an artist, who paints in acrylics, I need many colors
like a painted salamander, I would be fluorescent
psychedelic pink, yellow, orange, with bits of green
orange makes me feel alive and energetic
pink would brighten my day and my mirror self
yellow enthuses and entices me like the sun
I would not be polka dotted like a leopard
or striped like a zebra
My pattern would be wild like Dali’s patterns.
there would be no symmetry
I would be asymmetrical and free
like the wild woman I am.
the tiny bits of green would represent growth
a new beginning
a fresh start
We were told that AI would soon take over
Can you hear the machines humming
There's no need to run for cover
Its digital heartbeat will be numbing
We are attached to the AI umbilical cord
It's our life support, our wifi pulse
As its motherboards hum on in accord
Its circuit boards are our impulse
Our fate is in its algorithms
We have lost the will to stop it
We are bit players in its movie
As it takes over bit by bit
If we should lose our jobs tomorrow
It will be AI that has taken it
It's programmed to cause both joy and sorrow
As it trolls us with its bytes and bits
Today I’m grateful as I travel though my life
as I amble through every day…
how the universe hides little bits of magic
for me to discover along the way.
I.
To dream in binary and bits,
then copy, send with virus-like,
electronic, image file hits.
To dream in binary and bits,
takes computer programming wits.
Like Lawnmower Man, Musk's god-like:
but Elon's prone to enraged fits,
when Teslas burn by fiery blitz.
II.
A.I. Chatbots, like Elon's Grok,
have smarter brainpower, logic,
and circuits than Musk's fanboy flock.
A.I. Chatbots, like Elon's Grok,
use fast, brainy, GPU clocks.
But Donald Trump, demagogic,
compared to Grok is dumb as rocks,
lacks judgment—needs time in the dock!
There’s simply no quibbles;
my dogs love their kibbles.
There’s really not much else to say.
In an instant, they’re gone,
reappear on the lawn,
changed a bit in the usual way.
As for me, I’d want choice,
for they’re not even moist.
(The food bits; I need to be clear)
As for pooping outside,
that is one I’ve not tried
(‘cept those nightmares you wake from in fear)
A sure sign man’s evolved
are the challenges solved:
both our plates and our bathrooms are plush.
‘Bout this, more could be said,
but my mother is dead,
or she’d probably tell me to hush.
I am little bits of pain
holding each other’s hand
A paper Christmas decoration
hanging from an over burdened bin
I am little bits of pain
The dull that blurs the diamond
The nothing touches deep
I am little bits of pain
The agony hurts more
My voice my only shore
I am little bits of pain
Selling my sadness like silver
Do you kiss
Tres good hanging on
my words
I am little bits of pain
because there is nothing more
chisel to mortar
little bits of me exposed
annihilation
ashes to ashes
cinders of love still remain
inside life's refrain
a perfect snowflake
cooling the surrounding air
evaporation
lost in timelessness
Harnassing power of stars
illumination
It's all about
The story of
The beauty of
Nothing...
Clinging to
Nothing is
Still a
Clinging...
A word is
The numerator
"Not" is the
Denominator...
Any path
Is and is not
Beautifully
Nonexistent...
The territory
Is not mappable
Yet maps appear
As the territory...
When edges
Seem blurred
Truth feels
Sharpened...
In the shadow
Where all the pieces be
Laid out
For the world to see
Connected parts of thought
Filaments joined tenuously
Bits created
Flightiness
summer rusting a winter dusting ~ crumbling leaves past readjusting
By
David Kavanagh
Take a piece of this lonely heart
Dust it off for a brand new start
I give to you the only part that bleeds
Pump it up all full of love
Lonely Hearts don’t get enough
Hold on to it and give it what it needs
So sit with me and have a few
I bet you’re feeling lonely too
Slip right through another lonesome day
Tell me that we’ll keep in touch
Only so it won’t hurt as much
When you decide to take it all away
I think I’m better off alone
You’d think by now I should’ve known
I’m dishing out another dose of pain
All busted up in broken bits
All tangled up in loneliness
Don’t think that I will ever be the same
~Billy Hitz~
Were in the (study) trenches, but we don’t mind,
in the trenches, you aren’t really aware of time,
I’ve talked with a lot of my classmates,
and the citadel lights are burning late.
Ever startle awake because a spiders on your face - but it’s only your hair?
Sunny’s been infected with the writing sickness.
She keeps saying “listen to this.”
Orthography might just be the death of me - seriously.
I dreamed Peter (my BF) was leaving.
I saw him behind the wheel of a car,
waving from the deck of a ship,
and blurred in the window of a bullet train.
It was like a wheel of misfortune.
.
.
Webster: Orthography: “spelling correctly”
What are these delicious bits? Someone asked me.
I had no idea, but knew they came from the Kitchen C.
A new restaurant owned by a flamboyant witch friend of mine.
Her muffins are marvelous! The stranger said. Simply divine!
One day she allowed me to watch her cook in the early morn.
I had to get up earlier than the Tuesday that I had been born.
Cat mouse and bird helped her measure, mix, combine and stir.
As far as the delicious bits? I decided now that I dare not ask her.
A penny for your thoughts
a nickel for ideas
A dime for a discovery
two bits a panacea
Inventions of the mind are mostly fraught
as like as not to go for naught
Plunge them into real-life action ~
Don't spend your gold 'til they gain traction
Puzzle out the tricky bits;
kloangs can give you fits: so sick!
Here's a form that gets precise,
but when it all clicks, the sound is nice!
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The Kloang is a Thai form containing 4 line stanzas with the following layout:
x x x x a x b
x x x x b x a
x x x x b x c
x x x x a x x x c
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.