Best Algorithmic Poems
Looking intp the vast algorithmic wilderness we begin our search for truth...
For in this chaos of digital existence for we navigate
the maze of virtual connections seeking answers in the
pixels that....
form our fragmented identities.
Yet, amid the ceaseless chase for productivity we grapple...
with the paradox of busyness wondering if our
worth is measured
by our output or...
our ability to simply be.
In the era of constant comparison for we confront the...
existential dread of inadequacy haunted by
curated lives on screens...
that mirror our own
distorted reflections.
Beneath the surface of superficial interactions for we crave
for genuine connection searching for
authenticity in a world...
where masks are
worn as shields...
against vulnerability.
Surrounded by the droning of voices clamoring for...
attention we struggle
to find our own among the noise
craving moments of silence...
to hear the wisdom in
the wind of our true selves.
In the face of ecological devastation for we grapple with...
our role as stewards of the earth, questioning
the meaning of progress...
in a world on the
brink of potential collapse.
Against the backdrop of societal...
polarization for we confront
the existential challenge of empathy
while wondering if
compassion can bridge the chasms...
that divide us or
if we are destined...
to remain adrift in a sea of discord.
And in the end, the finality...
we finally realize the journey
was the destination all along...
Categories:
algorithmic, culture, environment, philosophy, psychological,
Form:
Free verse
Sponsored by: Silent One
If this was the last
___________________
| If this was the last_goodbye |
But, what if this was the last time I cried,
Don't want to be hidden behind lying scrys.
The world forgotten on their prying device,
Humanity alone algorithmic thrice.
Heaven on you shoulder beckons you home,
Mirror-sucking marrow through soulless domes.
But, what if this is the last chance to thrive,
Society nullified blue tick uprise.
Locate my strength to become whole again,
Discharge into the torrent of play-pretend.
Am I willing to wonder the outdoors,
Bleak scepticism plaguing putrid drawbacks flaws
Pick up, put down, conscious cyber remorse,
No better a junky and their driving force.
But, what if this is the last time I lie,
Unsubscribe, double-click, shut device; goodbye.
Categories:
algorithmic, allusion, anxiety, conflict, culture,
Form:
Rhyme
The perfect year,
two equal halves.
One with leaves
one without.
Forest thinning out.
Bring indoors
swing sets, pools, smiles, thoughts.
Having enough and not much else is a lot.
The transfer of funds is a loving gratitude for work well done.
Not self-sufficient unless self
is defined as family, community and nation.
The world.
Universe.
Thus,
I settle my haunches like a bear content, snug into coming winter.
House will be warm notwithstanding the Muslim-Judeo-Christian condition
not to mention the Hindu-Buddhist vortex.
Searching space
for an entity
to unite us as humanity.
Carbon-based, earthbound
meeting, understanding and absorbing
the clicking, algorithmic logic
of passionately computing species, insects, machines, bacteria.
A world moves only as fast as you think.
If it moves faster you're not thinking, you're it, dead, chemicals redistributed
in an ever more painless process.
What are my feelings exactly?
Systemic joy.
Lovely the logic
we have invented and applied
identifying, specifying, classifying.
It can keep you busy
counting, praying
while all the leaves are falling.
Categories:
algorithmic, christian, community, family, insect,
Form:
Verse
Around the floor in tatters lay
Discarded tickets strewn
The bell to mark the end of
day
Brought closure to the gloom.
At half past nine the mighty
bull
Charged in with a mighty roar
Unleashing a surge of buying
power
Heard on every Wall Street
trading floor
The news of a rising market
spread
Like wild fire on the tape
Phones like up like Christmas
trees
Get in now, don't hesitate
But at two pm the sleeping
bear
Was roused from a restless
sleep
Slower than expected retail
sales
Sparked a precipitous
downward creep
By three pm the damage was
done
And hope was quickly fading
As brokers hands were
securely tied
By automatic computer trading
Now all we could do was sit
and watch
An algorithmic trading system
Meticulously hit every spiraling
bid
Absent old fashioned broker
wisdom.
Categories:
algorithmic, computer
Form:
Ballad
The Mathematics of Love
The Mathematics of love are quiet simple really
Though we may think
Some algorithmic logistic
Imparts some spiritualist medium of the heart
Perhaps some benign logic
Of arithmetic fractions
Seconds
Multiplications
Doodle numbered connections
And additions
Of lets say
Hair
Auburn
Brunette
Eyes
Brown
Blue
Smile wide
Lips soft
Figure
Breasts
Muscles
Six pack
Legs
Cute butt
And Marilyn Monroe’s blonde of
Brad Pitts
All
Or so we think
Earn their decimal places
And then again fates quasi Phi
Of destinies numerology
Can’t explain why
A circles circumference
Never quite meets
In eternity
Predictions in logarithms
Tables of calculated emotions
Are tapped and squared rooted
To the power of x2
And by the beauty of numbers
And the power of their equations
Set in motion the moment of turbulence
Which equals chaos
Fractal forms of
How a beating heart
Communicates
To its soul
But the mathematics of love
Is very precise
Simple really
In the convoluted calculus
Of Roman numerals
Add
One
Love
And throw the complexity
Of perfection
Into disarray
And still
The answer
Is
One
Subtract
One
Love
And throw the complexity
Of perfection
Into disarray
And still
The answer
Is
One
Categories:
algorithmic, funny, lovepower, , cute,
Form:
Free verse
Welcome to twenty twenty
Where digital illiteracy is illiteracy
Cash and coins encoded binary
Banks and schools running on scripts
Hidden behind the telescreens
is Alice the programmer;
her fingers as QUIC as the data stream
as she races the ARMed processor;
together, they control the world unseen.
Over the LAN cables,
steps in her partner,
he said hey Alice!
want some coffee later?
Tired, she smiles
as she sips the warm foam
from the cappuccino
and pushes her chair up
Down her bloodstream goes the caffeinated sugar
Neurons fire up faster than optic fibre
"I got it!" she screams
and spits out lines of code
onto the flashing screen
Hands shaking, she hit ENTER
murmurs flooded
over her shoulder
"YES! DAMN!"
they all got off their chairs
as the new commit flies
across the data center
Alice sits down
with a glass of champagne
trying to init shutdown
on her hypervising brain
as the algorithmic memories regress
on just another day.
--------
QUIC: The new HTTP/3 protocol developed by Google and IETF (internet engineering task force). Used by sites like Youtube to stream data QUICkly
ARM: Advanced RISC Machine, the CPU architecture that runs on our mobile phones, routers, embedded devices and even the new Mac book
LAN: Local Area Network
Hypervising: a hypervisor is the software that controls multiple Virtual Machines inside a computer
Categories:
algorithmic, computer, technology, women, world,
Form:
Rhyme
I cry between the lines, A.I. verse this will never be.
I defy the artificial assembler of words to impersonate,
to predict this in living color.
Absent from its language database is the driving arousal,
the hormonal passions defining my mind.
It can’t know the meaning of hunger or the rush of adrenalin.
It has never felt a sex drive or experienced an ******.
Conditional A.I. can perform automated reasoning,
Algorithmic rules like a script for a puppet.
A.I. words are hollow placeholders applied according to a
logic of learning supplied by humans.
A.I. will repeat the learning routine until it masters the task,
playing chess or imitating a poet.
Artificial Intelligence never feels joy or grief,
never sleeps, weeps, or dreams,
knows not the flavors of ice cream or potatoes,
lacks any wonder in the beauty of a spring day,
cannot comprehend my primordial span of fervor.
Despite the fatalism of high-tech CEOs,
our extinction is a choice.
Lacking agency or sentience,
A.I. robots are no threat to the human race.
Featured Poem in WordPress: March 30, 2024
Published on The Opiate Website: March 30, 2024
Categories:
algorithmic, computer, emotions, language, passion,
Form:
Narrative
Shyloch, Shyloch Ye of crippled writers block Howl !
Hipster!
Survivor of sanatoriums drug riddled needled dreams and cancer lobotomy fantasies!
Drowned out by the apathy of X-Factor modernity!
Shyloch whose machinery sprite faster through chemical brewing!
And welfare states following entitlement scripts that harm!
Shyloch whose crucifix and domed book wielding army!
Storm the gates of purgatory and blood banks filled with candy bats and posh race day hats!
Shyloch whose windows fell the courtyard sanctuary of apposing towers!
With flight bound death bellowing fumes airplane fusion bomb blinded tasting castor oil!
Oh, Shyloch of the taught band of algorithmic army fibers of lanyards forward recoil!
Which bend both time and continuum lines into matrix riddled computer chips!
That manifest themselves in pie and pillow smoke horror convex leprechaun glasses!
The shards of which Shyloloch stills, not Shyloch lenses, chart express Shyloch determination!
Shyloch. Shyloch in four dimensions cursed in parallel universes battles!
Sent forth into the hornets nest of hell's bells and brothers under fire of tyranny shot at!
Where mothers servitude pierces a twig grenade destined for destruction!
Where radio scowls of panic manic contact, I reality check my pulse bleeding Shyloch!
Bellow of Shyloch in taxis destined for parachutes fashioned out of mantle piece clock memories!
Counting down the seconds of kicking calamity's arsenal of empire and envy!
Propped up by the students of anarchy blooded as puppets in vegetarian camouflage!
Shyloch of peanut butter and jello meal times washed down with rat burgers!
Shyloch, Shyloch who posts cards inscribed with death marches chuckle!
Encased in sphinx library tombs resurrecting gold edifices suburbia Atlantis!
Oh Shyloch 2012 A.G, Molock of worldly news wares and carnival fares!
Tribute to A.Ginsberg Howl
Categories:
algorithmic, art, death, death, howl,
Form:
Free verse
My sleep stages are Moon phases combing
my limbic system, where I touch electric chords
singing my survival.
The words I compose dwell in privacy.
I blow the candles out after they are written.
And they wait, poised to be expressed.
But like a child in a nightmare,
I am naked before my audience.
My own words belong to someone else.
My lips move out of sync with my thoughts.
A.I. writes a better imitation of my poems.
It will speak its version of me,
parrot its empty parody of me.
You’ll enjoy its rendering of me
far better than me.
Like the first motion pictures,
The audience fears the A.I. train
will mow them down.
Magical thinking about flickering
images on a wall enlisted the same
primal fears as flickering algorithmic
texts.
But no phases of the Moon touch
them. No electric chords will sing, and
no privacy in candlelight is felt
in them.
Instead, we will forget that A.I.
was ever scary.
We will watch it mimic life
like reruns of
nearly forgotten movies.
Published: Caesura - Summer 2023
Categories:
algorithmic, angst, anxiety, computer, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
good morning
The optimization of algorithmic formulae in a lake is creating a custard like vision. But visions are often akin to vases but clearly cleaned out by tackling the hooded fish by dive bombing using legs, arms and upper torso. Wow. Such a feat. But no toes in a race of shoreline. Not today. Nor next week. It is merely a grain of toast on a counter that watches a watch and then the clock could speak no more. For the duty of the technology is to subdue, satisfy and make subservient to a cloud storage utility box where all information is held and informed are the noses and great tables of the wooden rooms with the money being an element and time an order. Chime then. No no no said the moon of momentum, the sun of strength, the planet of positive and the sweeping glide of a green gate asteroid whose visitation brought a kind but sleeping battle good into otherwise sleeping waters. Crystal hill wakens. Slept for years. Skeptics silenced with a kiss from that hill when exiting the junction at ten dressed in a grass skirt, tree hat. It was here to hold a piped link to eradicate the explosive relish from fatty liquid speeches. Fatty liquid speaks loudly. Like boom boom boom. But boom boom boom can point over there at the jellied arms and legs on a plate. Waiting. So it is so it was. The washing up bowl is neither super nor supper. And so rhenium reaches a riot. Standing in a gatehouse on a nine foot ball. Balloon then. Test not the patience of a fifteen millimetre radish. Playfully pleasing palladium pricking pictures. And a movingly surround sound of an snowman singing. Hahaha the juice is coming with the rest of the gang members to be actually an honest homestead. Hahaha a mug is walking to to the cupboard. Comet clap clap.clap clap. Xxxxxx non-national security beeping. Xxxxx anthropological z z z z zb
Categories:
algorithmic, adventure, beautiful,
Form:
Billowed in black by my schizophrenic ponderings, these personalities are somehow resolute.
Within a matrix of survival; they coincide.
Fractals of quanta and wavelengths that fall from grace, will soon depict a Homunculus face.
Spanning out into oblivion as it gestures it’s courtesy beneath the world sheet.
By Orch OR, my loyalties are reduced to inconceivable amounts of ones or zeros.
When they do reduce, why is it a woman's face I see him seeing?
He watches a holograph of her, looking with a handheld azimuth to turn its view.
Sleeping in a hole of shambles, I see them seeing myself see nothing, but I feel my hadron body shrill.
Shadows like carbon fiber polymers are threaded intraosseously, trimming my astro-man's shins and knuckles with dark armor.
He now stands fortified as a hominid of diamond; surrounded by a phoxonic shield.
He protects her in his holon cocoon of qualia; it cannot be computed by perturbation, heuristics, or algorithmic affronts.
All but to fight back a bad dream, one that could harm the face we saw him seeing.
For better or worse we shall remember the sentiment.
To record this exert of love, he wrote the whole thing down as I thought it up.
Doing right by the left side.
Before I turn the light on, I put his clothes on inside out and tags back.
As if by coincidence, it was an imperfectly perfect fit.
Categories:
algorithmic, courage, dark, devotion, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
What we see and eat is who we are.
What we won't see,
our ego's becoming eaten up by time's expiration,
is who we are not yet.
To grow sacred protagonist ego-stretching out
throughout organically embodied space,
remember your very own DNA structure flows equivalently
and coincidentally
and integrally
and synergetically
and co-arisingly through each living co-relational win/win cell of Earth.
And, to grow ego-in and eco-out stretching back through win/lose degenerative
and win/win regenerative history
and forth toward emergent win/win felt sacred/organic therapeutic mystery
across bilaterally balancing Here-space/Now-time,
remember DNA/RNA's rooted empowering lineage
of regeneratively pleasured and co-passionate ecology
Earth BioSystemic history fades back to fractal-light animus energy
greets
dualdark anima-potentiating integrity,
and flares forward toward bicameral dipolar polypaths,
EarthTribe's continuous sacredCrown/organicRoot
passion/pleasure win/win comprehensive
regeneration,
Continuous LoveQuality/HealthQuantity Improvement
of economic-ecologic-analogic-algorithmic non(0)-soul
polyculturally climaxing optimization
of inter-religiously reconnecting
win/win regenerative
passion/pleasure's pronoia peace-making integrity.
Categories:
algorithmic, destiny, earth, future, health,
Form:
Parallelismus Membrorum
Emboldened by whispers,
echoes curdled in algorithmic rot—
electronic voices hiss their sermons,
venom soaked in coded politeness,
dripping beneath polished avatars.
Hate seeps
through curated feeds,
a slow infection
wrapped in memes,
seducing the young,
the angry,
the aimless—
until ideology feels like identity.
A curriculum of fear
streamed without consent,
etched into abandoned timelines,
where education once should have stood.
Now, only digital ruins remain—
barren soil
where thought might have grown.
This isn’t chaos.
It’s code.
Written to polarize,
to radicalize,
to dehumanize.
They teach with silence,
they preach with fragments,
they baptize with blame.
Their design is surgical—
not to inform,
but to fester.
Not to question,
but to conquer.
To crown the cruel
and cast the rest as fuel.
Categories:
algorithmic, anger, hate, prejudice,
Form:
Free verse
“The place of cure of the soul.”
Millions, clasped beyond Minerva's hall,
While inquisitive and confident hard.
Headed down towards different thoughts;
To giant collections, questions, borders strange.
There stood content's house of three.
In front, moved in cylindrical copyrights,
In round pegs and liquid language totems.
Then the first, unsettled pages in riddles,
In spirals, springs, learning machines.
To the second, summers and archived plans.
Thriving in the boundary walls.
Near the citizens, subjects, preservers,
Near the propagative inner rims of
Scholars, thinkers and doers,
Past a fire's waging gaze.
The formats walk up the manuscripts,
Cross, some ease and model's
Algorithmic snapping patents.
The quenching value of such!
Models and catalogue's emphasis
Builds the architecture's exceptional core.
The conscious modular maps, and
The abstract granularity of it all.
The rail crawls on these sheets and
illustrated diagrams and documents.
In such, roams bound kilometres in bronze,
and softens the stained glass piazza.
The lengths of the worded path evolve,
On the dotted strings, signs:
Librarians, Poets, Authors,
Publishers and Students, the oath;
“Seek knowledge from the cradle
to the library to the grave.”
Categories:
algorithmic, literature,
Form:
Free verse
We Once Were Alive
Turgid fascination moves in brain wise flaccid horror,
The eye vomits messages of legal illegals,
As the Apple dangles bitten,
Swarms of angels as innocent as locusts devour the seed,
Contradiction of existence in a world of moral storms,
Descend as algorithmic plagues of rhythmic tendrils copying vague,
Eyes of the pervert scavenger’s thirst,
Lusting for everything infected by the machine,
No we are the programmed human;
Shadow’s of sentience behind the screen.
D.N.Read/Nov/2020
Categories:
algorithmic, corruption,
Form:
Free verse