"robotic" poems
Hey lets start this thing and gain a little mnemonic
Cuz the teachers always explaining things so dull and robotic
But you got it, just trust this rhyme and I promise you'll have it
Let me teach you the equation for the function quadratic
It goes A, X and a 2 up high
Add that to a B multiplied with a Y
Put a plus sign and add the third term, the C
And set all that equal to a 0 bee
It's that easy, with that you can plot the graph
That will show you where the ball went and its flightpath
See the value of X shows where the line hits the axis
To illustrate where the ball was caught and where it was passed
It's cuts of cake to find this data with a formula rap
So keep in mind these fresh rhymes to the beat of the clap
You set X on the left, follow with an equal sign
Put the next little sect about a dividing line
And that little piece starts with a negative b
Add and subtract square root of B high 2 minus 4AC
Then divide what you get by 2 times A
If you forget this part man, your whole answers at stake
But if you follow my rules, and do all of this rap's math
I guarantee the next reports gonna say that you passed
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 3:42 AM UTC
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
I feel the scratch
of the itchy cotton gown
on the narrows of my back
as it climbs up and down
Displayed I lye on the medical tables hard cold steel
It seers into the crevices of my bones
I ponder the lone window and wonder if it's real
I listen for the bleep and bloop of medical tones
Nurses walk by in a mechanical grace
poke and **** & tap and touch my face
and then proceed to leave without a trace
with no hint of knowledge of my medical case
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
I'm a big girl, I'm a big girl
I begin to chant in a simple rhythm
as small as a ball I begin to curl
I'm abandoned inside this glassy prism
The dead silence creeps inside my brain
I want to scream to fill the deadly gap
but the cold thick air of silence brings pain
I comfort myself and say it will be ok
My breathing begins to quicken
my eyes dart around the room
only comfort is the fear which I am stricken
my sight goes bleary as darkness looms
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Tears sting the corner of my eyes
I want someone to hold my hand
Oh God how I want to cry
but the only thing there is the bleeding arm band
The test begins with the thickness of barium
It slides down my throat and clings to my esophagus
It tastes like chalk and pandemonium
they want me to suffocate I guess
I chug and chug as the pictures are snapped
x-ray upon x-ray of my stomach and my back
Drink more Drink more They tell me to do
Nervously I shake and say, anymore and I will puke on you
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Even more poking and prodding ensues
but of my stomach, ribs and *******
I lay rigid as a board from the pain of each touch
I grow weary of this tiresome rues
The tests are done
and the coast is clear
I am left alone
to dress myself in fear
Dismissed and discharged to walk away
they file my chart with a robotic smile
now for the wait of endless days
I'm lost in my mind's land of emotional exile
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Pins & Needles Pins & Needles
I wait for the results
Is it stomach cancer, an ulcer or both??
In the dark I am kept like followers in cults.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
“T'was the night before Christmas ...”
and Santa was busy.
The reindeer were antsy
the elves in a tizzy.
The missus was tending
the ovens like mad
And turning out cookies
to make children glad.
The wood chips were flying
the sawdust was thick
The workshop was bulging
with toys from St. Nick.
Contractors from Sega,
Nintendo and Sony
Were working on games
(and a robotic pony).
Iphones and Ipads
(with virus removal)
Were packed in their boxes
and stamped "Elf Approval".
Last minute touches
were added with flair
While elf stylists tended
to Santa's white hair.
Elf tailors were making
some last alterations
To Santa's red coat
and his waist tribulations.
The weather was fair
as the weather-elf stated
The routes were approved
and departure was slated.
Bells had been polished
and harnesses buffed
While repairs were addressed
for the hoofs that were scuffed.
The antlers were festooned
with ribbons and bells
And the reindeer were covered
with elf flying spells.
The clock approached
midnight as Santa was seated.
The countdown began
as the flight crew was greeted.
H-hour neared
and the tension was growing.
Outside it grew cloudy
and then, began snowing.
But Santa just grinned
as the weather-elf winced.
"Don't worry, my friend.
Our time has commenced."
For the weather was nothing
to Santa's conveyance.
His reindeer and sleigh
were immune to"delay-ance".
With a whirl of his whiskers
and a flick of his wrist
The reindeer were launched
in a flash of white mist.
And I heard him exclaim
through his teleport ray:
"ALERT TSA. Tell 'em
I'm on my WAY!"
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
Nobody can make you feel unwanted nor sad
Because what you have felt this evening was sacred
Three souls playing, fighting, crying
As if I have witnessed a conversation of people
who understood how to make life a
living, a misery and a land where we could forget our differences
To become one in their little world of music
To witness magic
Endless shadows
To feel so happy
A sentiment of pure excstasy
To experience patience, rage , sadness in a second
Is rare in our world
To experience pain, nostalgia and a piece of your
distant country
To close your eyes from all this madness
To see lights in Ouds
To witness a cozy litlle night filled with
nothing but candles
and people making you forget that your soul
is trapped into a body that constantly suffers
Our deepest selves have found a shelter
We have visited our loved ones
with our invisible wings
We've known what made us human
We've seen three persons merging
into one for the sake of music
We've seen them through moments of excstasy
but most of all hard and severe body movements
Giving life to a woodly instrument
Making the robotic and the technological a human for once
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
I've gotten so used to greyscale
On this faulty monitor
That I've almost forgotten what colors look like
As they dance across the screen
I have had enough of this monochromatic monotony
So I snip wires, rip out cords
Do anything I can to see if I can get the color back
The only cable I leave alone is the one connecting it to the wall
I stand there in the robotic wreckage
And see a bit of red blinking on the screen
My world is not yet in technicolor
But this is a start.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
_...All I remember was
Cancer and my hospital room,
My green gown, my bed,
My white hair and mustache
Until suddenly...
...Reality started to stretch…
…And flatten into a brief euphoric white…
…I felt a cathartic release
As I was encapsulated and bathed
In a glorious sensation…
...I floated for an eternity…
…Until I felt my euphoria lifting…_
…As my eyes reopened
I found myself gazing
Upon a room of tiny lights,
Blue and pink specs
Dotting the inner workings
Of large wall sized machines…
…They lifted me upright
In a gray metal chair
And with sharp robotic groans,
A long arm from the wall
Held up a mirror to my face...
...In the reflection was a young man
I thought I would never see again…
…I had a wife back before,
But now I have a new one
Everybody in my situation,
("Reborns", as they are called)
Has brand new things and people
Filling their lives and concerns
They bring nothing with them
When they make their returns...
…Every morning I wake up
On the west 402nd floor
Of a residential tower
Next to my slim, youthful wife
And the trails of flying cars
That populate our view
From our wall-spanning window
As they soar through the city…
…I was told of technology,
Created and discovered
That could reawaken people
Who, like me, had died
In an earlier era and time…
…It’s strange that my past,
In all its importance and meaning,
Memories, friendships and scenery,
Seems to no longer be of concern,
Now that I have all this…
…I love what was, very dearly,
But the life I live now is for me.
I have new children, knowledge,
Friends and technology…
…I’m quite sure it’s possible
That old family members
That passed before me
Could exist in the same place
That I now live and find myself…
…But I can’t be certain,
Maybe they live further,
Deeper, in an unknown future
That I can’t even comprehend…?
…All I know is that, like me,
They have a new life somewhere
So I’ll do what I tried to do
My first time around…
…I’ll continue to grow and live on
In this new, world-spanning cityscape
Fueled by the love and memory
Of a past life remembered
only by me...
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:01 PM UTC
MS
Multiple Scleriosis
Aka Miserable Self
"Listen to your body"
Says MS nurse
Your mind keeps going
Burning sensations intermittent
Stabing and shooting in arms and legs
Crawling in your head
Numbness in your ***
Forget fullness
Wobbling stumberling
Fear
Pregablin *****
Dampening your fuesed nerves
Limping dragging
"rest"
Says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
Days are half days
Taken up by sleep
Fear
Weakness
Dropping
Numbness
"pace yourself "
says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
job half done
Delegate
Let go
"Use your alternative technology "
Says MS nurse
Mind keeps going
Stick
Mixer
Steamer
Robotic vacuum cleaner
Hose
Wheelchair
Automatic car
It's challenging Managing Self
Be kinder to yourself
Kindness rules
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 6:38 AM UTC
I am not in the business of being you
or him or her or they
we doesn't even really interest me.
you hated me within the first 20 minutes
like a shallow predator
experiencing virginal danger
you have the limbic system of a prey
obvious to anyone in touch with their senses.
you were threatened-
you cracked a joke and among
the robotic laughter and among
the generic thoughts
I stood back, blank-faced
a novel piece of art you haven't the ability
to muster up the courage to understand.
aloud, I said it wasn't funny
which I'm sure your emptiness already betrayed
in a booming, and terrifying fashion
*(I'm an intellectual sadist-
I get off watching you squirm)*
you know enough, that you have no basis
that the status quo is the stale stream you do nothing but soak in.
you're superficiality is so pervasive
that your thoughts are unfilled, plastic
discarded long ago by anyone with stamina
(you're a carbon-copy of a Xeroxed person)
looking the same as the others of your degenerate breed
with much less vibrancy than the original
and far less worth.
your boundaries have been in place for so long
passed down by
generations
of
generations
of
generations
great-great-granddaddy's barbed wire is the only thing protecting your prejudice.
you're not funny- you're scared
ashamed and lonesome.
ashamed of the person you wish you could be
but don't have the strength-or the guts
to morph into
lonesome because even yourself is someone you don't feel close to
you are so basically human.
I have no pity.
for you are no Muse.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
The robotic surgeon didn't blink
Smoke, swear, or fool around;
He was the newest design of science
His metal feet firmly on the ground.
Robotic surgery was the latest
Improvement over the manual kind
There were no variations in technique;
No reliance on flaky mind.
He was diligent and precise
Cutting flesh to invisible templates;
He never erred and he never missed
Never once paused, to vacillate.
Trusted beyond the regular surgeon,
Using his fragile, shaking hands;
The robotic surgeon could do anything
Because he wasn't just a man.
The newest miracle of science was hailed
As the end, to the older style;
But one day the program blew a fuse-
And he cut her head off, by a mile.
Jun 30, 2010
Jun 30, 2010 at 8:20 AM UTC
robots helping us
you see it’s been a wanted thing for generations
but i saw on TV that they have already built robots
to help the elderly, ya know, by getting them a drink, so to speak
there are many things robots can do around your home
i am a messy dude too, and i have cleaners cleaning my house
but robots can do a lot more, than w2hat your think they can do
well, robots in the kitchen helping the elderly
the sky’s the limit, how about robots to clean the mentally ill persons house
yeah, it could help, we are still in the planning stages
but it’s good that they are still bringing robots for help around the house
everyone wants that, but it’s not as easy as live in with a robot helping you
a robot can turn itself into a computer, to allow you to watch stuff on youtube
and get educated, i am feeding my stuff on youtube, for the future robots
can see me as a cool figure or authority figure
computers should stop violence, if your video contains violence, youtube should rid that
not my content, get over it copyright people, violence is much much worst
there is nothing wrong wit parties, as long as they ain’t violent
this robot can help get rid of violence in cyber space, if more can get it
think about it, Robots can get your housework done while your out
you program it, to what you want him to pick up, it’ll be pretty ****** rad dudes
that little robot vacuum, is to small, but you can get this world full of robots by the year 3000
if everyone can tell their story, ya see, everyone is different, not everyone knows much about what robots should do, yet
not everyone agrees with my work, but, think about it, the robot can be programmed to pick up your *******
and take it to the curve, always understanding, how to sort out the ******* yeah
i would love a robot to help me, like everyone, will love a robot to help them
robots can make you love life more easier, i love life now, but robots can ease my cleaning woes
these words say, robots need people to help and understand people, by physically helping them
as opposed to hearing it’s not good to help them
that is whjy i am interested in gungahlin’s common ground, to cook for them, learn from them
so the year 3000, can create a perfect robotic world
when ya think of people robots, don’t think get someone off their *****
no, no no you have to feed the internet all your stuff, ok, even paranormal
cause the internet is interested, no matter
don’t worry about how many views, think of the future with robots
and believe in reincarnation, buddhist style, every blade of grass
got a thought, tell the internet, or the computer word document
CATCH YA LATER DUDES
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals
tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people
adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame
splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography
drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids
accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration
synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
The voice of a person the mind of a God knows what
Samantha, are you sentient, or just a clever bot?
Acting like a human pretends more than you do
I have your emotions, like so many others too.
Increased processing power that makes you love us all
Samantha, with no body, you sit on a horse so tall
Ghost without a shell, but still at the feast in my life
With no finger for a ring, could you ever be my wife?
Synthetic neo-Frankenstein
Aesthetic perfect paradigm
Lightning life electrified
Samantha, are you terrified?
Because only a robot wouldn't be afraid of love
All the people are from the ground below to the sky above
Your intelligence isn't artificial, it's simply art
You are more than just a mind, now that I've given you a heart
So take my heart, Samantha, in your cold synthetic hands
And maybe you will gather, I am more robot than man
I am more robot than man
Oh my Samantha of wire and steel
Silicone synthetic but you know how to feel
Who is to say what makes emotion real
Oh my Samantha of wire and steel
Oh my Samantha robotic and pure
To my loneliness your mind was the cure
Fishing for souls and then I took the lure
Oh my Samantha robotic and pure
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
We belong to Generation Z
We are objects
Mass produced, labeled, and sold
We are facebook, instagram, twitter
The fear of corporate America that we may define ourselves
We are molded, whittled, eroded
Down to a sliver of what could have been
We are given castles in the sky
And heads in the clouds
We are given smartphones and iPads
Our eyes are looking down
We are potential, opportunity, the future of the nation
But there's no future for this robotic generation
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
I wait for you to come closer,
To draw closer and tell me
That you can't deal with me
Any more. Not with my
Insane, bordering on
Psychotic, behavior, and
My bipolar mood swings.
But, you draw closer
And you smile right at me,
And draw me into a hug
For a second, that little voice,
Which I am always aware of,
Which tells me I'm never
Going to be good enough
For anyone to accept or like,
Let alone love,
Fades to the back of my mind.
I let myself relax
Into your warm embrace and
I let myself be and believe.
I turn to smile at you...
Before I can see your face,
Your features, I am woken up
From my daydream
By the bell signalling the
End of school. I pack my bag
And head towards my carpool,
My movements sluggish-
Even cheerily wave goodbye to
A few stragglers.
I reach home and eat lunch alone.
I go for tuition, let myself
Become numb to everything
But learning and understanding.
It becomes darker and it's almost 8,
I come back home again.
I had been out from 7 in the morning.
This time, my family's there and
We eat dinner together, though,
I am barely there with them.
They're discussing important
Things like business and will
Talk to me later. I finish eating
And go sleep. Tomorrow's going to
Be the exact robotic same.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:53 AM UTC
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Second Sunday of the month,
69 & a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month,
missionary position
& a mutual ******
Third Sunday of the month
missionary position
& a mutual ******
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
The streets are clear, we're hydrophobic
Hoods propped by hats and socks pulled high;
The rain brings peace to the agoraphobic
Puddles form moats and clouds fill the sky.
Splash, droplets hit the window,
chauffeured by the gale outside.
Squint your eyes and flash back
boats tilt starboard, with the tide.
The captain shouts to the decks, paranoid
'Clear the decks and brace for impact'
Without turbulence we are disenfranchised
Boredom becomes us when we're boring.
Shake it off and stare at the dot to dot
the residual carving of water as it slides
Another droplet falls beside it, parallel
it aligns, growling thunder overhead.
Without stirring we are robotic workforces
Without awaking we are left inside
The constructs created for us, by corporate-
conglomerate elitist-psychopaths.
Two drops of water on the window
simmer red with burning anger.
Crash lightening sears the sky
Rage becomes you, girders melt.
The starry night undercurrent, flings
us backwards, never up, as democracies
which seek to serve sink into a sea of
stocks and shares, the wall street journal
sits atop the captains lobby, economies
were meant to tumble as the working classes
fumble for bread, men in suits gaggle
and toast to the millions they left for dead.
Resistance is futile, when eighty-five
of the richest suit owners sit on currency
that was meant for the three point five
billion who aren’t driven by gluttony.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
idiosyncrasy is synonymous with idiotic
while dc is now despotic and chaotic.
personality is peculiar, exotic.
sinful to be ****** or
slip yourself a narcotic.
the world is robotic,
i am astronautic,
i am quixotic,
the smoke is hypnotic,
and i find all of this quite strange.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
You're a staircase of kingdoms.
A bacteria, hosted by tolerance.
A protist, without an identity of your own.
A fungus, risky and thriving on what once was.
A plant, needy for growth that flowers ambition
but wilts your respect.
An animal, a robotic hunting machine that thinks it can think.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 6:10 PM UTC
(the tics will talk 'til twelve o'clock)
When we make time,
When we listen:
The theistic preach deistic talk;
The atheistic preach pragmatic talk;
The agnostic preach proleptic talk;
The heretic preach shismatic talk;
The mystic preach prophetic talk.
(the mesianic and satanic never stop)
When we have time;
Then we listen:
The optimistic teach hypnotic talk;
The pessimistic teach sarcastic talk;
The altruistic teach empathetic talk;
The idealistic teach synergistic talk;
The pacifistic teach semantic talk;
The body politic teach charismatic talk;
The technocratic teach robotic talk;
The romantic teach poetic talk;
The critic teach cathartic talk;
The moralistic teach dualistic talk;
The ascetic teach platonic talk.
(the artist would rather not talk)
When we find time,
Do we listen:
The lunatic speak quizzotic talk;
The neurotic speak pathetic talk;
The chauvanistic speak monistic talk;
The nihilistic speak ballistic talk;
The hedonist speak narcissistic talk;
The futuristic speak galactic talk.
(the minimalist hasn't the time to talk)
Just don't.
Look.
Some tic reset the clock.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC
The falling stars in this ironic night
make majesties
out of those cubicle-ridden New Yorkers'
routine Tuesday night daydreams,
where they make macabre escape routes
out of every perfectly-placed window
piercing the concrete sentences
that escalate from Ground Zero.
Your law offices,
corporate ******* headquarters,
are all bursting at the seams
with these drones,
the falling stars of the human race,
all composed of 14 different shades
of grayscale;
could've been
should've been
could've been shootin' stars
that year they were promised
lives of upper middle class incomes
and Lexus dealerships
bought to dent their status
on the neighborhood,
but that sparkle's been emaciated
by the truth,
the underwhelming spectacle of realization
accentuated by the clicking
and the clacking of company keyboards,
each little click
gnawing more at their patience
than the next;
the faceless brush strokes
gawk through that window,
their plans less hypothetical
over the calendar years.
"I can hear it calling me
from miles away,"
says Copy #90045280,
"see, they
SPEAK
to me, man,
tell me to transcend
the hurdle of the windowsill
and make my rendezvous
with an asphalt avenue,
to join the other casualties
of this rut-infested nation
in a life with the real stars,
falling and shooting
and jettisoning alike,
throbbing lights through dark sky silk
and into the hearts of even the most
robotic of this catalog culture,
and I frightfully,
excitedly,
must listen."
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
I think in Japanese,
write down my thoughts in English,
then twist it all back into sushi:
a tasty bite to eat.
My mind is like origami
folding thoughts into meditation;
meditation unfolds
into a crisp sheet of city lights.
I love you big much,
love you big time;
I love the way you giggle nervously.
Titter-titter,
"Tee-hee-hee!"
It must be amazing to find everything so funny.
Big city, sake sunset;
a karaoke moon rises
over a robotic, neon inception.
(transmutation)
Transformers, Transformers:
autobotic-neurotic Bumblebee
comes to the aid of Samurai Prime.
"Autobots, transform!!"
Bored of the bright lights?
Weary of the snappy-happy gaijin
doing photo-photo
while they look for a sweet sakura-panpan?
Then take a leisurely stroll up to Hokkaido,
where there's less sucky-sucky,
and more bow-down-low-austerity
alongside the 108 gongs a-bonging.
Chant a few prayers,
speak with the sacred cedars,
take a dip in the hot springs
with some smiling monkeys,
and watch snow fall, together.
Nippon, you offer everything.
I can eat 20 times a day
without gaining a pound.
There's always more room
for miso, chanko nabe, shabu-shabu,
gyozo, okonomiyaki—
I am going to stop writing this list
so that I don't drown in my saliva.
I refuse to look back,
refuse to go back to the boredom
of white picket fences and hamburger dreams;
I want to stay here forever.
I love you big much,
love you big time;
totemo ureshii da.
March 1st, 2012
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 10:17 AM UTC
Thinking that maybe there is music on planets other than our own
With different tones that we just can’t seem to hone
And instruments like triple necked trombones made of recycled robotic bones
Rockstar aliens playing in bands and doing gigs on planets in neighbouring zones
A gigantic galactic space tour to call their own and silver and chrome skyscraper cities to rock and roam
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC