Hydrogen to Helium
A fusion formed by gravity
A carbon-based delirium
Molecularly infinite energy
An ancient discipline known as alchemy
We’re consciousness - the explosion - amorous
We dream of gold from lead and mercury
Fueled reaction in copper with phosphorus
A universal age of prosperity
Bismuth bath. Deficient of iron and zinc
Astronautic laugh – last shine of hope
Nuclear decay –enlightened way – elemental - instinct
Scientific – logical clay – gaseous isotope.
The fluoride, we drink?
Humanity on the pivotal brink
The edge, a precipice.
Lanthanides and actinides
Metals and mysteries.
Shrink down to atomic scale
Our intellect – an accelerated history
A holographic projection
A gravitational trajectory
Precious pavonine pearl
Our planet, our world.
A place all our elements may inhabit
Terrestrially unique. Diverse and intelligent
The push of inertia
The pull of gravity
The spin of an atom
The spin of our galaxy.
(written for the periodic table of elements poetry contest) 12-12-14
Copyright © Joel Thornton | Year Posted 2014
...Apologies to Heraclitus and W. H. Auden...
We, defeated by the merest things,
in defeat, endure...for now.
No abiding truth in "faith":
origins and destinations
we cannot differentiate,
all random, unguided
by any prescient power;
but, not illogical (there is no illogic.)
We impose all "universal order,"
influence what subsequently occurs,
to learn, or not, through endless repetition,
endless failure...and we are
but a current iteration,
here for now -- like all,
in constant flux,
defeated by the merest things.
Courage and nobility derived
from continued confrontation,
continued endless struggle,
let us "show an affirming flame."
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2014
Along the mountain pine valley did the Iron Horse roar,
A steam belching black demon, burning red hot coals
Within it's steel belly.
Speed's hell bound creation, driven by greed's insatiable hunger,
Faster, faster it moves at acceleration rush, to
Achieve manifest destiny's final arrival on time.
In the distance hear another lone whistle blow, spitting,
And spewing with brimstone's gray smoke.
This indeed is the devil's train, carrying the forsaken,
To the depot of no return.
With a half empty payload aboard, Satan makes a deadly
Judgment call, stoke up those engines boys, ramming
Speed if you please.
Made man beasts are these mechanical monsters
Of destructions, lethal death weapons, chained
Down to the steel rails, and iron pikes.
Ebony stallion's racing against the winds,
As redden sparks sizzle and bite at the crisp autumn
Air, bellowing fumes poisoning the night.
The engineer of the 10; 15 out of Tombstone,
Checked his pocket watch, speaking impatiently,
He did so yell out, come along fellow's, we have a
Schedule to keep, and we've hours behind in our dead line,
So let’s pick up the pace.
Now the devil's train came out of know where,
With hell's supernatural master at the wheel,
Heckling, and laughing, relishing in the carnage’s
Utter calamity to come.
On a lone chewed up mangled piece of track,
Lies wreckages debris blood, flesh and twisted metal,
Lain stewned for miles beside the wild wilderness.
Broken bones, and sheared off limbs, weeping mother's
Cradling limp, lifeless bodies, crying why, God almighty
But the lord and heavenly father, had nothing to do,
With this unnatural disaster, nay the devil had many
Empty spaces to fill, and his passengers list was lean.
So he leveled the crimson ground with his dark gavel,
Taking souls at high velocities supernatural speed,
For this is the devil's ghost train, and it is so
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
In the name of blood, for it is the source of life itself,
Plasma's crimson essence of liquid infusion, to the undead's
Intravenously feeding cravings passion, through the carotid
Artery at the throat of humanity, thou'st not love, suffer
The pleasure indulge the pain, the out come shall be the same,
To be embraced by the black ebony arch angel of death,
Release thy darker side, let the instinctual behavior of the beast,
Know freedoms unshackling at last.
Become one of his sacred disciples, a creature of his dark dimension,
A kindred being, unto the legion of the night.
In the moon's elliptical light, shadows thus move from
Left to right, shifting as transparent figures, phantoms of
Illusions, taking winged flight, soaring on the currents
Of air mingling with their ancestral brethren, the vampire bat.
Run does not the lone wolf, along the side path next to man,
As we do so walk amongst them, yet never attempting to belong.
Oh are we not the a shunned, the accursed, by a God known
For his forgiveness, to love all living things under
Heaven, but for us this mightiest of lords, turns
His gaze away, not acknowledging our existence.
Our we not his lost sheep, missing from his flock, why
Does not this Sheppard seek this black lamb’s wool,
Is it too coarse for weaving's wheel, as it spins thus
And is it not said that he created all life within his image.
Nay I pray this vamperic prayer, why has he abandon
Us, the darker of his creations.
Behold the unascended, begging to enter beyond the gates
Of light, children of the lost are we, seeking a father blind
To his responsibility.
Harvesting, by the basic instincts given unto us,
Taking only what we need to survive, for this he has turned
Against us, and thus taking the light of day with him.
So my father of damnation's hell, has offered salvation's
Darker domain as a sheltering harbor of comfort, I will not
Abstain his patronage.
For I am the ashunned, living by the moonlight's haunting glow,
Yet yearning to see one last horizons sunset, but the Holy Father,
Hears not my humble vamperic prayer.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
A burst of white light
gamma rays, overbearing
a flash of brilliance
burns through to my soul
everything is like hell
the world starts to melt
in the blink of an eye
just the cold blackness
I don't care if I am not again
what I once was, for at this moment
I am greater now
than ever before
I took the path between
teetering, tight roping walking
right up to my right
divined in my unholy state
I thought I told you
I am your king
still you sit there, hesitating
I know you hate me
what does that mean?
I hate just about everything
still I'm chosen
I did not wish before
now bow down to me
refuse me no more
for I shall always be your demon
until you accept me as your King.
I don't even know you
though you say we used to be
best of friends, you and me
the day you ditched me
I remember now
exactly how it played out
back when we were just tiny things
even back then I still was King
you thought me stupid
just a ruse
I would laugh inside, you see?
not one of you single, mean people
ever even knew me
in a world, mostly seen to me
that is why only I can be your true King
and bring forth a new source
of light everlasting.
As two worlds collide slowly aligned
one wrapped in shadows
one bathed in white
evils swirling in the clouds above
I'll always be the king you love
to hate or despise as in your blood
I thought I told you, I am the one
I am the way, the way out shall be shown
breathe in my spirit as it carries you away
breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space
and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough
higher than you've ever dreamed of
for I am king now, and your in my hell
your in my imagination, I'll just never tell
you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now
if you try and see
you were always found the most
shared in the light cast upon me
the last bright star in heaven.
Denounce my name, if you may
One year later, still not afraid
A black sheep, a darkened spade
That's just life, I'm not right
I'm in the wrong, follow along
Like a piper, I'll pitch a song
Mesmerized, the weak wills sing
I thought he told you, he's still our king.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2011
Split apart your ribcage,
Open up the corridor, and let me come in
Uneasiness instantly strikes through me
Let me sway away...
Let me flutter away...
Like a butterfly out of its cocoon
I'm trapped!Let me depart
Split apart your ribcage,
Unwrap me, let me go!
Believe me...reflect on me
Let me sway away...flutter away
Let us both seek the sun,
So we can grow together once more
Copyright © JW Earnings | Year Posted 2010
close-up of Mars was 1996 since then-
a flotilla of fly-bys orbiters landers and rovers
fourth planet from the Sun
roman God of war it is called
always the question is Mars habitable for living life
key to existence water is there water on Mars
could living creatures still exist
perhaps WE will become life on Mars
a continual chain of explorations finding new discoveries
polar ice caps
drifting clouds in its atmosphere
seasonal weather patterns
huge volcanoes the size of Arizona
canyons and proof of former flooding
it is rocky and cold and dry with a-
a hazy pink sky (that seems beautiful to me)
is Mars habitable for humans
the Curiosity Mars science laboratory
rover is on a bold exploration of discovery
to find answers to questions and questions
did you know you could send
a postcard to Curiosity
the future holds promise with the launch in 2020
of a robotic science rover seeking life
all part of the Mars exploration
program to address the key question
the potential for life on Mars
And why 2020 you ask
well that is when Earth and Mars are
in the most advantageous positions of orbit
but for me there is another key question
leave this beautiful place of Earth
for a unknown existence
on a planet rocky cold dry with volcanoes erupting
something about that hazy pink sky beckons
June 22, 2015
For the contest, Subject Mars, sponsor, Joe Maverick
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015
In 2020 NASA will conduct a robotic exploration of the red planet
It will address key questions about the potential for life on Mars
The mission will help gather knowledge and address the challenges of future human expeditions to Mars.
This mission will be launched at an appropriate time when Earth and Mars are in advantageous positions
In Mars 2020 rover would study diverse rocks and soils to understand past habitable conditions on Mars and to seek signs of ancient microbial life.
It will monitor weather and dust in the Martian atmosphere and test the ability to extract oxygen
from the Red Planet's carbon-dioxide atmosphere to prepare for future human exploration
The rover design would also enable a Curiosity-class, long-range mobility system on the surface of the red planet for investigation of diverse rocks and soils and potentially other studies.
The Myth, (Mars rode on a chariot pulled by two horses named Phobos and Deimos (meaning fear and panic). The two small moons of Mars are named after these two mythical horses)
Fear not the wild horses of Mars
They come in peace and light
He may have been the God of war
But warrior of great charm was he
The one who’s light they could not smite
Love and Light, xxx
Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2015
Lines Life and our Faith in God
Is it possible to divide lines?
Which are of numerous types and kinds,
Like life, which always appear in different,
Forms, colors, shapes and types.
But when all these types and kind of lines disappears,
Covering the sheet of darkness,
What is left is only a tiny dot,
Which has no end and has no beginning.
From a tiny dot only life and every thing began one day,
And in a tiny dot every thing would vanish one day,
Leaving no lines of any kind bold or thin,
On the sands of time,
What would ultimately be left, as the last impression,
Would only be a tiny dot, much smaller than the rolling tears of eyes.
The Universe also started from a dot,
Even all universes and galaxies, stars and planets,
Started from a dot created by God,
And every thing ultimately would vanish,
One day in the darkness of a dot, like black hole,
About which we almost know nothing,
Except that every thing including the earth, planets, stars,
Even our body and mind and its high rising aims and ambitions
Would ultimately get lost in the magnetic darkness of the
Black hole, which is nothing but another form of a dot.
The creative and destructive power of the dot,
Is right before us in the form of a computer,
Which builds, learns and teaches every thing,
Starting and ending from tiny tiny dots,
And places before us humans and nature,
Animals and creatures, in their true forms, except
They do not breathe, love and hate like humans.
But humans are close to create a new dot,
Tomorrow it would breathe and talk,
It would think and walk and may also love and hate
And may be, it would start creating,
New types of humans and may start thinking himself one day,
As our new Creator or a new God.
I pondered, wondered and imagined,
What would happen, when this new God,
Would have a small amount of some power in his hand
And may become a new God for those,
Who do not believe in our faith and in our Almighty God,
As even a small amount of the power of creation and destruction,
May blind the weak humans to start thinking himself as the new God.
In such a situation, all lines of all types may disappear
For ever from us, which has so far,
Saved us from the total disappearance of our existence,
And has brought up like a child in every religion and faith,
So that we may flourish and bloom like his Nature
And may adore Him as,
Our faith or God or as our strong and bold Dot,
Which always loves us a lot.
Kanpur India 13th June 2006
Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2010
I am going to be a star,
I am going to out shine you by far.
Around this galaxy, I will swing ,
From a little nobody, to the hottest thing.
I am going to be a star.
First , a little faint and dim,
As I gain power,
I will be shining to the rim.
I will come in like an explosive boom.
You will see me shine very soon,
I am going to be a star.
An explosive volume, yet unheard,
I will out shine all the stars, even those yet unheard.
I am going to be a star.
The hottest thing at night,
Truly , a beautiful sight.
I will be the hottest in the galaxy ,too.
Just wait and see in a million years or two.
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2007
Did our Age of Aquarius evaporate,
fail to regenerate,
fall too far short of what our parents
knew we should anticipate?
Free love could not sustain
weak non-violent resolutions against
whatever busyness was for.
Yet, if love is synergy,
and creation is this co-passion's regenerate transgeneration,
how could love cost more than free?
How could co-redemption not invest everything
in learning how to cooperatively Be,
free of enslaving supremacist becoming,
free to come together as ecological We?
Those who stop to count these costs of love,
look for ways to divest of co-opportunity,
ignoring Earth's mentoring economy
of light's photosynthetic comprehensive consciousness,
of neutral's dark unconsciousness,
a fog bank evaporating as double-binding time and rhythm
pattern and color RNA's free-fractal love connection.
If Time's eternal unfolding presence is 0-dimensional,
and Nature's bicameral perception is 2-dimensional prime,
bicameral form with function,
ego emerging from eco,
yang incarnating double-yin,
reiterative communicative processors
borrow RNA's decomposing 3-space with 1-time prime bilateral dimensions,
Shy winterish Uracil of Universal freely decomposing love
greets Cytosine's full summer-formed regeneration,
as objectives greet their past and future subjects;
while Adenine painlessly springs
for Guanine's lavishly com-posted integrative harvest,
as verbs form fractal-recycling nouns,
verbal con-science revolutions,
relearning Earth's organic language,
by echoing universal polypathic syntax.
Universal monocultural power of governance
becomes a Left-brained dominant and reductive tyrant,
an Emperor reified of clothes
to cool His naked Ego-thirst.
when power remains integral within co-passionate,
synergetic uniting cooperatism,
then naked power conjoins dark yin-time-ations,
shy bigendering romantic camouflage,
re-birthing this post-millennial
Age of Aquarius.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
is a spoon
that you can bend
with your mind.
It depends on psi
X or Y
a paranormal opportunity
or a wild talent
of psionic penmanship .
Stare at the pattern
on the handle
as you imagine
either roses or unicorns
are emblazon here.
So much the better
as your mind
bends the words
and the metal obeys...
Spoon begins to tremble
there is no knife
to run away with.
like an empty plate.
a bent spoon
with squeezed letters...
Copyright © Andrew Rymill | Year Posted 2012
Ch'ang as "Constant"
natural law of growth and decay
yanging and yinning,
logically necessary alternation of opposites
universally permacultural law: exterior nature as inner conscience communicant
Interior Landscape of eco-Ch'ang ego's Exterior Landscape operatives
eco-self as "true nature"
exegetical identity of co-passioned operation
natural 0-dimensional Core identity "soul" functioning bicamerally
expressed as Exterior natural landscape--Left (ego) deductive convex
WITH Interior natural landscape--Right (eco) intuitive concaving implied,
predicated, predicting, Fuller's precessive
TwoTime Being quintessential and mutual Placeholders
for One holy-fractal Universe.
Placeholders: SpaceTime Quintessentials:
transparency full spectrum octave
Hydrogen atomic 120
tipping point closing curtain
communication string community
meme transactional network
QBit Reverse Hierarchical Win-Win Climax
Double-Dark "C" Enlightening Bionically Regenerative "L"
Not-Not Monomial Positive Polynomial Bilateral Co-Relationship
concaving within this fractal
spacetime dimensional Earth-Universal Con-Science.
as co-redemptive coordination
as co-operative ecological eco-normics.
Ordained by Host embryos:
Time, progenitor of trinitarian dimensioned space,
RNA, progenitor of DNA bicameral places
forms with hopeful polycultural economic functions,
communication strings of permacultural memory
decomposing past regenerations.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015
A horizontal loneliness
An archaic white fresco
Fixed above as a quaking pendulum
The voice of a god or an echo booming
As mother, as nihilist, as thunder cloud,
Dropping slick lip precipitation
Pebble drop words falling as sky
A cup swarming with meaningful nothings
With a tiny vortex writhing within
Molecular debris swimming as pins
In a cushion butterfly bombing
The trunk with deep electricity
Toxic as chemistry with the faux-Germanic
Back-handed romances and charms of
Copyright © Nathaniel Köhp | Year Posted 2009
The rhythms have been set
in the distant blast, light years past
we knew the cadence of a jerking crust
even tempos in the swell of lava underneath
harmonious undulations of liquefied iron ore
mixed precisely in the inner core
the lyrics waters murmur condensing
in the atmosphere or trickling from a spring
voices of surging or ebbing seas
-- pulses of the earth once converged in
our infant soul.
But our pompous blast in not too-distant past
silenced the melody
Too many refrains about our divinity
shattered the symphony.
How then do we propose to trap
notes traipsing with the four winds?
Wholes in the north, halves in the south
quarters in the east or dotted quarters in the west?
There is neither clef nor rest
to guide our unmetered steps,
no flat nor sharp to fine-tune falsetto laughs
in the three-four beat. Shall we waltz
or tango with the two-four beat?
Our choreographer is a master
but his choreography muddles our gait
--so we lose our footing and fall flat on
our scared faces.
We leap and run after a maestro
desperate to string in the baton of a virtuoso
notes dripping from a drying fountain
(the attempt paints a blush on our cheeks)
Arranged in non-dissonant meters
these fountain notes will rise to a crescendo
Or so we thought . . .
-- before a gold-rimmed stick mangled the tune of
our mortal song.
To reassemble scattered pulses of the earth,
we lay our faces, right-ears-down
prostrate upon the ground--
awaiting the hard crust’s deathless groans,
the storm of sand and rocks
earth’s jerks: rain upon our cheeks;
blind our eyes; stuff our ears to deafness
-- we sense rhythm upon
our singeing skin
Then the limbs learn to waltz and tango
Melody is resurrected in our torso
Although we’ve run out of choreographers
and virtuoso masters.
Copyright © Evee Huervana van der Walt | Year Posted 2012
I have flown on wings of dreams, but I never could land well
I've never been to the end of a rainbow and I've never talked to an angel
I could never reach the fleeing horizons and I could never catch the wind
I have never caressed a sliver of moonlight until it touched your skin
When I first saw the beauty of your silhouette standing before the sun
I was the pilot of a new dream landing in your love
Then my tears reflected colors of a rainbow and I could talk to God
I could finally reach the horizons as you woke up in my arms
And I dont care where the winds blow as long as I'm with you
We could float into forever where Delphinus stars may bloom
Where time is never the difference between nights and days
We could cast our shadows from moonlight as we let our hands play
Plucking beautiful flowers from heaven until the end of times
Planting new celestial gardens beyond our endless skies
Copyright © Jesse James Forster | Year Posted 2013
(based on Aldous Huxley's book "Brave New World")
Clink clink clink clink...
Test tubes prattling past
along the chrome plated production line.
Glistening under fake fluorescence
humming in harmony
with the magnetic motors
of conveyors, centrifuges and camshafts.
Biological blobs of gamete goo,
vials of vile biology,
a tempest of sperm and ova,
neatly confined to a pyrex womb.
Organised, sanitised, harmonised.
All equal under Ford.
Or at least until your fate and fortune
are forced and fixed at forty metres.
Not nature (abhorrent),
not nurture (disgusting),
not what you know,
not who you know,
but the viability of your cell.
Destiny by DNA.
What will you be?
An Alpha Aryan?
A Gamma gopher?
A mass produced Epsilon?
Will you be genetically enhanced?
Or poisoned and asphyxiated?
Perhaps you'll be discarded
as excess bio-matter
by the second trimester
at ninety metres?
Or survive to be hatched
at one fifty metres?
Neatly sown along furrows
of sterile steel cots.
Rows and columns,
ranks and files,
levels and floors
of battery babies.
weaned on sleep whispering,
embracing their place in a perfect society.
United by soma!
(a gram is better than a damn)
Disease designed away!
All praise Ford!
Everyone is happy!
But nothing is perfect.
Bernard is cursed.
Excess embryonic alcohol
injected at one twenty metres.
Someone wasn't paying attention.
Beta's hypnopedic haikus
Alphas lead the way
Grey matter, grey uniform
Alphas rule wisely
Betas work less hard
Mulberry clad skilled workers
Glad I'm a Beta
Gammas are stupid
Wearing green! Ugly as trees!
Ignore the Gammas
Deltas are dummies
Khaki clones, oxygen starved
Brutish, black robed underclass
John's suicide soliloquy
To be or not to be?
I cannot be.
So I decide not to be.
How can I be noble and suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
when the arrows have been broken
and the slings put aside
by this ugly utopia?
Should I shuffle off this mortal coil
and enter the eternal sleep
perchance to dream without soma?
Will I enter paradise
paid for many fold
with barb wire and thorns,
with torments and trials,
with utter utter heartbreaking longing?
What sense does this make
when paradise lies at my feet
that I've not suffered enough to deserve?
How can I earn the love
of the woman I love
when she gives her love so freely
to myself and others who scantly earn
the meerest slither of her golden fruit?
Love so sweet to the lips
but diluted by banality and promiscuity
to the tasteless sterility of boiled water.
Yet I still yearn.
And when I attain my unimagined dream
I reject her with anger
and sow the seeds of confusion
in her innocent eyes
and watch the weeds of fear
choke her very essence.
What demons have hatched from my soul?
What has this world manufactured in my heart?
And so I seek solace in solitude.
A lonely lighthouse keeper
in a stormless sea of soma civilisation.
Absolution with abject poverty,
the stings of self flagellation
barely noticed against my rented heart.
The madness of mixed up mantras.
Yet retribution comes from a hornet's nest
of helicopters carrying the inane.
Spectators of the spectacle.
Curious about the curiosity.
Fascination with the forbidden.
Cultures sparking across electrodes.
Moths drawn to taboo's acetylene flame.
I curse them! I curse them all!
I was born savage, then made savage.
Marooned on Prospero's isle
by insanity's tempest.
I can brew and boil
and billow and burn
and cast down purifying bolts against the outside world.
One asylum to another.
Never knowing peace.
O brave new world, that has such people in it.
But this world is not for me.
BNW society is divided into five major classes. From highest to lowest: alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon
Original BNW quote - sleep conditioning for Betas - "Alpha children wear grey. They work much harder than we do, because they're so frightfully clever. I'm really awfully glad I'm a Beta, because I don't work so hard. And then we are much better than the Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able to read or write. Besides they wear black, which is such a beastly colour. I'm so glad I'm a Beta."
Bokanovsky is a fictional process of human cloning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bokanovsky%27s_Process
Hypnopedia is the process of sleep learning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep-learning
Gametes are cells used in reproduction (sperm and ova) - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamete
Soma is a drug mass produced by the BNW government - citizens are sleep conditioned to become addicted
"a gram is better than a damn" is a BNW mantra used by its citizens to encourage non-conformists (i.e. are unhappy) to take soma
John was a savage rescued from a reservation by Bernard Marx for his own political agenda.
Bernard Marx was a physically and mentally imperfect Alpha misfit reportedly caused by excess alcohol injected into his embryo during his hatching.
John's soliloquy is a parody of Shakespeare's "to be or not to be" soliloquy from Hamlet. Since John learnt to read from an old copy of Shakespeare's works, this seemed appropriate.
In BNW, Henry Ford is revered as a god - the Christian cross is replaced with a T (as in the model T Ford, an early affordable mass produced car).
Written 10th April 2017
Entry to "brave new world" contest
Copyright © Mark Martin | Year Posted 2017
As a child,
I always imagined God
being so far away in the sky, caressing his long, white beard.
I imagined Him
sometimes looking at the stars,
forgetting to focus on His most important creation: Earth.
I wondered if His absent-mindedness caused all the troubles we have
in the world today.
I imagined demons watching the diversion of His eyes very keenly….
My grandmother then told me:
“Clouds have very keen ears.
They listen to your mouth and heart.”
“Trees have keen sense of touch.
They can feel your emotions, as they brush past them”.
“The Sun has keen eyes.
It sees what you are thinking”.
She told me everything was part of God,
waiting for me to accept myself as part of God….
Everything was chaos and order intertwined in a web
we call time…
In a distant future,
A child imagined God
being high up in the universe, weaving magical links here on Earth
She imagined Him
sometimes looking down on men's creations: Virtual Life, Automated Machines.
frowning and at the same time amused
She wondered if His frowning meant disapproval of men's stupidity
or if he is amused at men's conflicts of morals
She imagined devils lurking in the humanoids planning a rebellion
Her ancestors' words ringing in her mind:
"Cameras are everywhere now.
They watch your every move."
"Walls have interactive sensors.
They can feel your pulse and heartbeat."
"The AI has invulnerable algorithm.
It sees what you are contemplating".
They told her everything was created by men,
catapulting the human race into a machine-dependent complacent beings
Everything human was diluted and morale intertwined in a virtual web
we call internet…
A Collaborated Poem with Angeline Haikutwinkle
Copyright © 2016 July 20th (Japan Time Zone)
Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2016
HELLO ; my voice faintly echoes back Hello
Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?
I stare into the thick ebony chilly mist
Seeing nothing but the dance of Satan's Demons
Grotesque, disfigured lost souls living in their created darkness
Hell's home for all of mankinds lost sinners
As ghastly faces of the past and present pass through me
The haggard grim eyes of my youth pierce my black Heart
This sleleton of a endless Eternity embraces my soul
Come fly with me in the emptiness of Forever
Watch as you vacuously become a leader among us
We applaud how well you carry the sins of your life
You are a distinguished minion of all that is Evil
Grab Your heavy iron chains of sin and ascend to Your throne
I awake in my bed , in my cabin , my soul intact--- November 1
Happy Halloween to all my Soup Family
Copyright © HGarvey Daniel Esquire | Year Posted 2009
Sometimes to no avail
You struggle to be different
Like snowflakes you fall
Believe you are vindicated, distinct and exclusive
With innovative design and crystallized mind
Attempting to impress everyone with the hand you have
only we all have the same cards
Razor sharp edges and frosty images
We are slush after a too many Sunday afternoon
Deteriorated with a warped spinal column and a stone-washed mentality
Liquefied by last season's snow boots and plowed to the side most of the time
Human quality is overstated and overrated
the world is far too over populated
we are all the uniform
with carbon bonds, hydrogen and oxygen
I doubt my DNA complexity is what makes my soul mine
We are all hypocrites, benevolence is only to benefit ourselves
When you come out of the cloud your eyes are misted and your judgment’s
With age it doesn't get better only you assume you grasp what you require
But really you've been programmed and proselytized until you do not know what
We come out with different intentions and modifications but I’ll see you in the end
Still that damned snowflake condemned
Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007
This train of pain stop’s at every
Seeking all that want to step on
You can buy a ticket or ride free
For he welcome one and he
Twisted faces cries out in a
Welcome all and I want all
Screams of pain yell to the
The pain clamps deeper with
With a eerie growl
He said let’s go for a ride
All Around the track and hence
Forth back again
Pain” O” pain run from me I
Swear I will be careful the
Next go round
Give me peace and make my
From this painful drunken state
For my eyes are blurry
My limbs is crackin”
So much pain for one to endure
The pain is cutting into my heart
It’s piercing through me like a
Can’t you see my heart is losing
Drip, drip, drip my blood
Is Rushing and running on the
Please, Mr. Conductor stop this
All this blood is making me sick
Let off, “O” let me off
Know getting off you just enter
Copyright © Carolyn Sears | Year Posted 2008
There is a man with a gun.
His finger taut,
tensed and still,
the intention obvious,
no reason instilled.
Because guns kill people.
Or do people kill people?
I can never remember.
Let's take a look at entropy.
A molecule hits a molecule
hits a molecule and
BOOM - a bomb.
More on the way.
But of course that's a bit clumsy,
seeing that entropy's remorse
only marginally taps the
frayed edges of something,
So what stops it?
Science might tell us
That’s a bit broad though.
Come back to the man with the gun.
Naturally he's drunk,
and not a man,
Waving the gun -
the weapon in your face.
He points it at you.
So what do you do?
What can you do?
One might pray
and hope his hand is stayed,
for in the land of entropy learned helplessness breeds
And the masses will pray and cower.
Some might fight,
in instinctual flurry.
But these options are
few and far
too crude for more, sophisticated tastes.
So this sophistication leads us...
Ah, but sophistication sounds so posh.
Let's instead call this
And so you order,
yelling is so harsh.
You don't want to antagonize this
willing to put a hole in you
- you in a hole -
covered by the thoughtlessly certain curtain of
oh so subdued,
But a simple please
has never gotten
so you follow up with
a more firm
And in his inebriation,
the most powerful
being in your world stumbles
upon a moment
His finger slips,
sending a .45 caliber
bullet - lead some might call it,
but this is grossly anachronistic -
into your frontal lobe
and out your cerebral cortex.
An open system.
Because in an entropic world,
Language languishes in its ephemeral rags
and is wasted away by greater things.
Copyright © Alexander Plevka | Year Posted 2015
to find a half-buried
So many secrets to gleam.
In the light of the star-beam...
Or is it just an imaginative dream?
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007
Sometimes I feel like Data
binary and metal
mind over matter
Forever searching humanity
Never being able to pass through metal detectors
Having deep emotions
impossible to express
except in poems
Questioning and inquisitive
sad without crying
happy without laughing
I feel like Data
with my green eyes
May 11, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
Enter the arena
A gong sounds
The Hunger Games have begun!
Blades of swords and knives crash
Run. run, run
Away from the cornacopia!
Blood splatters, staining the earth
Bodies splayed on the ground
Others die right off hand
Only one left to be the VICTOR!
Welcome to The Hunger Games!!!!
This is based on a very good book called The Hunger Games (well good in my
opinion). This future distopian science-fiction novel is about future North America.
The Capitol is a very dictator-like establishment and starve their citizens then throw
them into the hunger games, a fight to the death on live television.
Copyright © The Melody Sings | Year Posted 2009
Written by Gail DeBole
Updated July 1, 2016
The Universe's Tape
Copyright © Gail DeBole | Year Posted 2015
Like the sun
against the day sky.
Releasing unrestrained light!
Diluting your daily sphere
my intellectual needs.
Take Death into my desert
dumping you a side.
Uncrossed boundaries that multiply
concealing your eyes of beauty
from the world.
Never embracing eternity.
Like an atomic emerging
all elements of coincidence
forms of life's way.
The nectar that flows
ruining every thing we dream of.
dilutions of all the ugliness
conceived in the open.
that binds devotion
to the negative of dark.
Like the sun
that hits the ground.
Blinding every straight look
with the perception you preach!
for Nate D. opposite of His (My Moon) poem..
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
Underneath the light of the full moon, a she-creature
Prowls through the thickets wild.
Stalking quietly waiting for the canvas city to
Slumber into a lazy sleep, ever closer silent sleek black
Paws sneak forward ready to draw its vengeance.
She is the curse of the gypsies, made from the
Blood of a crimson star, which split apart and fell
To earth below.
Two small shards burnt through the forest canopy,
And cut deeply into the earth's soil itself.
Creations ground zero, for rebirth leaving behind
Two lunar figures, one of light, the other as
Dark as pitch, identical twins of a solar eclipse.
Spin did the wheels of the gypsy’s caravan, stopping nearby,
Finding these orphan’s of the skies, they became
Foundling's of the nomad’s tribe.
Oh beauty of the heavens did glow in the light
Of the bright child, as darkness’s black emptiness,
So burned within her ebony sister kindred.
These solar babies grew in power year by year,
Until thirteen summers and nights had passed by,
One day a great storm came to the tented world
Of the gypsies, flashing thunder and lightning,
Burned and tore at the traveling village.
The dark child crouched in shadows corner,
But the child of light emerged willing to sacrifice
Her life for those whom had saved hers.
Ascending upwards to appease the heavens
Itself the storm God, welcomed and excepted
This child of lights sacrifice.
But the child of darkness was angered, and
Took her revenge on the gypsies, vowing to
Leave none alive.
So she follows them, stalking where ever their
Wheels cut into the damp soil, this is the curse
Of the gypsies.
So these nomads must keep moving always,
But on this night many souls shall know pure
For through the thickets under bush,
She waits for the canvas town to sleep, then
Will strike, to satisfy the aching within her blackened heart.
By tooth and claw strike, to be illuminated by
The beautiful face of her sister twin, whom
Weeps amongst the heavens above,
In sorrow for those she herself loved so
Much, are killed, by the darkness of her
Own sister kindred.,
Whom roars with fiendish delight, at her victims
Pain, the black jaguar a lost child of a fallen star.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014
Queasy anxiety, a fearful edginess of dread,
an old and omnipresent sense of doom
taint the times that random opportunity affords
to slip convention's chains, to openly proclaim
a saner point of view, a logical rejection
of muddy, inane thinking, of tradition-bound
adherence to stupidity's insistent songs
that perpetuate a myriad of wrongs.
Let there be no turning back; face the fears, be the change --
for diversity, humanity, acceptance, brotherhood,
and love. Explain, support, convince. Break the silence:
come out, come out, whoever and wherever you may be!
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012
What am I, a product of a mad man's obsession to play God?
A cross breed’s creature between medicine and science?
For the whole of my parts taken from convicts, and social rejects,
Sown together by skillful hands of a surgeon, with no feeling heart
For this his ultimate creation.
Life infused by heaven's fire storm from on high, did the lord God's
Finger tip's caress against the rocky castle side, electrifying the night
With the Almighty’s spark of existence, and so my mortal father
Screamed with passions conceit, and this was the very first words, I
The beast heard, from my creator's lips, it's a live, it's alive!!
What am I, not human nor monster, do I not possess a soul or spirit,
Do I not deserve the same rights, as those of humanity, but nay I
Am the mocked, and the shunned.
Locked behind an iron barred cage, in a cold dungeon’s bricked
Lined cradle, I'm left in isolation holding cell, without
Human compassion physical touch or empathy mercy.
Yelling up ward’s towards a higher power's glory, I beg of him,
Pleading for redemption's reclamation, to free me from this
Torturous life I've been given,
Free me, heavenly father!!
But I am more than these lumped together human parts of
Refuges misbegotten, for I live, therefore I am, I am man,
Not the beast.
This I discovered in my silences solitude, when my jailer
Gave me a special gift, a book such a simple object, yet
It so saved me from madness’ spell, in bold prints
Golden lettering I read the title, The Holy Bible.
In clarities flickering candle light by night did I so
Read, about how a spirit could be uplifted above his mortal
Imprisonment, and soar amongst the angels.
Once I cursed the day of my own birth, but now
I realize to be alive is a great endowment, to be blessed
And rejoiced upon.
As I reach outwardly through these iron bars anew,
I feel the sun's rays for the first time, and know how
Precious a thing this really is, to experience its warmth
My father, never gave me a name other then it, or the beast,
So I will take his, as mine own, behold so shall I be called
Made by the fiery finger tips of the lord God himself,
Shall ignorance flame by human kind destroy me?
But heaven's grace in the written word shall save me,
And my immortal essence, and thus I shall be restored
On a higher plane's existence, on a farther distant shore,
Considered a monster no more.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015