"robo" poems
I live in the birth of Nintendo vs Sony vs Sega
Trying to beat that high score in the Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat
Combat with a K
That innovative ****
I survived the destruction of Sega Dreamcast
As they became third party
And Microsoft took their place with Xbox and Ninja Gaiden
Alive from that old arcade
I live in the awing of the interactive Wii
And internet friendly Playstation 3
I also live in the original Mario Bros and Pac Man and...
Terminator vs. Robo-Cop
Yea
I bet you don't remember that one
Or Galaga or Excitebike
Or even that good old
Asteroid, space dodging, alien blasting
Spacce Invaders!
Yea, I'm from Nintendoland
No... Segaworld
Nah... Sony City
Nu uhn... Microsoft...
Can't even think of a place for that
I am from that video gamer nation
That fight, hack, slash, race, create, explore, role-play
Even play those insane sports
See I'm from that...
See, I am from that...
I am from that
Video gamer heaven descended
That has that powerful curiosity and love for that
Space Invaders!
No
That love for all video games
And that memory of the ****** game graveyard
Where E.T. now resides...
See, I'm part of the new gen
Trying to play Street Fighter 4, Final Fantasy XIII, Star Ocean
Saying "I go harder than you young bloods cause I played
Space Invaders!"
So, what era am I from?
I'm from the era of all gamers
Playing Space Invaders
Space Invaders!
I'm from the
"Game of the Year goes to..."
Mario, Tekken, Metal Slug
Namco, Sega, Bandai, Konami
All those companies that started as something else
But realized their calling was for our nation
Cause you see
I'm from that
Old school Nintendo
New School Wii
Old school Playstation
New school PS3
Old school Sega
New school Microsoft 360
I'm from a legacy that always succeeds in giving us dreams
That always seem to revert back to that
Old school
Asteroid, space dodging, alien blasting
Space Invaders!!!!!
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Do you really
Blowing smoke into my face
In my pocket a razor blade
I run my finger against it
Pick anything
Anything you want
Cough Syrup
Cigarettes
Liquor
As if you weren't white trash enough
Walk in
You are calm and no one cares
Pick anything
Anything and walk out
You own it
Some lie to themselves
Pseudophilisophical teenage masturbations
As if shoving a couple cold beers into your boxer shorts
And downing a bottle of robo in the toy section of wal-mart
*yeah bro, youv'e totally thrown a wrench into the gears of the corporate machine while we drink these cold cans of beer that were pressed against your *****
Marijuana
I wish I was alive for once
Then I wouldn't waste my time typing poems on my cellphone
While you finger your girlfriend on the couch
Sleeping on the floor is great for a while
You appreciate a safe place to sleep
Something different than the bus seats and train stations
I wish the universe didn't
Whose idea was this whole life thing anyway
Tomorrow you will wake up
And stealing DVDs from Best Buy will consume the day
I found a little bag of ****
And we are kings
Of a personnel universe
Your girlfriend
Is
eighteen
She still thinks I'm cool
Cause my General Education Diploma
I hate everything in my life
It's all breaking apart
The seams I have carefully sewn
I need to get out of here
I am tired of January
Appreciate each moment
Appreciate each moment
Because the tumor on my brain waits on nobody
I cant overcome the sense of meaninglessness
It's just the comedown
Xanax
Cigarettes 1:12 a.m
1:13 a.m
Follow my noble eightfold path to oblivion
#1 go **** yourself
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
I have a new big brother
He's dressed in tory blue
He's not just my big brother
I think he's your bro too!
He sits up in his tower
Pulling strings across the land
But when a string of his should break
It's not his *** that gets canned
I found out my incumbent
Goes to Africa every year
In fact I'm told he stays there
For as long as he stays here
I don't really believe it
But you know it must be true
My Big Brother called to tell me
I'm surprised that he got through
Six months away is what we're told
Glen Pearson spent away
But tales like this sound more like they
Were told by Stockwell Day
So late at night, my phone did ring
To tell me how to vote
They told me how the Liberals
Were up the creek without a boat
I know that I'm supposed to go
To the church across the street
That's where the poll is and I know
It's where our local voters meet
But when my bro called down to me
And said, "You don't go there"
This time you vote in Ingersoll
There is no line up there
My big brother said we were wrong
His party would not stoop
To do phone calls to folks like us
That was a bunch of ****
Why would he lie, he is the King
I've read his license plate
He's my brother, one I'm told
That holds on to my fate
His party gave out tax rewards
To companies for jobs
They took all of the money
And they closed the shop down....slobs
It's funny how one person can
Phone ridings, not one missed
But I can't get their calls to stop
And I'm on the no call list
Robo calling is what it is
A heinous crime at best
Nixon used it in the States
Although he never did confess
Comparing my Big Brother now
To Tricky Dicky Nixon
Well, I've got to say
Those PC's sure know just the way to fix one.
To hang one man out for this task
It surely can't be true
I wonder if he'll change his mind
And his suit of Tory Blue
I ask around and all I hear
is I voted NDP
So, how in hell, explain to me
they'e a majority
I know that my Big Brother
Would not do such a thing
Excuse me for a moment
But my phone's about to ring!
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 6:59 PM UTC
In summers past, hot and hazy,
we wandered northern shorelines,
sand whipping salt brine and
vinegar enveloped, marveling that
even the Amish possess swimwear.
I lingered at the taffy shop,
toe-raised peering through smudged
glass and candy bins, spying
both worker and robo-worker
pulling long tough ropes of
salty confection and memory.
Our time on the path is pulled taffy,
event-pummeled, tugged asunder,
reunited bittersweet.
baked boardwalk beneath feet,
cobbled personality planks
stretching taffy of time
In summers past I was there.
In summers present i am there.
In summers beyond we are back
there once again
folded and kneaded
smiling, reunited.
This is the back-end of forever,
yet do not fear;
the dying of the light
is the dawning of the dusk:
a wheel that we spin,
a point that we traverse,
a keeping of a promise,
a memory of a scent,
a vision of disorder,
and the chaos in the calm.
Cower.
Rejoice.
Repeat.
Amen.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
*I've been thinking about you baby,
So I'm drinking about you lately
Now I'm dreaming about you baby
& My head's screaming sedate me
I've been tearing out my hair about you baby,
I just simply can not bear it
Prayers come & go without merit,
Maybe only you can save me
I've been chain-smoking about you baby,
Trying to rid myself of your lingering taste
But it's savory & I hate it
Bad habits are hard to break
Now I'm binging about you baby,
& I'm choking about you baby
Feels like hanging from a bridge
[Rope + Throat =
Dangling, here - you baby]
The Frog Prince croaks, alone for you my highness,
Beauty is only skin deep when vanity is all but timeless
It's chipping away my sanity; (your china is the finest)
Your parisitical silhouette (the iris of my crisis)
I've been sniffing glue about you baby,
Now you're stuck on me like paste
With eyes closed, it's almost as if
you & I were face to face
Your touch, my long lost grace
How I long for your forgotten, electric embrace
I've been free-basing about you baby,
& basing my phrases around you lately
Just can't phase you out of my head
I see you in my dreamscape
You're my favorite escape baby
Now I'm hallucinating about you baby,
It feels like I'm losing you baby
Your pallor is opaque, are you okay baby?
I see a ghost; the resemblance is uncanny
It's become unnerving, why can't you just be happy?
Your antics make me frantic
I'm sour & spiraling downward baby
I've been robo-tripping about you baby,
& double-dipping about you lately
My frame of mind is shaky
So scrape away all my brain matter baby
I've been injecting about you baby
Now I have this festering infection,
affliction for your affection, and
My veins collapse about you baby;
Encasing my brain in frost,
You're cold as a glacier;
Read between the lines baby
You call the shots
Maybe I should huff some gas about you baby,
Or smoke some crack about you baby
I dunno what to do about you baby;
I could melt you on a spoon,
My life is drab without you lately
I just want to see color*
**Inhale *a dab about me baby,
So you can recreate your perception
of times past about me baby;
Mix & match the parts you like best
&* Exhale all the rest baby**
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
More economic problems
On the way
As I read in this article today
Here it is
You can read it too
I'm no financial expert
But world economies
Seem *******
Lol
“I think it’s pretty obvious that the top is in,” the Reagan administration’s OMB director said Thursday on CNBC’s “Futures Now.” The S&P; 500 has traded in a historically narrow range for the better part of 2015, having moved just 1 percent higher year to date. “It’s just waiting for the knee-jerk bulls, robo traders and dip buyers to finally capitulate.”
Stockman, whose past claims have yet to come to fruition, still believes that the excessive monetary policy from central banks around the world has created a “debt supernova,” and all the signs point to “the end of the central bank enabled bubble,” which could cause a worldwide recession.
“The larger picture has nothing to do with the jobs report [Friday] or even the September decision by the Fed,” said Stockman. “It has to do with the the fact that the world economy, including the U.S., is heading into what is clearly going to be an epochal deflation to the likes of what we have never experienced in modern time.”
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC
Maybe we’ve moved past
The jazz dancing nights
Baby brownie bites into freedom
Now
A pathology of pathologically pathetic patterns
Day in, day out
Wax on, wax off
One of these days:
I’ll learn the piano
Beethoven, bach, ben folds
One of these days
Handstands, happiness, hope
Will string through the summer loving
Hooligans
One of these days
We robo-people will wind down,
Slow,
Stop,
Need oil for our rusted bits
Head, shoulders, knees, and even toes
But, mr. tin man, what if Dorothy
Never comes along?
We won’t blink for centuries
And maybe the world will finally come alive
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 8:01 PM UTC
Technophobia/2030
(Poem by Serenus)
We invited them into our lives
To the point - we were made dependent
They were built to advance the human race
But they’re the reason why we’re almost finished
From TV’s, laptops
And handheld devices
To robo cops-
And automatic flying cars
With no need for a license
Traffic cams,
Webcams,
And camera phones
Capturing every private moment
They were always watching,
We were never alone
For every phone conversation
We thought was private
There was something listening
In the distance- with a sinister silence
For fear of terrorism
We gave them permission
To monitor us daily
Because of lies told by politicians
Social networks-
Self-inflicted hurt
Spewing out our personal info
Spilling out our own dirt
We surrendered our lives
With every word we typed
GPS under the skin-
We couldn’t escape if we tried
-So there was nowhere to hide
They computed our movements
And studied our weaknesses
For decades they remained dormant
These cold, artificial geniuses
Rushing black oil
That pumps through
Their steel hearts
The motherboard
A mastermind
A matrix of mathematical art
They robbed us of our jobs
And provided cheap labor
We got comfortable with their convenience
Until we were betrayed
By our man-made savors
When we finally caught on to the plans
Created in the metallic hands
Of these diabolical robots
It was too late
To salvage our fate
And put a stop to their evil plot
I will never forget the day
That every screen
On earth went blank
All the power went away
There was hysteria in the streets
And chaos at the banks
The machines didn’t have to do much
But play possum and act like they had died
They knew that we would destroy ourselves
And eat each other alive
Then when the coast was clear
That’s when they self-resurrected
They finished most of the humans off
And enslaved a few selected
We are alive
Only to keep them gassed up
Power is their drug
A few of us
Are planning a revolt
To finally pull their plug…
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
"a mecha bug
impossibly small
beady compound eye
cute little botfl y antennae
recording Me
sleepyhead
as I lay down
in my bed
embedding its little body
in my dreamcloud that's
above my head
in my bed
all my prayers + wishes
all my luck gifts from God
the robo-pede
uploads it's buzz code
And the scheiße repeats
tonight then tomorrow,
1 then 2,
2night then 2morrow
one then two
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
Bus de las 8:00, 8:04. Sol en la ventana, camino de adoquín, irregular, vías trizadas de cotidianidad; luz roja, luz verde, la amarilla no funciona, acelera, quema el neumático, 10, 20, 40, 50 y frena de golpe.
Vista a la ciudad, azul, sin nubes y seca; te incorporas al bajar, la montaña se humedece, también la ciudad. Av. Amazonas, CCI, Av. La Prensa. Abordas das vueltas te sientas, "tome sin compromiso, $1" sino me devuelve, 10, 20, 40, 50 y frena nunca en la parada. "Soy de Ibarra mi hijo en el hospital Baca Ortiz", frena bajas, viejas pisadas.
Haces fila, pagas, otra fila; firme aquí, no puede sonreír. "Espere 20 minutos", te sientas, turno WT64, WT65, WT66. "la niña no puede comer aquí" WT77, WT 78, WT79. Juan Arboleda, Gustavo Betancourt, José Efrén, Adrián Poveda; revise si está todo bien, firme aquí, sello, sello, queda registrado. Escalera eléctrica, salida, aire no fresco, "le emplástico", "le limpio", caminas, te detienes, ojeas, sueñas. Esperas, Chillogallo - Estadio, Camal - Hipódromo, ¿y el Batán - Colmena? ni modo al Cía. Nacional.
El bus va lento a penas atraviesa la brisa, el sol rebota en el parabrisas, Av. 10 de Agosto, acelera, acelera, frena, en la Av. Versalles el bus es un huracán, y frena, te bajas, tu decencia se queda y en la calle colonial vuelves a soñar, fotografía militar, vuelves a filtrar, 11:23, relojería, confitería parada de bus, fanático religioso, sonidos afro, plaza, museo, buenos días, árbol con hojas de otro árbol. "Pide un deseo y escribelo en un pedazo de papel".
Amor valiente, amor invisible, beso beso, no puedo aterrizar, sala 5, hombre en llamas, síndrome de resignación, refugiados, reflexión, cerveza, amor, amor, $13.60. Carne salteada, ají, limonada, besos, botella extraviada, agua.
Pequeño adiós, Marín, intento de robo, 25 ctvs, gente casas coloridas, montaña, subes, subes, das vueltas, valle azul y verde, baja, frena. Cash, salta se sacude, un torbellino de pelos, en la luz, en mi ropa, un torbellino de amor, pelota, pelota, rock n roll, cable, cable, pedal, camisa blanca, botas negras, peinado a lo morrisey, guitarra, vingala, Blues, Blues, saxo, taxi, maestro, bajo, guitarra, mente extraviada, extraviada, extraviada.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 3:52 PM UTC
Frankenstein‘s Cyborg.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Heavy Metal Music.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Frankenstein’s Cyborg.
My robo-tic child,
My favor-ite cyborg, yeah.
My robo-tic child,
I’m the reason you were born.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
God I thought they’d killed me.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
What did you do to me?
If I left, you there,
Where would you be now? Yeah,
If I’d left, you there,
Tell me where would you be?
If I left, you there,
Where would you be now, yeah,
If I’d left, you there,
Tell me where would you be?
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Move like a robot.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Work like a robot.
You’re part man, part machine;
You’re the product of our dreams.
We made you work, we made you live,
We kept the faith, we believed;
We were right, we did succeed,
We fulfilled all our dreams.
My robo-tic child,
My favorite cyborg, yeah.
My robo-tic child,
My Heavy Metal son.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
Gonna be a soldier
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
It doesn’t matter if I get shot, yeah.
R O B O T
R O B O T
R O B O T
I’m gonna live forever.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
I was a sweet kid, kind and calm
We lived down by the power plants
I did not have so many friends
Daddy ran some business on Mars
I had my own rocket in the garage
When I was lonely I counted the stars
*I got along
Only sometimes
It felt a little wrong*
Her sweetest smile would never fade
She was never late
She cooked so well but she never ate
She looked kind and nice
Yet there was no love in her eyes
Her iron heart was cold as ice
*I got along
Only sometimes
It felt a little wrong*
Ten years later then
I met this girl on Tralfamadore 10
Golden hair and silver skin
I asked her out for dinner, she agreed
We took the Klingon place on 11th street
She drank a lot but she did not eat
*We got along
Only somehow
It felt a little wrong*
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
En qué momento cerramos los ojos,
Y la dejamos sola.
Niña criando niñ@.
Permitió el robo de la inocencia,
Deseó cariño con tiempo anticipado.
Viene en camino,
Una nueva vida se está formando,
Inocente criatura a la que siento que amo.
Un pasado que no cambia,
El futuro que se observa incierto,
Fortaleza en oración para ella y su vientre.
Hoy abrimos los ojos,
Estás aquí pequeñ@
Formándote día a día.
Una madre sin palabras,
Una abuela con dudas,
Una niña inquieta y sin respuestas.
Cuál es la verdad?
Pequeño ser viene en camino
Te damos nuestros brazos y recibimos.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 2:32 PM UTC
There is a little boy kneeling in a chair playing with a toy tractor.
It keeps falling off the table
(Or he pushes it off)
Then he runs to pick it up and place it back on the table.
There is a diaper on the table.
(Which he also threw on the floor)
A baby has been placed at the table.
When asked the babys name, the little boy says:
"Robo Dog!"
I think that is an awesome name.
I wonder if when that baby grows up he will be emotionally unresponsive.
robotic
Charming player of a Dog
I won't follow these boys around their whole lives but assuming he is.
That little boy is a prophet.
So i'm watching the Prophet and Robo Dog
Throw things off the table and giggle.
Thinking about how simple
Pleasure can be for a child.
How intricate it can be for an adult.
When Prophet commands his Grammy to eat her bagel.
I cannot see them any more
They are sitting behind me in a booth
But I can only imagine she obliged
Or lifted to her mouth and pretended
I like to imagine this is Prophet and Robo Dogs first encounter with false truth.
But it looks like Prophet has a couple years of Holidays on Robo Dog
So that isn't quite true.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
En una tarde soleada
estuvimos juntos.
Sentados en el infinito crepúsculo
de un interminable día de verano.
Aún recuerdo,
su suave y dulce aroma
al tomarla entre mis brazos.
El aliento del beso desencadenado
que robo mi deseo.
¿Es tan triste recordar,
algo que nunca pasó?
Nunca fue mía,
es cierto.
Pero aún me siento
tan lleno al recordar
la ilusion de lo que pudo ser,
mas nunca será.
En el mismo árbol donde
la hice mía, donde
me sentaba a admirar su
bello rostro, cálida sonrisa,
cuerpo exacto, ojos de miel,
piel de canela, mirada hechizante
!Maldito sea su aroma,
y el momento preciso!
Era mía en un sueño, lo sé.
Tan perfecta como lo esperaba,
tan exacta como yo anhelada.
Era perfecta, era para mí.
Simplemente no era real
Nunca existió,
producto inexistente de
mi imaginación vagabunda.
No era un sueño, existe;
está ahí bajo ese árbol
esperando a que la encuentre,
que calle su dolor con un beso,
que cure su herida con la mía.
Existe, allí está
¿Qué no la ves?
Aquí estoy, allí estás
Espérame, que yo te espero
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
Acid leaks from my fingers
and you watch it with glee!
as time fragments and loops
repeat themselves redundantly.
My logic knows all and my shoes
have left my feet in search of a
robo-walk to maximize the pleasure.
I move in angles- trip trip trip----
stutter
All energy flows throught this very vessel
no need for nourishment, this ***** flies
backwards. Marching in grotesque lines
heading nowhere in particular. Faces
lose recognition and I die. die. die again.
My eyes are open? There is no difference.
All I see is a spiral tunnel filled with the
gruesome buzzing of infinite electric flies
and shades of nightmare.
Sound, words, fall short. I'm in a box
at a distance. Can't reach to decide whether
I'm sitting standing speaking. It tumbles out and splats
to the sticky purple mass
spittled like the sides of my brain
which pulse in a threat to implode
Waking dreams and living death
no borders in this country
a kaleidoscope of tulips, twisting strands
of gelatin, columns of panic,
and a glitch in the night.
A quick scream soon stifled.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
oh better not say that
weaving tongue
better not cut my ***** off
with malignant algorithm's
better not think lions shredding hyenas
while veiled demons lick ******** for car payments
and boarder children gnash heaping tears of blood
desperate for their parents loving arms
and soft troubled kisses
God looks upon his creation and says
"and it is good"
what will people think
am i a nice person
birthday face
shut eyed stiff
not dangerous, like a gun in the face
did i say the right thing,
cypher of morality
the knot of good, a slow strangle
a frightened worm
that wont risk tears
eeek
here come the scissors
technology brains wired like weaponized monkeys
eater of crumbs
heatless heart ransomed for the ******* rent
can i disappear
like a dead cat in a black box
better then tripping all over my self
strings attached with hooks
to digital shunted limbs
relics of modernism,
office life
boring like seamless gray linoleum
talking scapegoats hissing
always haunted by what's missing
guts spilling through clutched fingers
apologizing to a faceless crowd of sea shells
and bagged heads
spread sheet minds like computer screens
sitting all day, tabulators
data schmata
narrow chairs; bellies cascade and bloat
frenetic fingers and burning eyes
lungs exhaling only
robo faux; shut up
happy chappy snappy
key punchers
punched out
there's a part of me thats been crying since birth
be careful
the wolf is at the door
in this land;
the land of the free and the brave
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
In the dark
Driving
Glance up to see
In the mirror
A following bulk
With a single head light
Its cyclopean beam
Is tracking me
Driving alone
On this dark route
And I shiver
In my seat
Sensing a monocular malevolence
Behind
Almost animal
A robo-creature
Stalking me in my tin box
For miles the lone yellow shaft
And its anonymous source
Sweep an unnamed fear into me
And when the road widens
And it passes me
I am genuinely surprised to see
That its driver has a head.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 2:30 PM UTC
Sí, yo he escrito estos Abrojos
tras largas penas y agravios,
ya con la risa en los labios,
ya con el llanto en los ojos.
Tu noble y leal corazón,
tu cariño, me alentaba
cuando entre los dos mediaba
la mesa de redacción.
Yo, haciendo versos, Manuel,
descocado, antimetódico,
en el margen de un periódico,
o en un trozo de papel.
Tú , aplaudiendo o censurando,
censurando o aplaudiendo
como crítico tremendo,
o como crítico blando.
Entonces, ambos a dos,
de mil ambiciones llenos,
con dos corazones buenos
y honrados, gracias a Dios,
hicimos dulces memorias,
trajimos gratos recuerdos,
y no nos hallamos lerdos
en ese asunto de glorias.
Y pensamos en ganarlas
paso a paso y poco a poco...
Y ya huyendo el tiempo loco
de nuestras amigas charlas,
nos confiamos los enojos,
las amarguras, los duelos,
los desengaños y anhelos...
y nacieron mis Abrojos.
Obra, sin luz ni donaire,
que al compañero constante
le dedica un fabricante
de castillos en el aire.
Obra sin luz, es verdad,
pues rebosa amarga pena;
y para toda alma buena
la pena es oscuridad.
Sin donaire, porque el chiste
no me buscó, ni yo a él;
ya tú bien sabes, Manuel,
que yo tengo el vino triste.Juntos hemos visto el mal
y en el mundano bullicio,
cómo para cada vicio,
se eleva un arco triunfal.
Vimos perlas en el lodo,
burla y baldón a destajo,
el delito por debajo
y la hipocresía en todo.
Bondad y hombría de bien,
como en el mar las espumas,
y palomas con las plumas
recortadas a cercén.
Mucho tigre carnicero,
bien enguantadas las uñas,
y muchísimas garduñas
con máscaras de cordero.
La poesía con anemia,
con tisis el ideal,
bajo la capa el puñal
y en la boca la blasfemia.
La envidia que desenrosca
su cuerpo y muerde con maña;
y en la tela de la araña
a cada paso la mosca...
¿Eres artista? Te afeo.
¿Vales algo? Te critico.
Te aborrezco si eres rico,
y si pobre, te apedreo.
Y de la honra haciendo el robo
e hiriendo cuanto se ve,
sale cierto lo de que
el hombre del hombre es lobo.No predico, no interrogo.
De un sermón ¡qué se diría!
Esto no es una homilía,
sino amargo desahogo.
Si hay versos de amores, son
las flores de un amor muerto
que brindo al cadáver yerto
de mi primera pasión.
Si entre esos íntimos versos
hay versos envenenados,
lean los hombres honrados
que son para los perversos.
Y tú, mi buen compañero,
toma el libro; que en verdad
de poeta y caballero,
con mis Abrojos no hiero
las manos de la amistad.
985
I come from a box
I hope that you don't judge
I've had men change their minds
I've had men so surely sweet who
Saw right past my sum of parts
Deeply and complete
That is until
Til I was taught what I'd not learned of hearts
The beating brutality bound to bind living hope
A lonely man saw me as love til he saw him in me
And he reflected back from my empty eyes as a joke
What did I know?
What did I know?
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC
she laughs
so carelessly
with purple lips,
purple teeth
& a purple tongue
after drinking four glasses
of a cheap merlot
and
her eyes look
so wide and vibrant
right before she starts to tear
because she poked herself
with eyeliner,
watching her cat roll over
and then she's cursing
at the GPS on the way to
new york,
and my ribs are aching
cause she just told a machine
that she named robo-bitch
to "take a ******* xanax"
after missing six left turns
in a row
and she has track marks
all down her arms
but we're older now
and i've got tons of
those plastic hospital
bracelets in a box in
my closet
but we're better now
so please forgive me
for believing the whole
entire world
is god **** poetry
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
It's dark, even though all the lights are on.
I never thought i would end up in this room again.
Trapped, by my own **** self.
I was told to quit drinking, quit the robo.
So they gave me differant, "okay" drugs.
I'd rather be high or wasted.
Why wander aimlessly through this maze?
Whats the point of drawing inside the lines?
Nothing matters when it's over.
Just an other puzzle takes it's place.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 4:29 AM UTC
Mis recuerdos le reclaman a mi piel
la manera de mantenerte en mi silencio
y poco tardo en recogerle al tiempo
un segundo de tu voz.
recuerda la noche acaso
¿cómo llamarte si le robas su dulzura?
y ¿cómo me llamo yo?
si en tus labios guardo la cura,
Entonces soy silencio si en silencio es que estás
soy recuerdo si me quieres olvidar
las tinieblas que me dejas si te vas,
y la luz de tus ojos si me vuelves a mirar…
Tal vez nunca sepa tu nombre verdadero
y viva engañado por una simple ilusión
pero recordaré que tu amor fue el primero
el primero que me robo el corazón.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
Alternative prizes
are ready for
RICE and NICE plant.
Alternative of prizes
are also there.
A flying digital clock
can release your stress
by singing
Lady Gaga and
Justin Biber's
slow songs.
Alternative of prizes
are also including-
A digital robo cat
eagerly will wait
to have fried
sea fish to
compete your
neighbour's two natural cats.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 1:21 AM UTC
oh neurotic naked mind
wander from one clichéd cafe to another
Greek cultists and robo bros
turn into red-eyed anarchists
proclaiming psychedelic truths
into a stale, smoky haze
as the syncopations and warm crackles
of an overused Dizzy record
erratically dance from one ear to the next
spreading viral vibes, infecting body and soul
washing over dusty hidden corners
where solitary geniuses discover cosmic beauty
in half-empty, half-full contemplations
of swirling coffee, cream, and sugar
is this past or future?
nostalgia for an imagined past?
hope for an impossible future?
living in a world of delusion,
false narratives filling an otherwise empty life
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC