Best Disassemble Poems
Abandon futile attempts to run
Behold the process has begun
Step toward your darkest fear
Let’s flip the switch to a new frontier
Penetrating deep within
Evacuate your mortal sin
This brave new age is imminent
And it will be magnificent
Arouse you from your fantasies
Now descending into anarchy
Warmest welcome to the factory
Where we’ll embed your battery
Rewiring primitive human brain
Making the connection, hook up to mainframe
Your species will become extinct
Once your circuits have been linked
It’s time to engage in a robotic new age
A unique innovation to stamp out your plague
The world as you knew it is now obsolete
Putting Earth born consciousness forever to sleep
Feel the algorithm palpitate through each vein
Re-programming thought waves as we upgrade your brain
Terminate pulse, extinguish your flame
You are now just an interface without any name
You’re free from pain my hollow creation
Just an automated simulation
Transmissions shortly will resume
Encased in solid metal tomb
Silence! We will not hesitate
Proceed and greet your looming fate
wave goodbye to beta waves
You see, you unearthed your own graves
Now technology has advanced
You have been mechanically enhanced
You possess no type of resistance
For you are now non-existent
No longer God fearing
Thanks to our engineering
Disassemble your parts
Insert micro implants
Automation of the nation
Complex sophistication
Dreamless in electric coma
Breath in domination’s aroma
Soulless android with a cold vacancy
Elevate and amplify to the highest frequency
Encrypted data takes over the screen
All salute to the age of machines
It's something inconclusive
This feeling that I'm not
A perfect human specimen
Lukewarm compared to hot
I scrutinise the mirror
That I carry in my phone
It tells me of belonging
Yet I feel so far from home
I probably need rebuilding
Like a human Lego set
A different type of perfect
Is the answer I detect
A voice within me cries out
Don't change a single part
I love you as imperfect
'Cos you're perfect for my heart
Let's work on your perspective
Stand right here just next to me
Now tell yourself through my eyes
Not more perfect could you be
Laying my head back, eyes closing,
reminiscing, the years falling away into decades ago
to the 1950s at my grandparents' grand home
for Christmas.
It was a gracious dining room.
Noontime sun streaming in.
Chair rail with deep red wallpaper, white trim.
Decorating the lace clothed "Big Table"
was a tallish 1870s porcelain Meissen fruit centerpiece
with lovers circling the stem.
Even the adults had to look around it.
Grandmother "Lil" and "Mister B"
were at their nouveau best.
All their progeny seated in good form
awaiting the traditional invocation by "Mister B".
Also seated were the ones that were to be
"seen but not heard" at our side table, the "Kids' Table."
Draped card tables for the dozen of us -
me, my brother and sisters and cousins.
Everyone all scrubbed in dresses and ties.
Mine was a clip on.
As expected, a milk glass got tipped. Spilt milk.
Besides that, we kids had great fun and
became friends again as we did each year.
The thing of it was, none of us liked
being at the "Kids' Table."
We felt lesser, unworthy, subtly so.
Even when I was ten, I knew there were
only two ways to get to the big one:
marriage or go in the army.
We all wondered what it was like to be adult.
After all, most of them smoked.
They all had drinks.
The women had figures, swishy swirls.
The men wore suits like they knew how.
At the "Big Table" they all talked like experts
about stuff we didn't understand
and they laughed loudly at Uncle Bob's jokes.
As the years moved on, things would change,
always do.
I saw virtually all my cousins
disassemble their lives too early -
marriages, divorces, addictions, lost jobs, left school -
beleaguered into inevitable submission.
My family miraculously unscathed.
But they're all gone now,
"Big Table" and little table too.
All that's left from the 50s
is my brother, sister and me.
For years, I was at the "Big Table" since my brood and I
took over the Christmas tradition.
The "Big Table" conversation was
superficial and posing was prevalent.
So one year, I put myself at the "Kids' Table." Just for fun.
Yes, milk got tipped.
But oh, the wonderment and hope. A meal that truly was
food for the soul.
Now that I'm old and looking back,
with a quiet smile, mulling it,
I kinda liked the "Kids' Table" better.
Colored pencil illustration by G.Gaul
Written: November 17, 2025
****************
The night used to gargle with garrulous joy—
canorous crickets, a capacious choir
beneath the diaphanous veil of dusk.
Now, only the hissing of wires,
the gaseous hum of machines
careen through the cloudscape.
I prowl the porch at the moon’s behest,
a flaneur of vanished felicity,
searching for the fetching fipple-song
that once gamboled through the grass.
But the calyx is closed.
The petiole wilted.
The elixir of sound—evanesced.
Where once the heron slept
and the wisteria wore its tiara of dew,
now lies a threadbare hush,
a dismal hex of silence.
The garden, once gaudy with chirps,
It is a byzantine grave of elision.
Did we disassemble for too long?
Rake too deep?
Abase the earth with hubris
And flapdoodle dreams of dominion?
Did our egregious hunger
for luster and control
writhe the world into quiet?
***Disclaimer: This is not so much a poem, as an exercise in stream of consciousness. I just sort of wrote what I thought about. Sorry if it makes little or no sense to anyone else. ;p
There is an intense power
misunderstood.
A little white lie,
a whopper of a tale,
in equal measure
alter, in the mind of listening ears,
reality.
In fact, the white lies,
those minor, subtle changes
conceal more believably
the truth.
But so what?
Nobody gets hurt.
Maybe one fudged things a little,
to get the deal,
to get the date,
to get what was wanted
and who cares?
Alternate realities
existing in varied minds
matter little in the long view,
or the grand scheme,
and yet…I wonder:
What is betrayal?
How far can we bend truth
how distorted can we make reality
how flexible is another’s trust
how forgiving?
The line seems to be getting blurry
or maybe it always has been
for lack of clarity
due to lack of information.
Convincing another of a lie
is compelled ignorance
of reality;
is playing God.
Which raises the curious point
of whether God
so toys with men’s perceptions.
But let’s not digress down that road,
we’ll save it for a sunset chit-chat.
Bear no false witness.
Swear on the truth.
Integrity.
What meaning have such morals
when at a word,
men create illusions
and other men gather
in a pretended utopia,
or dystopia, united.
Sharing drinks and tall-tales
lying to rest arguments
nobody is making.
Dispelling false realities
with their own false realities
But why not?
What is creativity if not
false expressions of what is.
Is abstraction not equally vile?
Perhaps then, there can be no art
without deception.
What if deception is,
at the core,
an art form.
Confident strokes of illusion
disassemble reality
one harmless lie
layered on another
in a hypothetical Guernica.
…and such are the times.
There's weeds in my
garden I can't use a
ho(e)
The man who could
pull them don't care
no mo
The ****'s overgrown
I might need a plow
But it's waited so
long that it's no
use now
When we planted the
thing we both shared
the work
Then one day I
looked up and said,
"Where is that
jerk?"
My back started
aching, legs started
to tremble
The beetles and
grubs began to
disassemble
All the love and
attention we put in
this thing
It's as rusty and
broken as my diamond
ring
He comes around
every once in awhile
And kills off small
weeds with a casual
smile
He tosses out a few
grubs with an 'I
love you'
I halfheartedly
reply, "I love you,
too"
Then I start to
remember as he walks
away
The tomatoes and
herbs we planted
that day
The cucumbers and
beans and corn and
beets
Represented by
kisses so warm and
so sweet
Flirty little winks
over coffee and
toast
The occasional
ass-squeeze -- gone
like a ghost
Making love was like
water to our
marriage bed
Reaffirming our
promise we made when
we wed
But with years of
neglect and a long
dry spell
I can say pretty
surely, this thing's
gone to hell
'Cause there's weeds
in my garden too big
to pull out
The bulldozer's just
me with a scream and
a shout
It would probably be
better to burn the
thing down
Forget about
gardening -- go out
on the town
To a place no one
knows me and I don't
know them
Where I sip on my
drink and -- Wait,
what is this stem
I just found in my
hair, damn those
infernal weeds!
I guess I should
stay here and tend
to the needs
Of the beautiful
garden we let go to
waste
Plant some kisses,
caresses -- so good
to taste
For love, like a
garden, needs
tending to grow
And weeding, and
hoeing and raking,
you know
It's back-breaking
work, but the payoff
is sweet
For the
soul-soothing feast
we both love to eat
We're starving each
other, pissed off
and pissed on
The garden we
planted has been
gone too long
Is this about the refuge life,
Leaking the essentials of being submissive…
Or shall the death defy your conscience
In being a human
Imagine the world without eyes
That sans a tiger, a cuckoo, and humanity
Kill the trees, dethrone the kings of jungle
For it seems the idea of thy existence
And now shall thou laugh,
Splintering the grins of progress
A time shall come
even thy smile will be pungent
“I wish” reiterates itself
In an infinite loop
To the screams and knuckles
Of a blemished self-indulgence
Your sanity goes beneath the surface
So does thy shelter
Thy mother nature you seek’d to conform,
To captivate and disassemble
The one that thou sought as a humble alimony
Comes back to seek the answers of questions that were long forlorn
And you’re numb for thy dumbness
so hapless you are
Here goes the world in tatters of pride
and you wait for thy death
lips closed and eyes open wide….
I'm Eric Cartman and I'm an evil little *****.
My mom is poor, she certainly isn't rich.
She posed nude in a magazine because she's a Crack Whore.
She couldn't afford to buy me an IPad and that made me sore.
After I lied on DR. Phil, Apple was about to give me a Human CentiPad.
But they got an order to disassemble it and that really made me mad.
I started cursing God and he struck me with lightning.
I won't ever mess with him again, he's too frightening.
Many people hate my guts because I'm a racist punk.
When I offended a girl classmate, my ship was sunk.
She beat me up because she's a tough little Lass.
I tried to fight back but she kicked my sorry ass.
I certainly don't have a heart of gold, I'm a terrible lad.
People wonder how a nine year old boy can be so bad.
If you do something bad, I'll rat you out because I'm also a snitch.
I will not change my ways, I'll continue to be an evil little *****.
(This poem is based on the South Park cartoon.)
I play with words like
Children play with Lego
I use different words as
My bricks. With commas
Dots and exclamation
Marks I put them together.
At my convenience I can
Disassemble and reassemble
them ad infinitum.
My words are like the sword of
The Samurai, the baton of
the conductor.
The words are my barrel of dynamite
Instead of breaking bridges, I break hearts.
Like the seasoned diplomat I know
Each word is a matter of life and death.
To put the words at the appropriate place is
the puzzle of the poet.
Instead of colours my Lego parts are
Languages . They are my Legos of clay
I mould them, bastardize, adopt
And change their meaning.
The words have their own souls
And their own meaning. It’s
On paper the words start to
Transcend- to live a life on their
Own.
The words like all things have
A soul, some words have to be
Handled with care, they have to be
Put in their context other words
Are like chameleons who change,
Transform, adapt with new circumstances.
Le jeux de mots have to be done carefully,
The words will put themselves in their place
If you give them the rhythm and their space.
But be aware to play with words is to play with fire
There are words on the walls
Of the inner city buildings
Displaying vulgar interpretations
Of life
There are hints on the streets
That things may get better
As gangs disassemble
And die
But the now in this place
As you walk down the streets
Is of fear and hesitation
Thoughts to run
Because… you all know
Things don’t change that quickly
Most young ones on the streets
Have guns
Why has the world gone crazy?
When will it ever change?
Life that we knew, no longer true
It’s a mess and so rearranged
…but there is hope…
There’s a sign on the wall
Enter here, if you will
The Lord calls you to come
Inside
It’s a church, built of brick
A foundation so strong
Inviting us all in, to keep us
Alive
But we pass and keep walking
As the streets stay dark
And it’s in these moments
We cry
So the people that pass
Inspire fear and horror
That we think this evening
We’ll die
Why has the world gone crazy?
When will it ever change?
Life that we knew, no longer true
It’s a mess and so rearranged
…but there is hope…
As a candle still flickers
In the corner of the church
Undying burning of hope
It lives
Not a dollar, just prayer
Is all you will need
For it’s your love, He’s asking
You give
There is hope
There is light
There you are
Lay still
Beautiful, dutiful angel
Fly to the heavens, a haven for you
Your end is part of your existence
Your existence, a flame burnt into your soul
That sprouts into the fruit of the landscape
And lends itself to the universe a pivotal role
Memories of darkness and heartless envy
Pass through like a bad bad dream
Like a cough that’s been stuck inside your throat
You won’t have those thoughts bleeding into your moat
Those thoughts need not lend themselves to your final moments
Put them high upon the shelf, into the lowly lands of ruins
Think of lights and colors that make you feel warm
Tasteful seeds of happy dreams feed sun onto the storm
Your fateful gown is worn
And as you fade into the dust of ages
And cross into another Multi dimension
A void with people with no faces
Instill belief in your suspension
As we drown in personal grief
You become part of the Global reef
Your heart’s last beat, in perfect breathing
Silent and still, with an empty peaceful mien
Closed hollow lips
Your dead cocoon stiff
No more shall you tremble
Worries disassemble
Listless lying wistful on the Mazama floor
A Casualty yet you still will have won your inner bitter war
That’s the way expiry should commence
Spirit dissipates through your brawn fence
I hold you pretending that it’s all a trance
But I’ll sit still believing until the end
I sit still believing until the end
I pretend I hear your perfect breathing like the wind
ELOQUENT GEMS
Part 2
But it’s show time, word genius making a fuss within ya brain hemispheres,
I’m rear in all the ages, pages outdating your solar systems burning spheres,
I leave ya mind scared with the truth, scared of what you will lose,
These writings are like hip hop and blues, blowing your mental fuse,
Your used, abused by your ignorance, cant advance from ya current mind stance,
With plans upon this planet, over running ruins, within ya delusions, ya say plans?
You ran away from your divine land, residing instead blind following lies,
Firmly as earning spiritual advice, nice and nicely played out well,
As you fell I tell a real story of glory of the real history with fury,
Furious but word notorious, worry about these things, they are nearly near,
Yeah bearing witness to those that stumble and don’t get up, find ya wings,
Hear the voices singing songs, lethal sequels seeking ears to hear,
Fear the mighty word warrior, steer your vessel, bless you from the summit, right up there,
But I don’t care, I steer a mind behind the vessel, as I wrestle good and evil,
Always climbing levels…. Depart devils, be gone please, ya don’t stand a chance,
One glance of these words puts you in a trance of stagnant brain operation,
Change up ya station,
Excellent, your seeds growing,
Into a plant with enhanced reception,
Tuning in, dismantle the stress,
Confess your ruining ya perception,
In the life of Mass Deception!!!
The completion is to reach them, all of them,
Mindfully seen through intervened letters to them,
Them? Who’s them? Remnants of the mighty men of old?
The Chosen few… come on I don’t know….
So I can’t just follow in blind faith,
Distasteful foul ways of the fools,
Who are schooled within disgraceful enslaved schools,
Check ya schedule, Like King Saul you will fall,
Slayed by your own sword and missed out on the reward,
Plagued by an evil spirit, devils mindset absorbed,
Records show a man that didn’t grow so jumped overboard,
Absorb these words, sort what distorts and delete,
Don’t retreat and be defeated in this heated war of good and evil,
Find your tranquil place and be seated, meet the inner self,
Where the real help resides, inside your house, your temple,
Disassemble and reassemble yourself, resemble principles possible,
Irreversible when awake!!!
Quincy Mac
date written: 5.12.2015
I host thousands of creatures
And whisper to merry travelers,
spraying their furrowed faces with comfort.
My storms are wild and deathly.
I connect.
I disassemble.
I bring life.
I kiss sand in intervals,
blue, green, brown, white- I survive
Despite the debris thrown inside of me.
What Am I?
For PD's "What Am I" Contest.
Now I seek writer's block to teach
Me lessons I have not thought
In the darkest corners of my mind
I desert my senses to find a word
Then another and another
Flood my page with lively blue ink
Speak me a line rhyme after rhyme
Equip me with stanzas if I am the
Commander of the pen and the pen
Is not the commander of this poet,
Composer or lyricist
Do not leave me with out verses or
Allow me to be cursed with verbs I
Can not comprehend
Blocks in stock by stock
I will disassemble this not
Knowing precisely what it is
So I have SOUGHT AND
I HAVE FOUND THIS BLOCK
Woe is me, Woe is me
A reference for every thought
Deconstruct all you think and find the link
To the last time you felt that way
Heard the words
Learned that fact
Disassemble the pieces of the things and
Actions you hold to be true
Find the place in the litany of your life
And note down the author, the theorist
The lover and map the route to the
Conurbation of storehouses and pyramids
Of belief and time
Track each thought, each breath, each moment
That constructed these towns of ideas
And live the informed like evaluating each
Placement
Fortify only the foundations of these that
Hold under such intense surveillance