Each ivory tower needs so much power and water
Society is the fall guy for the pie in the sky AI lie
Cultures savaged ravaged caricatures by vultures
Slyly trying to deflower mother nature’s daughter
Dodgy dealing resources stealing planet’s reeling
Preach each data centre like a cultural placenta
Layers peeling players say mentor no glass ceiling
Am a lamenter of break neck tech wreck dementor
No healing waste from haste paste without feeling
We’ve heard it before the computer is our future
Smoke and mirrors AI on the fly the latest suitor
Us all just a data commuter for a leech not tutor
Beseech purloining then coining no way to teach
The conceit of the deceit is an elite cheat ripsnorter
Train bots brain rots turns us into tots & lots of have nots
Only glower of people power can stop the slaughter
meticulous
hybrid
extremes
individual
caustic
ironic
hallmarks
of
elemental
phenomena
intensive
outwardly
fettered
intensive
shadows
&
profound
cipher
in
a
torsioned
configured
context
Their names have become
hollowed out husks
blown about the graveyards
of history. Emperors who once
claimed divine favour
and the imprimatur of the gods
now seem profane, despotic
caricatures of their age.
Loud cheers have ossified
to a silence or a curse lodged
in the throat of the citizenry.
Power still seeps its poisons
into the body politic,
even now into Prime Ministers,
Premiers and Presidents
of so called united states.
I look for a place to find
a little peace from the crowd
and the howls of an angry world.
Where once churches held
a sacred quiet, they too
have become loud stadiums
for opposing forces,
doctrinal battlegrounds
between the lost and the saved.
I retreat to that private space
where like souls meet, a room
somewhere, a forest or a beach,
or a corner of one's own garden
and there teach myself to listen.
I hear what has always been there,
transcending the reign
of emperors, wealth, privilege
and the power of the State.
And so it is, I hold to my chest
a well worn book of poems
by that saint, Emily Dickinson,
and here - renew my faith
and find a little rest.
Distrust is rife in consumers now..As arla 'steers' bovaer
Into innocent cows.) They can't say no to this moove we
Know.' So we must raise a stink ' lets all 'give it a real go'
I for one like to see strong kids.' Make strong adults and
Be real fit. I find it good to see well formed women and
Girls not that i'm letcherous.' I hasten to tell, its just good to
Know young men as I once was, can have a chance to enjoy the charms that such women do have.' So to those
Sad caricatures in black science.' I for one say, get your minds onto real improvements, for come what may.' We
Will not be killed by such poision of evil device, let us shout
From the roof tops and the streets, full of life' you can stick
Your bugs and any maggots you breed, down your own throats daah-lings and do have a big feed.' Send some to elton and rod; and mc'cartney oh and let them know.' By the
Way a new age is dawning, as all the people are waking
And as such they will not enter your play.!
You are my poetry
and every word I know.
I can write sonnets
about how your lips
speak to my soul,
and I always seem to
carry you inside me
wherever I go.
You are my poetry
lyrical caresses
in my mind.
word spoken
and unspoken,
both horrible
and kind.
You are my poetry
hearts and stars
behind my eyes.
loving you so deeply
took me by surprise.
You are my poetry
pentameters,
verbal description
in panoramic
caricatures.
You are my poetry
because words mean
everything.
you warm me
in the summer,
and renew me
in the spring.
You are my poetry.
loose leaf pages
in the wind.
our beginning,
and alas,
until our bitter end.
You are my poetry.
how more may I describe?
You feed me
and nurture me
and make me
feel alive.
©SamHarty
The woman has no place to be put,
the man is restless; his feet are slipshod,
The child won't eat greens,
he prefers beetroot slices from a sickly can,
The family may once have been human,
now they have been reduced to cartoons,
caricatures tossed into a cardboard box
and left out on the curb in the rain.
Soon enough, but not right away,
a teenager discovers the disintegrating box,
he puts the woman in a safe warm place,
and waits until the night finds him alone.
The restless man and beetroot boy
float away along the gutter,
until they both fall into a drain.
Paper-thin alligators
chew on wet talk-bubbles.
In the woods behind the school,
soft **** magazines
are buried in shallow graves,
so that the priest will not find them.
that that is embodied
by being and seeing
therefore knowing
and becoming
as definitive
wisdom
transcends
beyond doubt
caricatures of scriptures
interpreted by mind
that’s conditioned
by narrow belief
but we cannot
transfer the secret
since it requires seeing
without the aid of mirrors
05-June-2023
CARICATURES
typically
blaze
with light
a centrepiece
shaped
silently
swaddled
oftimes
disquieting
&
intriguing
vivacious&
synthesised
with
much
precise
elements
so remarkably
begins
a portrait
between
the
continuities
of the
shape
to
preserving
evocation
of the mania
of
passing fads
so
unsettling
&
aloof
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Snatching
straws
falling
tilting
precariously
through
notice
toward
doom
inverted
caricatures
of
marionettes
shine
& community
supports
& grips
divine
stumbling
wild
madness
shaking out
clean
time
& its
witness
upland
coarse.
Written: July 03, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
STILL LIFE CARICATURES
the celebrated
remembered
memorabilia
an entourage
deserted
in gloomy sadness
a narrative
seeks solace
becomes
increasingly reclusive
until
intervening years
acquire
an
influence
to imagine
ridicule
faded&
overshadowed
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
There was a tree in a town of Maldives,
Irrespective of the season, it thrives,
Its girth, tens of hand spans,
At midnight the leaves dance,
No one has seen this except the priests' wives.
An abode to mystical creatures,
Some believed to be miniatures,
At twilight, the leaves glowed
Exotic fragrance flowed,
Creatures are elves-like caricatures.
One day the tree fell without being hewn,
All over, far and wide its leaves were strewn,
No one knew why this happened,
Priests said the tree was sickened,
The town became parts of garment sewn.
March 20, 2022.
howmanysyllables.com
Their faces are still there;
caricatures and cameos,
grinning mugs and jug ears.
Cheering, jeering chums
that would phone at four in the morning
to garble drunken thoughts,
make momentous plans,
or borrow ten quid.
The oddball humorist
and part-time suicide,
the drama queen
contesting her own shadow,
the poet who never wrote a poem.
The mon ami and mon amie
that drank for you
when you could drink no more.
Long after the late-night bus rides,
I see their features pressed against
softly glowing windows,
as London transports them
even to far off Ohio;
their lips silently mouthing –
a last goodbye or maybe just trying
to cadge another tenner.
The shining sun’s luminous effulgence
remains unknown but for a reflection
reminding the great star of its brilliance,
signalling need of manifestation,
that The one consciousness feels elation.
Take it or leave it, so say the scriptures,
in this reflected world, caricatures
as entities, assuming feeble form,
know not their true immense, boundless stature
until so feeling, bliss magnetism warm.
26-June-2021
No God for Expiation
By Sy Roth
Held in ungodly thrall
Their bodies wracked blasphmely dry
Loosley held together by the striped cloth.
Typhus-infested, David-starred beasts
Caricatures of humanity
Carved into beasts of burden
Only worthy of torture, or
Zyklon deaths---
Their punishment for existence
Work, arbeit, toil, till death,
Clock-seconds beating to an end,
When they strip their striped clothing from them.
Anxious to live,
The snakes slough the skin
And hide among them
Become lice-infected beings hungry for escape.
Concealed in the garb of the louse
They are revealed to the liberators.
The cockroaches exposed the beasts
Tore at them
Before they could find
Any God to expiate them.
I dream of a lost abandoned place,
Ah! That evanescent paradise,
The fervent wind takes an eager pace,
My naive heart frets of velvet vice.
Ah! That evanescent paradise,
The road leads me to a vintage town,
My naive heart frets of velvet vice,
Alluring caricatures in brown.
The road leads me to a vintage town,
Frayed memories remind me to stay,
Alluring caricatures in brown,
My voyage blends me to float away.
Frayed memories remind me to stay,
The fervent wind takes an eager pace,
My voyage blends me to float away,
I dream of a lost abandoned place.
May 10, 2020
Used Image 2
For Pantoum Rhyme and Personification Poetry Contest
Sponsored By: Eve Roper
Used 9 syllables per line
~Winner: Honorable Mention
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