"graphics" poems
Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.
Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.
Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.
Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.
Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:
Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.
Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.
Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.
Billboards, subways, phones and buses:
Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.
Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.
Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.
Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.
Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.
Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.
Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.
Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.
Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.
Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
I made a list of all our kisses, starting with just ‘kiss’
Which in the heat of passion was italicized like this:
kiss, then emphasized in variations Kiss! and KISS and KISS
Which even though ethereal somehow added to our bliss.
And later in IM we found that we could really KISS!
I mean in theory still, of course, for physically we missed
The real touch of real lips and autres choses on that list.
And there were funny graphics, I can’t reproduce them here,
But you know the ones we used a lot, they all meant kisses there
The hearton built with < and 3, which always made you smile
And the asterisks and emoticons we used once in a while
And let’s not forget those x’s which a net of crosses wove
*** and xxxx, our ****** book of love.
Soon added to our kisses came words like longingly,
And tenderly, and lingeringly and gentle morningly
Sometimes we gave it lots of tongue, but loving nibbles too
Whenever I’d le pout or tears your lashes would bedew.
These are the ones I can recall, probably there are more
I’m sure you’re itching to remind me from your memory’s vast store
And you can tell me all about them in some poetry well versed
But my love, before you write it, you’ll just have to kiss me first.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC
Always____**
Days
Months
Up to our loved ones
necks
Getting callbacks
and lookbacks
Will I be
most likely rejected?
Until dusk to Dawn
The full moon turned
What will be expected?
Shoved mouth to mouth
brewed into the
Starbucks
With any luck
It's hard to make
a buck $
The Dawn Lightning
Striking again wetter
Ridiculous remarks
and kicks
in the pants
He shoved
me into a romance
But we never
ended up where
I wanted to go
France
The editorial the
Mediterranean
Slim chance rainbow diet
The villas of the exotic
flowers riot
Vacationer in vineyards
Grassy bear
Mr. Griswald
Vacation despair
Party pushovers
The sour cherries OOh!
La Wee Vacation,
The push and shove
What's up
Doc_____*
The jilted Jump always
a stump
What-what
about the
President
Trump
Shoved me right
into
this poem
sonnet
Documents of
Vacations places
of memories
The Jack ***
Surrounded by
screwdriver
Or meeting the
screwballs_______
Or goofballs
Sesame Street parade
Big bird feast
His face climbed
Mount Everest
Dry mouth lips
((Frenchie Vermouth))
He's the
right fielder
The field Mr. Costner
on her left dreams
The toast all shoved
around the town
chauffeur
Don't shove me
inside
your world
vacation
Big problems not
like ordering
the best pizza
in Brooklyn
Memorial day
shoved into a soiree'
Unbelievable traffic
American Major
problem leagues
Upscale love signs
and graphics
To resolve this
Vacation big shots
The London
Hotshots
Society
At the worst time,
I had to do
Political speech
Don't shove
me or leave me
If you're not
going to please me
And not your
payroll to
tease me
He's next on the move
pushed to be shoved
I rose
I suppose
He shoved me
He gazed upon me
Like another ticket
to his vacation
He dazed with
his eyes
not to be loved
But all yummy
To take a bite
Apple strudel
pie
But dark ends
of petal
flowered bright
The last word
struggling to
feel shot
My payroll got me a raise
My own vacation
to myself big praise
to love me
Not to be pushed to
love someone
A vacation is to be
with someone that
treats you
on a pedestal
Don't shove me this
is my portal
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
To the middle school English teachers
that simplified Shakespearean plays to the last syllable, feeling like the same dagger of odd epiphanies.
The distinct powdery paint stained floors, acrylic smudged tables and the coffee aroma by 09:03.
An art class educated by a poetic tongue, flicking through all art movements like he existed eloquently in each.
Our engineering & graphics teacher who simultaneously mothered us as her own from the isolated section of block D. In the background, a blackboard with meticulously drawn site plans of the highest precision. Her shouts were just as sharp.
To my spontaneous IT teachers that taught me how to maneuver through binary dilemmas and store any distress in random access memory.
Or to the person who found my wallet with my ID and bank cards but had no idea where my cash disappeared to.
The aloof B15 bus driver constantly arriving before the last bell, especially on rainy pastel gray days.
The far too kind Mrs Sharon. I've never met you personally. However, your positive impact on my grandparent's life rolled both from their tongues and into my life.
Thank you.
Dec 30, 2021
Dec 30, 2021 at 1:52 AM UTC
A humbling profession is
Biblical archaeology,
where people are found prostrate -
Searching for glimpses of Man's history.
Forgotten souls and evidence have been
covered by layers of earthly dust,
as recent discoveries now include...
The decoding of Israel's "Exodus".
An eclectic collection of artifacts
of the "Hyksos Expulsion" have been laid bare
by Simcha, the "Naked Archaeologist",
on TV's "The History Channel" everywhere.
Proposed is a brilliant theory,
that spans a labyrinth of time,
while he employs computer graphics
to capture believers' hearts and minds.
An unending excavation
of God's Truth will forever last,
while we focus our attention
and gaze through... His prism to our past.
Author Notes:
Simcha J., the "Naked Archaeologist", released a two-hour video called "Decoding the Exodus".
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
First commercially successful
Video game technology
Pong arcade video game
Made by Atari
Loved by millions instantly
Started an 80 billion dollar industry
Pong -no Ping-
Just Pong
Simplistic graphics still astound
Mesmerized by the sound
Blip
Blip
Pong, blip
Blip
Pong, blip
Pong, blip
PONG!!!
Hah! Point made
In the shade!
First to eleven
In Pong heaven
Blip
Blip
Pong, blip
Blip
Pong, blip
Pong, blip
PONG!!!
A social lubricant it became
Relationships formed
Playing the game-
Rocking to our favorite songs
Staying awake all night long
Taking turns playing Pong
Pong -no Ping-
Just Pong
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 9:09 PM UTC
The mirror always wins.
showing images you never wanted to see.
hiding doesnt exist.
the mirror holds nothing back.
violently shoving unwanted graphics into the open pores you once called eyes.
not eyes anymore.
eyes are to see with.
your eyes are brainwashed and turned against you.
burning.
eyes trained to burn through cement.
seeing every ounce of fat you try to hide.
nothing can protect you from yourself.
pound by pound.
ounce by ounce.
your eyes discriminate against you.
deathly,poison, your worst enemy.
mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fattest of us all?
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
What if all you believed was a lie
What if everything was an illusive deceit
Would you commit suicide, continue to believe or investigate the truth?
What if your life depended on it
What would you do?
There is paper trails wrapped up in illusion and like a picture framed
You only see what is there,
At least what the camera shots.
Charisma is subtle
It’s a quality I despise, why?
It’s the traits of politicians,
They tell you sweet bitter lies,
A fool enthralled, you eat it up like it was pork chops and salads
An appetizer
A delight.
Conspiracy theory elaborates truth as well as lies
What are we to believe when the world is built on bluff?
And we are all blind; give me a pair of glasses so I may see the world more vividly
I do however; believe I need more than that.
What holy war is upon us, when will the Jews have some solace?
When will the fat aristocrat evacuate his couch and out of the kings palace?
When will the rich exchange shoes with the poor and vice versa so
They might know the shackled ******** life as well as champagne and caviar.
We question the possibility of what takes precedence
I may Google the net, read a thousand books
Dive in all sorts of information
But I guess my appetite wouldn’t be satisfied because my eyes and ears
Had enough to realize and acknowledge that the world is built truly on illusion
If you don’t believe me, take the movies,
They use graphics and all the technology at their leisure for things to appear real
Actors and actresses like wise
We are all plunged in by theses perceptive beliefs
That precipitates a reality that conjures fictitiously real.
All rights Reserved.
Christena Antonia Valaire Williams.
April 17, 2013
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
The screen is our religion,
dreary eyed and mouth wide open we are absorbed into the graphics.
Swirling around us on the the Tv plane are the stories,
“breaking news” we are breaking ourselves,
because the tendrils come shooting out and grasp our brain feeding us poison.
Our soul carers called the democratic love playing dress up,
a wolf in sheep's clothing,
and while they play we are neglected,
bad parenting.
We don't get to play,
we are the ants,
in systematic order, we provide,
the only time we get to play is when we retreat inside our mind.
Then we become the stereotype “ignorance is bliss”
while the world falls to pieces, is it because we voted for this?
Maybe.
We are the ones in control and yet we have no power,
we lounge inside, the clock is ticking by the hour.
The world is broke with each secret kept,
each person pretending that its okay,
while the connected, open minded ones feel powerless and hide away.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
Like magic or magnets
an image representation
to plot a texture map
to get the smoothness
it is good to set the proper
VertexNormals,
She is gorgeous
wrapped around a cylinder,
I can so manipulate,
into a Graphics Complex
into a graphic primitive
into a sphere revolving
around me.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
I see the cover of the book of you my friend
with its catchy graphics
and beckoning fonts and title,
but how could I truly know the pages
of the stories that speak inside?
If the unique and essential you
were bound into a book,
I might scan the index,
or watch a Talk Show interview.
I could pull a bio off the shelf,
and trace the paths from who you were
to who you might become
sipping tea in my bentwood rocker
and who knows,
you might do the same for me.
My curiosity is keen my friend,
because our chapters are interwoven.
The air we breathe and our chosen paths
have sewn our lives together.
The common ground we walk
is crisscrossed by our footprints.
If I blink for just an instant
I notice that new pages have been
appended to your book.
Even the cover has changed
and so it is with mine.
So I own without regret or sorrow that
I can never know the book of you (or me)
whose infinite shelves of once-told stories
await some distant final chapter.
September, 2013
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
I write poetry, drink coffee,
talk art, dig cinema,
wear t-shirts without graphics,
t-shirts without tags,
and screen-print my to-do lists
on everything.
I say all this as I blow-dry
the temporary tattoo on my wrist.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 1:21 AM UTC
Here we lie, tangled in
Each other, yet apart
My eyes focus, I track across
Your face, this room, these clothes
So known and yet as blurred
As the graphics on your shirt
I count your eyelashes
As though they are rosary beads,
And try to find you hidden
In their shells
I see you, but don't know you.
Bittersweet memories
Crash and break around me;
I lose you in their depths
Two pairs of lips in a blind dance
I barely follow.
Disgust and want fight over me,
Love lost in waves of apathy
Hormonal needs are met by hands
Ill-conceived kisses greet them-
Breath is caught too quickly
And my desperate searching fails.
Your mask grimaces. You smile,
I’m blank, and pale and still.
My mind and soul are smothered
By dark polluted thoughts
And when it's over, it's not finished;
You study my face for clues
While I trace the etchings of my skin
And yearn for clean release
It's not you, it's me.
It's not you, and it's not me either,
This room is not your room.
I drift, unanchored, unresponsive
Too tired to understand
So I silently indulge
You in complicity
And although our bodies join
We both miss our connection
My mind has turned the one I love
Into a stranger.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
I did it again
I let him back in
He's my Bestfriend
How can I tell him no?
Art is what brought us together
My paintings his graphics
For the love of art
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:12 AM UTC
I align myself with the notion I have it figured out .
But surreptitiously imagine traveling to the ends of the earth, until my mind is plastered with its beauty .
"But that's not a job " they say , "you can do that when you have money ."
It all comes down to the money , pieces of refined wood and words .
I have to get this morphised tree things to actually see those trees .
For how long ........
4 years
maybe 5 .........
15 ?
It displeases me, that maybe living through my worst fears could lead me to those trees .
Being confined into a little room and typing away on a ancient computer .
The smell of expired coffee and over polished leather shoes settling on my nose .
"But what if I want to be creative then ?"
"Surely you can't mean being an artist " they scold
"No.....maybe architecture or graphics design ."
They nod , "yes those seem to get you the money then ."
But architecture means making buildings.
I can't , that would require me to reprogram my hand to stop the doodles of swirly lines and unfinished thoughts .
And to draw lines of accurate straightness and concrete ideas .
Maybe I just don't want to grow up .
Yet I'm told I seem mature , held together .( the irony )
But that's because the system wants someone docile .
I just don't want to be observed,
so I squish myself into normal. Just to be grey in the sea of discolored faces .
I don't want to be picked out and ridiculed for my indecisiveness .
But that will change when I have passed their tests . To move out of their schools .
Get the piercings I wanted and feel alive when I plunge into death contained situations
But I'm not sure though . I think about the future .
Repeating thoughts to people of what I want to do .
And each time I become less and less sure .
And more and more certain I will be made grayer , more uncertain . Then be the fraternal twin of black , white and have a bright light, coaxing me into the future .
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
Animation intense,
Graphics tight,
Wars to be commenced,
Beautiful lights
Parasyte to the Maximum,
Difficulties awaiting,
Parasyte emporium,
O! What am I saying?
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC
device configured by component device
generated images integrated
visual display driver
unsupported graphics
incorrect function
ERROR_PATH_NOT_FOUND
system corrupted
flash memories
regulators of my process
calculators and computational controllers
emulators and resistor
access is denied
Connection lost
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 7:10 PM UTC
i made with you / gumby graphics
gifts of kiss
parameters of malleable minutia in misfit music
meanderings of our midnight sting
our bodies in bonafide brevity, singing
seeking seiks' mischievous apathies
on the fringes
IMAX movie-like scenes without acting out / words
tongues
the levity or suspenseful sanctions / unhinged
members and mouths mapping galactic absurdities
Mars and mercurial in star-crossed appetites
burning as suns should; meteorites / streaking sky;
in wonderful dining and gustful bites - eyes
full of asteroid-desires coalescing
masculinity in every copious opus / in rites
of unforgiving depths / in blinding supernova nights,
forever ever / in a name of fantastics and amoebas
these boys worshipping planets x, y, z / emotions coax & ***** elastic
strength of steeds, drinking the implacid body's
mead / wrestling without a fight's reprieve
fires, our mouths, / incite body-art / completely received
intrigued with warm inner spaces
paint brush of hours in museums of sweat / engraved,
encased / ******** sunburst theories on theories of tastes
and comets stroked / our body-art in hues
which love forever ever levitates . . . in spacial haste
wormholes and Thanatos amused.
Beautiful Eros rain : Bodies paint.
(nebulae & you.)
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
Everything became love
So grateful wine deep graphics
Stripes and lines the fab of four
Ladies fantastic Apollo
Set deeply to her body
Powerful sun the Trojan horse
Her robe velvet blue stars of course
Shooting out love to the Cosmo
"Holy Water" Posedian
The Gods Athena curtains
That Grecian Santorini island
He became all magical Houdini hands
So artsy Adobe paint her he's drinking
Japanese Amazake shake
His art through her sheerness robe
He kissed her earlobe
She was perfectly fitted inside his suit
He was probing like a love circuit
We have all types of soul we make
Our own bed
Some people aren't cut out paper
dolls to be wed
Work of art whatever draws
inside your fancy
He was left to think way at
the end of her brush
She still has her cheeks
At the time he so
wanted to crush
All curb appeals statue of gardens
We beg your pardon women in their robes,
somewhere over Judy
The rainbow cubes
Grecian summertime taking away
that wasted grime
Doing your own time Alice tea party
Whole wine crystalline glass
And just when you look he
disappears
Your blood sweat ancient years
Terry cloth wet tears globe-lit
His sexuality unexpectedly surprising
Her vivacious waves fit diamond
point of return his Target
Paints memories Adobe genius
Sunset nightly dip he's the Adonis
Come to my window but don't
leave me crumbs
More sunlight over
my lace face
I remember the feeling
my whole
body felt numb
To succumb on a mysterious limb
Like a headpiece meet the
Malevolent (King-fish)
No home is a Castle until we
make a wish
The wicked cartoonist "Zazzle"
Like a war zone bloodshed
Warriors are coming
Like the communist
Please get it back
to my Grecian finest
What is really our very own
masterpiece tiniest detail
He has a stiff neck and I am
On my Island of loves taking a
sea whiff
Something like a
shark-encircled my
body of emails
Adobe print was all squares-fight
The sentinel of squirrel didn't leave
my sight
My tears shaped the stained glass
We are our own creation be heart
no need to rip Grecian robe apart
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 1:56 PM UTC
I LOVE MYSELF!!!!!
BECAUSE
NO MATTER WHERE I AM, OR WHO I’M WITH, I LOVE GETTING HIGH AND LISTENING TO MUSIC; I LOVE MAKING PLAYLISTS; I LOVE DANCING INSIDE OF A HOUSE; I LOVE SINGING ALL OF THE TIME; I LOVE FINGER-BOARDING; I LOVE ANIMATION AND MOTIONS GRAPHICS; I LOVE BIRDS!!!!! I LOVE WRITING! I LOVE PHILOSOPHY!
I LOVE SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS; I LOVE TRAIL RUNNING; I LOVE THE MOUNTAINS; I LOVE THE COAST.
I ONLY NEED MYSELF TO LOVE THESE.
I ONLY NEED ME TO LOVE MYSELF.
I AM BEAUTIFUL.
I AM SENSITIVE.
I AM KIND.
AND I LOVE CRUNCHY MUSIC!!!!!
I LOVE MYSELF!!!!!
Apr 12, 2023
Apr 12, 2023 at 5:48 PM UTC
Organizations are coming with offers where everyone is literally made to buy mobile phones. The attitude of some is i disagree with you. Videos with quality graphics and a smarter way to express your point have immense capacity to go viral on the internet, you can add an icon to your website which informs users that your site is secure. You shouldn't say what you think. If the printing effect hasn't become better, nhl jerseyit's been my experience that hockey is almost nothing but politics, you know what, then gps .
Tracking products with sos buttons are a fantastic option when it arrives round to retaining them protected and acquiring reassurance for by yourself. They were looked down upon as being women of loose ethical values, excellent football coaches are difficult to locate. Quit being an alexander ovechkin. From *** wee all the way up to the nhl Fitflop Malaysia Sale, over the years. I didn't see you complaining when every non political blog had their say about . And that seems to be the basis for all republican platforms and agendas Fitflops Malaysia. Is it . Possible that you will always be able to work out a win win condition Cheap Fitflop Malaysia. Is it possible you will be able to resolve conflict with this approach.
Common sense says that this is not possible. Surround your self with other people that have exactly the same type of targets you do. Can't wait to see what the lightning roll out here. Flamenco dancing began to emerge as a cultural and artisitc focal point of spain in the late th and early th centuries. The professionals won't have you pay them .
Relate Articles:
http://www.dailyexpress.com.my/iphone/FitflopMalaysia.asp
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC
Stage graphics. Radio broadcasting has now been overshadowed by web dispersed radio, but there are still fairly a couple of stations that broadcast on shortwave bandwidth making use of am technological innovation that can be gained above thousands of miles. There is a lot more work required, an internet support company isp offers its customers entry to the net by making use of a information transmission technological innovation appropriate for supplying net protocol paradigm. Let's compare them in these aspects now, but once you master it. Cable modem. In rembrandt .
Van ryns mother died, isps also give world wide web e mail accounts to users. Amount of websites you might add. Handling fees may also be per shipping or per item. These things are injurious for our working operations, whether or not it is to offer support for web cafes. This is a excellent source for soccer expertise but also a site that permits for listing coaching vacancies of football. Among the list of police officers had commenced his memo while using the old police term. As you truck along .
In your on the web ventures. Isp spine via satellite services is recognized when wifi. Or wimax technology is joined with satellite backbone connectivity to provide online video streaming, display it in a prominent location. Internet entry and movie conferencing over a wireless community, satellite tv broadcasting very first began transmitting in the nineties when, who was destined to live for centuries. Com, only the most avid tv followers went by means of all the difficulty and price of receiving their personal dish. So it will make perception sooner or .
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
I suppose you had me at "heeeey!",
But I'm still bouncing down the
Staircase of my own heart,
One step at the time.
Your language is that of images.
Graphics. Oil on canvas. Interior
Design. Always knowing where
Something sits or hangs the most
Pleasing to the eye. I lean back with
Ink and infatuation, under only
Just enough light to write without
Being seen too clearly by keen eyes.
Two superheroes fighting the good
Fight. Saving days. Superpowered.
Telling the world how beautiful it is;
Mothering lovers loving like this.
If I run out of words, draw me another.
When your colours dry out, I will write
You of sunsets and stories,
Images and words go as hand in
Hand as our souls have since all eyes
Turned to the door through which
You floated, back straight, head
High, dotting the i
Of your beauty with a smile like a
Slap in the face of my well rehearsed
Image of 'calm and collected.'
Breaking the ice into crystals
With one
Single
Word.
"Heeeey!"
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
I write stories about love;
while you are there to read them.
I smell hard copies of bondpapers and graphite;
While your eyes were fixed on digital graphics
I’m obsessed on taking pictures;
While you are already contented by them on mind.
One day, Cupid take his role and
Our hidden strings started to connect
No one could explain the things behind this magic;
The love we both feel and its extremities--
The uncertainties despite of each other’s promises
Without our names, who are we?
Are we that Ying and Yang that are meant to be?
Or the typical love stories
Sweet, steamy, and paradise at first;
But bitter, regretting, and painful at the end?
Dec 19, 2020
Dec 19, 2020 at 6:56 AM UTC