We humans are the gods of the computer age. We have mastered the use of ones and zeros. Some argue we have created artificial intelligence. But is it possible that ones and zeros have replaced our intelligence with servitude?
I see
Faces glued to a screen
Trying to decipher all the data seen
People no longer talk
People no longer walk
I don't know when this got its start
Cell phones are now a new body part
I see
Lights flashing
Buzzers dashing
Images blazing
Eyes glazing
Our cars tell us where to drive
And when we will arrive
It is a mystery to me
How an app is all people want to see
We are slowly dissolving into cyber space
Rarely looking up to see a human face
Free thinking is dying
Muscles are atrophying
I think I have found
People are not smarter, but dumbing down
Keyboard courage, slinging hate from afar
Hiding behind an avatar
We suffer from a terrible affliction
It's called binary addiction
So I see on many a blank face
The fate of the human race
Cyber world: one
Humans: zero
All 'dim ones and zeros programming contest poetry contest
Sponsored by: Brahm Baily
10/3/18
I wonder what I’d find if I could decorate my mind
a tiny peach plaster to heal the hurt of acts unkind
There’d be lots of sunshine yellow swirls to brighten up the day
and numerous scraps of paper for poems that come my way
You won’t find frills and flounces, and barely any pink
I’m not a girly girly girl, no matter what folks think
My head’s filled with rainbow colours; they keep the blues at bay
with my silly sense of humour, I know the smiles are here to stay
There’ll be lots of kitchen roll for tears of laughter that spill
‘One sheet is plenty’ grrr that darn advert makes me ill!
A palette filled with memories, some happy some sad
I repeat myself, I repeat myself - it drives my hubby mad!
Be careful if you lift the lid, as the paint is fresh and wet
Keeps my brain from atrophying like concrete that has set
FUN POEM FOR CONTEST
Mind the wet paint contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
3/21/18
Nigeria, the Soul of my Pride (Part One)
Nigeria, my country, where mournful of pledges aren’t reneged?
Indomitable she would have maintained, if crowns aren’t clowns
Gyrating on the mishaps, wearing wan gumption—unwelcome!
Ears do attend; but eyes haven’t yet seen what watery mouths do speak (of).
Roasting are to rich physiques, as paupers’ plights mount on their rotten.
Innuendoes of yesteryear ‘nattered’, nativities’ woes unforgettable.
Atrophying (now) are the little legacies her founding fathers had raised.
Nigeria my country, where true sons and daughters’ tongues sip in her bounties; sobbing,
Some are endlessly praying and raising their voice to hearings and their words to readings.
....
6/4/2014
For V.R.S.
A bend, a pirouette--a flower's dance
reflects in his shadowed eyes, and in her
thorned steps, the atrophying force rooted and redoubling.
Promise me, he breathes behind a teacup
while she is encapsulated in a globe of fading light.
The briny-dotted atlases sit reverent,
assembled beside the living-
room's songs of foreign heartbreaks, each seeded and
grown rampant ivy on her mind's towers, those unseen
cracks of weathering leaving only dreams
of dreams to recirculate like seasons in a day.
Worn linen florals ebb about her body, settling in her late autumn
and hoary winter languishes beyond the pane
where wind-animate limbs, a veiny applause, galely
knock, and her upon the balustrade of
the Palladium,
Hermetic roses beneath her toes.
Were we ever as good as frozen petals?
Substrate channeling, now wading through cellular river
Patches, by God, the sight! The sight! In-diving dream stabilizer
Atrophying now in the nebula; Pilfering the idea controls; the singular vastness!
Computations aloft and asunder the dwelling of our being like wrinkled raisins under roping
Elephants; church bells a-tolling; Lincoln Logs a-rolling; turn the ship we would, if we could.
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