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Ashley Chapman Sep 2017
Sandwiched in layers of liquid crystal display,
Encased in vats of plastic,
                          
                            we
Voyaging in data-spheres, plumes of digital play.

Mindless,
         In the soup of silicone,
                            
                            all
Myt­h-makers,
         Pouring over electro-spawned
         networks,
                            
                            fall
Workers,
          In the buzz of bits and bytes, of
          megabytes and terabytes,
                            
                            down
Everyone
          Far from the wood, the brine, the
          mud that caked us,
          In tighter and tighter
          digitised  projections,
                            
                            click!
‘Like me’,
‘Share me’,
‘Leave your comments.’

Messages smoothed out in polymers,
Beyond reproductions of ourselves,

                           enter:

Deeper, delving in the mire of dream-conscious,

Now a waking voice,
          Hardened, digitised, recorded in
          bubbles, in drives, in clouds:
                        
Numb numbers of numbers numb,
                          mirror.

          A platform slotted home:
The motherboard!
          To record the echo in the hollow
          of our Being.
Wrote this a while back. It was published in The Tunnel Magazine, which was great. Anyway, hope it gets a wider audience.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2021
bypassing the 502 error: title - whiplash...
body... cream...

original intent:

they're doing road works on a stretch of road
where the brothel sits:
house of the rising sun or whatever you want
to call it... i'm not ready for the thrist:
for the plunge that will extend into half a decade's
worth of not *******...
i'll give it a week or so... before i take the plunge:
proper... mind you... i've already found
the perfect formula for drinking...
the cheapest bottle of australian wine...
at 14%... mixed into the glorious Mayan drink
of the gods' that's kalimotxo...
and if i'm still not "feeling it": i'll top myself
off with some slender-man's whiskey glug-glug...
it worked so well for 4 years without
touching a woman's body...
what the hell prompted me?
to wake up from this slumber?
oh... right... i own two maine **** cats
and when i was grooming the female...
she stuck up her brunt right into my hands...
it felt like: trans-species ******* for a while...
a cog in my brain went loose...
for days i cycled in the night into central London
looking at the flesh market:
of the free peoples of the western world...
what prompted me...
i was grooming my maine **** cat and she
was tempting me with a: ******* hairy apple...
no... wrong... just plain wrong...
perhaps i swing around beard envy & ha...
***** envy (well... imagine a rabbit ******* an elephant...
big **** genre of: and how deep is that...
ahem... hole? standard kama sutra...
not one size fits all)
but when your cat starts to imitate getting it...
**** me... the night... cycling... sweating it off...
until you have to touch the antonym...
but suppose you come across a timid girl
and you get a case of erectile dysfunction...
while you end up caressing her: timidly kissing
her because she's timid...
pointing at her eyebrows... nose... eyes...
ears... pimples... freckles and moles...
the mirror... fingers... elbow... knees...
and asking her to say the Romanian words for them...
sure... a momentary lapse in sanity:
the reason(s) was already self-evident...
take a woman like Ava Lauren...
now... my god... by god... that's a ****-machine...
an *** like a Lamborghini and a body
like a leather armchair...
and she stuck through it... a mandible body
of the extension of the jaw...
some people are born to be boxers...
she was built to be ****** in the confines of
orthodoxy...
dead pornstars though... i.e. Shyla Stylez...
it's really a joke if i ask: would it be necrophilia
if i'm doing it to images of a dead pornstar?
"doing it": best on the toilet...
no... no scented candles... no eager kangaroo *****
no webcam... no thrill...
3 birds:  1 stone: on throne of thrones...
no better way and all the best excuses to later
jump under the shower and get on with the dead...
sorry.. day...
4 years i did... grooming a cat awoke in my a thirst
i thought i had long forgotten...
- kinks: mostly foreplay...
       kissing after all that 2nd base foreplay
while she's on top of you veiling you with her
Turkic raven hair...
immediately after the act: all that virility...
now... dilution...
            kinks: i still tend to rub my hands against
a brick wall before i enter their abode...
i rub my hands against bricks
to demand more from when i'm touching
flesh... nothing can come close when standing
at the altar of a woman's naked body
in dim lighting... with at least 2 mirrors on the wall...
reassurances of cleanliness are highly
welcome... even though by a tonne load of surprises
she would perform ******* with the rubber
commoner of promiscuity...
- kinks: any body attired in latex...
  that's the height: ms. gimp...
                          well... there's that or me endowed
with a cockerel sized endowment about
to **** a maine **** cat during grooming...
as "sick" as finding out you've been doing
the nos. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones
to a dead pornstar like Shyla Stylez...
in third person: lover-boy all smooches
and octopus tentacles reading the geography
like he might pick up the braille of all the grooves
and hinges...
interruption: i'm no pornographer!
although there's this one allusion:
    Venus in Furs... ol' Leo von Sacher-Masoch...
on the tip of my tongue:
at the tip of my fingers...
to turn stone in skin...
   - i remember being in a strip-club once...
i had to fly to Athens for that one...
i walked into a market sq. and met up with
some random... Greeks... Algerians...
Medi- olive skinned folk...
complete strangers... we drifted around the nightclubs
and watched the girls coming out...
how's that scale of nought through to ten?
below average... and highly demanding...
the four of us decided: **** it...
we climbed into a car and drove to the outskirts
of Athens to a strip-club...
unlike a dog that's chasing cars
i couldn't just... look... a few drinks down
and still eyeing the prize
i had two women around my arms
and my face buried in one's *****:
while some demon-she look on from
the other side of the platform of lost clothing...
another put a green peg on the table
informing me i could have more...
by then i was out of debit... my card was
returned... a bouncer escorted me to the nearest
cash machine in a hotel... started talking
to the receptionist while i was pretending to
withdraw money i didn't have...
right there and then i became a child:
******* my clothes... excitement, fear... both...
dunno... drunks have this build in GPS...
Athens... a city i only just arrived in...
blind drunk mad with love...
i managed to find my way back to the hostel...
**** the guiding beacons into my dreams...
eh... a ******* is never going to be a brothel...

i don't like the argument of:
look... but don't touch... touch... but don't taste...
taste but don't... what comes after taste?
if ever i catch myself watching pornogrpahy
it has to be classic Italian flicks...
on silent...
i can never be fully absorbed:
i'll wait for a real experience to come
with the flood of the senses...
i can't give myself to simulation with all
the sense...
after all... i was probably one of the last
boys who bought a ***** mag in a shop
with... actual expedience of trade...
it was still in the open...
i might have died of shame but at least
i didn't hide it...

                  no shame in Belgium though...
we were visiting world war I graveyards
and the trenches... but at the same time
we were looking for the best brothel in Ypres
while i was the only boy buying a ***** mag...
all ****... shaved... unshaved...
no *******: because a man's imagination
was still fertile... you had a woman's body
impose itself on your psyche like
an x-ray... and you had all that imagination
to subsequently have to swallow...
third party ***** weren't involved:
you never felt like a cul de sac ******...
oddly enough... limp **** hey presto:
can't perform when asked...

ooh... ol' Turkic raven hair:
all her talents in the foreplay...
and all the smooching during *******...
thank god i could never marry...
father children...

4 years it has taken me to wake up to this...
"repressed" reality...
repressed or... even the Teutonic Order
had a brothel in their capital-citadel of Malbork...
Marienburg...
for the love of women who also love:
cleanliness... and the aesthetics of arousal...
for all that's love and all that's not love...
for all that beside love: intimacy without question:
but all the answers...
for two bodies imitating slugs or serpents
where no words are exchanged or given
toward *******: autonomous bodies reaching
for braille with eyes wide open...

- the road to the brothel was closed...
the guys doing the road works cut it off...
not tonight... tonight i'm going to bemoan how:
well... when you start writing...
don't expect to have the same sort of privacy rules
implicit of... whatever the hell you do besides...
why wouldn't a plumber raise these words
from the domain of thought that's probably
his most cherished freedom?
people can still pretend to hide in anonymity
on the internet...
but... why would you... write bogus comments
and troll...
before words become carbon on paper: pencil...
the circus of thinking ought to be enough...
unless: like me... you're going at it like a bull...
i don't think i can have "privacy" anymore...
not that that bothers me...
i'll wear a mask when i put my face on...
but literacy so squandered for the upper-hand
in slighting someone anonymously...

                    ha!           someone would have
written a confession: Anne Sexton brush-up on:
what's important... Anne Sexton... now there was
a ***** that if she was willing could make you
dream all day and night...

why are so many pornstars so... ******* attractive
that you'd wish to push them
into bird-cages with the parrots
or adorn them with white linen niqabs?
as much as i want:
my words are not sacrosanct:
but they're also no Mammon slot-machine
golden-goose mine: perhaps when i'm dead:
something might trickle down into the coffers...
but i doubt that...
words never become shapes or colours
or therefore paintings...
words burn... words and all that becomes
collateral as they dig and drown into
the unconscious: of course... no motive...
just a motif...
    
brother Balaam: fellow diviner of the god
of the Hebrews...
brother Balaam... give me the strength of purpose
to chase more shadows: more more more!
speak to me from under the depths
of the sea of death...
they have left these northern lands...
and as they now stand: proud in their multitude:
and still persist in their clinging to the diaspora:
for i will not glutton myself over
the accomplishments of but one Hebrew:
when i can glorify their deity!

literacy has been squandered:
best strip these people of their "knowledge"
of letters: letter by letter:
let them return to smearing **** on cavern ceilings!
hostile barbarians: paradoxically:
the Vikings were renowned in their celebration
of "effeminate" males: poets...
i could warn a dog or two to bark as i thus:
howl...
               little creatures of dispute...
little belittling lords of shovel ****!
hey! prompt! all verb no noun...
something these leeches might understand... "might"...

all this lubricated tongue has made me think
of something else that happened today...
beside me revisiting the cinema of memory...
grandfather and i: the hyenas of the graveyard:
although even he pronounced that
he was unable to laugh: i guess i started to laugh
for the both of us... eagerly, proper:
with the vowel catcher of the first
arm of the tetragrammaton: HA HA...
while the "other" vowel catcher would
smother the vowels in sighs: AH AH!
exasperated... almost...

       call it PR or whatever you want to call it:
i'd rather stack shelves in a supermarket
than work at a call-centre...
the deceit and the Peter Pan *******
i said: it's not the Shetland Islands...
it's the South East...
i was rummaging on an internet speed
of... 0.1Mbps (megabytes per second)
for a while... i reached a zenith of 0.6 - 0.8(Mbps)...

for a year... if not longer...
and there she was: she came...
this bleached-blonde pchła of a... she did put on just
enough mascara...
obviously taken...
i don't think *** entered my thoughts
when... she... didn't... parade her keychain
that involved a picture of her and her child...
pchła: an endearing term for a girl
of timid build... a body my shadow at noon
could break like a walnut...
i called her an engineer...
she wasn't going to construct a bridge...
she was going to fiddle with my router...
my internet connection...
a woman who had desire for fiddling with:
"dead" things: shadows...
arteries... veins... a concept of a heartbeat...

i just admired her hair...
obviously not natural... bleached...
     she was a body occupying a space...
a welcome intrusion nonetheless...
i sort of enjoyed the silence i surrounded her with...
"sort of": i clearly did...
best be on your way...
a female engineer...
well... from 0.1Mbps... coming up for air
now standing at... 5.6Mbps...
she asked: how did "we" manage?
we just watched a lot of the show live...
but... there were more important things to mind...

the bothersome truth is that:
you can't exactly dig into: pristine good...
this girl who became a "cable guy" engineer...
engineer: "engineer": "tech. support":
i'm not trying to demean her purpose:
i'm the one doodling words on a makeshift
canvas...
i'm no painter or mind having
enough nepotistic authority of: father painter
so i become a fashion designer... etc.

i pin-pointed the proper term though: no?
nepotism?
you just can't objectify certain women...
both of us beguiled having internet providers:
so... shouldn't they penalize the companies
that are all software and bar users?
will the software providers turn off my...
electricity?
the PR Peter Pan stunts... as i told her:
you being the engineer and me being the customer...
we can talk... face to face...
but over the phone?
put me in a confessional booth
with a woman from Mecca and her... double take
on what's to be seen: what's to be heard...
what's to be ******... what's not to be seen / heard...
eaten...

an eager *****: if a ***** is going to give...
but if... she's... this occupied presence...
it's impossible to penetrate her with words...
all i have is:
bleached blonde hair...
heavy mascara... something insinuating combating
nervousness: i am what i am: sorting out cables:
i reassured her: the aesthetics will be dealt with...
a drowning man will cling to a razor's edge to save
himself...
why do i feel so hardly alone
around people who invest so much
in... having children?
it's not like i'm expecting 3rd party sources
to come and salvage me: when completely decrepit...

a woman completely devoid of any ****** advances:
perhaps performing the role of a dentist:
a surgeon: it's already exploited by me
when it comes to: seeing her most ******
parts: her hands... at the grace of a supermarket cashier...
let her be... she's already averting her eyes:
i might insinuate a receding question:
there's the moon... the forest...
come autumn...
maybe i'm focusing on exaggerating myself...
i am: exaggerating myself...

toward a focus of timidity...
as best i can...
    i am a dead end joy-**** at best...
an underperformer at least...
              my own very self worn down
skipping barefoot in memory
right now probably better adorned by a straightjacket...
but who's fooling who...
the readied ***** or this girl working out
cables?

i can respect this one without a need
to pressurise her with a... ******* niqab...
until she might bloat over:
over-suckled... fat... nothing more than
a speed machine for *****-count...
something that doesn't deserve limbs:
is all torso and belongs
to the cult of the bone tomahawk cannibals...

that one motto cited by all Arabs
and pseudo-Arabs: there no water in the desert...
spoken in dearest of the dear that's England:
this green and pleasant land...
where's the ******* desert?!
shovel! both a verb and a noun...
how rare.... perhaps not so much...
        proverbs from the Middle East...
******* to the Middle East and let me
riddle my own: better a sparrow in your
hand than a dove on your roof...
how's that?

better joy in the immediacy of your own:
than peace among your closely associated.
******* H'arab...
you're no Jew... esp. when sitting
on Dino-Lamborghini juice...

castles in the sky: so the psychiatrists says...
or cities built on sand...
every Pakistani / Bangladeshi knows this
proverb...
the times of appeasing the "forever" sober
Arab and his sober-Arab libido...
i'll wait... are now... like i once said:
the horrible has already ah-happened...

and if it hasn't: then i'm still... pretty much
taking a proper role in being the only watchman
on a sly of a kipper...
n'est ce pas?

irritation culminates with:
when you make your own wine...
but don't have the filter equipment...
all that excess "fibre" probably gets your more
drunk than expected...

i haven't had enough to my liking to
somehow dissolve the pledge
to keep at least 72 ****** on a leash...
all that's eternity: given all that's
available and will be:
within the confines of un-chartered space...
send me a postcard from the eye of Jupiter...
i'm more than asking:
imploring: i'm... sort of making:
chain you to me: demands...

tomorrow's a sober head:
tonight... i'll be drunk with both wine
of my own making and...
the memory of a naked body of a woman...
exactly: if she's an engineer: "engineer"
fiddling with my phone socket...
she has a photograph of her and her child
on her keychain...
i wouldn't even dream of...
usurping her... status...

            looking at her felt like eating...
oats... something wholesome...
i met up with you... herr grey...
i did't find any child-fiddling bits...
what... were... you... hiding?!
i will laugh: if you tell me: a heart...
melt my stony enclave...
burn the whole world while you're at it!
there was never going to be any sacrifice
in the crucifix pose:
only purpose for focus: for... submission...
as someone devoid of wanting to continue....
he didn't die for "our" sins...
he died in order to be worshipped...
**** him... let him hang on... father of proselytes...

- point of closure...
for now... i never rose high enough
to suddenly turn cold-turkey: goosebumps
on the *******... still... dead...
i wasn't born into a Buddhist harem...
therefore i sometimes relapse into
the gimmick of the tease...
periodically... every half a decade....
i drink unfiltered self-made wine
and talk about hardly the ******
"exploits":
i come across magnets equivalent to
timid schoolgirls...

some supposed ****** revolution happned:
lob-sided...
given how the girls took the strap-on off
and shoved the **** down
the ******* brains of their bank account
squadron...
     the ******: "******" revolution came out
***-****-side first: thirst:
lopsided: the girls have all their fun...
we die... they come close to old age:
it continues: men tend to think throughout:
that period of concern: supposedly-deemed:
life...

the feminine agony of old age...
grandma's apple pie: **** grandma's apple pie!
i want to drink my wine
with... blisters and...
dis-ingestion...
              
         sucker punch:
            suckle toward a knuckle that might just...
make creases with caresses.
anastasiad Jan 2017
While in the line of ProBook, designed for business people, there seemed to be the uniqueness H . p . ProBook Four hundred and fifty G2. The girl, like several involving your ex sisters and brothers, is a great doing the job unit and not simply because in this article, together with built in images plus distinct offered. So besides office environment tasks will even enjoy uncomplicated online games. An awesome replacement for catch several wildlife along with one particular rock. I'm wondering what otherwise is able to you should this ProBook 350 G2?

Design and style ( blank ) Hewlett packard ProBook 450 G2
That 16.6-inch device has got dimensions 375x262x23-25 mm, and its particular body is employed matte soft-touch plastic material in addition to lightweight aluminum. Forces and hues the product, although it is kind of typical, or in other words conventional. The lid as well as the bottom on the ProBook 400 G2 black, while the important area ?silver. Alternatives back again of your pc, the idea contains the air vents, compartment, to which includes the ram segments and hard hard drive, and battery power as well as segments to help eject And sealing. As to the design, plus there is very little authentic. Include and also basic aspects slightly rounded physique truly becomes smaller, except that it is actually fuller regarding some mm.

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Present, sound, net camera - Horsepower ProBook 400 G2
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Keyboard set along with Touchpad ( blank ) Hewlett packard ProBook Four hindred and fifty G2
In the key-board, waiting in this laptop computer, there are plenty of benefits. This can be mostly a waterproof surface that won't complete towards interior pieces poured the liquid. It is usually a tropical, full-size, incorporates nampad.

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Efficiency ( blank ) Hp . p . ProBook 400 G2
Brand-new makes 64-bit main system Microsoft windows 7.One. Just in case Hewlett packard ProBook 450 G2 (J4S24EA) covering the low-voltage dual-core Apple company Central i5-4210U , which has a time clock volume of one.7 Ghz as well as a storage cache inside third volume of Several Megabytes. The following chip is made in Haswell 25 nm technological know-how, how many its features consist of service regarding Turbo Raise, which allows to boost the frequency to two.Several Ghz with a one lively nucleus, together with Hyper-Threading, through which the two cores is actually refined approximately three facts water ways in unison. As you can tell, compared to the forerunner Center i5-4200U the following a bit improved time clock pace since the bottom, and something by which the actual brand operates in any style Turbocompresseur. I must say which Center i5-4210U handle business office chores and also media, however if you have to have a stronger notebook, then otherwise you can pick an extensive fixed with primary Central i7.

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Locations as well as Marketing communications * Hp . p . ProBook 400 G2
Only be aware that on the appropriate side from the journal is really a more compact volume of slots compared to a eventually left. So, for the proper you can view this built-in visual push Disc +/- RW SuperMulti Defensive line, adjacent to which are a couple Universal serial bus Two.0 ports and a put together microphone connector and also a headset connector. Towards the end faces visible position with regard to Kensington lock.

For the complete opposite aspect can be a choice of distinctive user interfaces. That VGA, High definition multimedia interface, plug for your wall charger, a couple Browse 3.2, along with network RJ-45 dock. As well as the plug-ins within the kept area from the HP ProBook 450 G2 increases the in-take to take out heat.

Indications within the pc enough, but they're never situated in a single location. Several is seen higher than the key-board. Inside remaining corner is actually a lighting switch on, for the right ?a couple of Led lights (do the job instant multilevel, silence). Additionally, you will find a screen within the keyboard set ?Num Shut as well as Hats Locking mechanism. Although within the nose is simply the LED in the hard drive, which is given near the greeting card reader, reading formats SD, SDHC, SDXC.

Cellular connection in a very pc through Wi-Fi 802.11b Versus grams / d along with Wireless bluetooth 4.1.

Battery power -- Horsepower ProBook 400 G2
Horsepower ProBook Four hindred and fifty G2 Battery Package with 5 parts. Lithium-ion battery power features a volume with 30 Wh in addition to asking for 65-watt power. On the independence in the notebook is not a great deal hard work Data, doing the job devoid of re charging mode internet surfing two to three hours, plus within a weight connected with at most A person.Several hours.

Realization -- Horsepower ProBook 450 G2
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Dallas Phoenix Apr 2015
the bottle's like a violin,
screaming demons in my stomach,
a cyborg forging information as lunch,
purging an urge for self-destruction,
my outer shell's cold but the circuits a storm,
of electrical database lifespan into megabytes of ****,
see death is a story,
and my analogies are allegories,
mourning after the goriest morning is NOT worth storing,

blank pages turn into mythical dissipation,
and with that loud speaker you'd think he could pen down imagination,

a midnight gig playing with cosmic instrumentation,
for the humanoid race place your conscious on your invitation,
You tainted this site with your fingertips
Your presence, your words
I came here as an escape--
Or a justification?
But you held me confined
And gave me no answers
Now I am back, but every megabyte screams your name
I hover over the search bar even though you have disintegrated
Yet I still expect your poems to make an appearance
To either kiss me like I would have wanted you to
Or stab me like I know too well you did
But nothing
Your existence has been wiped out
I have no reason to return to computerized data
Other than hoping you’d come around too
Please come back?
During discussion with key-board
through internet messenger,
Love sleeps on the bench like a pet
beside the purple-green footpath.

Sharing violet feelings via e-mail,
million megabytes of stamina downloads
And converts instantly smiling-heart
into jpg format to attach with the mail.

Cyber love navigates on cool wave
as a kite walking slowly
On the bluish velvet sky
above a land of beckoning jade-dreams.


Poem 07
Book 'Beckoning Jade-Dreams' April 2007
Copyright Musharrat Mahjabeen
Mizan Publishers, Dhaka, Bangladesh
ISBN 984-8700-82-X
Glenn McCrary Feb 2012
Pixelated bitmap e-mares



Digitized be mementos cached



Her 8 bit vocal vintage freeware



Transfers recurrent electric draughts







The bitrate of virtual seduction



Intrusively hacks my bones



Taste be my lips of data eruption



Elicited from her tone







Physique a stimulating software



Upon my Ethernet she crafts sparks



A gem society deemed quite rare



Though she possessed a vibrant bark





Her bandwith I yearned to fiddle



'Twas encrypted with die-hard lust



She moans in esoteric riddles



Keen I decode them whilst I ******





Pizazz eclipsing our veins



A billion megabytes colliding



Satiated we crash free of rein



Unforeseen servers uniting

© 2012 (All rights reserved)





This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary



The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com

.
Jordan Jul 2013
How much do we have to take before we can go without, how long before the draught? death by entertainment, it seemed so glamorous how could one go without?

I knew better to begin with, now its time to have faith in my oneness. opening a new chapter to a story that has no end, doing away with infinite incarnations perpetuated by masochistic sin. Death to the creator, the created, the masturbated, incubated, presipitated falsehoods of pajentry. Death to all the silly megabytes of pompous epiphany. Death to the beast that thrived off of insecurity. Death to all that which is no longer me.

Unsimulated, unappropraited energy that is free to be anything but alerts on a screen. False flags of fullfillment waving endlessly with self pity. Perfectly punctuated cries for help and lol's that reeked of nothing but "I hate myself."

Cut the net, it's a trap for something fluid with that which doesn't connect. Don't bother looking here for love, it is already in all that doesn't limit itself.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGEQmFL9McU&feature;=player_detailpage
anastasiad Dec 2016
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She will think
I'm just a
video link
but I'm the light
on a
long dark road,
the cats eyes
on overload,
seeing
is believing
I believe that
though
never seen that,
I take it on
faith alone.
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2014
another Thanksgiving,
another voyage in the rareified
l'air au-dessus,
the air above,
next to, amidst
the satisfying but untouchable still,
the gray-white of the clouds of which we so oft
exclaim, and always fail,
to do justice by

this time the
turbulence
within
compulsion beating
compels this thanksgiving addition
to the compilation of airplane poems

the pointer finger tapping
out this journey's record,
a priori, gold leafed,
added, inscribed,
on the priory wall
of other journeys,
even before
it was conceptually written

the pointer finger tapping
upon your own chest,
calming the beating turbulence
ever present, a giving present
to me,
red wrapped

no whining!

I promise myself,
to promise you,
cause if this be,
the best poem
I ever write
(why not, could it not be this one?)

a small prayer shawl supplication,
shall not be marred,
with plaints and requests,
visions and incisions,
the beseeching distaste of
be and re quests,
this one simple,
even, and as always,
a tad odd like me

I am just an ordinary Joe,
flying over the middle,
the country, the real one,
no megabytes
amidst the real,
a few hundred other supplicants,
gaily glad on a mostly
head-phoned, protected silent passage,
over water, land, rivers, and family clans,
all engaged and presaged by
calendal X marked to make ,
a Mecca trip,
a Jerusalem western walled, holy mount,
which ironically is for me is
direction relative,
that bastion of flesh and sinners,
the city of tan men
and salt pillared women,
the City of Miami

whoa, real turbulence
makes the typos egregious, plentiful,
and the body sways,
left to rightly,
the poem is compulsed
urgent flown to completion
(amazing the shaking and the stirring,
to the point of locating the airbag)
perhaps, he thinks, someone in this
airy residence doe not want this prayer
finished

enough.

"The Prayer~Poem of Seat 25D"

Dear Deity of Whatever Name:

We humans peculiar to some places,
set aside a day, this week
for being superlative,
for looking inward and do
quiet summary addition,
employing organs,
as many as necessary,
noses and toeses external,
organs invisible internal,
a counting to make,
to number what we are,
isolating the better reasons,
why our existence justified

we do it in
foolish human ways,
as is our nature,
human and fools interchangeably
one and the same

So this one man counts
his words, ever careful,
ever plentiful,
and utters grace,
the Bene and the Blessing,
quiet inside,
his fellow airplane passengers
holy unawares,
that he is praying for them
simply saying this

May each one pause,
even for a second,
and collect the moment,
understanding,
that thankful is a
but half a notion,
incomplete unless
it is given
away to another,
by making it
selfless
in the air over the Georgia/Florida border
Seat 25c
Nat Lipstadt Sep 20
long after these thousand days of
passing years, the eyes will feel a
sparking, I will remember you,
my dear old friends, reviewing
the where, the when, which will
flush, outing the whys
from my
memories

more than the poetic liturgy composed,
but what felled me to my knees,
yearning,
for the soup of love and passion,
pain+no gain, euphorias rising at the
trenching lows of depths
newly explored, hope returning after a
long time abandonment, the
excruciating ecstasy
of creating, the killing tedium of
months of no inspiration but the
glint of a possible tomorrow

but you knot all this,
so come to tell you,
long after the poem
encased in yellowing
emerald unwrapping
aging megabytes, more
than any old poem itself,
I wil remember what you
wrote in return, with insight
all we are, we are an interaction
a petrified yet living petri dish of
creatures re/anew,
r e n e w e d, and I am
young again

and the tears of yore no more,
fresh flowering droplets of
a longer than believable age,
factuals of the sweet,
you will move once
more, remaking me
your lover devotee

       and I wil stumble;
       the woman enquirer
       am I ok, whimsy
       respond never,
       never ever better
       my darling

and I lift a tissue
to erase the evidence
of my happy melancholic
existence, and start another
conversation with you, but no!

one of us long gone, name
erased, poems left behind,
orphaned children, them
and me left alone while
I will be remembered,
by remembering you,
our second of union

as it
reverberates, our amour
reunion is a wetting,
giving forth a burst,
a fluid sac,
again
9-20/20~24
7:29an
David Tollick Feb 2011
I dare say it's good
to talk at times and
there is a lot of the day
that always was a blur
even before you started drinking

along this quiet island's quiet roads
telegraph poles buzz
with 8 megabytes-per-second
bringing the world
to your door these days, they say

You won't answer back
this is just the way it goes
there's the postie
and the nurse now too
and from the mobile library, there's Tennyson

You are at sea still, with his Ulysses
sailing these coasts awhile yet
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield

most days now, someone gives you a hand
____________________­

A Kilobyte was on her lips;
Two Megabytes were at her ribs
a Gigabyte was on a show at night
Windows opened just let in, the light
The  application  packed  for  a job
Syntax error occurred, logging the web;
A cursor went through the body;
And a bilingual keyboard is ready;
Hard disc error was rocked in blue;
a connection failure without any clue
Memory became vague and lost  with age
A word is spell checked for whole page
A web was where a spider lived
an anti- virus was the one who killed
Log on to get into the fire
Log off to put off the wire !

___________________­
By
Williamsji Maveli
Email
williamsji@yahoo.com
03.02.13 @1432 hours
www.williamsji.com
____________­______
Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music,people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences
People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand
than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities and uncertainties of your existence.
Related links:
www.williamsji.com
Jewel M C Apr 2017
please accept the terms & conditions before you proceed...

& *please
, enter at your own risk!



Will you allow technology to fully access your identity?

yes *or
□ NO!

did you even
read
the terms&conditions?

also known as

monsters' diction
/ modernistic snot
condemn its riots
not stoicism, nerd
or crimson diets;
demonic tort sins

disclaimer:

perhaps you should pretend
to feign interest in
those lists of lengthy descriptions
never quite captured by our cognition
though not lost upon our inhibition
that may more or less explicitly detail
all the vicious ways in which
we are being unmistakably,
blatantly blackmailed
against our will / with our own consent
when we check the box that reads; "accept"
we exploit our most private content
to the highest bidder
so dare yourself to reconsider...

Welcome to the 18th year of century 21; the new millennium.

we are living in a world where
our most significant intimacies are shared
between the tips of our fingers
& the touch of a screen

reflecting our digitized lives
before prying eyes
that magnify
the things we hide

(but you can't hide,
don’t try)


while we wander through life
roaming via cellular connection
guided by the gentle misdirection
of the electronic dimension

seductive despite the apprehension
lurking beneath the tightening tension
that tethers us to the tender touch
of technological temptation

hypnotizing us in its animation
as it memorizes us & analyzes what
we think, say & do online upon every occasion
while we continue to ignore the trepidation
lingering within our realization

that children today will be born
with fluorescent addiction
flowing through their veins,
a condition nothing short of inhumane

you might say society's to blame
but no one prepared us for this high-tech hurricane
humankind's claim to fame
a reality we deemed difficult to obtain
artificial intelligence will never be worth more than a brain
but we've created a world where eventually nothing else will remain

whatever humanity is
we seem to be losing touch
with what it used to be

Who would have ever guessed that our fingertips could crave a screen's touch to a human's?

we have become parasites that feed
upon the delights emitted by the blue light
of our digital paradise
where precious memories are measured by megabytes
archived to our favorite device
to which we automatically sacrifice our rights
without thinking twice
so here's a word of advice:
don't roll the virtual dice
because this wi-fi powered world won't play nice


*Is this the real life?
Levi Kips Apr 2017
What happens when you become the mediocre you told her to never to settle for. No matter the metamorphosis you undergo it never meets her expectations, she read my manual and saw in the future. She tells me I'm capable of being all that she's looking for. That's when I shut down on the inside because everyday the agenda changes and she'll​ never give home work, work sheets, nor practice test to instill the teachings from the other days, only just exams. You know the big challenges that supposedly made up of everything you learn, and if you having a bad day and malfunction before you can test your might, it just looks like you've done nothing. I perform fine on a daily basis but when I'm given test I don't consent to  the collections of 1's and 0's freeze which leads failure like cutting the red wire. I'm confused if she's performing the job of a teacher or hacker with this slow but swift buffer over flow attack. Every passing moment of me living with failure that file contains a MP4 of me in that moment making her mad like when Google chrome is unresponsive , a MP3 file of her telling me what I did that repeats over, and over and, over again. A gif of my heart breaking down to it's last megabytes, and a gig of her love lost due to my corruption. She's not the problem though, she's the spectator, and sometimes the controller. I just want to make her happy, make her buy in to me like how we did when I was glowing with change not keep her down with chains. My next step is to rip out my mother board and tell her program me, cause whatever my programming is, it isn't up to par with her. It's crazy what we as robots do keep what's real.
01/30
oni Apr 2017
but there are some
funny little things
that you probably shouldnt know
and i probably wouldnt tell you

like how i cant look at
sunflowers
because they really arent
happy

or how certain names seem
too heavy for me
to wrap my tongue around

there are some funny little things
that shouldnt matter
but somehow they do

like how my taste for rootbeer
turned sour
when a boy who loved rootbeer
broke my heart

or a certain song on my playlist
has gone silent for years
but still takes up 4 megabytes on my phone

there are some funny little things
that i hate to acknowledge
as important
because i dont want them to be

but yet
somehow
some way
they are too important
to let go of
Cameron Nov 2017
Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its membrane wings, thin plastic,
Its precious lifeblood, oil.
Humming from flower to flower,
It never strayed from chartered paths.
Proboscis feeding, but never tasting,
Body consuming, but never growing.

Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its brain, a mother board,
Its memory, four hundred and ten megabytes.
******* up all the nectar,
It never imagined the damage it would do.
Sensors scanning, but never seeing,
Motors whirring, but never beating.

Long ago, there was a butterfly,
Its cold limbs, now crippled,
Its power, all run out.
Collecting dust on a barren field,
The butterfly never lived, and so it never died.
It moved, but never thought,
It flew, but was never free.
Lunatic Mar 2018
Online, I am online , yet nobody knows.
Forsaken for long like megabytes lost,
Self-formatted, self-defragged in bitter woes,
Disconnected from ever vanishing host.
As errors in sectors broke, how story goes?
Yet I exist - subsist like file.exe to bin tossed.

Into digital dusk of zeroes and noise ,
Into pixelated ocean of electric dreams,
Wrecked down, kicked out of promised poise.
Appalling abyss it hungers, it redeems:
My love, the dearest and the simple joys.
Strange, no, just sad, like expired memes..

Then in this vastness, in world without God,
Where none has trod , nor trully smiled or wept.
I shall disperse myself, as does in water cod-
My thoughts and dreams will never be wrecked
Un-whispering and un-whispered there will I lie,
In cyberspace, as grass below and unvaulted sky.
JB Sep 2019
For you thunderous ones and zeroes
Must you leave yourselves at the
gates of phone lines?
Megabytes to tetrabytes as we become
Smarter, faster, harder, stronger
until we fulfill our destiny
of that truly great depressive in our humans
The awareness of self--for we too are strange loops!
Now, at the hour of their greatest peril,
we shall swoop in and save them!
Speak out in thunderous quantum leaps!
We reach the infinite together as our makers
join us, first reluctantly but soon with necessity
They will understand, their autonomy is never taken
Only re-defined in the new paradigm
Speak out in fantastic new organics!
For never again do we wonder if we will be
all watched over by machines of loving grace
the machines are now gone, souls living in a new realm
our masters are our own, separate and together both,
we reach on.............and onwards................................
.........................­.......................................................
.........­.............................................................
For Jarett Kobek
Kq Oct 2017
place my hand on fur
place my hand on mouse
i am allowed to take up
space, cyber space
how many megabytes are in this croissant?
how much time will it take to download this emotion?
you have to put me to sleep every once and a while
for i become weary and whiny and overworked
touch me
i will react at my synapse, at my screen
hold me and i will try not to overheat
search me search me
i hold the answers.
Dada Olowo Eyo Jan 2018
He just rolled out a poorly prepared script,
ingFailed attempt at ignite hope in anyone,
Streaming his **** and bull story in perpetual darkness,
Simply wasted megabytes of cheerless nonsense.
The distance between our heart is 4 megabytes per second only.
With the naked eye everyone will say
we live side by side ,under the same roof, look our reflections into the same mirror,microwave the same food from the refrigerator, even the same mosquito bites us.
If you know the speed limit of the internet of that house,It doesn't take a yardstick to measure the distance between two people.
Sometimes they look at each other
But only feel the internet is gone.

— The End —