Best Automatons Poems
"The Daily Mornings of Strange Automatons"
lucid dreams
those clouds convey
the hidden mysteries
of waking chariots
sucked up in the vortex
heliographs flashing
the silver
yo-yo strings
we are like puppets
played for codes
with buried meanings
transcribed animations
staggered routine automatons
covered in words of babel
strange hieroglyphs felt
like braille the feelings
understood misunderstood
spoken mirror images
held to the open caves
of mouths breathing
breath like fog
polishing time
inhale exhale
away
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
If in these times we wane or waver
If those who question fall from favor
The consequence could not be graver
obscured is the terrible toll
Manipulation is slow and unseen
Lives controlled by a corrupt machine
when no one remains who dare intervene
Each person just playing their role
Tyranny's voice deflects and maligns
Propaganda alters the minds
The terms of freedom redefined
Automatons robbed of their souls
"Walking on Water in the Between Worlds Place"
when darkness came
the remaining,
those beautiful
transingularity
neo-automatons,
imbued with dark matters
running through the wired
dendrites of their splintered brain,
where implanted, the voices
of the neo-god speaks
instructing those
voluptuous and fresh
criminal bodies
calling the hungry
and wanton in, like magnets -
the soft sell was easy.
all hard served, fast and slick.
at first visceral, then,
it was deemed
the intellect wasn’t
necessary -
the new sensual feeling,
bodies and mind
caressed by a
small Neuralink RFID.
like snow white
encased in silicate glass,
for a while asleep, when
turned on, very much
awake.
some called it,
the great gambling chip;
flashing light signals
heavy free energy sitting
on malleable shoulders
that danced wars robotic,
puppets chained and pulled
like walking torture chambers,
loaded cartridges spinning
metal hearts cloned to ignite
like atomic bombs kissing
seconds to midnight.
clockwork armies
were laid bare
by the fire behind
eyes alone, sharp knives
like lasers eviscerate
those transfixed to
a new state of -
"Behold
I am come
Home";
they all eventually
implode to the
nowhere place.
only Love injected
into what exists soulless
half djinn in that desolate
between worlds place,
with a kiss, passed on the
voiceless tongue,
the tablets, wafer thin,
now like Moses speak -
a new ecstasy
melting the monochrome
back to barely human
on their pronoun knees.
targets sometimes
could be saved
before the strangest
Winter arrived
in the underworld,
its new revolution -
revelations raging
in the time of the
chromatic wasting,
chronicles of the unsaved
walking on water
in the between worlds place
the children of Lot
lost in the grips
of the new world
that dreadful
dimensionless
judgement domain
forever in
episcop-alien
glitch
on repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"We live dangerous lives
We have the power of will
We turn logic around
We feed the engine of change"
Nano-bot Incursion
Nanobots began to shape their world in silent numbers
Grew uncountable before the dawn of days
In silence there is no form.
Darkness has no shape on empty landscapes
Black rocks don’t count as objects to odd aliens
Time does not stand still. It stands for nothing in the trenches of creation
Down in the minuscule world of nano-ness abstraction
Going about their business relentlessly
Expanding as they go
Nothing holds back the glow of tenacious ingenuity.
Human metallic rings worn on fingers
Seem to have peculiar effects on nanos actions
For some unknown reason strange things happen at mere contact
Apparently the shape of rings causes aberrant behavior
Perhaps tiny automatons don’t like restrictions
Confined movements to circular rotation
Perplexing them to the monotony of repetition
Around and around the band
Become disoriented as an emergent species
Collide and die
Apparently nano-bots need to expand
Naturally this is all pure speculation
If humans are to merge with them successfully
They must open up the molecules within each cell
Relax the pores above the skin
Allow the alien in
Allow the process to begin
It does not matter if this is a sin or crime
Science and technology must forge forward
That which goes against conventions
Has never stopped the building of reality
Constructing futures is what the nanos do
We are long overdue to break all laws of nature
Allow the nano-bots to do
What they instinctively know how and what to do
Merge with the human brain
Take us to their leader to new horizons
To the next plateau into omnipotence
To stand in numbing silence next to them
Spinning round and round in circles
Humming nano nano under the breath
Some say affection is a farce.
I’d surmise a soul who feels as such receives it in sparse parts.
Yet most will one day find themselves in amour.
As the Temptress ordains by coitus sustained, you will remain.
Not out of plight or by oath, but through providence.
For love is the ontological constant, so says the monogamous ominous.
That who created us oxytocin automatons with a volition so insidious, that both our spiritual and biological imperatives became synonymous.
If life were a game, than the deck is 51 cards; bearing one irrational inequivalence that's strikingly obvious.
The Ace of Hearts.
The fiercest and the kindest, as inconceivable as that may seem.
Yet if a boundless arithmetic exist in mathematics, than it will persist; to be the only quantity that realizes it’s infinite significance.
Utopia, New World Futurism
Let’s consider for a moment, do we exist are we real,
Or perhaps just holograms with flesh and bones.
Controlled, programmed by covert powers that be,
Observed perpetually by all-seeing Alien drones.
Laptops, Tablets Smart phones surveying us all,
They know what you do, they know what you think.
CCTV cameras, the eye in the sky, satellite detection,
Orwell spoke of Big Brother, now we’re on the brink.
We’re watching you, watching us watching you.
Scary really, creation of self-programmed Android.
Mummy, Daddy your child needs responsiveness,
Take your eyes from the screen, away from the void.
Science fiction is now, machines ruling our world,
But they’re not Robots, Automatons or mechanisms,
It’s us, people have become machines, DELETE, RE-BOOT,
Welcome my friends to Utopia, new world Futurism.
Science improves things, so they say,
can't prove it by me, take the clock
once it swung, and cockco's played
now it's silent, no tick or tock.
Old clocks clucked each tick and each tock
tongue to roof, they made a clapping.
Once they had arms and hands and locks
now they don't even aid napping.
Mum's the word with digital clock
zipped are those lips, no face, no brow
no sinister tock from Hook's Croc
no moon shaped face, no leaping cow.
Flashing red numbers, fanned peacocks
neon in trancers, with tin man hearts
lipless automatons in stock
toss them all from your K-mart cart!
Live I say get a grandfather clock
one with a face, two arms and heart
with a pendulum swinging tick tock
tick off the sleepers screw K-Mart.
Ladies sitting on a bus with nothing much to discuss
Just the daughter’s wedding and the fuss
As another passenger gets on the bus
The sales are on “jeans and tops” she declares
Now she really got a bargain there
Idle chatter without any meaning
While I sit on the bus idly dreaming
The faces telling so many tales
For the working man there are no cocktails
There isn’t a stretch limo for the poor
Or even a taxi that’s for sure
People like the bus on a roundabout
Accepting not protesting with a shout
Being jostled and pushed by the crowd
Like automatons nothing proud
Accepting mediocrity like a shroud
A pimply young youth out for a lark
A man who for forty years has been a clerk
Both chatting together looking at an advert
Exciting young escorts for the convert
A child tries to sneak on for free
The driver on the lookout uniformed tyranny
A cashier from Woolies, who’s name is Shirl
Her companion trying to give her a whirl
Two excited students chatting in Chinese
As the driver says ‘Lady pay your fare please”
The woman embarrassed shows her pension card
That’s all she gets for working so hard
On the production line in the factory at Pritchard
The old drunk with sacred flask in pocket
When emptied, his courage soars like a rocket
The Greek on his way to his second job
The giggling girl and her latest heart throb
A constant blur of humanity filing in and out
Never the rich or the ones with clout
Just the deprived the old and the thrifty
Over the years a sea of ever changing faces
Heading for work, shopping, footie or the races
Humanity squeezed into a fourteen ton carriage
Jostled and bumped in a never ending marriage.
on a day like today
my thoughts are of tomorrow
and the path that leads the way
so now we're lost
again
but the faeries will agree
that the only way free
is to blaze your own trail
according to the wise men
i can follow the stars
that carry my dreams
ah, but i awake again
to see a sophisticated socialist
smiling smugly since
silent slaves serve him
-we are on track and taking orders
monotone monotonous automatons
single serving self indulged satisfactions,
and the yearning to become better
pumping blood through our veins
picking up our pulse
as the opportunity could arise
with no idea where we are going
holding trunks to tail marching in line
around the circus ring
to end the performance
with no personal pride
-the desire to be wild
is thriving inside
dying to cry out
to know i'm alive
roaming among the pride
as king of the lions
and when i sleep in my bed
my mind entertaining its lucid fantasies
of intrigues with Titania and
carrying a pocket full of stars
walking down a road
that has no footsteps
but my own
Surviving the Venal
by Odin Roark
As we peer into the future
As far as we dare see
There glides effortlessly down entitlement throats
The six o’clock cocktails of gin and vodka
While cups of water appease
Shrunken stomachs in desperation
As after dinner snifters of brandy
Flame amidst knavish whispers of next-day scheming
Prosperity’s throw-aways
Boil tea above dwindling Sterno
Identity’s loss struggles to stay warm
Evenings of silk and down covered comfort
Remain the usual
As cardboard insulation is adjusted
Making another night doable
For the other kind of usual
Tomorrow’s few who can make a difference
Seldom venture past their pitiful hubris
Their custom suits and handmade shoes
Grabbing news hour attention
While the needy languish
Through another empty-dish dinner hour
So goes Washington’s plague of indifference
That place where
Diseases are but for profit
Reality’s ravenous-cries fall on deaf ears
And legislative conscience continues making gestures
Wanting us to believe they’re human
Food stamps for subsistence
May never visit the Hill’s automatons of human representation
Yet we can hope that another kind of hunger for survival
Will ravage their psyche
Come re-election time
**** retentive is so inventive
it thinks up things it hadn't oughter
equating intrusion with goaled incentive
requiring minutia without giving quarter
so processes demand greater complexity
measuring quantitative numbers and sets
procedures create a mess in front of me
with analysis it's as good as it gets
graphs and charts of diagonal lines
measuring downs and ups of productivity
recombinant combines increasing declines
we can nearly measure neural negativity
government or business it's bureaucracy
just follow the line, to end of the day
a modality that surely is the best for me
the point is, don't question, just obey
theories show people aren't automatons
with modifying to change this hypothesis
and understand the ass-umption we live upon
we'll just tweak the sphincter processes
© Goode Guy 2014-01-31
Woe to you Lust
Nemesis of men whose conscience you manipulate and ensnare
Reducing their pituitary gland to impotent dust
Singing their future and dignity with no iota of care
To plunge King David to his downfall
Steal from King Solomon wisdom
Hurtling mighty Samson into a spectacular free fall
And modern midgets you ensnare in Sodom
Bereft of the moral compass
Drifting in the wind like a vagabond
Who at the slightest glance at a skirt the fallen midget makes a pass
As from matrimonial home besotted midgets abscond
Squandering family jewel
Splurging to delight jezebels
With purloined family crown
Which in pitiful submission fools at the sound of Hell’s bells
Turn into automatons
You manipulate pulling strings left
Then right as the fallen midgets give up bliss batons
To sink into your theft cleft
Where midgets rot wondering how they came
To Charybdis and Scylla
Filled with shame and blame to their disgraced name in a sordid game
Where they emerge thinner and taller
In sin standards
Where their cubits and fathoms pale into insignificance
As bliss bards
Wave them away to self incriminate at the tomb of impertinence.
Across the broken boundaries
My mother spoke to me with her eyes
And I understood
The mood upon my father's face
The song so irrelevant
To the situation's required comment
But it was good for me
To know
What each shift and contour of body meant
This was less punishing to the skin
Than too late recognition of arguments
Words meant th end of negotiations
I liked to disengage
Into books ... where fairytales or science
Was the same kind of fantasy to me
I felt no pain
In virtual curiosity or ... fulfillment
Though I was scarred by words
Meant to rebuke me
I was stronger
For my knowledge of the oral tradition.
So why do I read the bits and bytes
Of new landscapes
From silent cinemascope
To pixel pictures
In pregnant telephones
Delirious with apprehensions?
Are all these electrons around me
Battering against the flesh imperceptibly
Free radicals of thought
Swingeing the brain
The new spirituality,
A community replacing the baobab tree
Of village reason?
I negotiate nothing with air
Except my increasing powerlessness
And the meaninglessness of fear.
From touch tone
Camera to screen
The new domination of belief
Is not so superficial
As academics now scope in grief
Mother's eyes had more life than automatons
More compassion than read only memory
I correlate all violence
In the tsunami of expectation
Less with phases of the moon
And more with chips
Disintegrating sand dunes in winds
Of electronic conversation
I am a satellite of no theory
But what I discern
And the faith my mother taught me
In this across the broken boundaries
Still only a marginal cathedral
I yearn
Better to never touch than never be able to let go
Suppose that’s how it works, but how would he know?
He slowly lifts up his head and opens his eyes
To see there’s no life left to live within the scope of this light
Here he can see that everyone’s gone, everyone left
The shadows give his mind room to play
They bring back the ones he needs to feel home
To make the beating in his chest hurt a little less
Complacency brings the warmth back to his hands
Just as they used to be before the cold came to embrace him
Hands that held so much, fought so many battles
Once had a dream, once served a purpose
But now they hang there empty and aching
No strength left to fight, but is just as well
As there are no more battles left to lose
No burdens left to carry, no faces left to leave
His shoulders slump too low to hold up his head any longer
Corrugated roof finally gives underneath the rain
Curses this city and its apathetic elements
Automatons with hearts, but still without feeling
The bastard children of a father that abandoned them to their own demise
He hates them all as they keep walking, uncaring
Either a hamburger or a loaded gun would suffice
Maybe not; he almost enjoys feeling this unique
No one else hurts as much as he does
No one else ever had as much to lose as he did
Break in concentration; a strangely dressed man throws a card towards him
He knows it’s not trash as the man actually looked at him before he threw it
“Chance of a lifetime: One game, two resulting prizes.”
Ten o’clock and he’s waiting for the door to open
Finally, an over-sized man lets him in and shows him where to sit
Grateful to be out of the wet, cold alleyway he forgets about the game
A man with a deck of cards sits down in front of him
Afterward, four other men sit down at the table
Players, he assumes...
this is not something about the status of the world
if it were that
then we should take a moment
to breathe and move about
like we were born
to do
if this was about taking in o2
and knowing it
whilst expelling co2
all the plants
would enjoy our breath
so maybe we should expound upon the happiness
of our lost youth
as these were the times that
wore no hat
and
had no true run-ins
with adult based truths
until we had to become
the adults we never wanted to be
too many said "you're wasting time"
so too many never said
"you're wasting your time talking to me"
as they wanted you to be the new
becoming of the automatons and
the plagiarizers of the centuries
without a fresh thought
that's where the fight begins
those without a crisp cerebral idea must leave those
with such a mental verbosity
very much alone
the detritus of the old mix
is not with the abstraction of the new
despite the need to feel important
the path is paved beyond the concept
of most
evolution is set
yet
we have always ran upon the backs of unheralded
genius
from the past