"grid" poems
The city is a grid
of lights projected
by man-made mountains
built of glass and steel;
they reflect, distorted
off the glass surface
of Lake Michigan.
Good morning
The sun rises
with heavy-eyed commuters,
homes filling with
the smell of coffee;
yesterday’s events are
brought inside, rolled
up in a blue plastic bag.
Soon the traffic on the Dan Ryan
will turn the stretch of road
into a temporary parking lot.
Life enters the veins
of downtown;
it heads down Michigan Avenue
to the heart of The Loop.
The ferris wheel at Navy Pier
begins to turn hypnotically,
attracting all walks of life.
A Muslim passes a Christian
on the street;
they smile at each other;
their backgrounds don’t matter.
Someone is calling;
someone is answering.
Today is the best day for one,
the worst day for another.
The day does its job to go on
Chicago fills its lungs,
then exhales life back home.
The sun colors buildings,
traces of day
to be soon replaced
by the form of lit office windows.
From a plane passing over,
the grid is a chessboard
waiting for the next day,
the next game.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 2:07 AM UTC
I rolled out of bed
to start my day,
but the power was off
my all electric home,
as still as a grave.
No coffee, or toast.
The refrigerator not cold,
the freezer started dripping
the contents soon to spoil.
No computer, no cell phone service!
I began sweating profusely,
no air conditioning to cool me.
Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert,
to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy .
I drove into town seeking a pay phone,
with not a single one to be found,
gone the way of the dinosaurs,
extinct now too I assumed.
My old truck had no computer chips,
most cars did and were dead in their tracks.
I needed gas but the gas station pumps
electric computer driven, all DOA to boot.
The Nations electric grid had crashed,
blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere.
All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired.
Everything computer related (and
that is about everything), had ceased
to function as had the electronic reliant
world we had created.
The street throngs of dazed people walked
around like zombies, clutching blacked out
dead computer devices, knowing not what to do.
Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too.
As dependently defectively programmed as the useless
devices in their hands.
In a panic I did awake finding that
this scary dream world was indeed all fake,
a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking.
My electric clock was still churning,
It's music alarm blaring,
birds outside still singing,
my cell phone started ringing,
it was merely another Robot call,
Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC
i've been off the grid for some time now
even deleted my Facebook account
and all that's left when you search for me
is my mugshot from 2003
i guess i'm just a criminal
nothing to show to the eyes of the world
but I don't care about
proving myself to you
i look around me and all i see
are people looking down at cellphone screens
how many more deaths' by selfie will there be?
i guess i'm just too cynical
nothing to show to the eyes of the world
but i don't care about proving myself to you
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 12:52 AM UTC
So I'll have mine
and you'll have yours?
who could ask
for anything more!
grey beards march
the union jack
build a wall
and send them back!
Grudge, sludge
a sanguine view
****** off
and take the cue
hide, plunge
aristocrat
run the field
like an old tom cat
Narrow pass
and capital flow
falling crude
and currency woe
deep depression,
mutineers
the mastermind
of project fear!
Silver spoon
at Hampton court
madness waits
in Davenport
divisible
and off the grid
**** it up
100 quid
Helen’s horsemen
unified
the springbok club
will never hide
plebiscite
in deep despair
an open scroll
Trafalgar square
Grapple, grovel
sentry shame
along the shore
of river Thames
king of wankers
lord of beat
break the rule
of old elite!
Stone the posse
bullets bare
load the chambers
fists in air
voices, faces
haunted souls…
should i stay
or should i go?
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
Netted on the outside
Dreams pass through the inside.
The good dreams seep the center,
The bad dreams are caught: DO NOT ENTER!
The sleeper with eyes shut,
Protected by the dreamcatcher
And selected by the buy-snatcher,
Slumbers in peace
When all is at ease
Around the dreamcatcher police.
Reality is still
But the mind is awake
And sleep is at stake.
Eyes cannot detect
What the dreamcatcher does,
It only sways in the midst of a glance.
But the dreams that pass the glass dividing atmospheric gas
Cannot be seen, touched, heard.
Dreamcatchers have a radar
That no being does.
The dreams charge at once!
WOOOOSH.
Not a dream is heard
Caught in the dreamcatcher grid,
But the good ones
Keep clean the REM zones.
Native-American tradition
I will surely petition.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 10:06 PM UTC
Jade helm
"Mastering the human domain"
It's all about control
Controlling human beings
And enslaving us
In the one world/new world global government
Information collection
Pre-crime technology (minority report)
System has no empathy or remorse
Self organizing, vision capable, expectation capable, recognition capable, situationally aware, emotionally intelligent, goal oriented system. The system, thinks, plans and executes.
Back in the late 80's MIT students developed AI technology on a distributed network (CGI lamp taught to dance). It Learned and evolved in 24 hours what would take 1,000 generations to accomplish. They issued a warning of how dangerous this technology is to humanity.
GEOINT
--Jade 2 plus more
--Communications
“smart grid, meter, etc"
Will be connected to this system
Control the environment
“Microchipping”
It Surpasses RFID technology
RFID chips can be removed
Nodes can be removed on a network--unplug printer
Human beings used as nodes
Eliminate connectivity to global information network
Cash removed
One world government
Domain--Human dynamics, terrain, geography
Domestic threat assessment centers
Activity based intelligence
All aspects of human activity monitored
All collected data to be geolocated
And tied to a specific node of the network
Georeferencing
do you will it
will you do it
it will do you
All three of these phrases
Have equal value
In this system
Which is very dangerous!
**Generate answers to questions
That haven’t been asked, or never existed in the first place
“Ominous” A.I.**--according to the source
Gates and Zuckerberg--want to bring technology to third world nations
GEOINT--Collect all data--for human terrain map
No privacy--no encrypted data
Welcome to Orwell's 1984, Skynet or The Borg
Sci-Fi was telling us what would be the reality
Emotional responses trigger the system
It feeds off of fear and anxiety
All the social networking--facebook, etc
All that info has been collected
Placed into this GEO INT system
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Stomped earth with broad feet
Fastening fresh saplings into
Whole forests
Eight feet by eight feet, the grid
Through winter month's
To early spring
Line of tree planters, twenty
Sometimes less, sometimes more
On Shasta, on Lassen, on Trinity Alps
Douglas Firs and Ponderosa Pines
In Mendocino, in Eureka
Planting baby giants, Redwoods
Sequoias in Sequoia National and Klamath
Young men with hoe-dads
Knew some old ones too
Women as well, though few
If you could bear the snow, the rain
If you could bear back-breaking pain
The glory is yours
As was once mine
Reforestation
Go plant your line
To be eternally in
Mother Nature's good graces
And kinship known by campfire
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC
This is to every sour patch kid
That ever tried to be cool by going off the grid
But you’re only as cool
As that mouth behind your cig
And the thoughts you numb with aspirin
I think we all know
It’s sour
Then sweet
But not before it’s gone
So keep it in your mouth a little longer
And then maybe
Just maybe
We won’t cry every time the bag is empty
And the lights turn out
And all we have left are those little grains of sour
That we still eat anyway
This is to every sour patch kid
That ever wrote “I love you” on your eye lids
Then fluttered your lashes
But closed your eyes for too long
Too long to see that the party was gone
And that you were the only one still pretending to have fun
Lets for a minute pretend that
The red ones aren’t just Swedish fish with a little bit of tang
And that the slang you throw in there
Doesn’t make your words anymore true
But were all gonna scream it anyway
Then maybe
Just maybe when we’re screaming
We’ll forget how to talk
And have to use our hand to say more than
Flipping the bird ever could
This is to every sour patch kid
That only did what they did
Just to say that they could
What society forbid
Well this is how it ends
The bag in which you so snugly live
Is ripped open with teeth
And when that happens
You’re gonna fly in between the
Gear shift and the seat
And then maybe
Just maybe
The hand will be skilled enough to get you out
If you’re lucky enough they even look
But even as messed up as that is
Or even as wasted as Kesha is
She has a point
We are who we are
Sincerely, The Breakfast Club
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Midway upon the journey of life
I found myself riding
zigzag down dark streets,
for there was no straight way
through that teeming urban grid.
Thus I travelled deeper into the night,
while rosary beads swung hypnotic
from the mirror, reflecting the revenant eyes
of one raised by an invisible hand
from salt water rocks where
as a boy, he said, he should have died.
Deftly navigating changing lights
of amber, red, and green,
he humbly inquired after my beliefs
and the state of my soul.
As to this I could not say,
so I drew it out and held it gingerly
by the rough edges, examining
as best I might in that dim backseat
its wrinkles, creases, and scars.
In the reflection he saw all these clearly,
and with gentle resonance spoke
of things impossible to know,
less difficult to believe,
and blessed me so
that on passing out the door
I found my soul again soft and warm.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
toss turn toss turn toss turn
weight wait weight wait weight
push pull push pull push pull
go stay go stay go stay go stay
fingers throat fingers throat
oh please stay five more minutes
turn the sun switch off and throw
your blue blanket over my eyes
i am drowning in a sea of sheets
and thirty eight daily battles but
you took away my anchor so i've
drifted off the grid with no boat
water lungs water lungs water
water lungs water lungs breathe in
sink sink sink sink sink sink sink
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
The trail rose up
through the sand
and sage covered hills
following the sinews of a land
scoured by fire and flood.
Even the most severe carving
here was nothing
compared to the city below-
its concrete grid
glaring over my shoulder-
sprawled out,
******* on its dingy
comforter of smog-
******* up
the dust of the desert
around it.
The trail led me up.
Up past twisted
juniper bones,
past pale green yuccas
curling
fine white filagree
from their dagger blades,
past sandstone boulders
swirled like confections,
past ancient cooking pits
nested with ash,
and ghost-like hands
outlined on stone-
to a white cliff face
up-thrust
beneath the cloudless sky.
From a lone stump
a pinyon jay squawked
drawing my eyes down.
A sentinel
to its comrades-
who rose up
from the draw to my left
and sailed in twos and threes
sinking down into
the draw on my right.
Right before me,
around me, behind me,
first two- then six,
then tens of metallic blue
wings beating heavily against
the unfamiliar desert air.
They had come down.
Down from the scrubby
forests of pine.
Down from snow
covered slopes.
Hungry,
they searched the green
fingers of the washes-
the winter forcing them
down across the trail
that was drawing me up.
They passed close by,
wing beats feathered my ears,
first up, then down-
the sentinel
keeping an eye .
Listening, suddenly hearing
my breath beat
against the wind-
I stood motionless, perched
beyond starting
and destination-
blue wings lifting
the hunger within.
Tom Spencer © 2017
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 8:53 AM UTC
If you know the tale of El Chapo,
You know then what will befall
Even the person who's known as
The most famous drug lord of all.
Exporting more drugs to America
Than anyone else in the past,
El Chapo lived like a king
On the millions of dollars he amassed.
You didn't mess with El Chapo.
Woe betide you if you did!
Not only would you suffer,
So would your spouse or your kid.
Back in the 90s El Chapo
Found himself in a scrape
And landed in a Mexican prison,
But he found a way to escape.
A protracted stay in the slammer
For him was not in the cards:
He bought his way to freedom
By bribing the prison guards.
For thirteen years El Chapo
Evaded capture and hid.
He kept up his shady dealings
While trying to stay off the grid.
Authorities in Chicago
Gave this man on the run
Notoriety as Public
Enemy Number One.
In 2015 the drug lord
Was back in prison again.
This time he fled through a tunnel
Dug by some of his men.
One day marines closed in.
They thought they'd caught their man.
El Chapo held a child
In his arms as he ran.
Soon El Chapo got sloppy.
No one could catch him, he thought.
Alas, the marines tracked him down.
Back to a cell he was brought.
Now the Americans want him.
Extradite him, they say.
El Chapo will be an example
To show that crime doesn't pay.
So, say good-bye, El Chapo,
As you sadly wipe your tears.
We hope you like your new home;
You're going to be there for years.
Yes, say good-bye, El Chapo,
To your Sinaloa Cartel.
A maximum security prison
Will be your new citadel.
- by Bob B
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
Maybe my writing
Will improve
When strewn over
Blue lined graph paper,
Tiny boxes,
Coaxing out order,
Perhaps even
Clarifying boundaries
Between crazed truth,
And detrimental lies.
The grid putting
Poem in context,
Poem like graph,
Displaying
Levels of THC
Depression
Number of Kisses
Tears Cried
Outliers of secrets uttered.
Box and whisker plot
Displaying anxiety,
Skewed data toward extremes.
No.
Linear writing would
Reveal the chaos inside.
I can't fit the poems
To the squares.
A graph can't really cry
The way a person can.
There's a losing feeling
Etched in pen
On a harshly graded
Parcel of mathematical quizzing
That a poem has no place to
Instill in me.
And no one would
Be able to read my work
The way they tell you to show it.
My poems have no color coding.
Definition between data
Becomes hazy as
Layers of black are added
In empty,
All encompassing anger.
And I smoke while I write tonight,
Haze growing,
Lines wobbled,
And I may have put a poem
On a piece of graph paper
But it's nothing like the math homework
That stays in my backpack.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a ******
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.
The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.
I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.
How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!
I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.
I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.
They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.
The box is only temporary.
3.8k
ESKOM
Where do I start?
Writing this by candle light;
Yet today we are lucky,
Load shedding came early
The system is done,
Its broken, corrupt,
Time after time,
Excuses one after the next
Us we are lucky,
In some ways anyhow;
For we have a few means
To keep warm for now
Others are not,
In fact most are not,
They suffer, they die,
But ESKOM - care they do not
Yes it was once ok,
to be totally without,
But once electricity is introduced,
Its difficult to go without
Those who have the means
Have done what they can,
Generators, gas, solar,
Options are endless, but only if you can
To most the expense is impossible,
Of course we want solar,
We want clean energy,
Just like we collect rain water
Its nothing new,
Its now been decades,
Leaving people to suffer,
ESKOM one problem after another
Winter after winter
Just when its needed most,
ESKOM takes it away,
Light, warmth, taken away
People light fires with paraffin,
Then bring them indoors,
Just to keep warm,
In the morning they dont wake up at all
Where is investment in alternatives?
For ESKOM cannot go on,
As one of my cousins said -
The grid is often more off than on
I cannot complain,
Not for myself anyway;
I choose to live here
I'll do things my own way
But I do see suffering
Knowing a long winter is ahead,
With an overburdened health system,
Knowing every winter leaves people dead
How much longer will it take?
For ESKOM to finally close,
To open doors for others,
Its time to get rid of the coal
In a Country basking in sunshine
nearly every day of the year,
The lack of solar power is saddening,
And shameful, but ESKOM doesnt care
Yes we have fire,
But we also have rain,
Those two dont mix,
Cannot cook on fire in the rain
The saddest things is this,
That ESKOM just dont care;
Lives dont matter to ESKOM,
Anyway - they have their share
The few that can make do,
They can afford to.
So everyone else is forgotten,
Nearly 80 percent of the population
Its cold, its wet,
We cannot light fire,
If we do its outside,
Buildings no longer designed for fire
How much longer ESKOM?
Will you allow people to suffer?
Will you eat all the money?
Will you do this to South Africa??
We all hope for a brighter future; quite literally...."brighter" .. :)
Nomkhumbulwa **
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 12:13 PM UTC
...and I cut them in
a 4 by 4 grid, just the
way God intended.
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
"Begin to work with the Net of Light," they say, **"by thinking of a vast lighted fishing net spread over the earth and stretching into the distance, as far as your eyes can see. This is the great Net of Light that will support the earth and all life on this planet during the times of change that have come. The Net of Life covers the earth from above, it covers it from below, and it bisects the earth like a great grid-penetrating, holding, and touching everything. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth while the energies of yin and yang shift. And they will shift,"** the Grandmothers say; **"the change has already begun.
"Walk forward and take your place on the Net of Light. Somewhere where two of the strands come together forming an 'x' or a 't' is a place that will feel just right for you. Walk forward and take your place there. Here you can rest and allow the Net of Light to hold and support you while at the same time you support it.
"We have many times told you that the Net of Light is lit by the jewel of the heart. This is true,"** the Grandmothers say. **"Experience now as the radiant jewel of your own heart begins to open and broadcast its light along the strands of the Net. Every person who works with the Net of Light is linked in light with others who also work with it. Experience your union with people all over the glove who are now connected by the Net of Light. Some of them call it a Web of Light, some call it a lighted grid, some call it Indra's net, but whatever they call it, it is the same construct. This is the Net of Light that will hold the earth steady during these times of change that are upon you.
"As you call on the Net and find your place on it,"** they say, **"think of receiving and sending light throughout this vast network. And as you think this thought, instantly your energy will follow it, and you will feel the Net of Light working in you and through you.
"Experience your union with us and with all those who work with us. There are thousands of you all over the earth. Also experience your union with the sacred and holy places on this planet and the sacred and holy beings that have come at this time to avert the catastrophe that looms over the earth-the great saints, sages and avatars that have come now and gladly give their lives in service. Experience your union also with those of good heart who seek the highest good for life on earth. Know and feel the power of this union and let your body experience this force of and for good.
"Once you have strongly felt this power, begin to cast the Net of Light to those who do not know about it. Cast wherever there is suffering on earth,"** the say, **"to human beings, to animals, to conditions of every kind, to all forms of life, and to Mother Earth herself. Cast also to people who are longing to serve, but have not yet found a way to access the Divine and as you cast the Net of Light, many who have until this moment been asleep to the fundamental connection we all share, will begin to awaken and feel the spark of divinity within themselves coming to life. Now ask the radiant Net of Light to hold all life in its embrace and know that each time you work like this, you are adding to the reach and power of the great Net.
"Cast the Net to all women and men everywhere,"** they say. "Cast to the leaders of this world to remind them that they are a precious part of the Net of Light that holds and supports life. Cast to the animal kingdom, asking that every animal receive what it most needs. Cast to the plant kingdom and to the mineral kingdom as well. Cast to everything that lives," the Grandmothers say, "and when you have done this, ask, 'May everyone in all the worlds be happy.'
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
scavenger bride,
she counted periods
before the children came along,
but never suspected
eyes like bottles
beginning to blue,
a tangle of scars
hermetically sealed,
the new order of
a broken romance,
dead love cassettes
in the glove compartment,
her cold and empty
constellations,
like cold breath
passing through a beam of sunlight,
grid of points, pendulums,
the ratio of freckles to stars,
no subtle countenance,
martinis and bikinis,
soft ******* and ice cream,
slight, elusive things, on a beach
with no more meaning,
the repeating pattern of
her mistakes and reliefs,
a preservation of decay,
sustained by the tiny
human fault line
in that oneiric hinterland,
between dreaming and waking,
she draws around the noise
and the clearings,
she creates within that sightline
the way her sadness can feel
comfortable,
an extension of loss that turns
her ruins into a home.
Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 2:48 PM UTC
If everybody has the same thoughts as me, the same worries,
How come I can't see it?
Social groups are forming
Making their own unique circles with a specific equation,
Of which I am a number that does not fit.
In this grid of infinite space,
Who will find me
And create their own equation
Where I am the solution?
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 2:04 AM UTC
Profanity profanity there's nothing like profanity
A cheeky T@@@ a silly cow we just can't stop them coming out
A quick F@@@ off, a ***** yourself
Improves the mood like nothing else
But wait!
It's really better still when alcohol helps the thrill
A sentence made of many c@@@ and f@@@s
That grammar simply can't construct !
But you my friend have drunk tourettes
You swear and curse amongst the best
The more you drink the more you cuss
You really are a social plus!
In front of kids and grannys too
You just cant stop your verbal puke
I've learnt words in groups I can't describe
Your mouth shouts out in awe and pride
You simply are an ignorant pig
Who needs carbolic in your grid!
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
I've been unemployed
For so long
That I just
Don't Care
I'm done looking
I've gone off
On a hike again
Or to meditate
Isn't it fun?
Yes I do pursue
The One
Or source
Behind All creation
The future is dim
For this nation
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
Mutual ************ in Madrid,
Athens in the winter tans me red,
Paris lamps, romantic power grid,
Venice swishes, watching me give head.
Caribbean wave locks me to the sand,
Fresh water fish Frenchly kiss my hair,
Land’s End extends a silver hand,
And all the angels know that I am there.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
the men end lunch with strands of glowing spit
webbed to the tips of their boots.
they huddle and coagulate, chanting as one,
then bloom with loud whispers into
heat and steel beam ******** meat to the city grid.
my father once stepped on a nail.
he turned yellow
& his leg disintegrated.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 6:14 AM UTC
The city is loud with chimneys,
bristling with dimpled sky dishes,
afloat in a dammed lake of sunset fenestration,
beneath unwitnessed, unappreciated clouds,
its streets a grid of flowless canals,
to the music of "Hey, mister, got any change?"
Oh,
but,
when the lights go down,
and the pretty people come out!
and the beef bouncers sort snort the buzzing sequin queen queues
for the sparkle dance houses,
the city,
the city,
can one ever get enough?
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 7:29 PM UTC