"scanner" poems
I'm looking deep into her eyes
*Looking into her eyes...
is like opening a door that leads...
to another door*
Wait..really? OK...I open the door.
*This door leads to a long, winding path,
like the winding path of your love.
The path leads to a third door*
O...K. I open the door.
*This door leads to a spiral staircase
descending down, down, down, deep
into her soul.
At the bottom of the staircase is--*
A door?
A door.
I open the door
The door is locked. The key might be under the mat
Seriously? I check under the mat
Nope, not there. Maybe try under the small rock next to the door
Oh for the love of...I check the rock
There is a key
Wonderful...I unlock and open the door
*Inside this door is a large atrium
the glass ceiling giving way to a
beautiful summer night, the stars
twinkling in the distance. At the
far end of the Atrium, there is a curtain*
Sigh I pull aside the curtain
There is a door
Come on! I open the ruddy door.
*You find yourself in a long hallway,
with fine art hanging along the walls.
Crimson carpet lines the floor.
At the end of the hall is a door locked
with a combination biometric
fingerprint scanner/retinal scanner*
What.
*You have 10 seconds to unlock the door
before the hunter-bots de-atomize you*
What!? Ok! I try my fingerprints and eye!
*The door unlocks and the hunter-bots stand down.
In the next room are three vials. Two of them contain
terrible neuro-toxins that will lead to an excruciatingly
painful death. The third will allow you to continue on
to the next room. You have 30 seconds to choose before
you are terminated*
What the hell is this!?
This is the path to true love hidden deep in her eyes
No, this is insanity!
15 seconds
OK! Geez! Umm..Vial Number 2!
You're totally dead
Oh god!
Just kidding. None of them had poison...was just messing with you
THAT'S IT! I'M DONE WITH THIS
Really? There's only one more door. I swear
...Fine. What ridiculous thing do I need to do to open it.
*It's already open. You find yourself in a circular room
with a pedestal in the center. On the pedestal is a hand
written note. On that note is the key to everlasting happiness*
I pick up the note
*You smell sweet hints of your beloved's perfume and
notice the care that each word of the note was written.*
What does the note say?
*My love:
Next Tuesday Only -- Buy One-Get One Free at J.J's Pizza. Cannot be combined with any other offers/coupons. Must present coupon upon purchase. Expires 1/14/14*
...An expired coupon for Pizza?
Such a wonderful expression of love!
How do I get out of here...
You see a door
.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
No legacy is as rich as honesty to leave behind
No asset is as great as honesty that enriches mind
No voice is as powerful as honesty,your heart to guide
No word is as meaningful as honesty to swell with pride.
One who adheres to principle and facts , is honest
One who loves for-what-than-who-you are , is honest
One who inspires to be fearless and upfront , is honest
One who dares to raise voice against injustice, is honest
In actions ,words and dealings -be clear and transparent
Corruption,bribery,flattery and nepotism-be always against
Greats endure pain to follow righteousness,however difficult
On life’s tight walk ,do not crave to strike rich without sweat.
Win over lies,deceit ,treachery with love,respect and fair play
Honesty is a jewel that shines-shines brighter,rest fades away
Honesty is a bitter pill to gulp,gulp you must to lead the way
Quality than Quantity of life matters most,at the end of the day.
A child should be taught to be honest at a very early age
Set an example by emoting honesty at every step and stage
Honesty instils compassion ,concern,credibility and courage
It is a virtue that differentiates between a devil and a sage.
Stakes may be high ,don’t ever compromise on values
A Right can never ever be Wrong ,however one views
Forever under HIS scanner,keep hands clean and heart true (HIS ...GOD)
Give best to the humanity the best will come back to you.
(C) Bhargavi Ravindra ...........B’lore
Dated : 09/05/2019
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 7:13 AM UTC
Here at Kinkos
We have a saying, “copies of copies”
You are trained to always ask for a source file
The digital file of the picture the camera took
The negatives of digital cameras
You see because when you print a picture from that file it’s the best it will ever be
Every detail captured in that moment stored in bits and bytes ready
If you make a copy of that picture it will never be as good
And if you make a copy of that copy it’ll be even worse
And if you were to make a copy of the hundredth copy of the ninety ninth copy you might not even recognize the image
Whether it’s a speck of dust on the scanner
Or a crease in the print out
Sun stains from prolonged exposure to the elements
Or simply from time
Copies never look as good as the original
Even if you try and protect them
And even if you were to magically protect that photo from any external forces
The next copy still won’t be the same quality
A scanner can never pick up every detail from the print on the glass
Copies of copies are never the same
Sometimes the printer is calibrated different
Sometimes it’s a heavy magenta day
Sometimes it’s a saturated cyan day
Maybe you touched her face when you handed it over
And now every copy has a feint of your thumb print above her eyebrow
You had him taped to your rearview mirror for a whole year
And now every copy you make has a glare where the tape used to be
It blocks out his heart shaped hands he was making you from the bus window
Folded in your wallet and now all the copies have white spaces where her face was
I mean where the creases were
I’ve heard that when you remember something you are simply remembering the last time you remembered it
Memories of memories
So that after you’ve remembered her a thousand times you’ve forgotten all the details you forgot to remember the time before
So that the more you remember something, the faster you’ll forget
Maybe that’s why we forget exes faster than family
Maybe that’s why we forget the great parts of high school before the painful ones
I remember that you had red hair, that your eyes were kind, that your hands fit my cheek
I remember that you were bad at pool and that it felt like love, and if it wasn’t you’re the only one that knew it
And now I’m wondering after all these years what I’m forgetting to remember
What I forgot to remember last time
What did I forget this time
What won’t I remember next time
Memories of memories
Like copies of copies
Fading over time
If I never wanted to forget the best moments of my life
Should I never remember them
Is the fastest way to forget the bad ones
To remember them often
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
Last night they checked my garbage can.
It’s a good thing that I have a shredder.
My cell phones records are of interest-
I’ve made calls to known “tea baggers”.
Warrant-less “burglaries” have been made,
then I find my screen door broken.
The I.R.S. just called again
my case has been “ reopened”.
On every airline trip I take
I’m “Caressed “by the T.S.A.
I’m almost ready for a cigarette
after they’ve had their way.
Such harassment is “kinder spiel”
compared to what comes next.
They have a “brain wave” scanner
that can translate thoughts to text.
So I wear a cap of aluminum foil
whenever I’m on American soil.
To protect my ideas before they find them
I always make sure to copyright them.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 8:18 AM UTC
This is
Almost all.
Cereal.
12 bites chocolate koala crispies
Chris along with some horizon
fat-free organic milk
but again 12 bytes.
Short stack flapjacks
Safeway maple syrup drenching it.
Patrick's IRA send it
One hot fudge sundae
from McDonald's
one half bite of hot fudge.
Six bytes of salsa recipe.
Four microwaved Chinese potstickers
Some HighC
orange lovers
I also ate Mark's soup
25 Cheetos
Xcessive?
I also ate some
of my accent.
One can Wolfgang Puck
used as a base
added some roasted
breast chopped
roughly 2 wings
scanner on onion
red rock refrigerator
did an onion
rings tile cut.
Think I know I'm
sorry sweetie
they are kind.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
I painstakingly cut off my
fingertips
screaming as I dug out the
microprocessors
so we could live
free from their scanner
grids
The whir of drones
overhead
provide an ironically
soothing white noise
as we spend the night
huddled together in a ravine
The truth is
I'm not afraid of
them finding us
and launching
our firebomb execution
so much as I'm
afraid
you might want
at some point
to see other people
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Or is it?
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXIX)
Yes, anime as from a distance' frail
Note comes to hail me on my own phone hence--
Which brother's taste cavorting gaily thence
Like to a happy air I cherish? pale
As liking by mere halves what plays for bail
Now in the background. Lo, and for intents
Sis can make calls, whilst oh! don't ask me whence,
But add the p'lice erm, scanner too, to scale.
If only oh, the LORD would e'er and fer
All time take care of little me. I do
Not know how to whatever, though tis poor,
Ye say, to fess't? My brother's old phone too,
They set it up for me, and how we tour
Their favrite stuff thereon. Fun like few knew.
02Apr17b
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
Sometimes I steal
from grocery stores.
Nothing serious of course,
sprigs of cilantro,
basil,
snap garlic cloves,
sleeve a single strip
of green onion,
occasionally, palm a jalapeno
I think it is the tiny thrills
of being a petty villain
that provokes me.
The warm slick sheen
of salty palms,
brow sweat, and
the shivers of pulse
that drums
my heart
when door greeters pull me aside to
verify receipts,
and never notice my aroused pockets
tight and bulging
pickpocket produce.
I'm no outlaw
nor bandit,
I do not pillage or
plunder,
I know the gray lines
that divide
good and bad,
because I'm at one of their
thresholds.
The cashier checks my driver license,
and address before feeding a worthless check
into the scanner
where it gets tagged and stamped
I feel no thrills,
no bad boy euphoria,
I am too numb for elation,
and too numb for shame.
This crime Is justified.
I have three more days
till payday
and hope the check floats
Last week was a short paycheck,
gas prices are high,
rent is past due
cigarettes aren't cheap,
and then there's that drug habit.
I could only write it
for twenty five over.
It's going to be a hard stretch.
I stuff easy cash
into my front pocket
and try to catch the eye of a pretty cashier
an aisle over.
She drags barcodes through laser red eyes
that decodes sale prices
She doesn't notice me,
but she might not be into bad boys
A small girl waits
in a shopping cart
with pigtails
and new teeth,
holding a children cereal that comes with a prize.
Her mother does not see
her kick off her shoe.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
Expressionless
she didn't feel the need
to greet me
or to look in my direction
just let the high pitched
beeping of the scanner
fill the emptiness and
motivate her mechanic movements
packing the produce into
red plastic bags
unflinching
impatience
was evident and yet
she remained expressionless
as I foolishly pressed the wrong
button
under the weight
of her gaze on my stiff fingers
until she printed the receipt
Just then
in the clear plastic bag
one jalapeño
the special - pound for two dollars
just then
she catches it
and under my watchful gaze
I hear that beep again
but
now
a quiet chuckle fills the gap
as the machine reads 0.01$
So I laugh too
fumble for a cent
and put it carefully
in her palm
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 1:25 AM UTC
there are old receipts from the self scanner
at the library- i kept them there as a simple memoir
of all the books i used to read
and it's not that i don't enjoy reading books
i just haven't got the time
because the adult world likes to
chew you up and then spit you
out again
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
the surgical procedure required to probe into your
skull is way too difficult for me. how difficult is it to
learn how to examine the thoughts you conjure up,
like arithmetic or magic. the stem cutters to pull the
dead roots out of you are dull, like the color of dead
coral or fishes that don't see sunlight. maybe the fishes
just don't swim to the surface too often. if i would have
seen your arsenal and armory before i dedicated every
inch of my pointless existence of a heart to you, every
hour of my life wouldn't hold disdain and regret for you.
the only difference between us and a car crash was that
the shrapnel and glass was our shattered memories.
the hairline fractures that are burned into my wrist's bones
have turned into full blown fragments eradicated from the
ligaments. i've seen fall, winter, spring, and summer meet
all in the same day because of you. you are an impossible
calculation, a lobotomy no pet scanner can recognize.
- kra
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
The scanner is my weapon
I wield it with authority
And power.
BAM!
$7.95
POW!
$20.65
ZAP!
Your entire soul!
They give me what I demand
And leave with
The tail end of the bargain.
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 6:13 AM UTC
My fingers are birds
flying over white and black
taking steps, whole and half
My foot is a pedal
press it, change the sound
My eyes are a barcode scanner
that see repeated change
My body is a metronome
swaying side to side
While notes and chords fill
my head's inside
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
Books to the library
photos to family.
Paint cans and lumber
from renovations years ago.
Most of the furniture
including the piano.
Fastest way to do this
is rent a dumpster.
On the internet
nothing’s permanent.
I like that.
Photosynthesis, evaporation
as if your spirit disappears
when the sun appears.
It’s a burden lifted
not to have to persevere.
Edits
for clarity
and brevity.
One owes the reader
a respite from
the tonnage of
fructifying English.
To drown one’s book is devoutly to be wished.
Coupla trumpets,
big comfy couch,
four beds and dressers
and the contents of closets.
Tools we don’t use,
surge protectors and chargers,
lawn and patio accoutrements,
table settings for ten.
Lamplit underground,
the stray branch,
synchronized chaos,
a red fez.
One canary,
map of Antarctica,
three deaf little otoliths,
six or seven sybils.
Extra salt and pepper shakers,
sharpies and crayons,
a printer and a scanner,
the Bible and Koran.
Kaput calculators and computers,
subscriptions and prescriptions,
a host of vitamins
and the ghosts of ancestors.
Time itself
but not nature.
Wealth
and most of culture
but not my health.
That I’ll keep,
and sleep—practice
for perfect rest.
Mar 19, 2024
Mar 19, 2024 at 6:54 AM UTC
drones
wrapped up in the expansive botnet
of this black facility
prone to
repeat all of last week's protocol
in sequence
and without passion
(the big guy enforces it all)
I'm bored
eye-scanner rejects me twice
fingerprint authentication
prove who I am
beat that proof into the day
a cup of Joe at lunch
half crop-circles under these eyes
yet
you'll still hear me say
I'm bored.
the beat goes on, the beat goes on
the singsong klak-ing of
whatever whatever
a beautiful voice comes over the speakers
ironic
she's the only one talking
and it's a pamphlet talk
about where we all already work.
I'm bored.
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
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Photo Credits : Fotografia Ciao Amore | Brooke Fitts | Melissa Grimes - Guy Fotografia
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
All my poems just sit waiting
unwritten impulses of some things
midway between my brain and my eyes
to get one I sit back in my Barcalounger
and pretend my head is in an MRI machine
with the laser scanner looking
I pay the closest attention
silently mindful
of how much I think and feel
about what I see
and then a poem says
you never saw that feeling
you never felt that vision
you just keep running
from one stimulus to another
like a person who cannot write
you need a bigger Barcalounger.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
Give the suckers what they want. PT Barnum
Vibrating condoms that stay hard when you can't.
Pigeons that don't **** Invisibility cloaks.
Parents with a mute button. Happy nightmares.
Politicians with Pinnochio noses. A blow job app.
Self-repairing cars. Seduction lie detector.
A time machine. Mind reading headset. Hope.
****** pills. Portable STD scanner. Edible cups.
Gourmet cook robot. Sincerity meter. Honesty.
Gun gloves. X-ray specs, Teleporter. Laughter.
Anti-loneliness inhaler. Broken heart tape.
Complete do it yourself dental care kit.
Many other brightly colored useless objects.
Find an Angel. Do a start-up. Go public.
The American Dream: have more money than god.
~mce
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
(Warning - quite a sad poem)
-------------------------------------------
This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
In a room full of strangers, the most important stranger
Squirts cold and smelly jelly on my slightly rounded belly.
I smile, everything's comical.
You read about these moments,
And we've waited in a fever of anticipation.
Excited by the chance to send out a photo,
We clutch the required three quid,
And crane our head around medical students,
Three nurses, and the all important doctor,
Ultrasound expert
- I've just remembered, his name was Jesus.
The screen is blurry, dark, morphing into
Alien shapes.
Shifting, sorting, I smile indulgently
At the grainy haze,
All to be expected,
Sometimes, the photo's don't even look like a baby,
but -
There's a silence
And then something in the room shifts,
Nurse and scanner share a glance,
The students remain glazed, this is the seventh of the day
And they don't know enough, to know a thing,
But those who know, know,
And suddenly, I know.
There is no baby on that screen,
Because there is no baby.
Questions remain to be asked,
Am I sure of my dates?
The pregnancy looks younger...
But I know
Even before they fail to find a heartbeat,
And have already retreated
Into oblivion,
Where I will remain
Through the ensuing operation,
And for months beyond.
I cry, I cry,
I cry, endlessly,
Wondering why.
This happens to many.
I have shared their stories, since.
But you cannot know,
until you know.
That's the worst place, so far,
I have ever had to go.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
You need a compression
Of the mind
You need effemeral
To hide your signs
Stop their intrusion
In your special brain
Control your alphawaves
In the psychic sparring room
A telepathic link
Can slow his heart
Or with wrath
You can blow his head apart
*"My art
My art keeps me sane...
My art..."*
Apr 1, 2011
Apr 1, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
Hold on to the mixing bowl
Let the spoon change your place
Forfeit all control
Before you're stuck in place
Exist here and there
Let your guard down
Exist everywhere
Go another round
When you're with the A's
Don't forget the Q's
Learn from everyone
Let them affect you
There's a whole world out there for you
you've gotta unfurl before you're blue
Following the lines
Living the lies
Doing what you're told
Makes the mold
Dip your body in
Different swimming pools
Keep one social group
Is an awful rule
Moldy barriers
Oppress vividness
All these different folks
Combat my emptiness
I don't really care
About how it sounds
I love everyone
Never lets me down
There's a whole world out there for you
you've gotta unfurl before you're blue
Following the lines
Living the lies
Doing what you're told
Makes the mold
I ran up on a trash can
Deposited my best clothes
Withdrew my new wardrobe
Interesting info
Generic attire
That's my heart's desire
Nobody to hide from
Indicates my income
Walk up to my best friend
Laying back in class
With these special provisions
I can access the masses
Appearance is my key card
Greeting is the scanner
Response gives me feedback
Green light for the answer
Different people different things
That's what I want to do
Mindset differences
Make my dreams come true
I love to be around
People who are not like me
then I live a different life
Vicariously
Not through the tv
Interactivity
I might ask how do you be
Now I'm free to see the keys
Every one is unique
Musically
And the unique keys I see
Are all music to me
Following the lines
Living the lies
Doing what your told
Makes the mold
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
S-togene er proppet af en stivnet mænge
På perronen splintres glas som et vandfald af reflektioner
Øjnene skjult bag briller, stiger han af toget
Han møder én på perronen
De spotter hinanden fra lang afstand
Kvinden i sort og med solbriller skyggende for øjnene af glas
En øredøvende larm får dem i trance hånd i hånd
Ventende på S-tog og med briller for øjnene
Scanner sig ind og ud og undslipper den frosne forsamling
Skrider i gruset
Hvorom alting er, er de to brillebærere forelsket
I en tid fuld af S-toge og glas
Kan man være forelsket i en sådan tid?
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
I know you've always considered me
A mechanical man -
And I'll admit
I do my share of clicking and whirring
I do have my own processes -
Alien to you -
But I have all the same ones
Too, and a beating heart within my
Clank-clattering flesh.
I watch
You, like a camera, like a scanner
Searching for a price tag. Bar codes
Are simple.
I like simple, but you must
Not think me mechanical for it.
When you see me,
I adore it, but often you
See preconceived pictures and
I'm terrible at this, you know, dreadful.
I should stop, there's no way to say -
No way to show that I am more than -
You know, that I am eyes and skin
And marrow, but more too, more than
Even you -
Nevermind, nevermind.
There's no way you'd think I'm
Human: I can't even speak.
I just click quietly to myself and bend
Toward you slightly with an injured creak.
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC