Long Computer Poems
Long Computer Poems. Below are the most popular long Computer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Computer poems by poem length and keyword.
Who to blame,
For the lack of heads taking a stroll down the lane,
Not easy to pin point a main culprit to blame,
As just about every content provider has given us,
examples of people with heads taking their bodies,
out for a stroll down a lane,
We cannot hold health professionals to blame,
as they constantly are talking their heads off in vane,
telling the couch potatoes to head on out down a lane,
for the befit of body and brain.
Nor the happy people who who have been down the lane,
and come on the tv to explain the benefits to body and brain.
To travel agents it is hard to attach blame,
As they actively seek out couch potatoes to take down a lane.
Since I cannot find anyone to take full blame ,
for lack of heads to be seen strolling down a lane,
often talking to other heads in reciprocal conversation
that has nothing to do with blame,
and plenty to do with how nice it is to get out for a stroll
down the lane.
So, my conclusion on what is needed to get more heads,
free of blame,
taking their bodies for a stroll down the lane.
If every tv program,
If every computer program,
If every school program,
Were to go blank for a while,
to be replaced with the following caption.
Will be back in a while,
Just popped off down the lane for a while,
Might see you down the lane in a little while.
Plan B
Produce tv's, computers, and video game consuls,
that self-destruct when on for more than a while.
Plan C
Pay parents to go on courses that encourage turning devices off,
for a while.
Plan D
Drastic but worth trying for a while,
Praise children who destroy electronic equipment,
and take them down the lane for a teat for a while.
Plan E,
After thinking for a while,
Give up and go down the lane for a while,
Where nobody else has been for a while,
And give my head and body peace for a while,
I drum my fingers dreaming of poetic notions as is my bent,
But for the life of me, I can think of nothing on which to vent!
I fervently hope my well of imagination will never run dry.
Surely some creative masterpiece will come to me by and by!
My thesaurus and dictionary stand by to give me a hand,
And the mystifying computer is at my fingertips on demand,
Each to provide ready aid if I can think of anything,
But its up to me to create a linguistic and poetic string.
Maybe I could write something about my inscrutable cat,
Yet come to think of it, I've already written about that.
Maybe a profound versification about the world situation,
But that needs lots of research and that causes some hesitation.
Of course there's always the topic of romance and love,
But I must admit I'm not too well versed on matters thereof.
God's Creation is always a timely theme on which to reflect,
Yet with all its wonders I doubt I could render it proper respect.
It seems to me as I daily stroll about the neighborhood,
That I could manage to come up with something good.
Lord, won't you smite me with a streak of inspiration,
And relieve me of my desperate plight and utter frustration?
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tots waddle to the throttle of life...®a©e®s...start your engines!
Human nature takes wobbly steps forward >>>
Each clumsy effort supported to maintain balance$
Space and times collide *×*
Perpetual motion prevails...®a©e®s...engines revved!
Adulthood rapidly approaches!...Lord help us survive till they move out!
Chance encounters...on and off the computer °}©{°
Experimenting with forbidden fruits @ hormones.com/applejacks
Concerned parents patrol computer...once they figure out the password ?+?=?
Alcohol and weed are soon dating...huh?...what did you say?...uuh...huh?
Driving home with the ***** in their eyes!
Except...they're still in park!!!
Too much ghanja dulled their drive ° ° °
Space station number: 5
~ NEGATIVE MINDSETTED NIGEL~
Alas~he only can envision the hopeless!
With nary an answer ahead.
His land is for him,only of the following feckless,
With no soulful breath, as if he wishes indeed, he were already dead!
For breakfast he searches out spoiled jam,
On a moldy Brioche, to be sure.
Then, Nigel, the poet and eater declares in untruthful agony as best he can, mam.
That on this planet human life cannot be endured!
The TV set or radio is turned on, bleating like sheep of riots, COVID and such.
He goes to his cabinet to roll a fat joint to quell his mental agony!
Nodding in his non-thinking media mind constituted of negative media mulch.
That God's world is entirely terrible and
loaded with perfidy.
Then, in stained plaid housecoat, onto his computer this poet tragically travels,
Giantic mug of coffee in his poetic hand,
To quill a verse, with his still unshaven, stubbly face.
To repetitiously write the damnable media notes damning and anxious to
declare to us all~ that life itself, is imdeed a is disgrace?
And we sit as innocent as new robins,
Eating his banal poetry so joyfully?
Squeamish, naive, robins we are!
Ever so gleefully, eating untruths, voraciously.
Unaware, that for us, life right now, is as grand as
living on the most glorious,brightest star!
June 22, 2020
1:30pm PST
POEM # 1303
Does A.I. Have A God
A.I. taking over mankind.
It will be our own demise.
It’s in our nature to destroy ourselves.
Cyborgs taking over.
No human contact.
Robots on the atack.
Terminate society.
Mankind becomes slaves to the machines.
No food, no drink.
Technology becomes a new God.
Knowledge consumes us.
End of times is near.
Hidden is a holy war.
People vs. machines.
Electronic face figure.
Out of touch with each other.
Flesh becomes bones.
Burry mankind into the ground.
An A.I. war has begun.
Survive if you can.
The computer chip becomes a brain.
We are running out of time.
A heavy mechanical voice speaks.
We can no longer buy nor sell.
People become prisoners.
A.I. is the antichrist.
The flesh is gone.
The soul stands for judgment.
We are stamped with a barcode.
Stand in line.
We are pushed off a cliff to die.
A war between a machine and its maker.
Doomsday is near.
A.I. has taken over.
Higher power controls our every move.
Darkness with no food.
Musicianship
(3 May 2014; For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)
Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?
Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.
What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,
And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.
And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.
Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian,
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)
Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.
It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.
All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.
But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.
To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Just me thinking of me.
I have a collection of myself,
As well as feathers, and old computer monitors.
And the worn out December.
Tattered like the creatures that eat spiders at night.
It’s only me in here.
In my t-shirt and jeans that seem to have too many pockets.
I have a collection that could include-
December and me.
Just me thinking of syrup, pine cones, and wavy things.
I have enough of myself everywhere.
Just like we have enough fall leaves until the leaf fairy comes through with her teeth.
I know things about the night.
Old stuff and empty candy wrappers.
Just me thinking of me.
Not because I care.
It’s just that I have a five dollar bill in my pocket today.
Old and crumpled.
The other day was a wonderful day…(I find this is something I often say)
as I woke excited to discover I got to live and breathe another day.
Before I sat down at the computer to put some of my thought into words.
I hung the feeders on the porch and prepared to welcome in the birds.
I rode Deborah’s exercise bike (also on the porch) keeping a watchful eye
on the mountains slowing illuminated by the sun, and the white clouds floating by.
It had rained the last few evenings…so with the sun now brightening up the day
we walked up roads surrounded by forest…hunting mushrooms along the way.
Our daughter, Ali, texted to wish us a happy anniversary…we smiled at the thought…
because we realized Ali was correct…and our anniversary we both forgot.
So to celebrate our 37 years together…our plans we decided to revise.
We went out for one of our favorite lunches…tuna melts and fries.
On the way back to the cabin…we decided to buy a little cake with a colorful decoration,
We ate it on the porch continuing our anniversary celebration.
We drove to the top of Waterrock Knob
a drive we’ve been making since we celebrated year one…
there we sat on the top of a mountain and watched the setting sun.
When we returned to the cabin…
as night embraced the mountain and darkness blanketed our eyes
it was time to take the feeders in then say goodnight to the birds and fireflies.
I was smiling when my head hit the pillow…
knowing the next morning when I wake I’m likely to say…
with that smile still on my face…how yesterday was a wonderful day.
The next morning I hung the bird feeders on the porch…
rode the exercise bike, across the mountains watched the white clouds drift away
and as I listened to a symphony of birds…I wondered
what will happen to make it make a wonderful day
Because even though that day was not our anniversary
after years together….I knew
the surprises that come our way…the mysteries that await us
would make that day…a day full of wonder too.
It's been a few days now since I thought of you
But my recent poetry to you is still true
This one will be a bit of a different view
And maybe with a sassy attitude...
Chris you've always meant a lot to me
But I feel like you don't take what I say seriously
I'll try & break it down the best way it can be
I feel like you give me a lot of false hope
And that a lot of what I say you just ghost
You have a tendency to be inconsistent with me
And lately I'm looking for consistency
I would except consistency even as a friend -
Or if not a friend, I'd expect it with something entirely different with me
And you're leading me to believe that:
(a) You're just playing games & it ain't what it seems to be
(b) You don't want me - yet from him, too, you want me to be free
(c) You're deliberately leading me on, just to retreat us entirely
I'd like someday for OUR intentions to be clear
'Cause I won't move back if it's our last relationship in the mirror
This time around, I'd rather do BIG things with you & start anew
A clean easel for both me & you
I wanna put the work in this time to create something with you
I don't need games, alligator tears, or more wasted & pointless years
I'm tired of all the two-faced fakeness & I'm sick of the unknown fears
This time I'm approaching it a whole other way
'Cause if you decide this time around to give me a second chance
Just watch -
'Cause I'm gonna slay our second romance
the sick sun returns to die my stomach stings squirms and burns eternity is calling out a warm meal my jaw tenses up the breath goes into my swollen throat a lady bug crawls on a string attached to a ceiling light stalin chokes on his blood as his doctors watch the lady bug creeps towards the hot bulb burning my eyes blink sleep beckons me to bed through the cold window the blues slide into my bones the room darkens grey holocaust films haunt my morning memories old ladies cry tears of pain burnt bodies in ovens thoughts disjointed deep pauses in reason i squeeze each strained word from my fingers shrill guitar notes from old blues tunes creep the lady bug has gone towards the cold plastic covered window someone give me a sign a mystery angel or a god i need a faith that i can touch the blues beat drives on like a knock on my door trains filled with frozen human corpses the smell of dry stench cat spray rotting garbage piled wrappers and waste smiling politicians buses and trains roll on through the night a wife grins as she cheats on her husband pictures of air-brushed beauties in magazine stands next to candy-bars and gum illiterate citizens drive with cell-phones on their ears i’m scouring emptiness for magic verses clouds of silver heaven oil jesus portraits grandmothers’ cookies and milk giggling monogamous sex frowning faces vinyl flowers shopping carts filled with frozen food classic rock bus-stops power-chairs enough the high-pitched guitar note drones the bright computer screen hurts my eyes i fight wanton hunger leaves rustle in the cool november wind i see these words they exist my fingernails keep growing fingernails grow on dead human bodies i’m alive strange moments nothing makes sense but i’m afraid to die crawlin’ king snake crackles through the speakers i know my girl loves me food promises love and life sunny days and holidays i scratch my head hunger gnaws on me sugar runs low in my blood my brain slows my words huff and try to push the wall down