Best Buzzers Poems
On a bright sunlit morning, washed brilliant with clover,
the day was alive with complacency, as color.
The day had no reason to quiver off course.
A cat in a tree, was stalking a bird,
and people were rising, to go off to work.
No one was thinking of nuclear things.
Below, in the trenches, a watchman has wandered,
checking a gage, and turning a page, of an old manual cover.
He scratches his head, and ponders a problem,
wondering how numbers could be out of order?
His heart rate goes up, his blood pressure rises.
He is wise to a problem and soon he's alarmed
He sets off the buzzers, but knows much too late,
the tremor he felt, was not only his own.
But instead, is the syndrome, we've always ignored,
Something horrendous.........Oh, God, what will come,
of the innocent families who live in the zone?
People arising, beginning their day
who scurry their children, in a rush off to school.
and husbands who carry a lunch in their pail,
punching a time clock, to work at the mill.
Just an ordinary day, in the lives of the men,
women, and children who live 'neath the hill.
"The Hill", that will bring them the end of the world.
Living their lives, on a tightrope so thin,
daylight begins, but how will it end?
A tremble so mild, invisible wave,
has seeped from the waste, with a radiant hand,
to swollow landscape, and burn with the sun.
As heart rates get higher, blood pressure rises,
the tremor we feel, is that of our own.
Oh, God, what becomes
of the innocent targets who dwell in the zone,
men, woman, children......who live 'neath the hill?
"The Hill" that will bring them the end of their world.
___________________________________________
The China Syndrome For Contest: "Equations"
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 don’t need God,
I’ve got cable’
I don’t go to church,
Even though I am able.
I don’t need God,
I’ve got a cell phone,
As long as someone calls,
I am never alone.
I don’t need God,
I’ve got a roof over my head,
No rain will touch me,
Safe in my warm bed.
I don’t need God,
I’ve got plenty of food,
No hunger in my life,
I eat when I am in the mood.
I don’t need God,
I’ve got fine clothes on my back,
I never feel the cold,
Many shoes on my rack.
I don’t need God,
I’ve got all the latest toys,
To impress all who see me,
With flashing lights and noise.
I don’t need God,
I’m the picture of health,
Secure in my plan,
For fortune and wealth.
I don’t need God,
I have technology, buzzers and bells,
My computer and programs tell me,
I can take care of myself, all is well.
I don’t need God,
Many times I say,
Nothing is grater than me,
I’ll worry about my soul some other day.
Why do I do it, It’s hard to explain
This obsession that’s driving me slowly insane
The dark hours seem endless, the boredom intense
You would think at my age I’d have more common sense
The weather’s ‘Brass Monkey’ bitter and bleak
With many blank sessions for many a week
In pursuit of the Carp that might come my way
Making this session a red letter day
Watching and waiting or making a brew
Tying more rigs or warming a stew
As I sit in my Bivvy set up by the lake
Hoping a Carp will just make one mistake
Darkness gives way to a creeping daylight
I am now well alert for a feeding spell bite
Should I re-cast new baits to better positions
Or leave well alone, Ah! Decisions, decisions
My Bivvy’s an Igloo, glistening white
(My Rod, Pod and Buzzers got frozen last night)
The lake, from my bed chair, seems peaceful and quiet
When my left rod and buzzer erupt in a riot!
Out in a flash and strike into a fish
This feeling is magic and all I could wish
All the blanking and waiting and doubts that I get
Are gone as my Carp glides safe into my net
There are not many Carping and I like it that way
I can choose any ‘Swim’ that I want, any day
Yes, Carping in Winter is special, if slow
With each triumph hard fought for and that’s why I go
"Radio"
Snippets of classic jingles ring diabolically in our brain
Converging good tunes for bad products
Their repetitive nature send shoots rattling and ringing
Over and over again, gee, have a little music with you commercials!
Morning shows ruled by the man/child
With bleeps and buzzers assisted by stupid honks
The horns that we hear on the road are secondary to this drivel
All good things must come to an end, but the bad things seem to live forever
Prattle comes to propose what they got is better
While their mothers actually cringe from embarrassment
Sensationalism is at its best as we hear it with frequency
Why can't they shut their damn clap traps!
Sipping our coffee, listening to the latest and greatest
Please hit me upside the head, yes, that's what I said
As DJ's can't play it enough, they are broken records
Or Disfunctional Jerks
The AM propagandists scrabble for words as well
Floundering for babble their mouths never go static
It's shameful to hear such political trash, too often recycled
Influential to the old folks who want to vote every day
I thought in many years of past, the radio was supposed to be harmonious
Giving choice singers the chance to put out euphonies
And pieces of dreamy pleasures in classical, operatic and such
Pianos in pianissimo, to revel in the somnorific sweets of Chopin
All I here nowadays is a bell
The one that tolls for them to stop
Because chatter and blather rule the air waves
I turn the radio off
im just laying about
thinking thoughts of a cricket
thinking about what crickets think
while buzzing and beeping
they think of the creatures
lurking and creaping
that love tasty crickets
who's buzzers are beeping
In the stillness of the night
Thoughts palpitate my mind
Now racing with the clock -
Striking the second hour of a new day.
I lie awake beyond the quietness
Only aware of an occasional car
Marking the stillness.
Closing my eyes I think of the sleepless
Dispersed throughout the town and city.
Scores of people turning in their beds
Some disabled by troubled minds
Others who have become insomniac
And may never enjoy the peace of escape,
That world of sleep.
A car with no exhaust disturbs the silence
Disturbing the disturbed.
In happier situations at this hour
In homes, dotted throughout the town
New mothers watch over tiny babies
As they suckle contentedly,
Then having taken their fill
From the dimpled breasts
Settle in comfort, solace and sanctuary.
At the other extremity of life
Old folk, lie awake
Watching that great clock
Ticking off the darkness hours,
Awaiting another dawn.
Across the city, the hospital lies,
Alive with light
Here skilled brisk nurses
Steal through corridors -
Answering buzzers - ringing out
Birth, pain and death.
A. & E. patients huddle in anticipation
Reacting to the unsettling question
And your next of kin is?
In a calmer night's activity,
Shift workers on the other side of the river
Pack up after a long evening
Of endless repetition
Oblivious of anything, other than
A good supper and a sound sleep.
Night time, a time for lovers
Some still whispering sweet pillow talk
In the dark stillness -
Vowing love forever, then dropping off
Into their world of contentment.
Beyond the bridge, a lone farmer
Has one last look at his sickly animal
Then falls exhausted into his empty bed.
The ticking clock has almost gone full circle
Dawn will soon unveil a rush of colour
On the twilight town, opening
Her morning chorus from treetop and garden.
Tonight the understaffed was overloaded with impatient calls n' flashing buttons buzzing the central core
I marathoned from room to room in frantic answer
My vision rang from Rocky Horror, the Ringling Brothers to your flesh and blood side show...in one nightmare slow breath
It was as hyper-real as a whole sandwich in the pit of one mans mutant mouth moving in slo-mo
As unreal as Pinocchio's carved hands, bleating on bloated bellies & rolling in dough
& Then to watch one black pincht princess bolt up in her barred bed
Her beady eagles on a bearded lady....disrobing article after article, In a constant beat beat repeating...Why did Daddy do it?
Me...I'm just crossing my index to ring finger in hopes it will go away
...It's countdown and 40 rooms seems too long to earth the same beds, woozy rooms, rising temperatures and more multiple people unbedded and tied to chairs
Peace cannot be found here or in the hand of whitta-whitta whittering words
Tonight under the full moon....she hangs on my whites-pleading for that abstract something, for cement feet to take on liquid answers. for one big black hole of understanding to scoop her vocals & make sense of her
While the squirrel lady sobs deep into my back about some strange Pope filled room with bloody crucifixes and fervent praying hands
She points to Uncle Sam up in his military sky-condemning me to another, just as horrible war
The delirium in this place multiplied the last straws of my sanity
My finger really wanted to hail the waitress for the check...
And why did that frothy mouth frighten me so?
Why did the lady feel so cold ?
The very stiff yellow lady...
The realization screamed me out of the room and into the hall with vision of toe tags and body bags
Paralyzed, shaking, buzzers-buzzing, callers calling. my feet running
detonating the uranium in my head
Where bad little Hiroshima's dance over the fence of my dreams
Where the day after is possible …...
Possible?
Can it be true …..
Is my shift over?....
(working in an Nursing Home with an 102.5 fever)
Garden Party
Honey bees
petal to petal
roving salesmen
pressing buzzers
leaving calling cards
blowing in the wind.
Butterflies,
in flowing gowns
adorn red carpet
of jealous rose.
Fireflies, nocturnal
lantern carriers
of the pixies,
announce the stars.
Dew drops, wet kisses
upon pursed lips,
awaken passion
under cover
of darkness.
Ants parade,
long Conga Lines
passing on a
two lane road.
Snails park their campers
in a shady
patch of leaves.
Motionless,
the praying Mantis
silently waits.
7/21/2016
Submitted to – Anacreontic Verse 4 – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Edward Ebbs
We spent days of two thousand fifty five
Like noisy buzzers of poorly formed beehive
You built me a storm out of the star’s light
When I was asleep after our everyday fight
I heard you in my dreams,still trying to thrive
Perhaps, it’s you who make the last fifty five
After the two thousand days that we survive
We died too,again and again on our sullen arms
Where we are born again too
We pinch and pick, as our souls too naive
To keep us from dying again or being alive
I do not know how seven years were right
But on the two thousand fifty sixth night
We realized It is only us that we deprive
If we are not born again
Sharp blades through their stem
They evince smiles in all of them
Wrapped in plastics, bound by ribbons
Glittering in glass vases, beautiful prisons
They bleed in the sunshine for the bees
As the buzzers dance around petals and leaves
They could be moved from gardens to the graves
Like being sucked out of heaven to the hades
They could be with the joyous and those in pain
Scotched in the sun, soaked in the rain
They are adored flowers but all in vain
As they droop and wither to die again
there were buzzers and bells, rattles and bangs
a long rubber snake with horrible fangs
a mural in crayon the length of the hall
of misshapen cows -giraffes not too tall
out in the kitchen the dog cleaned the floor
then he circled again looking for more
for eggs had been dropped and milk had been spilled
making breakfast for mom had the kids thrilled
dad in his apron, the kids in PJ'S
stirred, mixed and cooked amid shouts and hoorays
then quietly opened mom's bedroom door
awakening her from a loving faux snore
a morning repast most people would dread
dad and the kids serving breakfast in bed
John G. Lawless
1/10/2021
Video Games VS Real Life: Driving
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
(The Video Game)
There he was on the racetrack.
Eager! Darting in and out.
Slipping, sliding, glancing back
Boisterous screams and driving dreams -
Speed: 190 on the turn
Devil daring, no concern,
Winning was his deepest yearn.
Screeching tires. Rubber burned!
Adrenalin: wild! Swelling.
Checkered flag showing, eyes gleamed.
The finish line, fans yelling,
Hit the gas, racecar unseen!
“Flying”, wildly waving arms,
“X’s” pop up on the screen.
Bells and buzzers sound alarms.
Crash!!! Game over. Sweet machine!
(Real Live Driving)
There he was on the roadway.
Other drivers round about.
Clearly in a rush that day,
So, he darted in and out.
Speeding: 90 on the curve.
Almost “flying” memories churned.
Suddenly, he had to swerve.
Leaving tracks of rubber burned!
Adrenalin rising… loft-
Speeding cab with people dear,
All, too soon he cut them off.
Hit the gas; this pass he’d clear.
But in his rearview mirror,
Upside down, a rolling cab.
Police sirens blared nearer.
Life over: His freedom nabbed.
So she shifted
and she shifted
till the veil from off her lifted,
and she turned around
and saw you,
got her pencil out
to draw you,
All the bells and buzzers
sounded.
Someone said that
she was hounded,
by incessant circumstances
caused by incandescent dances,
in the darkness
with a lover
dressed in silk and under cover
of the shadows
in the garden
Say hello ,I beg your pardon,
but would you
consent to kiss me,
leave me soon and say you'll miss me?
Ride away
on shadow horses,
formed by faith in unknown forces,
or would you
prefer to squander
precious moments
just to wander,
on alone and sad forever.
Make your mind up,
you are clever.
Will it be a sweet romancing?
Or are you content with dancing?
The social tree filled to its limbitations with youthfulness.
Quite full of itself - shivering in vivacity and playfulness.
Va-va-voom of t o o many birds, no room for bees.
But those buzzers sure know how to shake those coconuts free.
8/16/2021
YOUR BEST FOUR-LINE LIGHT VERSE
L. Milton Hankins
AABB