Best Transmissions Poems


Premium Member Robot Revolution

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
Categories: transmissions, computer, dark, science fiction,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Losing It In Isolation

I’m losing it; you know I am

When I ask myself questions, then answer them out loud
     And consider this a “conversation”

When the lizard that made his way into my home
    Becomes my pet

When I repeatedly count the cards in my deck
    Because I can’t win at solitaire

When my first thought as a hurricane nears
     Is fear of virus transmissions in evacuation shelters

When each day is much like the last
    And I wake in bed, not knowing if it’s day or night

When I haven’t seen family for eight months
    My skin starts to itch; my hands shake and twitch

When I’m told I’ll have to quarantine
     If I want to visit sick family members

When I hear fear in my sister’s voice
     As she tells me New Jersey's second wave has begun

When I manicure my lawn obsessively
     With scissors instead of a mower

When my list of prayerful intentions
     Takes an hour to review

When the noise crickets make
     Starts sounding like a symphony and I look forward to their nightly
     performance

I’m losing it; you know I am




Written July 29, 2020
For Chantelle’s “Isolation Philosophy” contest
Categories: transmissions, fear,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member The Key



"The Key"


There is nothing worse than feeling that you are entirely alone in this existence. 
Some will embrace the isolation like a Godsend for a while, 
and that “while” will extend into years that straddle decades like a beautiful lover that you have become addicted to;

Some will bury the dead and walk away to save themselves
from the ceaseless haunting.

There is nothing worse than feeling that you are entirely alone in this existence.
When the crossroads touch your feet, you will be totally alone, this is a fact.
The practice in making perfect your existence, and yet not fully attaining it, 
is a necessary contradiction casting you like a stone across Life like an Ocean

crashing back into car wreck shores.
There are many roads
to write your story
Home.

Yes, there are many roads.
This is a fact. 
Yet, you park in idle fascination of the mundane.
très poétique.

The key, 
however, 
has been with you always.

Love 
in ignition,
unlocks all, 
starts everything;

this is your covert mission.
Shifting gears 
out of neutral.



Candide Diderot. ‘24







"Neutral gear isn't really a gear at all. It's the stage where no gear is engaged. Though cars with manual transmissions need neutral to start their car, many drivers with automatic transmissions are at a loss as to what exactly neutral "gear" is good for..."
Categories: transmissions, muse,
Form: Free verse

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Almost Dead

And so it came to pass
as I raised a bourbon glass
and tossed a bolt of fire down my throat;
the ash from cigarettes
glowed as dying suffragettes,
chained to wrists of every weeping, wailing ghost.

A thirst I could not slake
was just icing on the cake,
as the closing bells resounded in the night;
every thought was dank and weary,
every eye was red and bleary,
every virgin born again without a blight.

Transistors crackled sound
from a cavern in the ground,
satisfaction blaring tinny and distorted;
time expanded then it shrank
with every mouthful that I drank
and the womb of reason shrivelled and aborted.

How transmissions swelled and swam
through the downing of each dram,
until the floor lay as a most inviting bed;
how I loved her very bones
and how I loved the rolling stones,
how I loved the old gods who were almost dead. 

Sat here in the Gwesty Bach
with rock and roll and Mrs Plath
wielding firebrands of culture round my head,
how I loved her I admit,
every semblance, every bit,
how I loved the old gods who were almost dead.
© Tony Bush  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: transmissions, art, death, life, loss,
Form: Verse

In My Blood

They said it's in my genetics from generations in the past,
       My ancestors struggled with the same demons I face,
           My up's, down's, mania's and I'm a consistent outcast,
                The day I was born was the beginning of my crisis of faith.

                "Oh, what a lovely little girl full of joy and sassiness,"
            The signs were all there that I would struggle one day,
      For in my blood I have inherited the will to be depressed,
And since that day I realized no one knew what to say.

Little girl growing up just to try to please everyone,
      Teenager full of angst and suffering break downs,
          Don't get me wrong, I've had a lot of fun,
              But with too much liquor and so quickly did I drown.

              Receiving genetic transmissions from all my predecessors,
          Full of regret and shamefulness encompassing my soul,
     Falling into the forever trap of high school's peer pressure,
Spinning and swerving and sleeping too far out of control.

By the time I hit thirty years old I cleaned up my act,
     Sought professional help and support of my family,
         Finally I have put forth sincere effort to get back on track,
             Said one last goodbye to my distant best friend calamity.

             See...these things I've been bestowed may sound bad,
         But if not for the hell I wouldn't be heaven bound,
     For in my blood there is triumph and I DON'T have to be sad,
And serenity and confidence I have finally found.

Why were there so many snakes crawling through my blood?
      And how did I kill them at such a young age?
          All the black electricity flowing through my body I unplugged,
              And in the book of my journey I have flipped one more page.

Date Written: November 28, 2015
Categories: transmissions, depression, destiny, family, freedom,
Form: Quatrain

Premium Member Checkpoint In Amerika

Gulls circled above, spiralling through car exhaust
Kids fidgeted in the backseats of chaos

Eerie silence, interrupted by overheated transmissions
Someone blasting The Doors...theme music

Stern, heavily armored Homeland Security soldiers
Slowly approached, assuming insurrection

Just another day in the new Amerika
Land of the free, home of the brave

Large signs proclaim:

"All contents must be declared, please exit your
Vehicle when stopped"

Off to the side, transport busses waited
Like praying mantis seizing their victims

Filling quickly,

 abandoned cars quickly towed

Destination unknown

                                   Destination

                                                        Unknown



04/12/13
© All Rights Reserved
Categories: transmissions, angst, confusion,
Form: Lyric


Premium Member Driving Lessons

My Mother endeavored, to teach me to drive;
with transmissions, both standard and automatic.
Until it was mastered, she seemed as tense as steel;
on the car floor her feet were firmly planted.

Her eyes were so large, as she issued instructions;
her nerves were on edge, I’ve no doubt.
And when it was done, I’d had so much fun;
but Mom couldn’t wait to get out!
Categories: transmissions, car, me, poems, poetry,
Form: Prose

Dripping In Sweat

finesse a finish to
finely embellish fast wishes
friends flying with the fishes
frying fish in the flying kitchen
his rhymes were vicious
and yet silly and suspicious
glued together with
questionable superstitions
strange transmissions
how do I possess this person's vision

wordplay workouts
stretch out words and play about
play around words to stretch thoughts out
what about, I don't know
you'll have to work that out yourself
the next time you play with words
so let me stretch out my inner nerd
fool about, loop thoughts fool around
early in the morning
for my mental heath
before my next self wordy workout
I guarantee I'll be the person
you'll be talking about
I'm the name that's constantly
in your fast food full mouth
in my boxers writing nonsense
on the comfortable creative couch
smoking endless joints
from Pandora's box pouch
Categories: transmissions, art, repetition, word play,
Form: Rhyme

The Shape-Shifting Cowboy, Part Ii

“You've probably figured it out by now,
I am not really a human being,
my home is three whole galaxies away,
and the form that you now are seeing

“is due to the fact that my species can
sample and replicate strange DNA,
but every few weeks I have to recharge,
I'm sorry that you saw me that way.

“This image once belonged to an old man,
I touched his corpse at a funeral home,
didn't want to copy one of the living,
so I adopted his form as my own.

“I made myself look like his young self though,
felt it would be easier to fit it,
and in this form, I feel all that men do,
I know it's enough to make your head spin...”

Jenna just gasped, her mind still was reeling,
Calvin said,”Come on babe, please talk to me.”
Jenna shook her head,”How...what? No...how...why?
What you're saying...it just cannot be!”

Calvin nodded sadly,”Yes dear, it is,
but if you give me a chance to explain,
I think you'll see we're not so different,
that what drives me is a common refrain.

“You see though my people can change their shape,
most of them feel a strong need to conform,
it's even written into their own genes,
go-along-to-get-along, it's the norm.

“But I'm a genetic aberration,
excessive individual traits,
one-in-a-thousand, they lock us away,
put us down as a dangerous mistake.

“I knew once they figured what I really was
they would all be coming for my head,
rather than wait to be jailed or cut down
I stole myself a spaceship and I fled.

“I wandered the stars for three hundred years,
where I could live freely, anywhere,
but there's little life in the universe,
and intelligence is incredibly rare.

“I search to other whole galaxies,
found sentient life on time within each,
both were as tyrannical as my home,
fear no safe-haven would I ever reach.

“And when I came here to the Milky Way,
I admit I was running out of hope,
this galaxy hes less life than others,
despite the vastness of size and of scope.

“But then in a backwater spiral arm
I stumbled upon radio transmissions,
traced them back to their source, this planet,
and found a world that was truly a vision.

“I'd never seen so much life on one world,
and a species just entering space...
I landed in the ocean near Long Island,
I just had to go explore the place...

CONTINUES IN PART III.
Categories: transmissions, earth, freedom, journey, love,
Form: Cowboy Poetry

The Magic of Song

She stood motionless in ragged habiliments,

her raven filaments were cruddy and matted,

she was charismatic, but not alluring,

she was inconsiderable ,quite scanty,

her humble abode was to us, just a hovel,

then uninfluenced she started to sing,

sounds from that little girl were magical,

her voice sent unbelievable transmissions to my brain,

illusional visions that appeared in my head,

serenity, the pleasure, so overwhelming,

Images circulating through my spiritual structure,

sounds from that child was mind bending,

I was held motionless by her vocal illusion,

no one surely could turn what we were seeing,

Devastation into the most pleasurable place on earth,

This had to be magic, but undeniably the best magic..


11/16/2016.
© Roy Pett  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: transmissions, appreciation, blessing, emotions, hope,
Form: Free verse

Communication

Communication

Communication is a medium that opens many doors,
An exchange of thoughts and idea, through figurative metaphors!
Verbal transmissions through actions, sight, sign and sound,
Communication connections are literally all around! 

It starts at birth with a kiss, a hug and a smile,
An infants fixed gaze eyes, trying to focus for a while!
Although still groggy from effects, of the anesthetic drugs,
Mom communicates with baby, through comfort, touch and love!

Communication continues on, as we grow through life, 
Words learned, increase in size, our brains now sharp as a knife!
Expressing ideas, opinions and thoughts, through our human speech,
Is another form of communication that Man cannot un-teach!

Modern day communication, has technology winning the race,
With, snail mail, telegraph and telephone, fast falling from grace!
Information at the speed of light, for this microwave generation,
Now, communication as we knew it, wears the face of automation! 

Written by: Sarita A. Milliner © 12/11/15
Categories: transmissions, appreciation, feelings, imagery, poems,
Form: Light Verse

How To Build a Spaceship

To Build a spaceship you need:


Saucepans. For intergalactic transmissions to other planets like mars,

Planets to orbit. If not what else would a spaceship do?

Aliens. Every Spaceship needs aliens!

Captain. Before you even start to make a spaceship you need a captain,

Egg cups. To act as buttons as they are too expensive.

Sky’s the limit! In this case its actually not in a spaceship, but what I mean is let you imagine 
run free, nothings too difficult when building a space ship,

High-fives, are always necessary when something goes right

Intergalactic. Be sure to write intergalactic on various buttons and levers to make your          
spaceship look more hi-tech,

Pie. When the spaceship is finally finished, tuck into some pie!


By: Ava Douglass   Age 12
Categories: transmissions, funny, space
Form: Acrostic

Premium Member Radio -PS

From morning light until 6pm at night,
I'm behind the scenes curating delight. 
With tones that echo on your radio,
blending local stories into audio.

In the heart of waves, where frequencies ascend,
from AM to FM, radio signals extend. 
In the realms of airwaves, where voices roam, 
broadcasting melodies that are heard at home.

With many dials, meters and buttons galore, 
producing shows, which listeners adore.
Weaving scripts to ensure presenters flow,
creating playlists of songs people know.

Colleagues call me the conductor of sound,
composing themes to entertain all year round.
Preventing silence from all transmissions,
making life easy for my technicians.

Inviting guests from a wide range of places,
from different backgrounds and new faces.
On standby to report on breaking news,
using social media to increase the views.

Monitoring projects are in my domain,
there's also an apprentice I have to train.
It's not just about navigating the studio,
I compose the moments that make hearts glow.
© Silent One  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: transmissions, work,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Working Class

I.	Daybreak

what glint of morning
is this where the rusty bloom of chain link fences
cuts the turf of rowhouses

the weeds still talk with the legs
of crickets as the post-dawn moon
fades like a bubble

here the old Norges and RCAs 
the transmissions extracted like tongues
make tombstones in the yard

the scattered habits of a mechanic

early chests exhale
		crankshafts turn

Chevrolets on storm
are fused to the moment
breaking thunder from the curb


II.	Kids
      
dirt streaked
	         all our bellies were round

dirt streaked
	        consulting our nerves with
wide open lungs

dirt streaked 
we all ate dirt
		   dug tunnels
			         played trucks

dirt streaked 
		the swing set whistled
rocking hard
     		in the recesses 
			of an afternoon


III.	Locked

the  day lost in some 
file of physical laws
was locked like the hands of the typist

locked like beer cans on the porch
where a laborer reads want ads

fixed like the eyes of the 
police

it’s why chained dogs
never stop barking

why housewives keep doing
their laundry


IV.	Production

nothing to lose
come welders with your brilliant rods
disarm the dark where the cracks of hell
leak out

come secretaries
run with the wolves again*

migrant workers sing
the bosses don’t know the words

for the prints of innocent men
still grip the prison walls

the halls of high schools
still murder the breath
of the original

cab drivers
pocket the secrets of Washington

coal miners
dig loose the words
		hiding under Kentucky

the graveyard shift will begin
when the city simmers
		the pot of a quiet army

let them tell
no loss but the threat
of collectors
no loss but the sweat of
your palms

* Taken from an old folktale 
Published Black Buzzard Press 1982
Categories: transmissions, allusion, class, culture, freedom,
Form: Political Verse

Fantasy Poetic Verses

would that I could
pick up reception
of celestial transmissions
with a couple'a old soup can phones
and country miles of string
(would they have harp string ring tones?)
and ask the old man
about days long ago
interrupting his labors
tilling god's fecund green fields
(most likely the back forty)
a bit east of old eden, I'm sure
to hear that tinny voice growling
while smelling good earth
and honest sweat far, so far, distant
he'd first grumble and low mumble
about nonsensical questions
but always comically failing
to hide the smile in his voice
and flattered affection
"...of beatniks, of Elvis
of old rumbleseats
yeah, I remember those days
strange fellows, those beats"
"It's hard to rekalect,
(being a swab in the Navy)
all those strange doings onshore
it seemed authority was tested
conformity seen as a chore"
"so I guess that's your answer,
son, I didn't truck with them much
those bohemian fellows
seemed to me a bit touched"
it was good to hear it
his old usual ways
a bit bluff, more bluster
signing off from our strange freq
(with as much love as he could muster)
I smiled after he faded
and wished quietly in my room
he could read just a few
of my thin veiled kharmic sad curses
about loving a father
(gone, yet still set in his ways)
in my amateurish attempts
at fantasy poetic verses...
Categories: transmissions, father, love,
Form: Free verse
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