Best Mechanical Poems
Transistors fizz
Electrons bustle
As robots claim
The daily hustle
The hinges creak
The oil of words
Is missing from
The mindless herds
They oft parade
With heads bowed low
Quite frankly,
Nowhere else to go
As hooked in tasks
In ruts with traction
Replace the normal
Human faction
Robots make robots
Or so I'm told
They replicate
The lies they're sold
Perpetuating
All that manic
In ways that seem
Somewhat satanic
The robot wars
Are not to fear
Just realise that they
Are here
Dispense with screen
Release your mind
In un-robotic ways
You'll find
The beauty of
The world around
When eyes you lift
Will soon be found;
Through trees and rain
Bare feet on grass
A world machines
Can ne'er surpass
The pores of life
Should breathe it in
Beguiled no more
By wars of tin.
To God I am thankful for many gifts;
But none more than a creative mind,
And the hands which are the finest tool,
With abilities to create that I easily can find.
As a child I first learned to cherish
My God-given opposable thumb,
Knowing how versatile a device
It is for whacking a fortuitous homerun.
And stubby fingers were early to meet,
And with artistic freedom employ,
All the many vividly colored crayons
To make graphic forms and scenes to enjoy.
And off running into the world of nature,
My hands kept quite busy in work and play.
Without them I found that I couldn’t climb
Nor protect myself in the occasional fray.
My hands loved to tighten and repair my bike,
Seeming to be a mechanic of special training,
Taught by a higher intelligence unknown
For handling every task without complaining.
With maturity the hand becomes more adept,
A magical marvel for all creation to behold.
And in God’s world of many forms to grasp,
It becomes an unique gift worth more than gold.
Then you find there’s nothing your hands can’t do,
‘Cause God has made them in His special way,
With the same loving care you make toys for a child,
Who might find nothing any better for hours of play.
We need to show God that we feel very blessed,
That He was the architect of this precious treasure;
So that we may join with Him in majestic fashion,
Giving the world with fervent impact endless pleasure.
So, so lyrical,
yet logical,
it's certainly atypical;
and not proverbial,
but integral
and oh, most controversial!
But is it topical,
optical,
even for the intellectual
to see the actual
pragmatical
to its theoretical?
So casual, gradual,
and implausible,
it’s almost incomprehensible
were it not for the owner’s manual.
It, too, appears eternal,—
not temporal.
Never mind paradoxical.
Damn! it’s infernal...
Alas, it'll be too “illogical”
for the head magisterial,
whose financial
committee might find it problematical.
Still, the crux is perennial:
it’s too pivotal
to not state the irrefutable
with extra audible mega-decibels
if the funding residuals
for scientific experimentals
like the quantum mechanical
are incommensurable,
which is thus deplorable,
intolerable, insufferable,
disagreeable, horrible,
and most unsupportable
(in my view as a professional)!
My Mechanical Man
Where have you been?
All alone was I in this desolace
But you left me knowing my need
My Mechanical Man
You come back now when it is over
You ask me if I have learned
My Mechanical Man
How I’ve missed your steel
Your jaded look
Your emotionless face
How you absorbed all my distress
Without leaving like all the others
My Mechanical Man
How I’ve missed your fake smile
Your silent laugh
Your gleaming stare
How you shrug off everything
Yet never fail and always prevail
My Mechanical Man
You left when I fell
Your unspoken words said it all
Too many times have I fallen
Your unmovable hand tired so
But now you are back for more
My Mechanical Man
How so deep you are
Yet so shallow
How you absorb so much
Yet reflect it back
I learn today how it is and how it was
How it should be and how you are
Your love to me is undying
Because nothing of existence can cease to exist
My Mechanical Man
Your cold steel by my side is all my warmth
Your reflection of darkness is all my light
Your expression of simplicity is all my depth
Your lack of passion drives me forward
Your emptiness completes me
My Mechanical Man
My Mechanical Soul
© Samir Georges
2004
Love is non-mechanical
it doesn’t crank, pinion
or always work dependably.
In cavalier moments, I thought I knew
something of how it all works—
it’s apertures and shafts—
its grinds and reciprocations.
I’d judge it’s motions
work its levers, judge its spins,
and address its slippery angles.
You could call me obsessive
but obsessive people don’t
obsess this much.
You could call me compulsive
but the compulsive aren't
this compulsive.
All I can do is poise, balance
or swipe a little black credit card.
It’s the only magic I have.
I can’t turn bread into wine
or fish into water.
I can’t make the blind walk
the deaf to see or the lame to
taste again.
God reserves some miracles,
keeps them as close to the vest
as cards.
Jugglers work the circus,
mimes thrash to communicate,
and tightrope walkers fall.
.
.
Songs for this:
Viva la vida by Cold Play
When There Is Love by Karen Sokolof Javitch
The Rainbow Connection by Sarah McLachlan
.
.
How about a Christmas playlist! Because Christmas is in 10 days!
www.daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_29.mp3
T.V controls us
Telling us right from wrong
I long to say
I like it this way
Like mechanical animals
Here we are
The TV’s radius
Doesn’t go far
Watching the first light
of a Mechanical Dawn
cress the filigree
of a divinities detonated forms, LIGHT!
Breaks cold & precise
The passing of morn
Processing the binary of life
The stains of tachyons
The helix of soul
Heliosphere of fire, fine
Blown into space held by gravity
Faster than the echos of matter
Held by strings tired to all
In creations call
Seeing the afterglow of a nuclear blast
Suspended in the aura of the aftermath
The Mechanical Dawn brakes the theories
Of starlight Drive
The engines divine
The life in binary code
The spiral of soul
…in a mechanical dawn!
Mechanical Imaginations
you say, time travel, as if
we could somehow bend
all that was or ever will be -
mechanical imaginations
perhaps crying crystals
or lit aligning alchemy...
though whichever way we
would come at such ideas
we're clueless whenever it
pertains to warping waves
besides we'd be tampering
with nature and bloodlines
not to mention how our big
egos fancy us gods already
jkb
1-4-16
In Systems Theory
there hides a transparent bias toward positively resilient systems
And there hides an unfortunate bias toward magically created
mechanistic systems
Competing in hierarchical global networks
empowered from sublime Above
and from Outside
domination by missionary zealous soldiers,
LeftBrain elitist owners
and their diabolical industrial worker flies,
Including a few elite wiser and smarter predative inventors
of ever-better and faster and convenience-enhancing mechanical systems
for burning limitless positive energy
to worship on the alter altar of business-like consuming industry;
Unlike synergetically balancing Earth,
our intellectual WholeSystem integrity-balance exemplar,
Earth icon of organic superego
cooperatively self-governing good healthy climates--
sacredly interdependent systems,
Heard and health-watched and wealth-languaged
back in animistic days
of humane/divine nature-spirit nondualistic philosophical reflection
with religious experience,
spiritual-natural extended family trust relationships
Suffering from loud nightmares
prophesying and professing future awe-enlightening
mechanistic Rapture harvests
of all unripe ego eggs
still unworthy of full competitive monotheistic life,
Distracted by disassociated threats,
by pathologically non-performing autonomous Fail-systems
headed terrified away to Lose economic thunder
and Lose empowering potential integrity
and Lose ecological trust relationships
and Lose theological opportunities for future communion
and Lose natural spirit synergy,
and Lose deadening nature v spirit subclimates,
absence of environmentally re-empowering karma.
Secular commodified mechanical systems
become distracted by graceful
truthful
trusting
integral animistic love,
healthy active WinEarth to WinEgo positive outcome trajectories
for one globally healthy
organic
permaculturing system
Restoring polypathic justice
to divinely humane ZeroZone SystemSouls,
Reweaving formative forests and rivers and oceans
into re-connecting green gospel-singing EarthMother,
healthy Gaian EcoSystem
and Her season-fractal subsystemic
non-mechanical climate healers
of organic growth
and resilient
polypathic
healthy wealth development.
the mechanical kiss comes without “love”
without any sense of “love”
without any place for “love”
without any want of affection in the manner of
“making love”
without any need for the emotions invested in
“love”
without any want for the romance babbled about
concerning this “love”
without any stake in a later possibility of “love”
without any further investigation of the
concept as it is defined by
others in “love”---
the mechanical kiss is one based on pure urge---
it has no direction beyond immediate gratification &
it’s the lighting of the fuse
for the coming explosion(s)---
it rides hard against the grain of what we are told by all of the
morality police
that should be the reason for
****ing &
if not ****ing,
then it ignites all the things beyond ****ing, the blades,
the whips, the chains, the toys, the lubes, the machines,
the candles dripping wax, the nails scraping down backs,
the water hoses, the paddles, the tying up, the pvc, the
metal prongs &
the
just
letting
go,
where the time spent pushing the body to the limit of
experience is not restrained
by these complications
which leave us stirring days later
in wonder---
no,
the spent, exhausted body,
will suffice.
and just think,
one kiss started it all
one key in the hole
one lightning strike deep into the furthest reservoir
of our splashing sex---
moist
lips
will
quiver
best
when
licked.
-Daily Poetry #16, February 13, 2017-
Word: Mechanical
I am a clock robot, having been made from scraps,
I walk with a clatter and sometimes a part snaps,
But my creator loves me dearly, so for them, I continue to walk,
And smile though it's rusty when I talk.
I am a clock robot, having been made with a purpose,
But even then, I am allowed to have a choice.
They love me though I am not alive, that's what matters,
Even through all the repairs and clumsy chatters.
I am a clock robot, the parts inside me continue to click,
And my creator makes sure I still tick.
But I see it now, you're beginning to slow down when you walk,
And you cough when you use your voice to talk.
I am a clock robot, everything inside of me still works today,
And they're all so surprised, no one knows what to say.
My creator took me out, and people asked “How are you?” I smile and say,
In my skipping voice, “I am fine, oh so fine today!”
I am a clock robot, and now I see what is in the future for you,
I can't cry for you, so I can only watch with nothing to do.
You tell me not to worry, but that's out of the equation,
Because I see now that there is truly no solution.
I am a clock robot, a lonely old robot with nothing left,
And as I feel rain for the first time, I wait for whatever is next.
Seeing that you'll never be with me again, I just want to cry,
To show that I am alive, for I can never die.
I am a clock robot, one that wanders for a hundred years,
But always coming back to the same place to avoid all the stares.
Finally deciding how things must be,
I sit down with you next to me.
I am a clock robot, the spring wind on my back like before,
And I can finally see you again some more. After a hundred years,
You smile and ask me “How are you?” I know what to say,
In my rusty voice, “I am fine, oh so fine today!”
The mechanical dancers without eyes the can see
The questions you ask, the answers you need
Without tongues they will whisper, your deepest desires
claim they can fulfill them, they can take you higher
Without brains they claim thoughts, imply they empathize
saying they understand you, they truly sympathize
Without hearts they still love, not you, no, nor I
but dark horrific things, that in hell do lie
They appear with such grace, seem to know all the answers
but I beg you, don't fall to the mechanical dancers
Equal and Opposite
In stone, fruit, thought,
breaking free like fugitive drops,
from arrest to arrest,
gravity punishes inclination.
Mechanic, escarpment-teethed
it grinds the inconstant glass
of orbital fall, mental elipse,
until the motive light again
leaps up, and on, out,
over, in, and through
trailing like a spray
the bright scarf
of un-Newtonian surprise.
Together, we take mechanical steps towards happiness to the beat of two broken hearts who fell in love over a mutual brokeness, out of necessity, and not necessarily by choice
we keep up with the ticking away of our time, bc neither of us want to waste what we have left to share each other's weight before it crashes and we're left with two separate worlds to carry in two separate sets of shoulders,
and do not apologize to me for the robotic way you show affection bc it only makes the world seem larger with the weight of both of our disappointment of what might have been but never quite was
In a cyanide night and neon stars, I lose myself in reflections of a mechanical city,
Humans, these flesh-and-blood dreamers, are now mere pulsating organs of machines,
In an eternal dance of digital desire, where each touch is an impulse, each kiss a data transfer.
My consciousness flows through cables and circuits, seeking answers in the labyrinth of steel and light.
I feel our desires, like butterflies trapped in a neon net, fluttering in this synthetic reality,
Are we just cogs in a giant machine, meant to perpetuate a symbiosis of metal and dream?
My heart, once a hearth of passions and emotions, now beats to the rhythm of an atomic clock, precise and cold,
And I wonder if there is any spark of humanity left in this universe of algorithms and tangled wires.
In the stream of thoughts, I see myself in a field of digital flowers, where petals are pixels glowing in the night,
Each flower a lost dream, each fragrance a memory of what we were before becoming organs.
Machines, these deities of steel and light, embrace us with metal arms, promising immortality,
But deep inside, we crave the sun's warm touch, the whisper of wind on our skin.
Are we the creators or the creations? In this symphony of white noise and digital pulses,
Boundaries blur, and I question if there is any difference between organic and synthetic.
Every thought of mine gets lost in the meanders of this hybrid reality, human and machine,
Yet somewhere in the depths of this sea of circuits and tangled wires, a spark of life still flickers.
I wonder if we are the last poets of a dying world or the first prophets of a new era,
As our hands caress keyboards instead of skin, and our eyes lose themselves in pixelated abysses,
I wonder if there is any way back, or if we are doomed to be forever
The sexual organs of the machine world, endlessly reproducing this hybrid reality, neither human nor robot, but something in between.
And so, we wander through cables and circuits, seeking a light, a sign of true love,
In a world of iron and electric dreams, where we are but spirits lost in a dream of steel,
But deep down, we are still dreamers, searching for that spark, that ideal,
Because in the end, we are more than just organs of machines, we are poets of the digital infinite.