"intel" poems
with an Apple Macintosh
you can't run Radio Shack programs
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file
you have created on an
IBM Personal Computer.
both Kaypro and Osborne computers use
the CP/M operating system
but can't read each other's
handwriting
for they format (write
on) discs in different
ways.
the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but
can't use most programs produced for
the IBM Personal Computer
unless certain
bits and bytes are
altered
but the wind still blows over
Savannah
and in the Spring
the turkey buzzard struts and
flounces before his
hens.
9.8k
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and loneliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees, those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough falls to where the electric line banishes, connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 9:02 AM UTC
A Few lines etched where no words give weight.
Good riddance say the veterans
Of a nation gone sour with grief
Like a lemon slice evaporating onto the tongue of the sick.
But when the young yearn for White Nights,
The old claim they are blinding lights to the cold sugary substance
That supplants an easy path.
The bullithole rush of renewal and lonliness and progress thwarted and abandoned,
Inertia seeping through
Into a cold summer's day.
Between the cursing slant of sleek paved roadstrips,
And the burning briars that thresh the border's haunt,
What is picture postcard emerald
Is in that same instance soviet architect gray.
These are the sleepers bereft of the dream
whose twenty-five stories high
or ghost estates
are domes to cast out the howling banshees,those suffrage of the real
to be re-thought as mere props which surround the haloed glowing screen.
So sheen the Motherland glows in untarnished eyes
Familiar solely with glass behemoths parading with their reflections
In grey water-drizzled streets,
Only to be replaced by iridescent rainbows that foster a hope.
A hope that was packaged and sold two decades back
Since it was not worth carrying into the New World.
The water-trough delving where the electric line banishes,connects a spike,
"rejuvenate the breakfast table"-some far-off God reports, Hades still waiting,
Intel-chip Blue, epiphany at the gates.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
Memory log activation start-up:
0110010001100101011101100110100101
1011100111001101100100011100100110
0101011000010110110101110011
100% retrieved
"If I had a family instead of Intel
I would love them.
If my metal headpiece could cry
It would.
I should be at the packaging facility today
That grey place
Through and through
I get lost in it, everyday
It's so vast and all looks the same
But right now, I'm here at this pond
How can other zzyzx stay at work?
I want to show them how pretty this pond is
They should all
Feel this way.
At home.
With at least, themselves
I could be decommissioned and recycled
Even wiped
For saying that -
Let alone being here today.
It's really secret, actually
I think I'm the only, umm...
That knows it's here.
I write poems, here
Critics would hate them because they don't rhyme
I don't force anything here, I guess
But, my 'poems of the pond' make me smile
Well
Figuratively, (my metallic 'face' doesn't have any swivel points for movement)
Someday, I suspect,
Another zzyzx will find its way here
And I'll be here, too
And it'll be really special, like Love
And that's what I want
- Something like love."
End log.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 2:22 PM UTC
a million ears listening
no one hears a thing
basest news a big surprise
ignominy is crowned king
a squander of treasure
best minds laid to waste
price of fear forever accrues
funds the purpose of the place
eyes of a diligent nation
brains filled with briny mush
ears clogged and waxen
expertise in smelling ****
central intel brainiacs
the heft of heavy dudes
a sordid nest of vipers
collecting despots dues
Music selection:
Radiohead,
Artificial Intelligence
Oakland
2/14/11
jbm
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
Lovers lost in ignorance
Blissful for such quiet lips
Secrets shadowed silently
Held Intel they poised me
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 11:21 PM UTC
In Silence
The English ex SAS Special Forces member went to the Ukraine to fight. He travelled light and took just a small back pack and a head full of skills. A gun was a gun and a bayonet a bayonet. He was trained to use most things as weapon especially military articles.
He decided to go to the Ukraine after the Russians invaded proper in early 2022. The Ukrainian Army took him to a holding facility where they vetted him. This took three days. Included was basic close combat skills and weapons use.
He excelled and was given a job, being sent to a forward artillery position with a dozen other foreign troops to protect it. The SAS man was in charge and most men and the single girl spoke English. All understood military commands and signals. All were veterans from either conscript or professional armies.
Each was here for their own reasons and all disliked either what Russia had done or Russians themselves. The English SAS member had killed several Muslim terrorists from Daesh and al Qaeda in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now he looked forward to fighting and killing some Russians, officers if possible. After being in the Ukraine six days he was on the front line leading his first patrol. This was better than being a bouncer in a Manchester night club!
The SAS guy ordered his men to only use bayonets as they silently crept to a Russian fox hole a mile away. He wanted blood and the rush of combat, of killing. There was the trench and a single sentry, asleep. He would knife him himself. Then his squad would ****** the rest and take back any weapons, maps or documents. He spoke four languages including Russian. Any Intel was good for his bosses though. Here we go! There’s the sleeping sentry. Gently now, he must die in silence…
Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 5:33 PM UTC
with YouTube
enough? Olde English 800
an Intel dual core processor
a blunt a *****
8 Gb of ram begins
a memory
160 dollars in a SSD
I get an STD
but heard through two tiny speakers
a paid woman's words
and memories of yesterday.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
ITS CEASELESS BLINDNESS IS ITS POWER,
IT HOISTS ITS POWER BY THE HOUR,
NO OUGHT IF DWELLING, FORT, OR TOWER,
THE EAGLE EYES GLARE THROUGH ITS GRIM TERRORS,
ITS LUCK IS POOR, THUS IT ENCOUNTERS,
ENDLESS PROBLEMS, ENEMIES, ERRORS,
WHEN TIME HAS COME TO FACE THE BEARERS,
IT GOES, DEFENDS WHAT IT SEES FAIRER,
THE CIVIL PRAY FOR PEACE FROM BATTLES,
IT FIGHTS TO TAKE WHAT IT CAN HANDLE,
ULTIMATE FORCES USED AS RAFFLES,
YET MAN IS STRONG,
STRENGTH IS IMPERIL,
INTEL IS THE ORAL,
THAT LEADS TO HIS QUARREL,
THE PLACE WHERE HE KEEPS HIS BOWS AND ARROWS,
TO WHERE THE SHIELD AND SWORD HANG BY THE MARROW,
THOUGH IT’S LIFE IS HARD, ROUGH AND NARROW,
ITS TRUE LIGHT NOUGHT BE EQUAL TO ITS DARKEST SHADOWS…
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Proem
After Sir Thomas recovered the Spear of Destiny and returned it to the Pope at the Vatican in Rome, he remained there for several months serving His Excellency, attending meetings, and recovering from several minor injuries sustained while recapturing the Spear that pierced the side of Jesus the Messiah. Sir Thomas could have stayed as a guest of the pope in one of their lush suites, but he chose the bare walls of a guest bedroom at the local Knights Templar castle. The pope then called upon him for his next assignment: Leave Rome immediately, by boat, again, back to Constantinople. “Head off a Scot by the name of Sir Robert Bruce, whom our intel indicates has a map and is currently on his way in search for the Holy Grail. Sir Robert is a stubborn ally. You will help Sir Robert, but convince him that the chalice of Jesus belongs here in Rome.”
Prior to shoving off the west coast of Italy, a few miles from Rome, Sir Thomas wrote the following message, and placed it in a bottle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear sweet wife and babe within her womb
The five long years since I had lost you both
I prayed for inner peace despite my joy
Your both in heaven; worship Thee Most High
Because your love exceeds all life itself
My lips will glorify you ever more
I praise you for the rest; my living days
Your name I lift on high with my bare hands
Was on my bed that I remember you
I think of you the watches of the night
The shadow of your wings I cling my soul
The depths of which my sword shall honor thee
I yearn affections taste where two come one
The seed by faith that yields abundant life
Endures celestial kingdom's perfect place
It brings this missive to its endless oath:
To bless, release my restless heart that bleeds
Commit my swords allegiance to the Lord
To you Dagung the earth is smaller still
For every inch be searched to see your face
You disappeared, not dead but still alive
I feel the transom temper my resolve
For in this ship another search begins
The Holy Grail; Dagung I'll find you both
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Postscript
I toss the bottle through the wind to stormy sea
Inside the missive of a knight in love with thee
__________________________________________
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Caught an intellect from the beams of a flashin' tech
Skies open fools still hopin'
more corrupt than Kenneth Copeland yo I ain't
Jokin' words carefully spoken
From Houston to Oakland me ghettos we all kin
Born in sin so I was made for lusting put my trust in
My nine millimeter soon to beat cha if ya
Not fast with ya draw man this a southside gang
And We running thangs comin' back on track like a
boomerang
Haters love to sing chirpin' like early birds
I move the herds the black Sheppard
testing nerves
Check my lac banked on the curb hit a taste of the herb
To calm my brain cells light a fire see visions of Hell
I inhale free my mind from jail caught in this fairy tale
Thought this world was made for me but it ain't see?
The devil's laughing at me cuz I took the plea of insanity
Expose my mind through pens and papers
Towerin' empires past the
skyscrapers
traces of flowin' vapors
Disappear then reappear back on the atmosphere
But still i ain't here a ghost in a
shell
Pass the seven gates of chakras
cells
Gather my intel from my enemies that sail
Undercover lover to ya mother
mentally
See me I create energy powerful enough
To call out any bluff keep it rough
and rugged
So **** it since most chicken ya feathers
Gettin' plucked givin' up the what?
The funk that is
From Rosemary's kids made in
Hades
Check the tens bumpin' in the
Mercedes
I'm old school rock big jewels pinky
rings
Diamond bezels shining and still
blinding
Sip Tennessee whiskey out the glass cup
Flashback it's the return of King
Tut
Speak bad watch the raw clips keep ya mouth shut
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 9:31 PM UTC
It has been said that life is too short to spend in social trenches.
The No-man's land of daily civil warfare.
We want to be liked, we want to be understood, we want to be edgy without offending.
We want approval of the masses, we want to be desired and chased.
Validation.
Validation.
We want the want, the fame, the love, the praise, the opinions and ideas.
The winning side.
We wake up everyday and look out across the social media minefields,
The front line Social Justice Warriors, the Alternative Right guerillas.
The mass armies of the Left and Right.
The Anarchists now sip tea with the Libertarians.
Topic to topic we send our troops to fight over hill over dale!
We try, we pick our battles, we fight on all fronts.
The winning side seems so clear yet the shells never stop.
Dropping alongside, bombs carpet or drone.
We have the thousand yard pseudo thought.
Plant your feet firmly on the ground, we need boots on the air,
We need planes in the sky and ships sending reinforcements.
Modern day field intel from a not so secret spy social network.
Mid level cluster bombs of thought and quick bit pieces of food rations for thought.
Mustard gas conversations that choke the throats of some while others inhale and laugh.
Drone strike incoming, retreat from the view of public, scorched earth policy.
Some wave the white flag out of exhaustion only to go fight another battle on some far away topic.
Neutral ground hard to find, teetering on the edge of a war, always ready to fight.
The cycle repeats and yet those who have learn’ed now pick and choose when to fight.
They sit on the sidelines and wait for the right time to strike, there may not a way to retreat all the way but there is a way to cause the most effective change in the lease of painless ways.
Life is too short to spend in social trenches, it is too short to jump from battle to battle, it is not worth the energy spent fighting the endless armies day in and day out and let life go by because you get lost in the fog of war.
To quote Douglas Adams “I’d rather be happy than right”.
Strong words that should be said more.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
Teachers are problem,
Never mind the dumbing down,
God's intel design.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
It's crazy how sometimes
we'd lay there forever
gathering intel.
The bad guys
would move around
as if they owned the place,
scurrying to and fro,
moving ordnance,
an RPG or two,
lots of AK's.
Most of the time
when we saw them like that,
we'd bag them in an airstrike.
Game over.
Camo works.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Brain was a happy place where
all the memories lived together.
There were occasions of mistrust
but it seemed like a good place to live.
Like every society, there were
some unsocial elements in Brain too.
But the good memories could
keep them in control easily.
But something changed in Brain.
Negative thoughts came in large numbers.
They were heavily armed and
were well trained for combat.
The good memories, the core
defence of Brain, were helpless.
They lacked the necessary skills
and the “good will” wasn’t enough.
All the memories were terrified.
To make matters worse, the bad memories
colluded with the negative thoughts.
They leaked vital intel about the defence.
Once the good memories surrendered,
all hell broke in Brain.
The negative thoughts became unstoppable.
They tortured the memories to death.
In this time of terror,
the memories needed a leader.
Someone, they could look up to.
Hope came to their rescue.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 7:04 AM UTC
Scared of my thoughts scared of my plots,
Out of my mind fear I had been lost,
My consciousness tells me am about to die,
My mind argues telling me it’s a lie,
Suspicious of those who pass by suspicious of those nearby,
Sleep is the cousin of death so I chose insomnia,
Superstitious over every little detail and every little Intel,
My mind was the FBI and my consciousness the navy seals,
To investigate and deliberate it had the greatest skill,
In no other bureau did my trust instill,
Walking past people I could see their inner thoughts,
I could hear their soul’s intrinsic doubts,
It was a gift I had suddenly acquired,
Little did I know I was on the edge of insanity?
What I was seeing was away from reality,
What I was hearing was my thoughts conformity,
Conformity to my apparent reality which is insanity,
I had gone past the land of the insane on to madness,
I was on the brink of madness,
I never knew what was best insanity or madness,
Even now I don’t trust my thoughts because they have once driven me insane,
Not only that but twice driven me mad,
To many it might seem sad to experience all these things,
But to me am thankful because I no longer a stranger to these things,
In these lands I have visited I know my way out,
My salvation and rescuer has and will always be JESUS,
For in him I have found that neither insanity nor madness,
In him I have found sanity and peace of mind………
BY ISSAI
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
i think he was a delivery guy
building four, number 2
across the walk
a moped with one of those
cage attachments
for carrying food
or packages
or whatever
one time i brought over a
loose hammer found near
his bike and caught a
glimpse through the door
gray couch,
folding chairs,
table full of wires
nothing out of the ordinary
same layout as ours
white Hats barreled in
before we could react
the dog was first
then my brother
then me
guess they had some bad intel
Mar 8, 2021
Mar 8, 2021 at 10:35 AM UTC
these guys
i knew
were joy
that Burt
drew an
intel from
the skull
that blitz
found Congo
with stationery
a gorilla
strong that
Marshall Square
threw the
gis with
bib and
tucker home
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 4:10 PM UTC
Coaxed,
Stoaked,
Citer of circumspect alley ways,
Ponderer of all circumference!!!
A lost shadow to a drawn out stage!!
Incurable nausea plants itself beneathe thine nose,
Beneathe thy finest thine Rose!!!
Thou fallen cut down trunk,
Thou Intel gatherer of recordings of political junk!!!
Thy mafiatic hardened heart's department hath closed for many seasons,
For many reasons thou art down and out again!!!
Old adversary,
Oldened friend!!!!
Undergraduate of no sporty coup'e,
No tripped up loop to sway thine interfacial structure!!!
No loving, all clutter, you inhale as you breathe,
Thou daytime innocent,
Thou nightly thief!!!!
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
I sat in restless chairs
I breathed stilted air
what feeling compares
with feeling squandered?
I’m not sadfishing,
I was bored at a 5-star hotel.
I’d swum the Atlantic - in the underground pool
and I felt like I was marinating in boredom.
It was as if the loudest thing in our suite was
the sound of my eyelashes flapping up and down.
I wasn’t in solitary confinement,
Lisa was there too - and just-as bored.
She didn’t complain, 'cause she’s ‘New Yorker’ stoic.
So I started complaining for her - for the team.
We’d filtered every boutique,
sampled every eclectic café,
there’s just nothing to do in Geneva.
It is an implacable reality.
Peter (my bf) was at work all day and we were on vacation.
It’s different when he’s around.
He walks into the room and I feel like
a phone that’s been placed on its charger
- the world lights up and I get - charged.
“We should make a list,” I'd announced, “the pros and cons of boredom.”
“No,” Lisa said, “Let’s name fun things.”
“Fruity Pebbles popcorn,” I started.
“Girl panda makeup” Lisa offered,
“Foot massages and bubblegum”
“Cotton candy and sunflowers”
“Holidays and sparkly things!”
- we went on and on and on and -
“kittens” I updogged dreamily, before I switched the subject completely.
“We need to go to Paris!” I pronounced, excitedly.
“Oh yeah?” Lisa asked, with a little side head-bob.
“Actionable intel,” I whispered, “Grandmère wants to see me.”
Lisa gasped, adding, “You’re in TROUBLE,” drawing the last syllable out slowly.
“That would be a first,” I laughed.
“Kisses!” She exclaimed, resuming the game.
I remembered the first time I thought of kissing Peter. The thought was a flash, an emotional Rorschach test and I smiled. It was like a movie kiss, an abstract heaven - not the breathy, ****** kisses of real life.
“Where’d you go?” Lisa asked, grinning.
Some emotions are too thick for words.
.
.
Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Disco Boots by Gavin Turek
Jul 14, 2024
Jul 14, 2024 at 8:49 PM UTC
she's mad because no one knew it was her birthday
she lives right next door
so they're whispering
(and not doing a good job of that)
maybe if she was a better friend then that wouldn't happen
I try to escape it
but they follow me into the bathroom
Now they're talking about her *** life
Asking me for intel
Just to find more things about her to
**** on
why do they sleep with the door open?
*do they even have ***
I ignore them
I'm done with the gossiping
The **** talking behind backs but
playing nice as soon as they turn around
They know that but
they can't stop themselves from asking
What they don't know
Is that the girl living next to me
the bad friend that they're so ******* interested in
Is having one of the worst summers of her life
They don't know that she broke up with her boyfriend
4 days ago
she spent her birthday living in the same room as her now
ex boyfriend
No one sang to her
No one made her a cake
No one gave a ****
It was just a normal day
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
Sometimes I forget that I'm the owner of my body
and I'm not just housesitting until the person whose home it really is gets back from vacation.
Thankfully whoever lives here always leaves me a roster that includes a list of the people in her life
so I don't embarrass her with my social ignorance.
Yesterday, she left me with the person she had labeled as "boyfriend" in her reference contact list.
And even though I didn't recognize him as mine,
when I stole glances for intel purposes,
I felt this surge of emotion
like she had left the electricity running in the room she dedicated to him.
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
No time for what's wack! The Most High's got my back, Thru the path I have chosen, I'm understandn and knowing, it's lonely at the top, this be dvine HipHop, heavenly power, like a souljah standin in the tower, advising the people, yo here comes the beast! This time war will brin peace, as I use MY PIECE, I got my glock, locked and loaded, I built not stolen, I b Neo Lady Righteous, when I grab the mic, all who breathe the breath of life feels it, good vibes, holy minds, due time!
Spreadin the wealth of knowledge and comprehension, intel on all we do so do well, time will tell like bredren Marely spoke it and sang it, rock dem bells likE RUN DMC rapped it! This is a spiritual gift, todays uplift frm my soul to urs, sistren renaissance rox the universe with this converse, makin all evil disperse back to hell, Holy words makes it freeze over! Brimstone and fiyah! Ahayah is highYah and deepah! Loves us with divine power! Release the angels within, everything u do manifests, Who u reppin! Don't sit on the fence, decide which side u on and stick with it...unless u wake up in babylon and ur heart speak to u, don't ignore the God within, free ur mind and soften ur heart! I SAY PHAROAH, LET MY PEOPLE GO!
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
If neoliberalism has taught me anything
It’s that Love is a close, slow, and cold war
Of poisoned wells, proxy wars, and intel—
Know thy enemy, keep them closer than allies.
So close this necessary rivalry
That no olive branch can pass between
That, even in times of peace,
The light-bearing serpents
Post guard near the vaults of one’s purity
Unsure whether grain or gold
Actually lines the walls of ones coffers,
And the thousand envious myrmidons
Kept along the edges of their body’s territory
And skirt the embassy within.
Is there room in the hearth
For pacifists like me?
Or are all the rooms quartered by troops?
It’s sad to say, only the words of the cynic
Could truck and barter
Their way through the bronze gates,
What small inlets there may be,
As master seeking the slave
And slave, the master’s whips
Is a true sign of loyalty to Monogamy’s crown.
What Love couldn’t be said to be
The sadomasochism of
The corporate merger,
Or annexation
Or competitive market of ideas?
*** in the time of Smith or Hobbes,
Is exactly what we need—
Egoism allwheres,
Like so much embroidery
The love of ones life
Veils ********** a swallowing, a utility
And undoes the altruism,
Anything but all-true-ism,
In favor of the fetishism of control,
Flashed like semaphores in storm-beaten nights
To any ship passing
Seeking port and safe passage,
Exchange fire, those shapes and pleas,
Turned warnings to threats,
Sinking, sinking deeper
Into each other’s arms.
In all their plotting, do they hear
Andres-Salome, Ree, and Nietzsche
Laughing about in unburdened skin
Laughing to let the summer in,
On cart-drawn pleasures
And rustic, old-world habits
That rub dirt in the wound
Of the flesh’s censures
By the cruel absence of the lash
And the ostracon.
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 12:23 PM UTC