"inventors" poems
Inventor Sam invented a life
Full of bright and sunny days
With clouds in the sky, peacefully passing on by,
And beautiful birds singing in all sorts of nice ways.
Inventor Sam, with a wave of his little right hand,
Invented mountains that reached up towards the stars
And with a wave and a flick, in an instant, quite quick,
He made rivers and valleys stretched out afar.
Inventor Sam, what a grand little man,
Invented some animals too
He called them Zebras, Giraffes, and Orangutans
Even people like me and like you
Inventor Sam then sat back to enjoy all that he made
But he noticed that something was missing
Not apples, nor reindeer, nor trees and their cool shade
Not eagles, nor bananas, nor snakes and their hissing
Inventor Sam looked closely at the animals that stuck out
Those on two legs, with little hair and one tiny snout,
They walked aimlessly around with no purpose at all
Stiff legged and hollow like fragile china dolls
Inventor Sam then sat up with a smile on his face
For he knew what would be his very last application
With a wave of both arms, and lightning for effect
He made people Inventors with their very own imagination.
-BPW 12/27/2013
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
No we're not learning about inventors.
No we're not learning about scientists.
If we were, that would be great,
But we're not,
Instead we're learning about lying thieves,
And overrated ones at that.
We should be learning about real inventors,
That didn't steal ideas from others,
And were lucky enough not to have ideas stolen from them,
Like George Westinghouse.
We should be learning about real inventors,
And real scientists,
That sadly went unrecognized,
Because their ideas were stolen,
By so called inventors,
That were in reality total jerks,
Like Nikola Tesla,
And Rosalind Franklin.
However, instead of learning about true inventors like them,
We're learning about the likes of Thomas Edison,
Guglielmo Marconi,
James Watson,
And Francis Crick.
Here's a "fun fact" about Thomas Edison,
He promised Nikola Tesla 50 grand,
In exchange for fixing his machines.
However, when Nikola Tesla was finished,
Several months later,
He not only didn't pay Tesla,
He mocked him for asking,
He said that he was joking,
And according to some, he was offered a raise of 10 dollars
According to others, he asked for a raise, and was denied it,
Either way, Tesla quit.
Here's a "fun fact" about Guglielmo Marconi,
He didn't invent the radio,
Nikola Tesla did.
However, Marconi pulled an Edison,
And stole Tesla's invention from him.
Luckily, although sadly too late,
Tesla was rewarded the patent.
Here's a "fun fact" about James Watson and Francis Crick,
They took credit for Franklin's discovery.
Why do we have to sit in social studies,
Listening to Youtube videos,
And reading books,
And doing plays,
That people created for school kids,
About so called inventors.
When instead,
We could be reading books,
Listening to Youtube videos,
And doing plays,
That we created ourselves,
About real inventors.
I want to get a real education.
I want to learn about the truth,
Instead of lies.
So please teachers,
Principals,
Superintendents,
Common Core Professionals,
State Test Professionals,
Please let us learn about the truth,
Please don't make us learn about lies.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
A hand-shaped heritage,
it opened its huge palm
and waved at us,
welcoming us in
It made us farmers
It made us chefs
It made us factory workers
It made us business owners
and inventors
It gave us higher education
to dream taller and wider
It bridged the gap
between two peninsulas
to include everyone
It smiled upon me,
and patted me on the back
"Well done, lady poet
Well done"
Nov 24, 2009
Nov 24, 2009 at 11:52 AM UTC
Inventors of the past
Curators of the future
Writers, speakers, dreamers,
Teachers of great potential.
They have read, written,
Shared the bountiful food of wonder
-Unable to be conceived-
Only partially decoded
Who are we
To take the reigns of such magicians?
To think innovative thoughts,
To uncover precious words
hidden by the legendary dust of rustic times,
To transform, evolve,
bend the titanium frames
constructed by gifted architects,
To be new
Defiant, different
Right or wrong?
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
Running the gauntlet down Midchester Road,
A veritable suburb of Gleethorpes City,
You pass a line of house-castles
Of the well to do.
But don’t be fooled
By what you see,
For I know someone
Who lives there.
And he will tell you,
Of bountiful gardens
Stripped bare
And concreted over
So that families can park their fleets
Of expensive cars.
See those conservatory extensions
And widened pavements.
A lady poses,
Doing her best
To emulate the Kardashians.
Money attracts
No end of thugs
And dodgy dealers:
Swarming parasitic wasps
Around the honey ***
Nights of drunken revellers
From the local pub:
Swaying from trees
And kicking cans about.
Boy racers tearing down the road,
Music systems booming
With a mindless
Moronic drumming.
“Where has reality gone?” asks
My despairing friend.
They have their money
Their riches,
Expensive toys
But few of them are Happy.
What happened to “Goodness” and virtue
And dreams of Utopia?
Where are the heroes
Inventors and creators?
Instead we have a world of celebrity,
In which true talent – even genius
Is ignored and undervalued.
“Where are we going?” my friend exclaims.
Things get worse and worse,
The world all in reverse.
For it’s “Unreal City”,
Far from pretty.
So have a think,
Don’t let yourself sink
Even further into the mire.
Just get real,
You know the deal,
It’s you I’m trying to inspire.
Paul Butters
© PB 2\8\2019
(with help from a bloke who lives in such a place. Same town as me).
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 6:01 AM UTC
Carve a picture of your face into the Halls of Time
Preserve yourself forevermore
In the history of humankind
OBEY -the Universal Law
DO WHAT THOU WILT - Harm Not
Scrape the sky with your canines
Make the people sing your name
Slave for no divine reward
And fear no eternal flame
Devil may care,
Live and let live
DO WHAT THOU WILT - Harm Not
We are a miraculous animal
Tricking ourselves into spurning our own gifts
Overcaffienated/Undersatisfied
Our eyes firmly planted
In the center of the sky
We've spent so long waiting for angels
No one remembers:
We Are Divine.
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Defend Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Indulge Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Enjoy Thyself
DO WHAT THOU WILT; Respect Thyself
I Am God
You Are God
God Is A Lie
I Am God
You Are God
God Is An Idea
Born In The Minds
Of Us,
The Inventors
God Is A Tool
Used For Control
His Soldiers Are Fools
Losing Their Souls
DO WHAT THOU WILT
BUT FEAR NO GOD
DO WHAT THOU WILT
GOVERN THYSELF
DO WHAT THOU WILT
PROTECT THY WORLD
DO WHAT THOU WILT
BE WHO YOU WISH
DO WHAT THOU WILT
HARM NOT
WASTE NOT
DO
WHAT
THOU WILT
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:09 AM UTC
The earth’s been our playground, beautiful and vast.
A utopian world on which the human race was cast.
In the sliver of time, we’ve been an industrial culture
We’ve preyed on her resources like a ravenous vulture.
A carnivore hunting for bigger and fatter game,
All in the guise of improving and seeking for fame.
Inventors create contraptions and devices,
Never bothering to notice how much smaller the ice is.
Carbon is aplenty, spewing forth in filthy emission
Ozone suffering from man with limited vision.
Many animals hunted to extinction, and more on the way
Ecologists fight to be heard, to government's policies sway
Our waters suffer abuse and lose their purity
Advances in culture, lend earth no security
Oil and garbage circle the earth killing the wildlife off it,
Inventions and efforts to save us, offer no profit.
Efforts must be made to lower and stop pollution
All species soon will be dead without a solution.
Let’s work together and help clean mother earth.
What’s our future generations’ health really worth?
A partner we should be, and not a voracious parasite,
We are cognizant beings; we should know to do what’s right.
Love the earth, give back more than you take,
Do it now, do it fast, for our children’s sake.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 6:55 AM UTC
The new american generation
afraid to question their teachers
scared to stand out
not with different clothes but
with intellect and knowledge
the want to know more no longer exists
for it has been replaced by the want to fit in
histories inventors paved the way with sharing new ideas
we think getting called on to share ideas is torture
we complain saying the lords name in vain
they cannot see what God expects is us to try
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
When i die, please leave my gravestone blank.
For a name is just a selection of 26 letters
a lost blue print, among many lost inventors.
Over time my name will be erased
from the harsh erosion taken place
i'll beat life at it's own game
before anyone can say "what was her name?"
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
I've been to all ends of the earth looking for you but you are not direction
I searched the sky for you but you are not a constellation
I looked to the sea but you are not the waves
When I searched the trees I was disappointed by your absence but you are not a bird
I looked under the ground but you are not the roots of the pines
I dissected every line I ever wrote but you are not a collection of words
When I listened to the wind I couldn't help myself and I tried to hear you but you are not a whisper
Screaming in caves creates company but you are not an echo
I gathered a crew and set sail in treacherous weather but you are not a lighthouse
I've heard the floor boards squeak and the walls moan but you are not a house
This car has carried me for ninety five thousand miles but you are not the highway
I climbed to the tops of mountains but you are not a feeling of victory
With thoughts of warmth I struck a match and lit the woods on fire but you are not heat
I stood alone in the night watching the snow fall but you are not the cold
Hundreds of hours spent in the ICU have proven I am sick but you are not the antidote
I melted thousands of renown paintings but you are not inspiration
Millions of scientific advances have been torn apart but you are not understanding
I've searched the words of prophets philosophers and teachers but you are not wisdom
They drew blood from my veins but you are not life
A psychic read my mind but you are not thought
I visited with inventors but you are not an idea
But the day she ripped my heart out of my chest I found you nestled inside safe and sound
And it dawned on me that you are my sunshine
~W.C.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
I am an old soul
I never asked for explorers to progress
I never asked for inventors to invent
I never asked for science to discover or scholars to detect
I never asked to go from Steamers to engines
I never wanted to trade vinyl for headphones
But I’d always trade city lights for a mountain range
A worn out skyline for an open plane
Why do we complicate our lives in attempt to make them simple?
And why has living simply, become to most something trivial
I am raptured in this soul that refuses to age
In times that are always persistent to change
"Old Soul" -JP
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 1:19 PM UTC
In life, there are many things we have in common.
The first thing all of us have in common is this
All of us are in the womb about nine months, and born.
Then we go through the childhood stages
We take our first steps.
We go through the terrible twos.
We ride a bike.
Most of us go to some sort of kindergarden.
Then an elementary school.
Then we hit middle school.
For me in little old Nebraska I was a seventh grader.
Some of us go in sixth grade, maybe even earlier.
There we "date" for some of us.
Some of us die our hair black and put in piercings.
Some of us wear makeup.
But no matter what you find some of your best friends there.
Highschool comes around.
Being a freshman, I'm not gonna lie,
Kinda scary.
Got your whole life ahead of you.
Then some of us drop out.
Some of us graduate and move on in the game of life.
Go to some sort of military, navy, air force, or other.
Some of us move on to be a doctor or a lawyer.
Some of us become accountants, or inventors.
Then we get through college, or whatever we chose to do,
And we get married,
Have children,
Or party.
If we have children we move on again.
Our children go through the same cycle.
This time, if they advance to children,
They are your grandchildren.
This my friends is the stages of life,
And you are bound to go through them.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
I have trouble with myself
For as I look out into the world,
I see lives being saved,
Changes being made.
Scientists discovering,
Engineers building,
Inventors inventing--
And all I have to offer
Are a few sad poems,
Pathetic,
Fragile and bony,
Just like the hands that make them.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
oh but what you are doesn't necessarily remain,
we already know what you are,
you are a masquerade of excuses,
and your favourite subject of expressing
the masquerade is philosophy -
by it you find yourself excused,
but because the english undermined
a philosophical expression we've found
a weak spot, a diaphragm sort of speak;
indeed oh, what you are doesn't necessarily remain,
what you create and leave behind is necessary -
i just hope you find the heart to entomb in your
heart those in the modern era you found
pleasure in entertaining you grasping such
a vain effort of your frivolous maintenance
of the easily accessed numbers of similar examples -
sunglasses in the night - a ghost in the machine -
a soul extracted from the body in that lonely
cataract of flooding applause with one actor
and one member of the audience scared to applaud -
your creation... your immediate loss of identity -
but of course you were anticipating the organic
form of what would become a cohesive inorganic
entity - of the example that a mother even speaks
of regarding a robot - now why would a mother
speak of a robot? hmm? guess... it's a test for
a.s.i., i.e. analytically synthetic intelligence -
history repeats itself -
history repeats itself -
you analyse no difference -
hence you synthesise replication - and you call
it intelligence of avoidance yet waste it on
a test for intelligence quantified, rearing in politicians
to craft a chiral representation of intelligence
quantified - in the recycling bin -
so much intelligence wasted, quantified,
leaving so much stupidity qualified to fake it,
instead of the recycling bin, thrown into the pigs'
through...
indeed, you are not what necessarily remains,
all the fabulous discoveries of science, and yet
the burning existential questions - thrown at you
by the pyramidal scheme of the non-inventors,
the once proud aristocrats languishing beneath
the weight of new-money barons...
indeed you are not what necessarily remains,
you are what necessarily remains in what you
are already... in such great number,
as in the liturgy of history... an anonymity...
perhaps all you ever were was a method statement
of creating a soufflé, the fermentation process of grapes...
how foolish you look now, readied for slaughter,
attempting to clarify a famous person syndrome,
grovelling like a cunt-politician slurping attention
in Orwell's house - i know my stance -
by the machine being fed exponentials -
once only deluded if i be found prophetic on the street,
but with a house bound to a value
a suicide rate is worth in Switzerland (£10,000),
you think i'd pleasure myself with your tabloid
philosophy and wait for sympathy or disgrace?
guess...
it's free; a guess is free,
your little birdcage houses no sing-along.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
Your Name
Your name
Shouted across the battlefield
Whispered in the darkness of the soul
Written on the forehead of the sage
And the heart of the poet
Burning in the minds of explorers,
inventors and madmen
Tattooed into your own
Etched in indelible letters
Engraved in my soul
When all else fades,
It remains
Shining in darkness
Your name.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
I want to follow.
So I can lead.
So I can encourage.
So I can
breathe
and show the way
to the breath of life.
But the words
seem hollow
and my works
are like the products of inept inventors
falling apart before inception.
They tumble from my mouth
and rattle through my brain
never reaching my hands and feet.
My heart
still healing
sometimes flutters with doubt.
I try to shut it out....
but, God, please!
I'm not asking for easy
for less pain
or more progress.
God, I just want to know you.
Don't let my sometimes hollow
plea to follow
betray my plodding feet...
If I should stumble,
let me stand again!
With you, I can.
My life,
so short,
so miniscule,
but not meaningless.
Your plan is too complex;
the jigsaw of your perfect work
the infinitesimal steps
leading
one by seeming insignificant one
to the final future for us all
where we will bow before you!
Crying out praises!
Singing Hallelujah!
Let me be that small part you have for me.
I want to follow.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Society ignores the messages that people bring up, the protesters, the entrepreneurs, the conservationists, and the inventors, who try to fix our mistakes. We do it because we are afraid to hear that our tiny little perfect world, that we worked so hard to make perfect, is not so perfect after all. So we ignore it, we block it out, and we go on with our perfect world, ignoring reality.
We ignore the messages of hunger, of poverty, of genocide, of war, of economy, of religion, of disasters, and of relationships, because it shakes our tiny little worlds
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 3:26 PM UTC
I apologize
For my inconsistencies
For my opinions
For being naïve or knowing too much of nothing
For questioning the teachings of great thinkers, great writers, poets, inventors of all time
I’m sure that they’re sorry too
Sorry that not everything is done to a certain someone
Or doesn’t pertain to those who toss it aside
Sorry that we all live in our own separate and made up worlds
Feeding off of old traditions
Enhancing them to make our own “new” ones
But then define plagiarism? If it’s such a huge issue
Then why do we do it?
So I am sorry.
Sorry for copying you, him, her, them
Sorry for stealing what was never there
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
*Once a writer falls in love with you,
you can't ever die—*
we all know the saying.
But what happens, I wonder,
to those who fell in love
but never tried to preserve it
with paper and ink?
Was their love, I wonder,
not as real
as the love that all of us
have written down,
as if the feelings aren't official
until we find an artistic way
to express them in words?
So this one goes out to
all the athletes and the inventors,
to the photographers and the painters
and the musicians and the dancers—
to the encouragers, and the listeners,
and the readers—
to everyone who's ever been in love.
To anyone who's ever found themselves
feeling the same way inside as it feels
when you step into the sun
after spending far too long
in artificial lighting,
or when you feel the breeze again
after far too much air conditioning.
This one goes out to all of you.
To all of us.
Because no matter how we choose
to express it,
we are the lovers,
and we can never die.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
Why are the traits of creativity and insanity
An hourglass and sand
Is it an unintended genetic defect?
Or a simple wonderment of man
An anomaly of nature
A chemical imbalance in the Ribonucleic acid
A minuscule knot in the DNA strands
Many minds revered and unknown don the genius crown
The emotive disturbing creations of Goya’s dark-stained hands
The deaf Beethoven composing the illustrious symphonies of sound
The imagery of Hemingway before he felt disposed to lay the pencil down
Leonardo da Vinci the scientist and painter who dreamt of Mars
The Kaleidoscope of inventors, poets, visual and musical artists
The unseen silent ones who walk among us
Who glimpse and grasp for that which lies in secret even beyond the stars
They socialize freely with death and depression
That colors that taunt the fingers and feed the obsession
The impeccable word so elusive often sought in panic
Never-ending questions of the universe that must be answered
So comes the genesis of the melancholy, bipolar. schizoid and the manic
Why are creativity and insanity
An hourglass and sand
Is it an inherited genetic defect?
Or a singular wonder of man
A chemical imbalance in the Ribonucleic acid
A minuscule knot in the DNA strands
All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Oct. 4, 2019.
All Material Stored in Author Base.
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 10:12 PM UTC
Over the hill and far away
Is where the make believe must play
The dreamers, inventors
The wishers and tempters.
How high such a hill
Should rise from the ground
And oh what a cackle
Has come from its crowd.
What glee and temptation
And lacking contemplation
Has thrown out such an awful menace
And now we, the outsiders do the penance.
Out of sight and out of mind
Has a one sided hangover I find.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 8:21 PM UTC
Battered, beaten, bruised, Torn and scorned.
Women In the boardroom,
Or be you a nursing mother;
From the Alley to the gutter;
From maid to servant, wife or slave.. Lust and shame, follows our names No way to say no, No-way to explain Mothers in the church, they pray and sing
Keeping time with the music we play. Whispers in the back of us, as we shout And pray. Had so many children.. To care for, that we bore;
Life for us just one big ole' big chore. Circumstances dictated that we live in shacks, No indoor running water, in the shack Just a "spickit" and a toilet in the yard outback. From the age of fourteen until well in our fie birth to our little brown babies.
We smiled, sacrificed, our happiness, and our own lives, Pretended to hold on, when our faith had long died. We'd wash cook, sew, clean, garden and teach. In hopes that the children we bore... Knew not, nor suffer the same strife; As we met in this life.
When our children saw the wounds And the pain we've endured. We asked God "let them not be bitter nor dismayed" Let them succeed, and by his mercy be cured.
As the light in our eyes, now dim, is soon to be snuffed. The Average Black woman had been through enough. Battle after battle; We survived every war. Some women were self-made, others evolved higher In spite of the odds.
Though the abuser at Home did not want her to score.. Battered and beaten; She still held her own; Though she never saw Jesus, Somehow she still soared..became Professors and Doctors, surgeons. Inventors musician and clergymen. Scientist, dentist and politicians, Bed-wenches and ****** We did what it took to survive, we Even Scrubbed floors.
Disaster after disaster, there's is Nothing in this world; The Black-Woman Has not conquered and mastered. When she crosses over and is on the other shore... When her days on earth are finally done, And she wants to cleanse her soul.
She'll Tell God of all the things
That hurt her most here in this earthly life. Was being battered, bruised, and beaten... By the man that called her Wife.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
I think it's time for a conversation
about human beings an our imagination
Great inventors like in past days are rare
and it seems that society just doesn't care
So just what happened to free innovation
it's now controlled like a railway station
Some great ideas aren't being inspected
well inventors of hoovers are getting respected
If they can't control it they make it stall
as mankind's inventions could free us all
Letting them do it will be all our regret
Man made are we and we shouldn't forget!
© One man
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 5:46 AM UTC
I think I have come up with a solution
to the dilemma I described in another recent poem.
It is a path I always knew was available to me
but I did not know how to start upon it.
I am happy that it has remained open.
What is knowledge if it is not acted upon?
I will now reveal my most painful thought,
the burden I have been ******** about,
because we need to do something about it.
not just sit idly by as it destroys everything we know.
My secret is a spoiler.
The spoiler.
The ultimate spoiler.
The end of the universe.
"the heat death of the universe"
google it, and see.
This is really hard for me, saying this,
especially knowing that someone really cool may read it
and suffer as I have.
Please don't let it get you down.
although, I'm sure you won't.
But I have written so much already
and I haven't given what the title has promised.
The Solution is to construct a foundation
upon which future generations
of scientists,
inventors,
innovators,
and all of humankind
can build upon
so as to not only avert this terrible disaster
but to delve ever deeper into the vast reality we are born to
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC