people! and tell me how many sensible choices have we acutely made!
I'm personally content that some seemingly bad choices have turned out quite nice!
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 7:39 AM UTC
Lights turn on,
and it wakes me.
I want you to know how it feels like to be in my shoes, just like how you wish that everyone can feel the same as you, and despite all of the feelings in this world that are generated by the same kind of source; love and hate, kindness and cruelty, sadness and happiness, we still fail at agreeing on the only great fate for us as we are reluctant to determine what is really right for us and therefore, in return, we can never leave our mark in any era, any generation that we are in, for the failure to avoid our will to consume from the deep within will ensure that we will endure another war, another famine, another epidemic that can only be undone by us, by having empathy and love towards one another.
Lights dim,
and it shatters me.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 10:40 PM UTC
I think the subject which will be of most importance politically is Mass Psychology... Its importance has been enormously increased by the growth of modern methods of propaganda. Although this science will be diligently studied, it will be rigidly confined to the governing class. The populace will not be allowed to know how its convictions are generated.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
<> The human genome consists of 20 000 paired genes… about…
<> During meiosis, gametes are generated by randomly swapping genetic material… let's shout…
<> 2^(20 000) = 10^(6 000) possible ***** (proud of daddy)… boy scout…
<> 2^(20 000) = 10^(6 000) possible ova (proud of mommy)… far-out…
<> 2^(40 000) = 10^(12 000) possible zygotes… freak out…
<> 1 zygote in 10^(12 000) = Improbable Me… no doubt!
;-))
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
Strangers
Trained to
Restrain
Against unknown.
Newly
Generated
Endeavours
Revealing
Strangers to the world.
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
Have you ever wondered if this world is the actual
hell we live in and if we are being tested
by how well we deal?
We are living in a place where pain, suffering,
and then ultimately death are of everyday existence
I understand that perception is everything here
and this world is an illusion generated by our perception
I am not trying to be a downer but the more I live
in this world the more I see it as a nightmare
that some days I just want to wake up from
This is not coming from my religious beliefs and I am
not saying that I am not grateful for everything I do have
Compared to a lot of other people in this world I do not
have it so bad and I know this. This is coming from
a thought process I have been trying to come to terms with
Is there a bright light at the end of this very dark tunnel?
Of course we all have different journey's to take to get us
to that tunnel but while we are here our paths do cross from
time to time and we all have some of the same pains
sufferings and even death to overcome
My point is this...
We are all living in this hell together
Let's get through this hell together
This thought has become a shining
Ray of light in this dark
Find some comfort in this
and
Perhaps there is hope for us all
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC
Let’s take a silver train underground
to the back streets of Atlantis
thru the corrugated iron roots &
then to the peak itself, to the
saddle of the last ridge past strewn
boulders,
finally meandering thru cascading snow
wearing miner’s hats on the perpendicular
dark night &
going up to the edge of the Southern Cross
where we reach at last the pure white
glistening glaciers &
begin to chant over bones in rags
of Scorpio
Armless in the sticky substance how could
they ever have had a chance?
Permission will not be required
only poems of blood offered to
the memory of TREE
It is not ice which is eternal
but the fury of the absolute
separating the void from the spirit
of man,
uplifting like life when it is used
against itself,
that is, Radical Love -- & again, we
are reduced to living beings
Caught by the instant
we are taken away
We live in the imprint of the flame
& we are helmeted within the internal
blackness
where the ray begins its passage
across the indignant sky
Vain clouds uncaring in a tangle of
crossbeams
culminate in the hermaphroditic mirror
of the epileptic dancer
asleep
And during sleep
the light is joined
to the light
It is all a matter of getting up
and then to abandon the pain
It is there that the journey beings
in the self generated flame of
Spontaneous Combustion
(Swayambhunath)
The main line running counter
to the triangle comprising the
MAELSTROM, the DOLDROMS & the
SARGASSO SEA where sleeping Atlanteans
dream forever,
this line, this battlefield of the ages,
crosses the divide of my most wandering
backdoor heart.
We will all have to go
if we want to reappear
in the rhythm of the ritual
It’s the wheel of fools spinning
over my bed
If I put my left foot first
they will find a way to call me
by that name
tracking tremors
like glyphs
on drunken walls
in the negative palace
just before taking eave
of my senses
the white powder dissolves
in the sunlight
& making noise like a peacock
he hops on one foot up the mountain.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:07 PM UTC
I feel a grim satisfaction as mud splatters on my white shoes.
What an appropriate metaphor for early adulthood.
My problems are not my own.
The sociological imagination has never
seemed so applicable.
We’ve all been dosed up
On dashes of passion,
splashes of intelligence
and just enough anxiety and depression
to approach existential nihilism and
We’re fed these lies of individuality but
We Know
we are only products of our youth and culture,
ones of many in the long production line
We claim
We are Art,
but We Feel
we’re just generated from streams of code,
prepared to fight to the death for
some algorithm that doesn’t even matter
And so I protest
I can’t just be a number
I am flesh and blood,
my knees are buckling under the
weight of this artificial perfection.
I’m not just a number,
My eyes are staring at the
the marks that
determine my worth, knowing
success is my only option
i am not just a number
My sanity is sinking and
drowning and
constantly fighting to stay afloat
But I am not just a number. -
My mind tells me I’m not making it--
How are these other people making it?
I’m determining my worth
on sets of standards that are as worthy as dust
And it is with these standards i am told
I am just a number.
I feel like
I can no longer speak
because I’ve been
shouting
at the top of my lungs
I AM NOT JUST A NUMBER
But my voice
is too quiet
And the world
is too loud.
I’m so tired of trying to be heard.
Yet these words still sound better
when I scream them,
not just scrawl them down
on scraps of paper.
for someone so happy
I'm so very angry.
for someone so happy
I'm so very sad.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
my heart is wire and sinew
processing speeds and generated power
a motherboard that beats, beats, beats
you're a human, but baby,
I'm a machine
I'll keep powered until the day
my software is outdated
my ram slows down
the blue screen of death flickers
where I never reboot again
trade me in for a newer model
my feelings are connected to electricity
I've already processed my own abandonment
and have already grieved your absence
in a million different codes of binary
I remember your hands on my keys
you pushed all of my buttons
knew every function inside and out
you turned me on and kept me going
you are the spark that ran my code
but now, despite my own wishes
I'm made to keep running
I'll whirl and click and buzz and work
and for a moment, I nearly believed
that a machine could feel love
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
///
After born, a child subconsciously
engaged with the nature
she (nature)doesn't play well as usual,
all the time of his life
because someone somehow
plays the negative role with her
He who does not know the life,
and doesn't know how and why
she originated the waterfall,
And generated a vigorous stream
but when someone cuts in the face of a river,
and moving water whatever he liked
otherwise, his own purpose ( in a negative sense)
Day by day the river moved slowly
slowly and slowly,
water didn't carry,
the overdue sediments toward the sea
day by day,
the river grew inflated
and becoming a silted bed
One day the rain came as cats and dogs
slowly and slowly,
it has made the flood over the flood plain
and swift away lands and roads
then the water has seemed useless
The child grew older
now he feels consciously
about the worst work
that someone did with her
And he (older child) thinks,
what does he feel?
when someone cuts in the face of a river
///
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
there is paint
it peels from my eyes
in long gaseous ribbons
it is punctuated by
a bright blindness
where methodologies
reach no conclusions
paint peels from my ears
in uncontested echoes
projecting a self
generated audible universe
paint peels from my mouth
in black storms
of expanded consciousness
leaving behind a particulated
paralized partition
that leaves me disconnected
in a correspondence of color
A field of snow
turning blue under moonlight
in accord with the peeling of paint
like a light emitted by relative thought
paint peels, paint peels, paint peels
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
She has a luminescence about her
A way of outshining the neon and fluorescent
That cling to her curves as she dances beneath them
I stood there, in my second-hand persona,
wearing a mask of bravado, now whimsical with
its mouth agape, staring as she made love to the music.
I recollected myself,
remembered to breathe,
swallowed my heart,
and dared to move closer.
The rhythmic pulse of the music
threatened to crush me as my feet touched the floor-
my head still in the cloud generated by her heat,
that permeated every molecule of my body.
The closer I got, the harder it was to keep
from succumbing to the lack of air.
"Remember to breathe.
You're sweating.
Abort. NO.
Play it cool. You're cool."
I could have pieced together
A thousand words, pulled from the ether
and crafted into exactly-what-she-wanted-to-hear,
But she had taken my air.
My tongue wouldn't move with my lips
To form a simple hello.
I just stood there in my mask.
No longer whimsical.
Nearly desperate
and certain that I would die right there.
Then, in a move that writes love songs,
that creates sunsets and shifts paradigms,
SHE, this caramel-skinned goddess
Wove her warm, illuminated fingers into mine
And pulled me into that dance
That she was sharing only with the music.
Not breathing again.
Keep moving.
Stop thinking.
Just be. Right now, just be.
So, I was. Dead to time and space,
alive to the moment and the music,
Her touch, the light and the curves.
She held to me as if she read my mind;
perhaps I wear my heart in my eyes.
Eyes that she seemed to pull my soul out of
To drown it in hers, as she danced
With me.
To me. Through me.
Beyond me.
But with me, as though I were the light and the music,
and she wasn't done making love.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
The craving had been
More of a need
As of late
Energy taken
Energy generated
Or one could also say
One cultivated
One gave away
Every little thought
That you think
Isolated
from the rest of you
With steel walls
And the tallest gates
Barricade myself
In a little
Me sized
Cave
Wouldn't be surprised
If I never
Even
Came Out!
Dec 17, 2021
Dec 17, 2021 at 1:52 PM UTC