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Philipp K J Jan 2019
If this vast azure emptiness can prove
An aghast endless vacuum measure
Take it for granted, research process sure
It will fuel your thought resources, true.

Mining specks and dots in deep space treasures
Boundless designs shine assigning pleasures
Unfurl within mind in gaseous beams
Overflowing the banks of conscious streams
Filling the utmost sanctum with soft skills
Milling vacuum with colorful quills
Calming the pulses with embracing lulls
Warming all lives with fundamental pulls
Creating a sense of duo, I and you
Love and dislikes and points of view.
Feeling satiety in charity
Finding synergy in activity.
Minting amity in society
keeps you young aged muddling in daring dreams
Deeply engage you cuddling realms supreme.

So what? if this vast thought mine be blanked out
Will the ghost mute vacuum follow suit?
If sense aides guide a slow downward exit
And mind bids the fairy lids to close it
Will the sun bewail, bemoan and eclipse?
Or will the same smile prevail on red-lips?
If souls sunset in seamless sea of mind
Will lights spill out; team up to stay behind?
To form anew a fresh long microwave
To indent a start with a soul suave
A new spectrum to perceive the forces
For the soul that constantly resources
That differently formats transceiver courses
The energy that cannot be destroyed
But that which can be candidly portrayed
On a vast emptiness fluidly stolid
On a continuum vividly solid
On a clean canvas without dimensions
In a brave new world that cannot mention
A name which is beyond comprehension
A frame that doesn't fall on known convention.
Natasha Teller Dec 2013
surrounding us: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.

we’re beaming to a planet’s surface. now listen:
i know about inverse tachyon beams
i know about coded klingon screams
i know about going to warp factor eight
i know about redshirts' survival rate.
(no. chance.)

i’m beaming down with the main crew
to the surface of minerva II
we've got a malfunctioning interstellar transceiver which is distressing-- dysgraphing? dismantling…
…i don't know.
scotty said it was defective.

so we’re on this planet,
standing on one side of a thick forest packed with monster janeks,
starfleet says we need to fix this thing yesterday, and we’re in a panic—
and **** it, mccoy is a doctor, not a lumberjack,
and kirk says we should just burn through the middle with phasers,
and spock says we must preserve respect for all life forms no matter the situation.

now please remember kirk’s the captain.
that means he runs this show
but kirk always listens to spock,
so
we spend two days walking through the forest.

surrounding us: a billion trees
in a place where a strange disease is rare as feathers in a flock
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.

halfway through this dark-lit trip
things go wrong (obviously)
and an alien with shellac for skin captures the captain.
said alien grabs a vine, ascends into the canopy of the trees,
and for one glorious moment
i believe kirk’s the dead guy in this episode, not me!

but spock, in his calm and logical vulcan voice,
orders us to exercise any necessary force to recover the captain.
translation: **** EVERYTHING. JUST GET KIRK BACK.

we reach the janek village.
being a good redshirt, i rush in, phaser blasting, ready to complete the heroic rescue of our captain—
and get killed instantly.

as i was dying, i heard the sound of thousands of janeks dying beside me
saw spock help kirk off the ground
and the last words I heard were theirs:
“captain, are you in need of immediate medical attention?”
“nah, spock, i’m fine—”
“mr. scott. the captain is hurt. beam us aboard immediately.”
one’s arm over the other’s shoulders,
they vanished.

surrounding them: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive—

but the prime directive
was never the real objective.
My very first attempt at slam poetry, back in the day... this was written for a sci-fi slam. Live long & prosper.
Joseph Martinez Apr 2015
In the silence of my words
lay buried
a million dreams
so your style is not at all familiar
I am but a transceiver
fated to mellow the tide
of the coming rush
back into this new dream
Joseph Martinez Jul 2016
I saw in my soul's window a million paranoid, knowing eyeballs resonate apocalypse planned as total fate

Saw a million lonely, scared faces seek to vibe with one aesthetic

Knew totality, balance, show hate, kindness, in the marshes of beyond

Surrender--final threshold to the Almighty Wisdom of Creation

Knew all the petty footfalls born in all personal hells

Wandered All before & After

Found myself still & unknowing

Realized ultimate futility & saw & knew the Eye that shivers with mistrust--symptom of essential human error--done collapsing

Tried to be transceiver for total consciousness,visions, intuitions, serpents of inbetween places, all dialed into the same direct knowing posture outward, upward, sideways & nowhere

Sought to riddle my apostrophes in the dream market, in the blind bank or else Jericho my soul to stall my own progression
Kado MacMurphy Apr 2017
i figure everything can see me
fluids​ moving up inside me
it cracks the code inside my atoms
chest is hurting heart is pumping
connect my flesh to the embryo
stitch into my genes
ya know
i wasn't born just yesterday
i was not born just any way
my talents knows it when they sieze it
make ya go ya cant believe it
projected light of consciousness
splits comb-strikes and leads it
have it here inside my pockets
little life and little rockets
pull my glow in my transceiver
data cosmos diamond lockets
redraw my lines in my own dimensions lies a
cruel unjust infinity's just
a tenth of my reality
born of one and two in one
in life we die in death
we shall remain
where the hall's externals walls us back out of a duality
to be a nothing once again
there is no synthesis to my thesis
once was lost but now im easeless
take my own life cuz i own it
cuts a hole into my recess
i am recklessly disurbed at what i am
where im at and im just not quite sick of it yet.
Me?
The people that know me don't have the slightest clue as to who I am
Hell I don't either
Can't tell if I'm a peacekeeper or just a transceiver receiving the thoughts of a transcendent creature that has risen from the depths of the ether
Which is my mind
A black whole in time acknowledges the laws of physics but doesn't follow
Death one of the hardest pills to swallow
Many just wallow until the day comes
Let them listen for their bell to be rung
But hey raise your glasses because spring has almost come
Truthfully we don't know if we'll be offed by this time tomorrow
We are all just energy borrowed
The land will take us back
Our energy is not wasted but we do not stay intact
We are we you are you and I am me
All components of this universe can't you see? Harmony isn't to much to ask. All you need is to not fall for any societal traps
self self-awareness death unknown life
Ken Pepiton Oct 2021
We
imagined living easy. Ai, easily, as art intuits
beaux
bon chance, as light would have it,
were eyes
the ***** of
the master sense,
the dominant receiver, transceiver, if we think of gleams
shining things glimpsed
in eyes,
and beams of love or hatred from eyes,
depicted in ever so many pointing stories see, see, me
I tell the truth
I give the push pro-verbial, way to go
edgewise

free, listen, free
and none, among the rooted things
here since ever was, earthly
fully functional systems
of sequence, first this
then that, time and
chance and next
perfect, step by step learn the dance… do as we say we do
none
of those things dis-suaded me, sweet, I say, one taste,
I am persuaded,
I am called of all that is called god, good.

Now, that is a breath of fresh air, given a bit of thought
to offer you as sacred sufficiency in time of need,
- feeling useless
yeah, about as helpful as thoughts and prayers,
right, like a medicine, or an enema,
that's what a good laugh
is worth, and why I am the fool
who laughs at, as opposed
to making jokes, faking you into thinking
this old man has been to the pig sty, he seen
- dead pig farmers fed to the pigs?
- really?
- feels like we all have seen plenty too ugly,
- yest none too beautiful, so far
Funny is a funny word, fun, is just life, not funny,
funny is when it works together for an advertised high,
we all get the lid open and crawl in the box…

always asking what do we think about this, is this funny?

Are we there yet?

yet another time passes, unredeemed, seems none care,
all cares,
cast away, these folks think living is easy
once you find a place where it can be done
with tools,
used in times past to conform fools to information,
ee see re worked info, woe, y' know
new package, same old please, to meetcha
I am the ghost of your chance exposure to
information forms fitting privvy circumstances in the think tank.

Right, and some things can go wrong,
so those do,
go. Wrong, go. Right, learn,
step from the edu-line, linger near the edge

but the odds are steeper, for mortal minds with mini
augments, like knowledge of smartphones,
but, fret not,
minds that augmented,
empowered to know such things as tekhne,
not sacred secret codes to reach distances un dreamed
and draw wind and rain, and make fire,
wow, biggie, that
make fire.

Figure that out. Cast-out, outsider, driven from the fire,
go
find a fire of your own.

-Woe, imagine, might I, or must I go
back and beg
see me, see me, open heart to mind empathos see
my pain
my pain
for you to see me, see me, worthy of warmth…

Nah, kid, this is how the Spartans did it.
First seven minutes of Gunga, the movie, did it, makes birth
seem, painless, to the sow,

some how, that can't be fair, but then
pigs live like pigs,
except in stories. Men act as pigs act, naturally,
we need
we need the juices to flow, this is the reason

for the thaw.
So quit ******* about the warming and handle the waste.

The world is able to heal its own wounds,
let patience be our by word,
long times redeemed in short stories leave a lot to be
desired, who
sired you, the person you are who reads this drizzle,
Hot fudge,
dam, right, break bread with the ghost of a thought
and think
I thought that was right, first time
I knew,

the magic is in recalling how it feels to think all that has been
thought again,

this is the effect of the real crossroads deal ending when I say, enough.
One day at a time.
Thinking you read this is what makes it fun to write it, no agenda that I sense,
has infected the leaven I sneeze.
John Prophet Sep 4
Generator.
Conduit.
Rippled
structure.
All passes
through.
Shapes,
sizes,
concepts.
Forms.
Erupt.
Come into
being.
Magic.
Ancient
thought.
Current
thought.
Future
thoug­ht.
Every
thought
conceived.
Sophisticated.
Simple.
Such derived.
Infinite
variations,
mixtures of
themes.
All possibilities.
Exist.
Ideas.
Eureka!
Origin?
Self conceived?
Transceiver
received?
Grey matter
focused,
transforming.
Received
from a
different
place?
Reformatting.
Individualized.
Reality
spilling­ out.
Magic.
Canvas
covered.
Page after
page.
Never ending.
All incomplete.
Misunderstood.

— The End —