"solder" poems
546
To fill a Gap
Insert the Thing that caused it—
Block it up
With Other—and ’twill yawn the more—
You cannot solder an Abyss
With Air.
16.8k
An artist,
I’m scared to be left to my thinking atoms and nuclear cells
Why solder my raining thoughts to reality
In my head I can’t trust these clockworks
Rusted gears precariously tricking forward
Tensions unbalance on a pinched nerve ending
Hesitate I retract to others knowing what I don’t know
That once I start I might fail
I don’t do what I want to
I don’t speak when I want to
When I so desperately need to
Before I explode
Violently, into a void
Void of emotionless urges
An artist like me if I so believe I am
Doubtfully attempts to act in the face of thunder
Only to cowardly hide in a cat’s whisker
Inner bricking delays outer progress
Progress I provocatively flaunt to the alive bodies
While knowing the fallacious congrats is unwarranted
I don’t believe in magical rainbow kitten surprise wishes
But I won’t also hide my love
With the internal flame dimming
I want to act the part by flipping over the stones
For the mysteries hidden away
To see them crawling out
My untapped desires
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
are you generally happy?
a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously, as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”
it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction
as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words
“The End”
a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read
the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -
the opioids of the mind offers are rejected
the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled
the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,
pitch black
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
The sun has barely risen.
The birds; already signing.
Today is the day I must forget the fact that you've been missing.
I am the queen, I do this on my own.
Never will a peasant tread near my royal throne.
My princess lost her father, but he would never lose his daughter.
We share an unbreakable bond, yours was temporary and weak like solder.
You melt away, never to be seen,
When the temperature rises; we could never be a team.
Send me the blacksmith, a real, strong man.
One who's not afraid to burn his hands.
Surely he'd know, I can heal his wounds.
How would you though? You left so soon.
To you, the queen will always be Mother.
You have no need for me, a more than significant other.
Today is the day I let it all go.
You'll never forget, that this is my show.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 9:15 PM UTC
I am not some street cowboy punk
i am a quiet sweet rampant drunk
i play the spoons with the air of a saint
i have a tongue that can swallow paint
sour and acrid, the tone of my voice
i have never left without a choice
punched back sideways
even more today than tomorrow
for your heart i will bed, steal or borrow
Superman don't have ***** on me
don't need no wings now i am free
saving the restless, curing the weak
you can laugh at me when i dance like a freak.
I will kiss you when i drink too much wine
when i am restless and hungry you will be mine
I will do nothing when you are nothing to me
i will drive you crazy with all you can be
no more talkin no more of that ****
i'll hold you apart, break you bit by bit
if you're too polite i'll bite my tongue
i'll whip you and shake you, then i'm done.
carefree to be careless, shareless boy talk
tell me to go and i will surely walk
don't ask me to be kissed or hold my hand
i am not that girl that you left unplanned
i am a midnight demon on ferocious terms
i grasp you and hold you tight and firm.
I am not lost, or fragile or broken bound
i am not looking for someone to make a sound
i am no paige boy scarlet harlot wild child thing
i am not yours, can't you hear your telephone ring?
I am a sordid freak of gigantic endeavours
i will solder your heart regardless of your tremors
i am torturous and painful and weak to the bone
i am the mightiest fallen, can you not see my throne?
i have a **** me, buck me, tie-me-tight gaze
if i look at you slowly, be patient but don't wait
i want everything and all and i want it now
i am no gleaming bronze statue know-all-know-how
i am surely what you ever thought you knew
i am surely what you never thought when i met you
i am free to please anyone at night
i am free to sit and cry by candlelight
alright now, oh baby its all right now
**** me gently and i'll show you how
to be nothing more than anything is something i suppose
but i really can't tell for the state of your clothes
you dress me up slightly more than your vision
i've never met a person with such succint precision
and well here i go, superbly astute and blunt
never did i see such a spectacular *** ****
and well that is really the way that i go
i fly here, there, everywhere i flow
i am not some pretty naieve little thing
i am a mess of entirety with 2 engagement rings
i'm living with despondence and its ******* me off
holy **** batman i hear you cough
come see me, come stay a while
come see me, come see me, and i will **** you in style
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 1:41 PM UTC
Marching, Marching on.
That Broken Soldier
Unfix-able, Never to be intact again.
After to many years of fighting.
And yet still fighting,
That Broken Soldier.
Fighting the never ending fight.
Slowly falling, still, ever fighting.
But he is crumbling,
That Broken Soldier.
Falling apart by the day.
Left in an eternity of frailness.
Becoming less human everyday,
That Broken Soldier.
Solemnly stewing on his personal madness.
But that Soldier fights on.
Still fighting,
That Broken Soldier.
Fighting the never ending fight.
Slowly falling, still, ever fighting.
But his will wavers,
That Broken Soldier.
Is the fight worth fighting?
Worth the deathly blows thrown every day.
Soon none will be left,
of That Broken Soldier.
Soon the fight will be done.
Soon the last hurrah will sound.
The last Hurrah,
from That Broken Soldier.
Giving up the fight.
While letting go, his life.
For his life,
That Broken Solder,
Is his fight.
His fight soon lost.
But still fighting,
That Broken Soldier.
Fighting the ending fight.
Slowly falling, still, Not Ever Fighting.
Not Ever Fighting,
That Broken Soldier.
Not ever more.
The Fight is lost.
Lost is The Broken Soldier
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:20 AM UTC
The tiny, black transistor, three wires,
One two three, ramrod straight get bent,
Quarter-inch strain, needle-nose pliers and it's broken.
Instructions: look, ask what "install"
Means: to bend the leads, push in, solder
Tightly and well, no crossing, to the board.
Lumps all over the green circuit board,
Yellow blue black etc., flip-side wires
Cut short, little silver domes of solder
With the leads set up just right, bent
Just right to stay in when you flip it over to install
Them so they don't fall out, but lost is better than broken.
The one transistor, Q1, J310, broken,
Lying against the also-black of the countertop, board
Loudly near, demanding, "Just install
It already, ****** Just the two of three wires
On the Q1, last one lying lonely bent
Crying out, hollering, screaming for solder.
Look at the one straight piece of solder,
Two leads protruding from one hole, broken
Off by careless, melting hands, left stranded on the board,
Cut off from the spool, low melting point, easily bent.
It looks just like "one of the boys," the real wires.
Copper wires conduct well, very ductile and easy to install.
When you are attempting this, to install
Everything in its place (and there is one), beware excess solder;
Too much crosses from hole to hole, uniting two wires,
Shorting it out and leaving you drifting with a broken,
Useless green hunk of circuitry and electronics (a board,
A dead board), which is just as useless as your leads which are too bent.
Some of these **** parts come pre-bent
(Why not each?), real easy to slide in and install,
Just bend slightly after sliding into the board,
Slightly enough to hold for the solder
Which is to come, assuming it's not broken
Yet, and that yours are still whole wires.
On the back, at the end, identical dots of solder
Run the length of the board. If it's not broken,
Run a current through; see if you get a shock by the wires.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
Electric water I bite you
Off again
Sheet rock solder I am your
Only friend
We meet up weekly
We tell each other lies
I fed the sheep and
We gave our parting tides
Oh yes we get lost
Oh yes we are gone
My, avocado I know you want
To lead
My, dear Mason to us you
Are freed
My two faced flower what happened to
Your lips
Eight is the hour to which the
Ceiling drips
Oh yes we get lost
Oh yes we are gone
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 11:46 PM UTC
While the sun pours over the early nightmarket
An old woman sits, chewing
Betel seed adrenaline into
Wilting veins sprawled arachnid
Behind her knees
She, the center of all activity, is merely there
A few children lift cinder blocks
And their fathers solder wire
To help put up the gate
Before a white temple
She spits a thick *** of it into
Her *** a young woman nearby
Pulls starfruit from a stall
Starfruit, whose name should belong
To the most elegant fruit, what a
Pity it has such a wretched tang
By now, the old woman is bobbing around
Her murky mind, a betel juice
Aquarium she can barely perceive the precision
Of the cremation ceremony next door climaxing with
The scattering of jasmine leaves
To indicate mourning and forgiveness
For untimely suicide and when the
Cameraman approaches our old woman
She spreads a numb smile, revealing her
Black oily teeth
Tarred over in betel juice
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 4:26 AM UTC
Your hand in mine, twiddling
the silver around my right
ring finger. The point
of the heart faced out,
in hope you'd turn it
toward my wrist. Your mouth
brushes mine. You take it off,
examine the stamp - "925."
Slide it back on, the crown faced up,
the hands mirror ours,
clasped
around my heart. I wonder
if my father knew
what it would mean to me
when he passed it on.
I wonder if he knew
I'd fall for a boy
and this ring would twist my mind in folds,
you're a menace, a silversmith
you solder my mouth shut.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 7:08 AM UTC
Red and blues flashing, the electrons in a game of TRON dashing.
Forgive me not for i haven't sinned, it is your lack of congealing that keeps you trapped within.
An omnipresent empire built of circuitry and solder.
Please leave me be for I am not waste, refuse, master or martyr.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
“20 ways to repurpose a light bulb”
It tells me I need to start with a good grip around the bulb,
give the solder point a twist and free the brass contact
from the wires leading to the filament. If I make it that far,
I have to break the insulator and pull the filament out
from there. Grabbing the fill tube, I need to empty out the bulb
and wipe it out to get it ready.
I guess I could channel my childhood and turn the bulb
into an aquarium—dropping a little bloodfin tetra in with
a sprig of sea-grass or even make one of three small hanging vases
to put on my wall in the kitchen. If I want to get crafty,
I have directions for a glass sculpture, a holiday ornament,
and seven different size centerpieces.
The real surprises on the list are the light bulb necklace
and the concrete molds for light bulb handles.
Here I am, 4 A.M. on a Saturday morning planted on the couch
peering at the screen through my Jim Bean bottle eyes
and all I see are ways to repurpose this broken bulb
for something new—something it should have never been—
and I wonder why I can’t just grab the oil and a wick and
turn it into what it always wanted to be.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
~~~
*to whom do I address this?
to whom do I
forward fling, weep and sing,
this bequest~request,
prayer~cum~worship~cum~blessing~cum~
howling
to and upon?
where shall I commence?
for there is no beginning or end,
resurrection,
a continuum,
a progression permanent,
from inside out
to harmonize, coordinate,
what the outside has taken leave to
inject, insert,
to our selves query,
our life hood very,
impoverish our senses
and still, and yet,
to ever inspire and seed
relief
do you possess that requisite
belief?
that all
that is illogical,
beyond sensory comprehension,
that all
is a steady running creek
of fluid starting points,
none that can be deflected,
nor forever held
that all,
being demands unchosen but acquired,
that all,
demanding constant reflection,
and realization
that the acceptance mystery is but a
molten crucible
wherein wonderful and awful
must of necessity,
coexist
so you alone must construct,
what chance desires to destruct,
weld the joints of new iron works that
require the bonding of a special solder
of asking and acceptance,
to be the special soldier
of acceptance
overcoming that which we can never accept,
yet must
be purposed to build high the edifice,
to stand upon the crane,
to look down on what
has been lost as well as
not yet gained,
and that
requires saving
to see the far, observe the near,
merging both into a single point ring alloy,
manufactured in order
to never forget
to be forever certain,
it is within our assured power
to comprehend and apprehend
belief in blessed resurrection
where there is no birth nor death,
no start nor finish,
just the
munificent satisfaction
of lawful acceptance,
that all we build of any matter,
that which we create,
cannot be destroyed,
but will be recreated,
for that is the purposeful meaning
of resurrection now
and every day forward*
Atlanta, Georgia
Nov. 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
please don't ask
why my words
are so intent on
chaining your heart
to the nightmares I've
stuffed my pillows
full of
with promises rusting
into blackened iron
links and truths that
would shine better as
lies
I never meant
to cage you
in my dreams -
it's just that my
eyelids solder shut
and I cannot pry my silver
eyelashes apart without
cracking at the faultlines
I forget to mention
whenever I wake up
alone
it's just that my
soul needs more
than a little oiling
more than a little
you
to breathe away this
metal corroding its way into my
tear ducts, dripping rust
down my cheeks,
choking on 'blood oxide'
and mechanical residue
buried underneath my
fingernails
it's just that every
******* 'i love you'
is yet another link
around my finger,
wrenching the life out
of me,
blue shadows engraved
on my skin never shine
like silver in the sun
but if this is the
only clanging chain
of heartbeats echoing
in metal boxes
from me to
you;
what can I do?
it's just that there
was a lock somewhere
along this mess of coils
and chinks and mistakes
but oh god,
when did the rust
between you and I
melt into three thousand
miles of mercury trickling thermometer
poison into everything
we say?
I've lost my keys;
they had sunk first and
I will sink last
it's just that
the clinking thump thump of your heartbeat
is my lullaby;
it's just that
knowing you breathe warmth is enough
to cool the burning silver in my lungs;
it's just that
close to you is the closest I will ever
feel to 'alive'
it's just that
if I can't keep you -
nobody can
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
Playstation.
Running as fast as it can.
Lava flowing through,
From component one,
To component two.
An engine.
Overworking.
Solder joints and Silicon,
The things that break,
Difficult to be undone.
Metal and plastic.
Assembled in crazy ways.
So soon to be,
In so many realities,
A state of disrepair.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
Salty mess is laminated
in hard rime
whilst the moth ribbons
like a broken lasso
over the bathroom tiles.
In your letters
the handwriting conveys
your shaking vulnerability
in the fog.
The rime and
The grapefruit soap
and lye solder your calico dress in blisters
With cascading Tempera over your chest
Along the globe
of your eye, camel eyelashes
powdered skinny
with make up shower with sadness then close in drug dry desperation.
Your legs
are dolphins enthroned
in scarlet
with grazes and gazes grace them with concern.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Pipes through the plaster
Pressure on the gain
Skin of wet paper
Takes the strain
Leaking at the solder
Drooling at the lip
Nibbling the woodwork
Drip, drip, drip
Cracks in the china
Glaze is crazed
Chips on the periphery
Reappraised
Hidden in the cabinet
Dust free spot
Tied with a ribbon
Hangman's knot
Tarnish on the silver
Payment due
Thirty peices
Far too few
Fragments of perfection
Fractured style
Scooped together
Careless pile
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
A synth is all wires, metal and acrylic.
Alone it sits upon a keyboard stand motionless.
It is plugged into a valve amplifier, all valves and solder and metal.
The synth is motionless.
And the world it lives in is silent.
The electricity dwells through the wires in the gyprock walls,
through the voltage and the conduction.
Two hundred and forty volts to be exact.
Yet it is contained within the walls. Dark and unfamiliar.
And the world it lives in is empty.
A switch is switched. The electricity is conducted.
In the blink of an eye it powers the synth and the amplifier.
The synth springs to life.
A melody filled with intervals,
ascension and harmony blasts through the amplifier,
with clarity, distorted grit and frequency.
A beautiful sound fills the air.
The synth and the electricity together at last.
And the world that the two live in together is beautiful.
JAW 29/01/11
For Marie.
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
he was in the room
with a mop and a broom
the room was all clean
no dirt was to be seen
and he left the room
not to be seen
by his friends who would mock him
if he were to be seen in that scene
He had a safe in a safe
in the night he was beside it
so they wouldn't devide it
in the day he would clean it to make it sing
the clean would squeek
although it was meek
but it came too soon
because no one was awake
to hear the tunes it would make
the safe would squeek and squank
the tune it would make
as it sat by the lake
that was made from the water
from the dirt and the solder
that was once on the safe
that he cleaned off with haste
he wanted to sing
but the safe sung for him
he had his dream
but his safe stole it
and locked it up
inside it's safe
though it wasn't literal
it all was real
that the man had a dream
that the safe would steal
the man's name was Ben
he was the worst of his friends
because his friends were better than he was
he hated himself and the safe that would speak
because he cleaned it and made it squeek
he had a friend named Ben
the other Ben who was cool and gear
was a friend of the Ben who was full of fear
he would sing and he sung
as Ben cleaned and clun
and both Bens made music that was good
but Ben hated his
and Ben liked his
but both Bens liked Bens song
but one song squeeked
and as it did, it squank
and the song it did make
put both in a trance
but Ben one was not real
and Ben two was the seer
one was in the mind
while the other one cleaned
he wished Ben two was real
because he wanted a friend
and he wanted to hate
because he wanted a blame
for his lack of fame
because his song was great
but too early it came
because no one was awake
to hear the music it would make
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 6:49 PM UTC
Men are doomed, Carla told me,
It’s your eternal haircuts, she continued,
How can you sculpt a life from a single shape,
One look,
Every mirror an impersonation
Of the initial version of one’s self,
Each day reduced to a child’s calculation,
You wake up, only older, grayer, a withered rasp,
Ever more discouraged by the unfairness of things.
Carla exhaled a dragon’s torrent
White jet streams unfurled out of both nostrils,
A waft of my father’s morning scent.
With a flick of her thumb,
She snapped the ash
Off the end of her cigar.
A sharp hiss as the ember sizzled and sank
In the shallow of a pavement puddle.
It had cold rained most of the day.
Over a pause, the sky roiling with indigestion,
We bundled up in autumn clothes,
And trudged uptown,
Our chins tucked deep into our chests,
Our squinty eyes glued to our shoes,
The wind had a slap to it.
It isn’t war you should fear, she continued,
It’s robots.
Soon we won’t need you for anything,
Carla jabbed her lacquered fingernail at phantoms as she spoke.
Women have been fornicating with machines
For over a hundred years, she said,
The transition for us has already occurred.
Weld and solder us a pleasant replica,
One that can shine a toilet
Sterilize the dishes, **** us brilliantly,
And recite Shakespeare at will-
Believe me,
Soon we will barter for your *********
Exchanging bitcoins for the innate,
With no intention of ever attending your funeral.
No the war is over and men have lost, Carla repeated.
She walked ahead me,
Her hips a sashay as she spit a loose bit of tobacco leaf
Onto a lamp post.
I could not persuade my eyes to look away.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
I'd love to take you apart, pull your string
Watch the ivy grow at the seam, watch the bubbles
While I hold you down underneath
Let warm water run over our cold bodies.
Run along, now, you're no longer needed here (Maybe someday soon)
Splitting the wishbone, guess who got the bigger half? (There's no room)
How does the solder taste when you go down? (Always new)
I always knew you would need to come back again (I always knew)
See how the roses fold into the sheets
Just like a big black hole in your sleep
You got nothing to worry about
When everything is simplified, no one will walk out.
You got no right!
You got no right to
You got no right!
You got no right to me.
You got no right! (Infinite)
You got no right to (Misery)
You got no right! (Imminent)
You got no right to me! (Ecstasy)
You got no right! (Infinite) [Calculations melting quickly, time dilation, seconds stretching]
You got no right to (Misery) [Minds colliding, bodies soaking, atoms bonding, seconds stretching]
You got no right! (Imminent) [Always what we never wanted, never who we always needed]
You got no right to me! (Ecstasy) [Saturation of our nature, stars our shining in our language]
I'm done.
I'm going back home now.
Leave me alone.
I'm going back home now.
I'm going back home.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
**** she your momma
misspelled your name
shoulda been Raygun
or Learjet
I sure wish you were a
physicist
so you could help me write my
General Theory of Poetry
teach me calculus
so we could prove Newton
was all wrong
but I posit a theory:
you must be an electrician
of the human body
well my circuitry is all ****** up,
if you read your way crack back to my
October, my doc told me I was a dying
and he didn't want to doctor me no more
so you see my bits done byte me good,
but named me a "dead" line in human fashion,
Nay, by May Eighteen, got finish my theorem,
cause I'm black hole'd and ******* myself
so have Leah bring a coffee refill,
let's get to collaborate,
I will operate in the ether of fudge factors,
you, will solder circuitry thru modern chemistry
and I will have my theory but no answers
but then I can give up this hopeless
poetry gig one lazy time and just
live your New York dreams
Read http://hellopoetry.com/raygan-keller/
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Will I die in the battle?
I must remain strong in the saddle
Soldier’s thoughts having one mind
Will I still be alive?
The enemy could be a few feet away
As a Soldier, I cannot be a coward and go astray
I must stay alert and be focused
My Code of Honor
Concentration on the battle
Regardless of Bombs and Ammunition
Sunrise and Sundown a Soldier’s responsibility to stand
Salute at command
Yet a thought of Dead or Alive
It’s a Soldier’s commitment to strive
Tomorrow is fighting at the present
I am a Soldier and I must represent
Can’t turn back would be a resent
There had been times I would often cry
I felt one day I would be dead being a goodbye
But I was given the command to guard the front line
However, I was assured I was covered by the Lord
God instilled I wasn’t alone
Even during the time the Commander said to be at ease
I felt the comfort of God’s refreshing encouraging breeze
Stay the Course
God is the guiding light being the force
Battles will always have battles
But I can’t let anything make me rattle
Oh yes, stand and be firm while holding on to the saddle
Remain Strong
Help your fellow Conrad’s in getting along
I am on the battlefield where I belong
No matter what the circumstance
I have been given the chance
The enemy could one day attack on a prance
But it is the pride in being a soldier
One life but live it to the fullest in war
I am a Soldier
Bold and True
Commitment is my pursue
Enemies could be in my face
But as a Soldier
I have been trained to be Bold and Lean
I have been given the salute to proceed
I am the Soldier I stand
There is a battle in demand
Carry on Solder.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 6:36 PM UTC
The tired old robot came to rest,
Years of working, left him worn and distressed,
His batteries lacking power, he walked without grace,
The lights dimming, on his dented old face,
Rust makes him brittle, seizing up his hands,
Joints lacking oil, clogged with debris and sand,
His circuit’s burn, as the sparks rattle his brain,
His memory corrupted by electrical rain,
Reaching the end, after all these years,
The robot cries, his battery tears,
Crashing to the ground, falling apart,
As the power slips, from his computerised heart.
There he lay, upon his back,
As the wind covered, his final tracks,
Placed upon the scrapheap, stripped of his parts,
They carefully removed, his memory and heart,
Words read from, the old kindle book,
As they restored his body, with the classic old look,
Wires refreshed, the burning of solder,
Faint light returns, to his classic controller,
One final piece, to power his soul,
The heart replaced, in the mechanical hole,
Twitching fingers, he opened his eyes,
Met with cheer, and emotional cries,
Holding his hand, were Robots restored,
Embracing each other, mechanical applause,
As Light beamed, from behind the seventh,
He spoke..........
"Welcome my son, to robotic heaven"
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Pigeon-striped with a polyester hat
How can he look so nice and feel so sad?
“It’s a momentary lapse in sadness
Brewed in prudence and gladness”
Fret not for the velvet shoe that stalks you
Cry a well for all the leather hides
That you wear upstairs for kindred brides
Another lover bred to love untrue
“Is there something else I’d like to say?
Efficiency is drenched in dismay
Jewelled epaulettes on deafened shoulders
Something more incise, I shall solder"
Heaven delivered our coal
Sat atop a gilded pole
Heaven delivered our coal
By lawful life, we are loveless moles
Ruby-haired and lilac-nailed
How can she arouse yet taste so stale?
“Hold my vindication in a brooch
Open my heart in reproach"
Fret not for the saddle in your ‘mare
It will take you to a mining town
There, you will earn yourself a gown
And fall on the soldered stairs
“Is there something else I’d like to say?
I am to be blackened for my pay
Else I resign to a red ribbon
And use almighty love as a weapon"
Sweet life, what’s to surmise?
Moths in the corners of our eyes
Writing as a fly in a frame
Spot the hideous, spotted dame
Watch your place, hold your pace
Heaven delivered our coal
Sat atop a gilded pole
Heaven delivered our coal
By lawful life, we are loveless moles
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 8:37 PM UTC