"telecommunication" poems

I’ve summed up the equation for my isolation It's People who look up, look down, left and right Desperate for information We never looked inside for much needed inspiration Instead, We lead a life of impulsive behavior mixed with preoccupation for our own reputation I've lost toleration for the weak minded population Individual thoughts slowly decay and eventually cut off circulation Sending thoughts on permanent vacation, worthy of respiration, ideas now suffer suffocation If this is my "generation" I’d rather live in hibernation You can take this as retaliation I just don’t understand why we seek gratification for having no imagination? I swear, It’s like the world around me is nothing more Than telecommunication Different voices yet the same conversation Broad interpretation leaves room for destructive ********** Shedding uniqueness for trendy consolidation **Who the **** do you think you are? a star?** You're no constellation You expel no illumination Your personality is a narrow cultivation of Seedy corporation, Media publication, And lack of moral stabilization Let me give you clarification Meditation is my detonation Put words in your mouth before you die of starvation We all have a fixation on giving into temptation Putting ourselves in situations were Passion is stimulation, Trust is manipulation and Love is *********** Pour out your heartache in perspiration After *********** we expect a standing ovation *** is nothing more than sensation* ....are we lost beyond the point of navigation?

0

Nov 28, 2011

Nov 28, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC

m-violante

Meditation is My Detonation

I’ve summed up the equation for my isolation It's People who look up, look down, left and right Desperate for information We never looked inside for much needed inspiration Instead, We lead a life of impulsive behavior mixed with preoccupation for our own reputation I've lost toleration for the weak minded population Individual thoughts slowly decay and eventually cut off circulation Sending thoughts on permanent vacation, worthy of respiration, ideas now suffer suffocation If this is my "generation" I’d rather live in hibernation You can take this as retaliation I just don’t understand why we seek gratification for having no imagination? I swear, It’s like the world around me is nothing more Than telecommunication Different voices yet the same conversation Broad interpretation leaves room for destructive ********** Shedding uniqueness for trendy consolidation **Who the **** do you think you are? a star?** You're no constellation You expel no illumination Your personality is a narrow cultivation of Seedy corporation, Media publication, And lack of moral stabilization Let me give you clarification Meditation is my detonation Put words in your mouth before you die of starvation We all have a fixation on giving into temptation Putting ourselves in situations were Passion is stimulation, Trust is manipulation and Love is *********** Pour out your heartache in perspiration After *********** we expect a standing ovation *** is nothing more than sensation* ....are we lost beyond the point of navigation?

37

Why do we do better To make things only worse We make our houses big Our kids are grown Telecommunication New yard, technical phones. Staring out of our window Lost, lonely in a thoughtful watch Wondering will someone make it To our door or stop on our block Or leave us in our house alone As the quiet loner's we are.

0

Oct 16, 2015

Oct 16, 2015 at 6:54 AM UTC

jessica-packer

Quiet loners

Why do we do better To make things only worse We make our houses big Our kids are grown Telecommunication New yard, technical phones. Staring out of our window Lost, lonely in a thoughtful watch Wondering will someone make it To our door or stop on our block Or leave us in our house alone As the quiet loner's we are.

12

Once there was a man who had only one friend. Every day, just before the demise of a cyclamen orange burning ball on the horizon ~ he swam to the shore, waving with a magnificent tail, blowing bubbles and bundles of water and air into the wide open skies. Under the darkening heavens, he sang the muffled song. Tempting his beloved. . .reaching magic, farther then any sonar's ability. Abnormal coldness froze Icelandic Beauty. But beneath the surface, life was warmer without wars. Dwarf seals were jumping into the laced ocean; trying to cry each time they were cut off the Earth's gravity. This Mighty friend of an old man, was his only link to the global world. The man was old-fashioned; had no telecommunication facilities, his radio were gulls, stray cats, shepherd dogs and sheep on a green hill, behind his wooden hut. Sometimes he looked over his shoulder, only to determine whether his elderly donkey is able to follow. . . or do they both need a little rest, just to postpone the books from the saddle for later and spread the beautifully ornamented Indian carpet under the great great grand olive tree ~ to take a reviving little nap in the shade. When he woke up, the old man lit his wooden pipe, puffed few beautiful rings of indigo smoke, smirked to a buzzing bee and found that the air is still pure enough. The pressure was normal, the wind was playing with wave foams in the neighbouring bay. Under the olives, hanging from the tree canopy, the quietness was fulfilling the old man's heart. Motionless peace was heard. Tranquility. And the motion of a Humpback Whale. Leaving.

0

Sep 18, 2015

Sep 18, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC

ImpeccableSpacePoetess

Horizon's Always There

Once there was a man who had only one friend. Every day, just before the demise of a cyclamen orange burning ball on the horizon ~ he swam to the shore, waving with a magnificent tail, blowing bubbles and bundles of water and air into the wide open skies. Under the darkening heavens, he sang the muffled song. Tempting his beloved. . .reaching magic, farther then any sonar's ability. Abnormal coldness froze Icelandic Beauty. But beneath the surface, life was warmer without wars. Dwarf seals were jumping into the laced ocean; trying to cry each time they were cut off the Earth's gravity. This Mighty friend of an old man, was his only link to the global world. The man was old-fashioned; had no telecommunication facilities, his radio were gulls, stray cats, shepherd dogs and sheep on a green hill, behind his wooden hut. Sometimes he looked over his shoulder, only to determine whether his elderly donkey is able to follow. . . or do they both need a little rest, just to postpone the books from the saddle for later and spread the beautifully ornamented Indian carpet under the great great grand olive tree ~ to take a reviving little nap in the shade. When he woke up, the old man lit his wooden pipe, puffed few beautiful rings of indigo smoke, smirked to a buzzing bee and found that the air is still pure enough. The pressure was normal, the wind was playing with wave foams in the neighbouring bay. Under the olives, hanging from the tree canopy, the quietness was fulfilling the old man's heart. Motionless peace was heard. Tranquility. And the motion of a Humpback Whale. Leaving.

8

what i understand as a definition of the word complex, it requires a hyphen as a pseudo conjunction, in that it coordinates words in opposition, which is why freud's right on the money with the madonna-whore complex, but completely bonkers with his oedipal fetishes, because oedipus is a complex in itself that cannot be excavated and theorised for the sake of a analogue... that's a horrid plagiarism that might plagiarise awry, for all orthodox necessities: a complex is aqua- -marine aquamarine... but in terms of theory it's evident that the hyphen usage is still retained, before everything goes **** up perfect *** **** of compounding the two words like a german: Fernmeldeverkehr (telecommunication), der... 'nurse! pass the syllable scalpel!' 'herr doktor, der silbeskalpell.' 'ah scheiße, 'ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go: fern' 'mel 'dever 'kehr.' the operation was a success, apart from the silbeskalpell being left in the patient's body; and i never understood why people expect you to talk to them face-to-face like you're reading autocue, the minute you talk imagining off empty space to invent a new language of comfort they equate you with autism... i once had a glance at psychiatric notes sent to the bureaucratic doctor (g.p. / general practitioner)... psst... they only care about whether: a. you're able to keep eye contact b. you're / you're not biting your nails... but that's what you get, the welfare state policy of funding distribution of the infamous n.h.s. (national health service)... ****** by the cartesian dualism of splitting mind from body like the brain is some gooey porridge mixed with cornstarch for thickness... only 0.6% of n.h.s. funding goes into psychiatry... i'm guessing at least 1% goes into prescriptions for pensioners demanding ****** i already told you, cats are ontologically autistic, hence their appeal to autistic children, or just anyone not really into leashes, being tugged or tugging, come rain or shine, come 7am or 7pm... they can be so inanimate sometimes that they blend in will flowers, and when awake, yes, like plants doing the kayan lahwi tribe's extending neck with rings thing... ah what's it called... ah yes phototropism... take the rings off the neck a million swans with broken necks.

0

Feb 28, 2016

Feb 28, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

fernmeldeverkehr und zee silbeskalpell

what i understand as a definition of the word complex, it requires a hyphen as a pseudo conjunction, in that it coordinates words in opposition, which is why freud's right on the money with the madonna-whore complex, but completely bonkers with his oedipal fetishes, because oedipus is a complex in itself that cannot be excavated and theorised for the sake of a analogue... that's a horrid plagiarism that might plagiarise awry, for all orthodox necessities: a complex is aqua- -marine aquamarine... but in terms of theory it's evident that the hyphen usage is still retained, before everything goes **** up perfect *** **** of compounding the two words like a german: Fernmeldeverkehr (telecommunication), der... 'nurse! pass the syllable scalpel!' 'herr doktor, der silbeskalpell.' 'ah scheiße, 'ere we go 'ere we go 'ere we go: fern' 'mel 'dever 'kehr.' the operation was a success, apart from the silbeskalpell being left in the patient's body; and i never understood why people expect you to talk to them face-to-face like you're reading autocue, the minute you talk imagining off empty space to invent a new language of comfort they equate you with autism... i once had a glance at psychiatric notes sent to the bureaucratic doctor (g.p. / general practitioner)... psst... they only care about whether: a. you're able to keep eye contact b. you're / you're not biting your nails... but that's what you get, the welfare state policy of funding distribution of the infamous n.h.s. (national health service)... ****** by the cartesian dualism of splitting mind from body like the brain is some gooey porridge mixed with cornstarch for thickness... only 0.6% of n.h.s. funding goes into psychiatry... i'm guessing at least 1% goes into prescriptions for pensioners demanding ****** i already told you, cats are ontologically autistic, hence their appeal to autistic children, or just anyone not really into leashes, being tugged or tugging, come rain or shine, come 7am or 7pm... they can be so inanimate sometimes that they blend in will flowers, and when awake, yes, like plants doing the kayan lahwi tribe's extending neck with rings thing... ah what's it called... ah yes phototropism... take the rings off the neck a million swans with broken necks.

59

Some far distant phone operator is cross. We come from the same planet. Of course if the government were employing - outer-space monsters In the telecommunication industry would they tell us?

0

Jun 26, 2015

Jun 26, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC

nivek

Phone Operator

Some far distant phone operator is cross. We come from the same planet. Of course if the government were employing - outer-space monsters In the telecommunication industry would they tell us?

7

Your voice drifted over me like a long awaited hug enveloping my ears as hands do a well worn mug Your words did not explain much more than science but I understood everything from your silence

0

Sep 11, 2019

Sep 11, 2019 at 1:56 AM UTC

EmmaPriceIsRight

Telecommunication

Your voice drifted over me like a long awaited hug enveloping my ears as hands do a well worn mug Your words did not explain much more than science but I understood everything from your silence

4

Call them back. Delete the message. Videochat her. Block that number. You know the one.

0

May 14, 2020

May 14, 2020 at 1:15 AM UTC

Nanie7531

Telecommunication

Call them back. Delete the message. Videochat her. Block that number. You know the one.

5

Regarding yours truly he experienced setback amplified by Luddite propensity nostalgic longing for simpler age bring back horse and buggy better yet find me a mancave and/or apprise me ideally via email Flintstone web page modality allowing, enabling, and providing excellent linkedin access whereby augmented and/or augmented reality telecommunication simulation delivers, exports, and ferries lame poetaster to small town America a place that time forgot and the decades cannot improve within which dwell strong women, good-looking men and above average children Wobegon place name preserving lifestyle exhibiting voluntary simplicity though aforementioned fictitious locale fires up imagination as does a place called Willoughby flourishing along outer limits of twilight zone buzzfeeding outlier zee crème de la crème confabulist this side of Schwenksville hankering towards... nebulous body, mind and spirit synchronicity courtesy sweat of mine brow equity acquiring alliance, cognizance, existence, guidance, intelligence... think **** Proenneke alone in the wilderness survivalist jack of all trades I would live free, yet nevertheless die ill equipped to captcha victuals and/or drink to stave off hunger and/or thirst respectively one twenty first century beastie boy heavily dependent upon urbanization, mechanization, industrialization, civilization to savor creature comforts climate controlled environment(s) courtesy finite fossil fuel extraction **** sapiens scourge upon planet Earth me metaphorically on par one more human parasite zapping nonrenewable resources thus desirous (yet helpless) to forsake consumerist lifestyle yet lack ways and means to toil physically to wrest good n plenti juicy fruits of labor, which initial premise as iterated with poem title dramatically off tangent, yes?

0

Aug 14, 2020

Aug 14, 2020 at 9:02 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Technical difficulty zooming into meeting

Regarding yours truly he experienced setback amplified by Luddite propensity nostalgic longing for simpler age bring back horse and buggy better yet find me a mancave and/or apprise me ideally via email Flintstone web page modality allowing, enabling, and providing excellent linkedin access whereby augmented and/or augmented reality telecommunication simulation delivers, exports, and ferries lame poetaster to small town America a place that time forgot and the decades cannot improve within which dwell strong women, good-looking men and above average children Wobegon place name preserving lifestyle exhibiting voluntary simplicity though aforementioned fictitious locale fires up imagination as does a place called Willoughby flourishing along outer limits of twilight zone buzzfeeding outlier zee crème de la crème confabulist this side of Schwenksville hankering towards... nebulous body, mind and spirit synchronicity courtesy sweat of mine brow equity acquiring alliance, cognizance, existence, guidance, intelligence... think **** Proenneke alone in the wilderness survivalist jack of all trades I would live free, yet nevertheless die ill equipped to captcha victuals and/or drink to stave off hunger and/or thirst respectively one twenty first century beastie boy heavily dependent upon urbanization, mechanization, industrialization, civilization to savor creature comforts climate controlled environment(s) courtesy finite fossil fuel extraction **** sapiens scourge upon planet Earth me metaphorically on par one more human parasite zapping nonrenewable resources thus desirous (yet helpless) to forsake consumerist lifestyle yet lack ways and means to toil physically to wrest good n plenti juicy fruits of labor, which initial premise as iterated with poem title dramatically off tangent, yes?

66