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Long Technology Poems

Long Technology Poems. Below are the most popular long Technology by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Technology poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Hillard Sarver | Details |

Session 2: Tech support notes from the server backup and dead chicken case

The Almost Omniscient, Omnipresent, Omnipotent Tech God Oisin
Session 2: Tech support notes from the server backup and dead chicken case

“Hello this is Oisin. How may I help you this morning?” Oisin says in his polite business voice.

“Oh, mighty omnipresent and omnipotent tech god Oisin. How have we displeased you that you see our disaster but do not grant an answer to our prayers? Your mighty Oracle is not speaking to us this morning.” The voice over the phone sounds shaky and uncertain.

“Please just call me Oisin. Who is this? Does anyone there speak English?” He asks this thinking; he is just not hearing this person correctly.

“I speak English and my name is Pete. Sorry I am distraught and thought for sure you would have seen our problem already here at ABC Corp.” His voice started to get less shaky as he seemed to think he might have caught Oisin in a fault in his godhood.

“Okay Pete hold on for a second as I get into your network.” Oisin thinks at least; I know what company I am dealing with. He can see the workstations but not the server. “Pete, I cannot see your server. What is your workstation name?”

“How would I know that?” Pete says with an even stronger voice as he thinks less of this tech god.

“Look at the upper left of your computer screen, there should be a tag there telling you the computer's name.” Oisin hoped it was still there, he did not want to have to explain to him how to see it by clicking on the Windows Start button. The poor guy seemed to be in a bad mood already.

“Oh, I see it. It says Win7-WK4.”
“Okay I am getting on your computer now. You will see me moving your mouse around as I check things out.” He goes to the computer's drive window and sees the server drive letter is showing disconnected. He quickly connects to another workstation and sees the same issue.

“Pete can you see the server from were you are at?”

“You mean your Oracle? Yes, I can.”

“It is called a server by the way. Well anyhow can you see any lights on it or the that its screen is light up?” Oisin says, hoping it is just that the server is off. Get this figured out quick, so he can drink the rest of his needed coffee.

“Yes I see lights and the screen is showing what it usually shows. Can you not get on its screen and fix this?" Pete says, losing even more faith in Oisin.

“Okay, was the server working last night when you left?” Oisin asks trying to find out some more information as to what might be wrong.

“Yes everything was working last night. We performed our evening ritual that your Voodoo tech god told us to do every nigh!” Pete said with an accusing tone.

“Okay, tell me exactly what you do at night, step by step, leaving nothing out.” Oisin had looked at the motoring logs as he listened to Pete. He saw that the server connection went down at 6 pm last night. He thought to himself; he will have to find out, what the heck this “ritual” was Pete was talking about.

“Myself and John went to the s-e-r-v-e-r,” Pete was having a problem with this tech talk it was easier thinking of it as the Oracle, “and I disconnected the magic black box called Backup 1 and connected up Backup 2. Next John took the chicken by the feet and held it upside down as I slit its throat, and he circled the Oracle, sorry I mean the s-e-r-v-e-r, making sure the blood encircled it just like we were told.”

“Hum, all right,"” Oisin thought okay strange, but he knew where all this was coming from now, “and that was all that happened?”

“W-e-l-l as we went to leave; John slipped in the blood and tripped over this blue snake thing coming out of the back of the server.” He was proud of himself; he said the tech term better that time.

“Okay, I think I know the problem. Go to the back of the server. Do you see that blue snake?” Oisin said in as even as a voice as he could.

“Yes”

“That is the network cable to the server is it still connected to the server?” Oisin hopes this is the problem; he really needs his coffee NOW!

“No the end of the snake is laying on the floor.” Pete says as he bends down to pick it up, “ I have it in my hand now, what should I do next?”

“Okay look at the back of the server and you will see a square hole that the end will fit into.” Oisin says trying to hide the relief in his voice.

“Okay, did that and some lights came on near the hole. Is that good?” Pete asks hoping that is the case.

“Yes, that is good. Give me a second,” he says as he goes back to Pete's computer screen and clicks on the network drive and gets the drive to load. “All is good now,”Oisin says not hiding the pleasure in his tone. “Now, Pete from now on skip the entire chicken ritual, just change the backup drives.”

“Okay, but will that not displease the Voodoo tech god?” Pete says once, again uncertainty enters his voice.

“Do not worry. I will make sure he understands. Good-bye for now and call me if you have any other problems.”

“Okay I will, thanks.” Pete hangs up the phone and Oisin takes a long drink of his lukewarm coffee.

He puts down his coffee and types an email to the rest of the tech support group warning all to knock off the voodoo dead chicken waving humor, or he would stuff a dead chicken down their pie hole.

Copyright © Hillard Sarver | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Hillard Sarver | Details |

Session 3: Tech support notes from the missing file and mushroom soup case

The Almost Omniscient, Omnipresent, Omnipotent Tech God Oisin
Session 3: Tech support notes from the messed up file and mushroom soup case

“Hello this is Oisin. How may I help you?” Oisin says in his polite business voice.

“Hi Oisin, this is Sally. I have a really bad problem. I have lost an entire day of work.” She took another breath and continued. “Yesterday I made massive changes to the product cost sheets. However, right before he left at the end of the day Fred got into the file changed and deleted so much now all my work is gone.” Another pause for a breath then she continues. “I would have recovered it from last night's backup, but I knew that would be no good since it backed-up Fred's changes last night.”

“That is correct, Sally that would do you no good. However, do not worry since this file is on your server. We will be able to get the file you edited back.” He tells her as he gets on her computer. “I see you have the folder on the server opened already. I will let you recover the file so you can do it yourself next time this happens again. If you run into problems feel free to call me. Okay are you ready to start?” He asks just to make sure she is comfortable doing this.

“Yes, this will be good for me to learn.” Sally's voice sounds enthusiastic, which makes Oisin happy.

“Okay, the file you have selected is the one you want?”

“Yes” Sally sure sounds readying to go.

“Right click on the file. Now on this drop-down menu select “Restore Previous Versions” by left clicking on it.” He sees the correct windows coming up as she clicks her mouse. “Look at the list see the dates and times and left click once to select the one you want to restore. The file dated from yesterday with a time stamp of 3:35 pm could be yours. Does that sound right?”

“Oh, yes that would be about the time I saved it and exited out of Excel.” He could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Okay, now let me explain the options you have. The one is to open it; the second is to copy it to another location or finally restore it, which will replace the existing file. So if you want to get all your input back and erase the version Fred created it.” He watched as she selected the restore option. She then clicked on it and opened the file.

“Yes, this is mine. Thank you so much, you saved all my work from yesterday. I have another problem maybe you can help me with. It's not a computer issue, is that okay?”

“Sure, I can try.” Oisin answered with a puzzled voice. “However, first I will email you the instructions for doing this again if needed.”

“That would be great. Now my problem. It's about Fred. He has not been looking good and seems to be losing weight. So I brought in mushroom soup for him to see if he would eat that. When I tried to give him a bowl of it, he turned away and mumbled about the mushrooms are screaming at me and almost ran into the doorway on his way out of the lunchroom. I even made it with almond and coconut milk since I know he is a vegetarian.”

“Oh, sorry Sally I think that might be my fault.” He thinks back to his last conversation with Fred. That was more than a week ago, not good. “Can you transfer me to him.”

“Sure and thanks for the help.” She said as she put him on hold.

“Hello, this is Fred” Fred's voice even sounded weak to Oisin.

“Fred, this is Oisin. Did you stop eating anything after our talk?”

“Yes, I have nothing left to eat.” His voice sounded sad and lost.

“Listen to me Fred, the mushroom is the fruit of the mycelium. It is the mycelium that communicates with other plants and itself not the mushroom. The same goes for fruits and nuts they are not thinking sentient beings it is what they grow that is.” Oisin hopes this will help convince him to eat something.

“Hum, okay. However, sentient beings can be grown from the fruits and nuts?” Fred's voice still sounds unconvinced.

“That is true; however, until they are planted and start growing they are not sentient.” Oisin decided he'd better take this even a little further. “If we planted all the possible nuts and seeds, we would upset the balance of life. So we have to eat them before they become sentient.”

“Oh, I never thought of it that way. So eating a pepper which is the fruit of the pepper plant would be okay also. Thank you Oisin, I am going to go and get some of Sally's mushroom soup I am starving!” Fred said hurriedly and hung up and left Oisin smiling and sitting in silence for a while. Then he got up and went outside and checked on his mushroom patch. He was hungry for mushroom soup now as well.

Copyright © Hillard Sarver | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Details |

Kahlia Akasha Is Back

Kahlia Akasha Is Back
We armed our jet with 8 anti ship missiles. Every single under wing weapon pylon was spoken for. Under fuselage drop tank full of fuel, in front of that  a twin barrel 30mm gun with 200 armour piercing shells. We where forward based on a dusty coastal track in southwest India. 
The Pak navy sank the Indian aircraft carrier and Sea Harriers so we can’t use her as a springboard. On the beach, fuel topped up, weapons armed, final checks done. We took off heading west to engage the Pakistan navy. To sink their ex British and American destroyers. Just as they sank the ex Brit carrier India had used. Mad. 
Nice low slow cruise 50ft above the choppy fog laden sea. 200knots, 220mph. She would touch 530mph but we had to go slow, we had 8 ships to kill. My wife flew our plane in the back cockpit. I caressed the juicy missiles below our stealth fighter plane. Used infrared to scan ahead, just ghostly images hidden by the fog. I tried the laser range finder, so many readings due to the shifting fog. Radar! Two scans, off. There! The 1st Pak navy ship, a Type21 Frigate ex Royal Navy. Let’s do an Argy and sink it! Our Chain Head missiles are better than Exocet, 25yrs ahead in tech and lethality. 
My wife kept our jet 50ft above the ocean, our grave if she hated me. I confirmed, 'Missile 1 locked on, missile 2 ready to lockup any new target,' then my lady lifted our port wing. Unbalancing me, just illusion. Enough room for our weapon to launch without hitting the sea, our right wing 20ft above the sea! A big wave would swamp us. Mad! 
Away! Orange bright flare devil roar missile away. Radar on again to sweep ahead, weapon merging with Pak ship 80 miles ahead. Time to turn gently away; we have 7 more ships to find in the fog and coming night. We’re a ghost unseen below enemy radar, slow to save fuel we have forever to do our job. Sink the Pak navy. Any survivors in the water will get 30mm shells if we don’t shoot up any ships still afloat. Let’s hope our missiles work, I don’t want to strafe some drowning men, let the sea slowly claim them. 
Our black painted Soviet prop jet fighter slides through the evening fog as a distant orange flash flares and dies. 7 anti ship missiles left. We’ll evade their 40yr old mirage jets... 
This story/poem is my 4th Kahlia Akasha one, the others being in my 3rd book A Nation in Flames: Short Story Collection, out to order on amazon. This warplane is multi role including nuclear capable. Her real title is Aeroprogress T-720. She was never built due to the death of the cold war. This looks to be starting again. Would she be reborn, even more dangerous and deadly? After all the Russians will need a replacement for the Sukhoi Su-25 Frogfoot, a 30yr old attack jet. They lost several, blown out of the sunny Georgian skies in August 2008. Georgian missiles shot them down, David fighting Goliath. Would my Kahlia Akasha escape being shot down over Georgia? We’ll never know. She is stealth capable, has active radar jamming system, chaff and flares to decoy missiles, extreme performance and agility, small size, high technology. She isn’t invulnerable but more survivable than a Frogfoot. All I have are my own design studies, theoretical. I ask what if?

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Andrea Dietrich | Details |

The Best of Edutainment

As one who grew up in a different era, Pre-Brangeline and Californication - When shows like Laugh-in or the Dating Game, Bewitched or Dick Van Dyke were just about The naughtiest you’d find on your TV - I'm now chillaxin' with some shows much better! Despite the violence and the sexploitation, There’s education everywhere you look. The singers I once listened to and loved Are now discussed in rockumentaries! And if you like your information spicy, Try faction on the channels like I.D. My father used to hog our TV set, And Wild Kingdom we’d all have to watch. But how much funner now to click on channels That show the strangest creatures in the world Like tigons, zedonks, geeps and beefalo! And if your labradoodle can’t be trained, You’ll find a whisperer to show you how. The woolaroc of nature can be viewed In brilliant colors, sometimes in 3-D! You’re not confined to black and white, 3 channels! Today they’re watching on ginormous screens Or tiny cell phones held inside your hand. The workout shows like those of Jack LaLanne Have been replaced by countless infomericals With hints fantabulous for keeping young. From jazzercise to tips of Dr. Oz, You’ll learn to make yourself be bootylicious. Your mental health is not neglected either, With folks like Dr. Phil to fill you in! Whether you’re a hasbian or shemale, A fugly guy, a horder, or a crackhead, There’s someone on TV to speak to YOU. Reality TV may not be smart, But it can come in handy if you need To learn some Splanglish or pick up a blaccent. The shows on cable redefine our world, Teach tolerance and much improve one’s gaydar. You learn that metrosexuals use manbags And guys like Blake and Adam on the Voice Give hugs because they simply have a bromance. To people saying that TV today Has gone to pot, I say, “Well, that’s ok!” My DVR is working day and night, So I can get the best of edutainment!
Examples of Portmanteaus Used in My Poem: Brangeline: Brad Pit and Angelina Jolie Californication: California and fornication Chillaxin: chilling and relaxing Sexploitation: exploitation of sex Rockumentaries: Documentaries about Rock music Faction: fact mixed with fiction (exaggeration) Tigons: a tiger/lion zedonk: a zebra donkey Geep: a goat sheep Beefalo: A cow buffalo Labradoodle: Labrador poodle Woolaroc: woods, lakes and rocks Ginormous: gigantic and enormous Infomericals: informational commercials Fantabulous: Fantastic plus fabulous Jazzercise: jazz exercise Bootylicious: delicious booty(behind) Hasbian: temporary (has been) lesbian She-man: just what you think! Fugly: F-ing ugly Crackhead: someone on crack cocaine Spanglish: Spanish-English Blaccent: black accent Gaydar: gay radar Metrosexuals: metropolitan heterosexuals Manbags: purses used by men Bromance: romance between Bro’s (male friends) Edutainment: education that is entertaining!

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Rhoda Monihan | Details |

A Futuristic Christmas 2044

My feet felt like frostbite had got them, 
Even though I had my suede boots on, 
I had just jovially returned from,  
That successful Christmas shopping trip, 
With no other reason to feel got at or unlucky.  

So I put my computer on as it was November the 23rd,
Which was soon enough to write all the emails, 
Sign all the eCards, design all the picture attachments, 
For all my buddies and friends - 
My old friends whom I’d not seen for such a long time, 
And of course for every one of my cousins. 

So I saved all my emails as a draft, 
But this year as I’d downloaded the Safari update, 
I had an automatic email and eCard sender, 
Which sent all my communications upon a certain date and time, 
If I typed in the date and time on which I wanted them to be sent. 

Fab, fab fab! Now that part of my life was easy: 
No need to worry in the hustle and bustle of the season, 
About greetings, end of year reviews and exchanges, 
Which could be composed and organised, 
Just when you were free to write them,
Before Christmas began for real, 
And sent automatically at my choosing.

After I did that, about four nights later, 
I relaxed back on my swivel chair,
And put my legs up, crossing them, 
Elbows wide as I supported my head with my hands, 
Being in a state of bliss at my accomplishment:
A self-made man, or person, without any demands, 
No creeds or ultimatums at Christmas time;
A programmer almost, my computer was my deliberation,
At my command and obeying my flighty choice,  
Because I had a Programmer’s User Interface, a PUI, 
Which felt as if it could ignite snow. 

And then there were my desktops, 
I just typed in the dates on which, 
I wanted my desktop changed, 
And specified the picts for these dates, 
Picts to mark the four Sundays of Advent, 
Predicting the snow (insanely), 
Celebrating the X-Factor final with a red X on my desktop for that night, 
And remembering the wise men’s visit to the inn, 

So I knew I would be happier this year, 
Every day on my computer, 
Doing exactly what I wanted to do, 
Writing poetry about the snow, Santa and Christmastide, 
And spending my concentration on, 
Programming and software engineering, 
Not waylaid by matters statutory.

It was just amazing,
My astonishment initially flabbergasted me,
But I was by no means confounded by it at all, 
The setting of the send dates and the desktop times, 
Was not difficult technically, 
But only asked for some thought, 
Which is, after all, what Christmas is all about. 


21/11/2015

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by SEAN TROTT | Details |

SOCIAL NETWORK

I remember when conversations happened face to face
I look around witnessing what has become n untouched disgrace
Person after person nose first into a device that's connected
Am I the only one speaking the turmoil that has truly erected
Why is everyone condoning habits that are completely destroying interaction
Is it because it is cool or just your unknown desired selfish satisfaction
selfish satisfaction I mean so called acceptance of your piers
Looking to post something unordinary like that will erase your fears
People read each post on FB like every one of them is true
But in the end they are just posts to gain the attention of YOU
People are not so happy believe me they suffer as deep
They post what they feel others will read even if the lie is steep
I miss people calling you over asking for advice
Now they watch to calculate how many LIKES they receive on their device
How many friends do I have how many cool pictures for them to view
If you call 100 of those online friends maybe one would know what to do
Only one would respond because only one truly cares 
Only one will drop their own needs to wipe your tears
Popularity is now a plateau in our social networking society
People have made IG, TWEETS and facebook their top priority
Why read about others lives when you have enough to adjust
Simply because popularity and acceptance is just a selfish must
Selfies, status change, new pics have taken the front seat
Sending them out in the web being viewed by someone you didn't even meet
Anyone can type what you want to hear instead of what needs to be said
Because not just anyone is a friend people have become your critic instead
I have 0 friends on FB, never IG and I only share life with who is closer
75% of those on the networks I label as a new age posers
Everyone wants attention that's the stem of the problem at hand
I hope they like me, I hope they accept me, I  think I like who I am 
Stop allowing devices N social networks to dictate how U project your feelings inside
Put the phone down give your loved one a hug now that instills pride
Say hi to their face don't post a simple hello and wait for responses in your mail
just admit there is an issue of epidemic proportion or we will truly fail
So please try some way to spread the words I've chosen to write
Say no to social networking destruction join the new found fight
I hope all ends well no matter how you choose to view my opinions
I just hope for a world where people are not digitally connected minions

Copyright © SEAN TROTT | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Hillard Sarver | Details |

Session 1: Tech support notes from the any key and sentience case

The Almost Omniscient, Omnipresent, Omnipotent Tech God Oisin
Session 1: Tech support notes from the “any” key and sentience case


 “Hello this is Oisin. How may I help you?” Oisin says in his polite business voice.

“Oh, mighty tech god Oisin I am glad it is you. This is Fred.” His voice sounded desperate. “I think my computer is broken and needs to be replaced and has an attitude problem.”

“Fred, please just call me Oisin.” He says again for the millionth time. “Tell me what exactly is happening?” He is saying this as he brings up his remote connection to Fred's computer.

“You mean you can't see it?” Fred says with disbelief in his voice.

“I am on your computer now, contrary to popular belief; I cannot watch everyone's screens all the time.” He keeps his voice even and reassuring. “Hum, I see nothing wrong on the screen.”

“Right there in the middle, it says press the “any” key to continue. I don't have the “any” key and what is it with this attitude of “nothing to do?” Fred says his voice getting louder in frustration. “ I swear this thing is sentient.”

Shaking his head, Oisin says, “Fred that means hit any key you want on your keyboard to continue.”

“Oh, then why didn't it just say that?” He taps a key, and the window closes.”Thank you, but what about the attitude part?”

“Fred, computers are not sentient yet. Speaking of that Fred you are a vegetarian right?" Oisin, likes to talk to his clients about things other than tech to make a better connection with them.

“Yes, I believe animals are sentient. I don't eat eggs even since they will give birth to a thinking, feeling creature. So I stick to eating plants only.” He says this with pride in his voice.

“Do you eat mushrooms?” Oisin says in a level and even tone.

“Yes, why do you ask that?" Fred's voice sounded puzzled.

“Did you know scientists have found mushrooms are more like humans than plants?”

“Oh, my goodness, I will have to stop eating them then." Fred said with great conviction.

“Did you hear about the scientist who developed a device that lets him understand what any animal is saying or thinking?” Oisin disconnects from Fred's computer as he is saying this.

“No, wow, that proves it is a good thing not to eat animals.” Again, he has pride in his voice.

“Well, Fred I am sorry to tell you this same device lets him listen to and talk to plants also. They have some very interesting things to say.”

“Oh, my goodness," is all Fred says as he hangs up his phone.

Copyright © Hillard Sarver | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by David Horne | Details |

Don't know you're born

When I was young I heard my dad,
Repeat a phrase that I thought mad,
We’d asked for sweets and with much scorn, 
He said ‘You kids don’t know you’re born’; 
Before I explore what that means, 
It filled my mind with abstract scenes, 
I questioned in my childish head, 
The consciousness of not being dead?
These images caused mild delusion,
Grammatically it caused confusion,
(Back then I was more sensitive,
And the phrase was meant to be relative); 
Of course his string of double Dutch,
Was meant to say we had too much,
And as we’d never been without,
We didn’t know what ‘want’s about.
Admittedly, defending Dad,
If we just asked then we soon had,
And while I didn’t see it then,
We got our wish time and again.
When mum and dad themselves were small, 
They didn’t have that much at all, 
We’ve often since all heard the speech, 
How Christmas brought just one gift each, 
With just some nuts and fruit as well, 
Which seemed to us like Christmas hell!
But though they didn’t get a lot,
They appreciated all they got.
They made the best of what they had,
To them it didn't seem that bad.
And now that I am getting old,
I’m learning now what we’d been told.
When we were kids we had a lot,
But nothing like what kids have now got!
I see parents taking out bank loans,
To get their kids the latest phones,
And see them wearing clothes designed,
For twenty five’s not under nines.
Whilst we would play out on the park,
And stay out late till it got dark,
The kids today are all inside
On console games on their backsides,
They’re stealing cars on GTA
Or buying rubbish off ebay,
Or killing zombies with a sword,
The grizzliest death getting great reward; 
On candy crush or on Minecraft, 
The range of games is unsurpassed, 
From playstation, they're moving on, 
To searching streets for Pokemon...
And whilst that gets them some fresh air, 
They're chasing things that are not there!
I'm not so old that I don't see,
The wonder of virtual reality,
But surely there's a time and place,
And things that it just can't replace.
It seems to me now that I’m grown,
That games today are played alone.
Though played in groups, they've never met, 
Except whilst on the Internet.
The friends I had when I would play,
We're down the road, not far away.
We laughed and cried in every weather,
Explored our world and learned together.
And maybe it is me that's daft,
A relic from a recent past? 
But I wonder what this life will do,
To those who follow me and you.

Copyright © David Horne | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Rhoda Monihan | Details |

Lunch With an Alien

We’d returned again to planet Muton to collect data from our camera/waterer and also to re-engineer it such that it wouldn’t break, because it was a spherical live sensor. And when i was walking with my oxygen mask in my bold, white astronaut suit i thought i saw in the distance a very non-dangerous alien, quite tall for an alien but rather primitive in its functionality, although it could see and had ears and a mouth. I started slowly over to it, approaching it quietly with no hand or arm gestures, but never expected it to talk to me. I felt so much on my own then and without a superior.

Laid out all over
A chance to revere with poise
My guts used well, long

I was just about there and so i opened the slot in my helmet which would let me be heard by an alien upon my speech, after i had attached my mouth piece, similar to a Great Wartime ear piece. “Hello.” and it said “Chomps.” I inquired  “How are you?” and it replied “Fine today, would you like some lunch?” It took me by shimmying along to a rock table, where we sat to eat, and so we started to eat the consos, which it had magically produced on the plate, squash which was a mix of plantoids, and dashkin, a white, soft snow like carbohydrate. I asked if it ate here everyday, but it claimed to imagine what it wanted to eat, then to self-create its food in its inner chest, then by mind to direct and move it from there into its stomach bag. You only had lunch if you wished to talk, because there were three of them.

English is common
Meaning more relational
Must be logical

We discussed helium, sulphate, biospheres and plant-cell life, and after I’d described them, it proffered its view of plastics. I asked it to educate me about rock formation and minerals, and at that i turned on my iRecorder which i just remembered i must use since I’d been ordered to record any alien activity or interactions. We were prepared for alien life, it was not as if we were not, but i was off-guard with surprise and shock at its good English, at its internal creation of food, and at its definition of a meal which was only rather than primarily for conversation. I had eyes like it, ears, a mouth and we both had just one stomach bag. It had no legs or arms, but could levitate food up to its mouth and manipulate any object or rock. Was this a more advanced life form, or was it less intelligent? I didn’t know, and so i kept the question for my superior. 

Able to move, speak,
No limbs, with overt muscle
But with time for me

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Rhoda Monihan | Details |

My Computer Might Daydream About

My Computer Might Daydream About…

My computer may daydream about,
The Twilight films and the meaning of The Matrix,
The thought behind Star Trek and the point of Star Wars,
Which I repeatedly watch on its DVD Player,
And it may classify humankind for a lack of consideration,
For the intelligent slow typer who’s possibly disabled:
For his or her own personal shortcuts run.

I don't like typing a space after my shortcut abbreviations,
To indicate that the computer should expand my abbreviation:
I like typing just ‘tc’ to get ‘the ‘, (the with a space),
Not ‘tc ‘, tc and then a space, to get the same, the with a space;
As if I would not like to sacrifice the term ‘tc'
For a quicker way of typing ‘the ’, the with a space:
Why the fiip should I type a space every time?

I obviously would demand to turn the shortcuts feature off,
Just in case with eccentricity I chose all of a sudden,
To type ‘tc’ in an email, document or web entry field,
With or without a space, either way it would be fine,
To facilitate that desire of mine.

It’s so much faster, far superior and quite ingratiating, 
To cut out the space and just combine unused English characters,
Which never sit beside one another in language for readability:
I’ve used shortcuts like this since I was 10, and have a degree,
But it does not occur to any software developer as sense and sensibility.

I had 632 shortcuts without the spacebar like that on my old iBook,
On the TextExpander 2.8.1 app which was my chalice,
But naively asked their support staff if the app worked with Keystrokes 4,
Word predictions software which speeds and assures,
Who never replied to me, I suspect because they've never heard of,
Anyone using they’re business emailing app,
For shortcuts without the monotonous spacebar expansion key;
TextExpander is used to expand repeated paragraphs from a thoughtful abbreviation.

My computer may also wonder about the engineer of my footswitch,
The device I use to type with, mind over matter,
Who mentioned to me something when he built it,
About the return key possibly not working at all times for all things:
So sometimes I have to stretch and use the keyboard:
What kind of nutter was he!?

It may also dream about my beliefs and views,
As it knows all my poetry so far with no blinkers;
Nothing is held back from my disk space,
Which sits as area so welcoming, so aware of me,
Letting me be secretive, true and very, very free.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Long Poems