"pneumatics" poems - Hello Poetry

This is a subcultural song Free energy efficient enthusiasts Replaced the iroquois punk style Alternatives, noisy hard core; ear Damaging drum bass boxes in da Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a Synthetic mainstream paradise Submerged to hypnotic sucklings On the colourful plastic pacifiers A gummy retreat before waterless Collaps. A dehidrated dream that Tried to shut the world off by the Tendrils of regression resemblance. Adult babies aboard going back to The false long forgotten innocence. There is no subculture in being above The depth. Superficiality seems a posh Pose and a good hiding reason for socially Awkward childish rebels without material Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art Is people don't believe in subjective objective Selves anymore. What authorities put on the Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the Real deal discount. You think im not of such Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some- where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek, Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team. ***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively ****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure. I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . . Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music. Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite subcultural song is repetedly on...going along

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Feb 13, 2016

Feb 13, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC

ImpeccableSpacePoetess

This is a subcultural song

This is a subcultural song Free energy efficient enthusiasts Replaced the iroquois punk style Alternatives, noisy hard core; ear Damaging drum bass boxes in da Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a Synthetic mainstream paradise Submerged to hypnotic sucklings On the colourful plastic pacifiers A gummy retreat before waterless Collaps. A dehidrated dream that Tried to shut the world off by the Tendrils of regression resemblance. Adult babies aboard going back to The false long forgotten innocence. There is no subculture in being above The depth. Superficiality seems a posh Pose and a good hiding reason for socially Awkward childish rebels without material Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art Is people don't believe in subjective objective Selves anymore. What authorities put on the Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the Real deal discount. You think im not of such Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some- where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek, Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team. ***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively ****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure. I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . . Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music. Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite subcultural song is repetedly on...going along

48

It’s eight pm and I am still at work Building machines, have I gone berserk ? No work on the camper in over a week A holiday at Easter is looking bleak My partner alone, at home, poor creature To remind her of me she has asked for a picture The boss has left he is going to dinner What about us? We are just getting thinner The team and I, we just ramble on The time we spend here, forever gone To finish on time, management is wishing As for some of us here, we would rather be fishing I think of the machine when I am supposed to be sleeping No proper drawings, the problems just heaping thoughts of steam valves and tangled pneumatics I think we are becoming machine fanatics Being motivated by irrational enthusiasm my brain is starting to go into spasm maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel or is it a a train heading towards us to pummel

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Mar 29, 2013

Mar 29, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC

ernest-welthagen

Machines

It’s eight pm and I am still at work Building machines, have I gone berserk ? No work on the camper in over a week A holiday at Easter is looking bleak My partner alone, at home, poor creature To remind her of me she has asked for a picture The boss has left he is going to dinner What about us? We are just getting thinner The team and I, we just ramble on The time we spend here, forever gone To finish on time, management is wishing As for some of us here, we would rather be fishing I think of the machine when I am supposed to be sleeping No proper drawings, the problems just heaping thoughts of steam valves and tangled pneumatics I think we are becoming machine fanatics Being motivated by irrational enthusiasm my brain is starting to go into spasm maybe there is light at the end of the tunnel or is it a a train heading towards us to pummel

20

Gears turn Pneumatics actuate Machines run The same way Every time No flow No chance No identity Just interpreting electrical signals And responding mechanically

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Apr 12, 2015

Apr 12, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC

jolkin

Mechanical

Gears turn Pneumatics actuate Machines run The same way Every time No flow No chance No identity Just interpreting electrical signals And responding mechanically

10

heaven! heaven! far too long have we forgotten to whisper white clouds into existence, the wavering uncertainty of birds made into rote algorithms; the unnerving way that lungs fill can begin to unravel the yarn that wraps around the trees and trees are nothing too special -- i'd say stratus (stratus (cumulonimbus) ) infinity at stake: streaks (oh there's my soul somewhere amid the pneumatics)

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May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC

effieebbtide

octahedron

heaven! heaven! far too long have we forgotten to whisper white clouds into existence, the wavering uncertainty of birds made into rote algorithms; the unnerving way that lungs fill can begin to unravel the yarn that wraps around the trees and trees are nothing too special -- i'd say stratus (stratus (cumulonimbus) ) infinity at stake: streaks (oh there's my soul somewhere amid the pneumatics)

20