Best Machines Poems
Face to face they stand
Brain to brain
Two-eyed flesh machine
And one-eyed plastic terminal
Interacting systems
Inputting, outputting, precious data.
Face to face they sit
A complex team
Driven to perform
With error-free precision
In a controlled mini-world
Ruled by instant communication.
Face to face they lie
Worlds apart
Stark, cold plastic eye
Flashing programmed data;
Warm, sentimental flesh eyes
Flashing non-programmable twinkles.
Face to face they act
Separate and alone-
Ruled by the giant, apathetic-
God of Technology.
The harbor gave a dim illumination,
lampposts vaguely penetrating the dark water.
As waves like shades of wine drowned the jagged shore of stone,
I watched a fibrous complexion of steel shimmer from the water's edge.
Ships sleep, rocking gently on a resting sea,
machines of quiet obedience.
The moon, outlining the clouds above with an electric hue,
watched over the winds as they circulated the vacant wharf like ghosts.
The smell of an approaching storm;
the sharp, distinctive fragrance of ozone as it sailed the satin brine.
The sound of distortion upon the ocean's surface;
precipitation submerged beneath its aquatic magnetism.
I closed my eyes as raindrops kissed my moonlit skin,
tracing the alloy carbon framework of cargo ships and yachts.
Falling down my cheekbones like an aggregation of tears,
the harbor became lost in a nostalgic cloudburst.
You keep staring cold blooded and watch us die because of your creations, if you invented this, safe us, you should know how to kill it, many new machines rising from the graves, dying in catacombs were no loud scream can be heard, asking thousands of questions and killing the answer just for fun, we run from the night catching the day and no hope crawls to us, is warm inside outside is cold but we don't take a step to understand why is it cold, mark my days with tears, drown my eyes in blood, see us kill ourself's with created machines, it hurts so bad that we have brought endless curses with artifacts of the future, now creators wish for good old times, i wonder if that's how god feels, blissless beings coming out of electric pulse, i see clearly
now, no tomorrow for the machines...
The inhuman toadie, that does not have your voice?
You want me to call you, I have made a choice.
To listen to Mr. Techno Man, for me is a total crucifixion.
Hearing the same inhuman male across the USA, shows
our disrespect for others as pieces of pulp fiction.
Even dogs have different barks, and I do prefer them
or the true silence of a natural park.
So, the phone is a dead issue for me.
It's the Covid of the year, for this member of society.
Texts, too~are a deep sword in my soul.
They seem to rejoice, in telling me where to go!
Technology replaced humans so long ago.
They can even create poetry or didn't you know?
We don't have to fret and weep over elephants dying.
The human race is already killing itself off, and I am one
who, in virtual reality, is most assuredly dying!
I need not fear dying, I am already there.
That obnoxious answering machine is an avoidance lair.
That empty, lonely feeling of being insignificant and worse,
unloved.
Please put your own voice on a real answering machine.
Pressing buttons is a nightmare and for telephons companies,
a huge money making scheme!
10-26-2029
Poem# 1
A
machine
has no soul;
no sentience;
Junk!
A teenager with the expressions of a middle age individual
is the wonder-creating characteristic of its accelerating growth.
Dwelling in a land not presented with natural gifts;
it still beat all odds to be a member of the Asian Tigers
and a competing contributor to its domain’s prosperity.
The birth place to the Toilet theme amusement park
and a camp of makeup obsessed men.
The fourteenth day of every month is set aside in romance’s banquet
except that of the fourth month when mourning becomes love’s pirate.
February is for young men, march, three times for the ladies.
Prides in the globally acknowledged Boryeona Mud Festival
and gives socialization a new countenance in the “hoesik” event,
while new standards in robotic technology is climaxed
as prison guards, patrols, anti-jelly fish squad and teachers
actively exist through exciting artificial intelligence.
A humiliating public ritual in a form of crime reenactment,
personality stereotypes emanating from the different blood groups,
a nationwide superstitious repugnance to the red ink;
very cultured to even create a backlash
on Bill Gates’ presidential handshake;
typify a people coming a long way from a turbulent past.
A territory of very bright and brainy students;
the god of the LG, Hyundai and Samsung among others;
and to the largest church in size and congregants in the world.
It is the well preserved garden where plastic surgery strives
all to show an amazing growth once heavily stunted,
suffering a suppression entertained by the comfort ladies;
somehow causing a perspective towards the rising sun
to be similar to the swastika’s view by the Jews.
Despite the Japanese colonization, soviet meddling and North Korean threats,
it’s still showing mental strength to be the world’s 12th largest trading Nation.
I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.
I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.
I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.
My vacuum is a robot
My tumble dryer, true
They're programmed to assist
My world
And keep it ordered too
I feed my dishy-washer
My clothes go in a box
It's where the magic happens
Yet
It always eats my socks
My telly can now do things
I cannot understand
With mini robot partner here
Clamped tightly
In my hand
The toast it pops. The microwave,
It sings me out it's tune.
My loft has hidden strangers
Feeding me electricity
At noon
I guess I won't be lonely
As these friends around me toil
They clean & cook & entertain,
Refrigerate
And boil
And yet, my world feels empty
Despite this crowded space
No robot yet can substitute
For love
Or person place
We're built to be organic
So it kinda makes some sense
I like the metal critters
But
My spirit's more intense
I leave the shrouded palace
For a walk among the trees
I feel my truest presence here,
My face
Against the breeze
I stroll beside the water
So that deep from my insides
The birdsong levitates
My soul
Where humanity resides
And just as sunshine radiates
To warm my fleshy skin
The love that makes
My heartbeat
Restores me from within
Artwork Credit: @mattdixonart "Longing"
(paid)
There must be something I haven't written about
In over eighteen hundred poems
Searching and searching my large massive brain
But for now creativity has flown
Can't think of anything that's worthy of my time
I've started to run out of gas
Could write about anything just to fill in for now
But can't imagine writing just trash
Will bide my time, maybe suck on my thumb
That's how I usually get inspiration
In the future, the human mind will be extinct
That's the last of our imagination
A real sad day in the annuls of all mankind
Leave me out don't want to partake
In a society where machines are ruling the roost
And the freedom of mankind is at stake
Well thankfully I don't have too many years left
I know it would be hard to survive
In a world without warm and close human contact
This guy doesn't want to be alive
© Jack Ellison 2015
I’ll grant you a modern laptop
hooked up to an HP printer
is a more efficient and cer-
tainly a cleaner means to re-
produce yr message than
the whirling drum of rebellious
black ink we depended upon
back in nineteen fifty-seven.
But when my spellcheck wants to change
brideshead to birdseed, I wonder
whether that satirist of misuse
whose black warriors ate their British
boots and used a tank to melt down
belligerent recruits would laugh or cringe
waiting for the machine to send
out once a year condolences
that the man who’d mocked stupidity
had traded life in a mansion
for a sack of sunflower seeds?
During the industrial revolution,
Poe’s raven spoke with elocution;
“Nevermore”, now we’ve a solution,
just you wait for distribution.
We’ve invented great machines,
clicker-clankers, sure to please,
With cogs and wheels that spin with ease
and long, tired days, they will soon cease.
Wondrous gauges, invented by sages,
power-piping giant bird cages;
oh the miracles of the ages,
carefully crafted in small stages.
Just wait and see, you will adore,
hard working backs won’t break anymore,
travelling with steam, from shore to shore
is truly a great way to explore.
Guess what, you’re going to also fly,
like the birds up in the skies;
keep your glass eye, nearby
soon automobiles will be passing by.
Just don your top hat, c’mon gents;
oh, things may cost a few more cents.
just imagine the automated presents,
you can buy, let the future commence!
Only eighteen and conscripted to the military,
no choice of mine it was the norm at this time and scary,
barely out of school and still wet behind the ear,
too young to watch an adult movie or have a beer.
Disadvantaged to study and too white to be left behind,
this I never understood till today, rightfully grew up blind,
this pain will never leave me as I walk through life,
explaining, I can’t understand myself, the past strife.
Ready to be trained to kill another nation’s child,
leaving their family with the loss and our side smiled,
dejected as I waved goodbye to my family that day,
my girlfriend was there too and my friends to stay.
To a military camp for 2 years, programed and trained,
based in Kimberley 900 Km to be mentally stained,
infantry intelligence was my involuntary military calling,
not knowing what was in store for our adult life’s stalling.
On my new bed listening to songs of memory and waiting,
corporals, sergeants screaming at youths scared, hating,
nobody knowing what or who, or how, where to show,
disconnected from family and treated like **** dough.
Moulding us into military men without feelings,
chased and forced without asking or dealings,
involuntary wearing uniforms, carrying death,
brainwashed, to march in unison, out of breath.
Bushwhacking, crawling under barbed mesh,
ripping our faces, shredding our young flesh,
many a youth destroyed mentally for gore,
but guaranteed that we were ready for war.
Your rifle is your wife; the military is your mother,
drilled into our minds and began a smother,
fired our weapons at fabricated enemy,
re-loading and then screaming with venom.
Indoctrination and mental instability forced,
not ourselves but killing machines endorsed,
spread across African borders to kill on sight,
innocent, women and child death is our right.
Many a friend made and many a friend lost,
this is for our nation, family and worth the cost,
under the impression of protecting our nation,
living off measly dehydrated and shared ration.
We the soldiers of our South African un-united nation,
proud and ready to destroy, our new minds creation,
all others were the enemy and terrorists,
to them we were the same to kill and create hero lists,
Friends and Time with family are lost forever,
memories of the past in our conscience lost never.
My toaster has two settings
inferno and brilliant white,
the smoke alarm, because it's bored
goes off sometimes at night.
The smart TV which simplifies
recording for us loons
starts playing back ten minutes in
and finishes too soon.
The microwave 'defrost' setting
has never been much fun
so I take the chicken breast outside
and wave it at the sun.
They say technology will soon
outsmart all of mankind
the march of robots and machines
will leave us all behind,
but me, well I'm not worried
and I won't be losing sleep
at least until tomorrow night
when the smoke alarm goes beep.
Afternoon autumn
Our neighborhood goes crazy
Like living in a dentist’s office
Drilling sucking blowing
Whining wincing scraping
Gurgle
My head tilted back
With a book on my chest
Mouth wide open
Staring into the glare of the final high sun.
Might as well go to market.
Gather money, kindling. The economy
scary, debt deep, winter coming. Reminds
me of my youth, cold poor and scared
but living truth? . Never
have I understood life's meaning,
significance. Not to say there is no purpose
necessarily, just I don't immediately get it.
Other hand, if you don't think too deeply
about death, this being but a dream, sleep
of a god snoring with apnea or whose alarm
goes off, wakes up for work, spring and expecting
spring's good as it gets. Rhodora in winter
completely forgets what its blossoms looked
like, how attractive to bees and flies!
It's probably healthy that everything dies.
The dire economy can bring us together
or lead us to war. It's cold then warm. Your lover
doesn't write letters anymore giving
thanks or encouragement.
Friends never really know each other,
nemesis. Just as it is impossible to say
what you mean, your closest lover's near but
external, forever. You're alone.
More than ever men have one mind
and finding it's as easy as flicking on the
tv, huckleberry, but that always was
the problem. We march to war in rows and back
in columns. Learning who you actually are
is difficult as sitting still
ten minutes without a thought or want.
Nothing to say. Nothing to do.
Interior solitude, imperative belonging,
repetitive dreaming. Until you draw
a circle with a dot.
Stop. Full stop.
On a dry rocky ridge, hot
or in a frozen swamp. One heron
and your self. It is possible to hear
not far, a car, a train, a plane.