"sensors" poems
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrationist humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love. □□
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
Right or wrong
Short or long
Agree or disagree
When singing a song
Ape or kong
Blunt or kong
When you're high
Its like you're living a life of a person from Hong Kong
Persuasive talker
Convincing stalker
Both of these are mind players
But I'd rather choose to ignore them with a bottle of Johnny Walker
Subconscious mind
Left behind
Likw a hypnotist I'll pursue this until I find
Blame it on the left
Decision making
The oven of thoughts
Busy opinion baking
Anxiety is close
Hands are shaking
All of the mess I made
I'll be out there raking
Mostly its pressure from your peers
Flowing through your ears
Seems like you've conquered most of your fears
And then peers begin to cheer
Sensors begin to hear
That you were wrong to listen to them,dear
Its...
One thought to another
Disrespecting you mother
Ignoring your father
Cause' you'd rather...
Party till the morning
Drink while you're yawning
Get drunk until you sleep on the lawn and...
Drink and jive
Drink and drive
An accident happens
Then you're no longer alive
But you thought you'll survive
That's because death gave you a high five
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
Where I live, you see, is the future
which nobody saw coming but me,
and I guarantee, its truth,
I consider ants sentient, indeed.
I cringe for my imaginary Jain friends,
I just smashed another dozen scouting sugar ants,
and I sang to them as I did,
hoping their tiny antennae
knew the deal,
we throw ant-edibles in rodent safe containers,
out past the edge
of the motion sensors,
ants of all common sorts are welcome.
- because our fire ants have some how mellowed
- since arriving from Texas
on waves of dread… fire ants,
maybe that kind never got here. any way
- now, we live with them and all the others
- on the edge of the eastern pacific
- super colony that has no war
- on its inner or outer edges.
But one must consider ants
as sapient sentients,
senders of signals, wireless radio,
wee-tiny antennae vibes,
to sing a song ants can translate that says,
This human says: I shall **** all you send to my kitchen.
It is a thought song, you think it, as you ****
You might try it if, you consider
ants are not just pests, but
interesting life tools, for living in dirt
with no screens, lack so obvious it is
noticed by any with attention to antennae
as intense as
that that of Everest Pax, who in April began his sixth year…
Now, who
can hold the ant mind
long enough to imagine the queen,
with Ender-vision?
Through the eyes that watched me **** the scouts,
and signal boundaries to the Queen.
Jun 12, 2021
Jun 12, 2021 at 4:36 PM UTC
I see you fetus on radar struggle and heart beat sensors yet I don’t know your thoughts about your home! I see you form but you don’t see me. But what do you strive for? What do you believe you are? Do you have goals? If I had to guess they’d most likely be comical attempts at taming wind. As for me I know your destiny 9 months from conception. Your world is a world within a world called earth dependent on an inception that unknowingly feeds you maturated to the inevitable extinction of your entire world. This is called death and I know it’s scary. Why would you ever imagine leaving your tight spot comfortable? I feel that way about earth more often then I’d like to admit. Let me stop for now because I’m jumping the gun, I’ll discuss this new world after contractions. Have faith your birth is coming and with this death new life will emerge. I know it’s hard to grasp and even if knowing this was possible u’d still leave kicking and screaming but just wait and you’ll know what I mean in due time. So enough about you for a moment for I am in a paradox that I can’t explain! It started with my death from the womb (birth) which brought life on the sweetness of earth but upon that emergence started a countdown to a new death! Which leaves me to this moment. I am preparing like you but in different ways. I know you can’t give me answers but at least we are one in the same dilemma of subjectivity to our respective womb. I wish we could compare notes and come to a consensus that understands the futility of our worlds permanence. For I am a lot like you! I am a fetus in this world called man and my womb is mother earth. I want to learn from your mistakes! This world is dying like your womb and it’s just as hard for me to come to grips that this is not my home. Fetus thank you for allowing me to view your delusion so I can understand mine. Jesus gives me the truth because he sees me like I see you. Not to be hypocritical I must strive not to leave kicking and screaming. I know this is not my home but a place of active preparation for eternity! As for you fetus one birth at a time.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
What do they mean, this actor-as-if and the never-did, or says-he -never-did, sacrifice or sacred be made?
Primal, on to logic, come reason.
The artifice of sacrifice,
whatever necessitated making sacred a thought?
a sign for a time when words fail,
if words were to fail again,
in confusion after war,
this sign says
trust. Yes, such a sign. By this know us,
fret not, good news... not here...
secret. Sh.
Suffice to say sacrifice means more and less than most
Jordan Peterson /Sam Harris fans would act as if they believe
but, to live as if
be live
me
that's new at every opportunity, pay real close attention,
a safe zone, far from that same madding crowd…
(occluded allusion,
The Classic Far From The Madding Crowd Movie)
I see that crazy dog herd the sheep over the cliff, and I cringe
I cringed then, in the dark.
I was holding your hand but I've forgotten your name,
thanks for dropping by.
Tell Sis hi.
still
be live in the home
a safe zone, far from any madding crowd…
clouds are aloud
contrast to the blues and greens and puples and yes
keepemkeepemkeepem AI wantemferwampum
yeah, this part is
wat do you say? crazy weird need you add **** crazyshit weird ****
if you were a platypus, just cruisin' playin' hunt with hi-tech
magneto-electro-gravitonal sensors, in a pre release, like alpha
version of the proteins involved
And you find your way back to where you once belonged
blocked by a thing named a weir,
it 'lows water through, but not you.
What do you do?
the mud settles you, scout around,
an unhearable sound
an unfeelable touch,
a final beacon, repeating the final news from platypus you,
it worked. dis encorporation all gone rhythm engaged.
Est. system reliable against all obstacles: .166 billion years
by the measure of the man, who was the angel
rolling the rock back up the hill.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
*Smart phone paranoia, contagious at best
Has the zombies a stumbling the streets without rest
Transfixed to their cellphones, oblivious to all
By the lure of the Tweet and the Facebook’s enthrall
It’s ironically depressing that with all of this spin
When you download the Apps…the Devil walks in.
They access your contacts, Your banking, your loans
Your credit card details, unravel your phones,
Delve into your Facebook and spy on your life,
Check back through your history and peek at the wife.
They sell all your secrets to bidders galore
And when you go bankrupt… they’ll show you the door.
It’s “Caveat Emptor” or Buyer Beware
‘Cos technology’s clawed onto us by the hair,
It’s the Devil you do or the Devil you don’t
It’s progress with the crowd or resist and you won’t
Compulsion is growing by systems in place
By government, banking and big business pace
Through Google and Apple and Microsoft sway
The data is mined and the marketeer’s pay.
Tomorrow is here and we don’t have a choice
Ya live without Smartphone…ya won’t have a voice.
And the dragnet for data accessed by the Apps
And the sensors and whereabouts GPS tracks,
With the malware evolving to beauteous height
Means ya privacy’s shot and ya turn out the light.*
PS: Beneficium accipere liberatum est vendere
(To accept a favour…is to sell one’s freedom!)
Marshalg
Waiting for it all to come back and bite me on the ****
Pukehana
AUCKLAND
21 February 2014
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
I probably should have let you finish your coffee before I spoke.
Sensors off the charts.
An earthquake of raw emotion beyond control.
Tectonic vibrations all over the kitchen.
Windows to the soul stained red from yesterday's burden.
It was there all along, I know you know that I know.
One barely visible membrane of composure is the last thing holding up the whole god ****** building.
Kinetic veracity.
POP
The dam might of held for one more day.
Seriously though, your a ***** in the morning.
Art.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
High above this
destiny
I can see your private
mystery
Mechanical wasp controls
the hive
Its sensors are buzzing and about
to go live
Over the shoulder, around
the bend
The naked you is about
to trend
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 12:49 PM UTC
Pausing briefly, gathering further instruction
The evil Eye of Baar reflects
Upon a memory, near complete conception.
With all hearing soul and forming sensors
The evil Eye of Baar absorbs
Only pertinent waves from its passive donors.
Passing shadows, focusing hard detail
The evil Eye of Baar perceives
Enough truth to know how not to fail.
Come the distant death and lengthening span
The evil Eye of Baar flaunts
Just future birth to compliment an evil plan.
Plans shaped, Spontaneity becoming colder
The evil Eye of Baar warms
To eventual visions and power growing bolder.
Sold on tyrannical tactics and plotted course
The evil Eye of Baar dims
To possible defeat and attack to its source.
Intuition dying, reflex receded by design
The evil Eye of Baar succumbs
Unlike mortals, helpless in death, forced to resign.
Sep 30, 2009
Sep 30, 2009 at 3:32 PM UTC
She has a baby, the other has a honey, the last is lonely
three ladies all loving, sweet and independently hot
they all having various mediate metamorphosis
the beats of a Barry white song airing my sensors
i feel like they're all with me in this studio hut
what do i say to get away from this love prone stampede
she has a baby so only a voice like Barry White
can suite her flaring flames of Mother hood
"Believe me , I used to but I ain't a boy anymore
there's no love that can touch me anymore than
all you've given me, My baby carrying my baby..."
exhales in slow paces, how do i survive this longer
the beats of a Usher Raymond song hits me up
**** mama, you're the same girl i saw with him
oh! no i ain't jealous of your man, i'm just sure
he ain't man enough for you like i would
don't call me when he wants you no more
take this i got to go, i really have to go now
i ain't leaving you, if you're going with me
Exhales in heightened paces, i'm getting there
loneliness only brings you closer to your inner man
togetherness brings out the best in you and your man
at the corner of the crowded dance floor beauty sat alone
glaring at all the gesticulations and rigorous body movements
how lonely she looked alone in the corner rejecting all invites
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
I found a news article about the most boring day in history.
The 11th of April
1954
Literally the only thing that happened was the birth of a Turkish Academic
Abdullah Atalar
So I looked him up
“His research interests include micromachined sensors and actuators, atomic force microscopy, analog and digital integrated circuit design and linearization of RF power amplifiers. He teaches undergraduate and graduate courses on VLSI design, analog and microwave electronics.” - Wikipedia
He was boring too.
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 2:06 PM UTC
I couldn't make up my mind on who she was. Really,
A premonition? Foreboding an inevitable storm
Or the storm's aftermath;
All dull and vivid juxtaposed in parallel reflection
Yet even though debris seemed to follow the destruction around her,
The centre of all the chaos was calm, grey
I called her Grey
She liked it
She thought it resembled a fading, translucent characteristic within her that most people seemed to miss without confirming a second look
"It’s like you lifted my eye-lids with clamps-long and hard enough to gaze and wonder just who I was"
That the easy facade on her outside was just a complex elaborate hoax and her intricacies were much simpler inside
But even with all my sensors of human emotion detection and learning to wade and blend through
derelict sage-nuances
I still couldn't figure her out
For I wasn't sure what she was:
A premonition or an aftermath of new color.
She was always Grey
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
1
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
had a coffee at the center
caught up with some friends
watched a movie
and bought some stuff for home
and now I can’t find my car
though I’ve searched past 10 minutes
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
no, that’s not mine
that’s a Mercedes;
that one’s too shiny;
and maybe it’s this one
- no, mate,
we won’t go any nearer
this car is too clean
mine will look like
it’s not been washed since Noah
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
2
well, yes, help me look out...
it’s an old Nissan
blue faded into white;
no, nobody ‘ll steal that
and the only people
who’d give it a second look
will be the traffic police
who’d wave as if to say:
Pull over, Sir;
let’s have a look at
your rego and front tyres
now, where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
well, ****
I’m sure it hasn’t moved
it’s not that sort with smart technology
self-park, self-drive or with sensors;
it’s like an old useless dog
completely lost without its master
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
now that we’ve looked
about 30 minutes or more
I’m not sure if this is the right level;
Oh, did I stop at Yellow Level
or Blue or Green or Pink?
was it level 1 or 2 or 3 or 9?
it’s completely out of my mind
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
ah, there it is
that old boneshaker;
thanks mate, for helping me look
You were saying you want a lift –
yes, come - I'll drop you…no trouble…
yes, it’s just on the way…
Hey…Where you going?
What? Don’t want a lift?
You’d rather walk home?
Hey, what’s wrong with my car?
OK, suit yourself…
at least I found my faithful car…
where did I park my car?
it was Level 5, Yellow Sector
Lot 125
all the while
and that beauty was here each second
an old helpless dog, waiting for its master
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 3:23 AM UTC
Ok.
So it's Valentines day.
I'm alone,
but I'm in love again.
The chemicals in my brain are firing pleasure sensors
or whatever that science **** says.
It bothers me that I live a lie no matter what truth I embrace
but whatever
I'm in love with his smile
his laugh
how he and I know exactly what each other is thinking
telepathy is our ESP.
If he knew was me
he would know it was him
still is him
by the way
I'm in love with his poetry
his voice
Every new thing I learn
Is a starburst in my heart
I know I look like a stalker
the way I follow him
but seeing him is my sanity
I have to believe
he will love me one day
if I want to live
another day
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Did he live dangerously as he believed? You decide.
A wish he cherished inanely for long
Did him in or liberated from fear once and for all
His date with the camouflaged piranha
He coveted much, was an unqualified success
He repeatedly said, though none disputed it.
An ace strategist, he thought of himself
Aware of all the wily tactics the fish practices
It all started with the tickling pleasurable nibbles
But when the blood started flowing the fangs were out
Nature's invisible sensors respond to the situation precisely.
Look!
Hopeful vultures circling above slyly observing
His each faltering step is alacritous, turned hostile,
"Walking skeleton, buddy, fly back.No scope for us
Crumbling little by little.Let it ride, bad luck"
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrations humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
Stone cold, the blackening sky, stole our fields of flowers
They came like a silent flood over our continents
To block our sun and steal our humanity.
The ships were silent, and filled the skies.
Then down their marching hoards descended
Overwhelmed our puny technology, rendering us as apes.
Under their shadows our world went neolithic
They rendered all that was electrical or light to junk
We were left as scurrying ***** things among the soil.
Vastly reduced, our very memories were threatened
Forgetting how once we ruled our own planet
They plucked up our people like we once picked flowers.
When they came for me I was a child
The elders still telling me of the times I never knew
I had to learn their ways as I learned our own.
One day all our careful plans came together
And I sat hidden deep within their ship,
The thing so long pursued was found
Within that place, their robot brain
Where I could redefine their enemy as themselves
Then quick to a transport and back to my people.
Shortly then with a single bullet
We sparked their hostility sensors
The dark metal clouds burst soon with sun-like flame
We will never know the all that they knew,
Though we pick still among the mechanized ruins
And try to discover "from where" and "why."
More powerful than all our smartest elders
Covering the world with their dark mechanized oppression
But brought to an end by hands of a boy.
Many years now, since we brought them down
The hulking hulls worked now into barns and homes.
And once again we learn to talk across the oceans.
It wasn't long after the flames had ended
When in the fields the sun again warmed the soil
And fields of flowers there began to bloom.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 1:58 PM UTC
Some gamblers rented and cyclists' cyclists are not Maria,
Maria, Maria, and the massive student body of Cyclists,
Other Associated Deacons Trainer Trainer Sensors;
I'm looking forward to food
and feeling a sense of when to read the robot's book from page 1 -
the top place at this hall meeting Sunday
at the National Council of Judicial Religion -
a classic user education free of cognac
in my head, gloves white eyeglasses.
Radio station to take care of a cigarette freedom
with a rich wealthy publisher of fan fiction,
Maria, put her in bed. According to John the strippers
are awaiting food and dance, dance,
Moses and Elijah using Revolution has changed
and now two new trees grow out of the shadows
recollection of the problems of reducing
the nightclubbing of the bride, What John said of the Trinity Wave,
that waves swells in winter weather.
The various aspects of life in school
for the dance dance to find a good ending
and highlight your work in the sand
are free free of non-oh-fluctuous roads to heaven in jail,
rays of fire from the sky on the ceiling,
all the bed dwellers sitting on the rungs of a ladder
1 as high as the sun. John was pushed
by the knowledge onto the role of shades
robot strippers get Wall Street Law,
Mary's strippers are on the hill for the rich.
According to John Rose, it's not enough Memory
Technology 1, Paul's first Belgian wave radio,
high wave in parts; Puppetry for life
in the fight, the clinic entered into a long bone
and cigarette between the springs of water; RSS
and the mass of members who have been trained
to offer the Strippers Cyclists another translation,
radio station freedom to take care of smoking
in the wealthy rumors of journalist story,
Maria naked in her bed. The various types of schools
have a very good dance program, and highlighting
the work with the sand can be free
and non-oh-fluctuous way from the sky in the radio
station on fire from the roof on the dog is all at Sleep 1,
Sleeps in the sun as long as you see it.
John's required knowledge came into the robot hands of the strippers
knowing that Wall Street's Gestalt is part of Maria's hill strippers
for the rich. According to John Rose, it's not enough memory,
technology 1, the first Belgian wave radio's
high wave reaches parts of St. Paul;
There is no war entered into by smoking,
and the rays within Puppetry are the Waters of Life.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 11:57 PM UTC
All our senses concatenate, building on each other
<>
this interplay is truly interplanetary,
for each of us a unique solar system,
our brains,
intricacy literally personified,
and our five senses, working
in
concatenation
our long range sensors, busy bees compiling inputs
by the nanosecond second, distilling, integrating.
blending and then reconstructing…into a whole!
*a gentle breeze ruffles the hair,
the tree swing rises and flows
of its own accord, no passported
passenger required, and a neighbor’s
American Flag, moves majestically &
impressively, whipping, dancing, yes, prancing
to a tune only it can hear,
the syncopated air currents providing
a rhythmic awesome inspiring beat…*
and the brain takes this all in, a momentary
second of a vista that is constantly flexing,
yet remains unchanged, a muscular view
of a real world, living but yet immutable,
and I utter thanks to my motor functions,
that bless me with the eyes to perceive,
the nostrils to smell sea salt flavored air,
the hearing ears that the know the imperceptible
orchestrations of silences by their absence
and their intrusion, and I touch my fingertips
to my tongue, wetted, and hyper sensitized
to that gentle breeze that decorates the
landscapes external,
*and the combinatory
addition of the all of it, into a single momentary
poem of recall, what I “knew” yesterday, & will
greet again this coming day, as an old unfamiliar
friend, who grasps me entire, and proclaims:
this is living…and the greatest satisfaction that
a speck of mortal can achieve, retain and
through impoverished words…share*
4:14am
Mon Jul 22
2 0 2 4
Jul 22, 2024
Jul 22, 2024 at 4:25 AM UTC
If light is the fastest thing in the universe,
why is darkness already there when light arrives?
After watching Harry and Megan Sussex grub for ever more cash and attention, I’ve decided that they should start a OnlyFans site.
We’re going to a booze-free dance party.
“You don’t have to drink to have fun.” I assure myself, in the bathroom mirror, but somehow the event sounds like a high school dance.
I’ve been reading the Internet - was it really a giant squid that sank the Titanic?
...
Panpsychism Is a scientific theory postulating that consciousness is part of the fabric of the Universe.
On the theological level, why would God (or nature) create the bitter taste of espresso and vivid, azure skies slashed with rainbow sunsets if stimulating consciousness weren’t important?
“Colors, tastes and smells are no more than names,” Galileo declared 400 years ago. “(as perceptions) they reside only in consciousness.”
Does life exist, as sensors, to experience stimuli for the galactic consciousness?
Oct 9, 2023
Oct 9, 2023 at 10:26 PM UTC
When the winter left and Canada had finally warmed up, we both had wished it stayed around for just awhile longer.
So we could have mustered up some more thoughts about how we would apologize to one another.
Before the particles of the magnolia trees and white trillium had tickled the sensors of our nose and had made us forget about one another.
I can feel the Carolina dog days of summer approaching while the last of your snow finally turns to a muddy water.
Anima gemella, you promised to be in my arms come spring time.
I tried to hate you in the fairest way a man could hate a woman.
Hatred because she destroyed the name of love, dissolved destiny, and distorted all poetry.
Enough false hatred so I would never have to speak to you again.
Making even the greatest -- Poe, Neruda, Bukowski, Plath and the others all live in vain.
But even I knew that wasn't possible.
Not defeated by the fact that you can't love me back
But by the feeling that you're the only person I've ever loved
And that I'll never get to feel the warmth of your body in a hotel room bed in the center of the city.
And that you'll forever live through a 3.5 inch screen however many states and countries away.
And how every day, whether you're listening or not.
I will tell you that I love you, whether or not you love me.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
I have discovered that my blocked nose
is not the reason I can’t smell roses.
The smell has been cut out of the genus
for the sanity of sensors on cargo airplanes.
What then, about my children and their’s,
when they discover old books for themselves
and ask questions about the smell of flowers?
About poetry, and the Nineteenth century?
How would I tell the tale of family Plantagenet,
with flags as dead as Lancaster and York?
This tragedy seems so terribly unfair when roses
are so much prettier than instruments on planes,
every petal a miniature piece of God’s own skin.
I need to walk down to the roadside florist if I can
get out of this sweaty blanket into this chilly weather
and find one of these ****** roses so I can dismember
its petals one by one. I must disembowel this litany if I can
she loves me, she loves me not, she wants me extinct
bred out of this world for convenience,
just like the forgotten smell of those roses.
The tragedy to be told is that women are not supposed
to be the main course in your life, the glorious bouquet of roses
that you set the table around. They are more like condiments
to an existence already charmed, but if the ketchup has gone rotten
it tends to put a damper on how everything tastes and everything smells,
I can’t smell the flowers and there are too many forks.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
I died on a Sunday
A day of blessings,
peace. Eternal sleep
was interrupted by medicine.
It happens
When I woke,
I was surrounded by strange people
White suits and blue masks.
Needles in my arms
Sensors on my chest.
That must have done wonders for your anxiety
My...heart...simply...stopped.
As if it no longer wished to fill the pain
of a life half lived. Loves almost won
You can't "win" love
Fights never finished. Things never said.
What did you do?
I quit my job. I told the woman that I like
my feelings for her. Changed Apartments.
What did you really do?
I began living.
Freely
Then next time I die. I will not have regrets.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
I look to the moment when I see you smile
I feel the energy when I sit beside you
I tie my tongue in my mind
the knots like clots
stop my thoughts
impaling me on the sword of desire
the fear of rejection freezing to ice
the lips that await
as you apply appeal
so tender, so moist
their touch will surely thaw
my tongue you will draw
into the warmth
exploding the sensors
adding fuel to our fire
yes! decimate me
send me to shreds
reform me then melt me
that I may ooze forth to blend
within you once again
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
Typed words flow
Across the screen.
Cursor blinks
seen, unseen.
Electrons racing
through the wires,
Transporting meaning
as word inspires.
Sensors picking up
the textings.
Users taking in
the sextings.
Social networks
come and go.
Human beings
move so slow.
Time's reduced
to microseconds.
Attention spans
too slow I reckon.
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC