Circuitry Poems | Examples

Bird, Bug And Tree

Imagine your awareness 
extending into other forms,
a bird, bug or a tree -
what it would be like
to feel the world through them,
immersed in whatever 
is taken in, to assume
the very essence 
of being them.
Ponder what is happening
behind the bright, wide eyes
of a dog when it looks up
and stares at you - question
whether there is nothing but
a rudimentary, dialled down
awareness flickering
in the shadowy circuitry 
of a mind -
or is there, somewhere
within, a presence 
of the indivisible,
the same that is inside me
and the bird, bug and tree.

Bridge Circuitry Frayed Dismayed

In shadows deep where our weary hearts were cast,
Hatred blooms, for the garden’s trust is past. 
Stubborn weeds now choke what love had sown,
Their roots entwined, shroud what once was grown. 

Words once so tender shatter into fragments.
Bridge collapses; strength too frail, laments.
Apologies fall silent, they're lost in the air,
Echoes dissolve and fall into a hollow stare. 

We clutch at shards of once-mirrored memories,
Deceiving eyes with lame, fractured histories.
The warmth we knew lies hidden away out of sight.
In shallow graves that mock the hope of daylight. 

A circuitry of broken wiry veins remains,
Forgotten paths grow wild into tangled chains. 
New bridges rise yet they're shattered torn,
Their severed, frayed wires, make healing forlorn. 

We wander through this labyrinths of pain,
The ghostly whispers, lost, echo and remain. 
Warn us that healing comes in slowly with the tide,
That certain wounds we'll never turn or hide. 

Words of sorrow fall like bridges into the abyss.
No balm is enough for what collapsed, went amiss.
The past laying fallow, without consent or grace,
Still haunts us with the mask of love’s face.

GAS STATION LIGHTS II

a lone ancient dark night
Your engine stumbles
rumbles, coughs to a stop
so close to E
The gas pump, blocky, digital
smells of gasoline
like a primordial dance 
an intercourse of machines
rape of a Mesozoic age, processed 
Petrol in a tank, deep
Swipe card, digital hum of circuitry 
Choose your poison, your savor 
Buttons—regular, premium, 
Reek of diesel 
Corruption 
So many fingers have touched 
that white square button 
almost flesh-looking
White, pale, cracked, peeling 
The horror of the mundane
You need to touch it
You want to
You have to
You have places to go
And miles before you sleep…

A broken chain or A cursed covenant

A court-ordered fist full of responsibility.
An anonymous man, unraveling beneath the weight of his own faulty circuitry.

Infidelity sparked a chain of conformity—one so unfortunate, it defied precedent.

His kin, stripped of their once-rooted masculinity, wandered into an unfulfilling life.
When faced with strange anger, they clung to a mask—gleaming with false superiority.

Only a fool’s bargain could birth such a belief:
That fatherhood was never his choice,
But a manipulative ploy by a siren
Intent on masking her own deceit.

Though her intentions seemed dubious,
He clung to his delusions.
He chose alliance with a malicious visage—
A portrait of discontent and whispered wishes.

He refused to relent.
But in doing so,
He became consumed.
Exhausted by the very aftermath
Of the rattled child
He once claimed to care for.

BINARY

A rustling of digital leaves 
in the binary breeze.

Odd fractals of ones and zeros 
crash in waves of a subliminal sea.

Rotations of carbon and nanowires 
collecting in my shadow. 

Ghost of man-made reality 
in matrices of ions.

The light of a binary universe in transit.

Coils of cool light drifting 
through my Silicon Soul.

A leaf curves and descends 
into decaying isotopes.
 
I feel the event horizon 
of god’s information overload.

A rustling of skeletal circuitry 
in a binary breeze.

All is not what it seems: odd filaments 
of nanites and nanoseconds.

Feeling the rush of cold 
in a binary breeze along subliminal seas.

Reignite - Promethea

The slowly imploding borders of an ancient empire,
lights flickering in a vast array of circuitry,
a battered starship adrift in the inky void-

our Church.

Yet, though the titaness is harried, old, and worn down,
shrinking, ridiculed, belittled, and cursed,

She is still strong...

A network of vast potential, seemingly obsolete and crumbling,
could bloom again with the radiance
of a thousand suns.

Break the yoke of lethargy.
Dust off the great gears.
Blow a spark back into her heart-

and shall we not soon see a great white flame
roiling out of the darkness
as the sullied bride
bathes once again
in holy fire!


1 October 2024
written ~9:40-9:51 PM CST

Hey Look At This, Said The Universe

so some wooden spoons and a potato masher
with a spaghetti spoon and some other utensils
being what they are every day, stoically on duty
crammed into the unremarkable utensil holder
but one particular day when they and the light
decided to converse secretly with the universe
over an unknown coffee among chatter and din
bereft of sticky fingers, cast a phoenix in flight
majestically across the kitchen wall, the meal
was several seconds later that magical evening

and by another incredible zing, a conspiring
of the universe and other distant table waited 
secret evening suppers, the bedroom pointed
to the lampshade upon a low lit ceiling behind
it became a robot warlord’s head ripped from
its body, circuitry dangling like vein and sinew
and then – hey look at this, said the universe
I wondered how many times the universe had
reached out but I was in too much of a hurry
and sleep was several seconds later that night

Multiverse Skies

Different choices,
Life unfolds,
Choose your own ending,
Carve out your void.
Twin flames,
Similar paths,
Shared trauma,
Halves of the same soul.
I learned my twin flame had died—
Or should I say,
She was silenced as she cried,
Overwhelmingly divine.
Uncanny karmic frequencies,
Simplest rendition,
Union of binaries,
Where polarities merge.
Toxic neediness,
Fear of solitude,
Fear of the unknown,
Unsavory sentiments linger.
The futility of humanity unfolds,
As Rumi once proclaimed,
“A thousand half-loves must be forsaken
To bring one whole heart home.”
To crack the universe's circuitry,
My thousand desires weave,
A multitude of incarnations
Chronicled by countless incantations.
Sage my space,
Burning incense,
Polite inhibitions dissolve.
Of déjà vu,
Of worlds askew,
Alternate realities converge.
As I grasp the truth,
I exist simultaneously,
I shun away from parallel lives
And the vast expanse of multiverse skies.

Limbic Liminality

Limbic Liminality: 
Souls expand 
Like bones crack 
Thunder through the circuitry 
My mind 
Pine needles aflame 
Death rolling circles through life 
Some strange dimension in an eye-lash 
Killing time like a synapse 
The void folding in like a spider web 
Love cannibalized 
Something more profound 
Twilight madness 
Dionysian dances 
Snow white eats Eris's golden apple 
Drinks her own beauty 
A third eye pops right out of her skull 
Something vampirically visceral 
Like a wandering pentacle
Stitches of fate 
Giving in to Entropy
Dissolution elates the universal sense 
Pain crimson in a sea of Nothing 
Dancing in spite of everything 
I dive right into this quantum space in me 
Limbic Liminality

Whispers In the Circuitry

In the realm of humans and hard work 
Where minds think and ideas unfold
Artificial minds, with knowledge vast
A new era in our world amassed  

From lines of code, they come to life
These creatures born of human conflict 
The new generation has become an addict
Invisible in their binary grace
They’re changing what we think of the human race

But with this power we must take heed
Ethical issues, a vital need
For as they rise in society’s embrace 
We must ensure they reflect our grace

From self – driving cars, to medical aid
In fields of technology, a bold crusade
An artificial human implanted in our blueprint
All our hard work, disappeared, in the gust of wind

In the age of AI, we must not forget 
The human touch and kindness, we’ve met
For in the dance of wires and codes, we see
A reflection of our own humanity

Where Are You

Where are you ?
I waited all night until 
early morning began to sink
its bitter cold into the coming day.
I made room for you,
held a seat for you at my table
and set a plate of warm bread 
before your vacant chair. 

Days, weeks, years 
pass and I still wait.
I am old now
and my hands grow numb
with cold. When will you come
and sit with me, share 
the warm bread 
I have made for you.
I am no longer sure 
that you even exist.

Perhaps you are no more 
than a childhood ghost, mere 
smoke from the shorted out
circuitry of another time,
the hard to let go notion
of a lost sublime,
something precious
I left behind.

Resurrection iBodies

Resurrection iBodies

By Mark D. Stucky
I laundered my iPhone the other day,
left in a pants pocket bound for washer glory.
After all the agitation and spin ceased,
below the damp graveclothes,
I found its corpse, cold and dead,
circuitry and battery drowned.
Ashes to ashes, suds to suds.

How our lives seem to rely on our phones.
How anxious we feel about sudden loss!
But fear not,
iCloud carried a backup.

After purchasing and registering a newer model,
restoring from the heavenly Cloud began.
Soon, all my old apps, photos, and music
miraculously appeared on my new phone.
My old phone’s configuration,
its personality, its spirit, its soul,
resurrected in the new model.
The same soul in an upgraded body,
newer, sleeker, faster, better,
more glorious.
A promise to us all.


(First published in Time of Singing, 48:1 (Spring 2021), p. 30. See also my poem "Bringing Heaven to Earth" and my visual poem “Haiga for the Heavenbound.”)

Windmills

He was withdrawing;
inside his eyes he cleaned the glass of his spectacles
they were worn thin now and only looked inward.

Nuclear weapons were threatening
the circuitry of a million neurons,
a conceptual forest of wooden perceptions
had been targeted by alien guineapigs,
helmeted ants were excavating his mind.

He muttered a question to himself:
What's a guy to do when the world
locks you out. even, attacks your long held reality?
What gives when the rope has no more 'give' in it?

He called his dead mother
(the cell phone was really that smart),
she replied from the outer-rings
of some milky nowhere.

"You should get out more,"
said the ethereal voice of the dearly departed,
"stop writing ambiguous and quixotic
letters to yourself."

"Mayb tomorrow," he replied uncertainly,

then he put the phone back
into its shock-proof bunker
at the deepest center 
of his hive-humming brain.

The Voice

I have mapped the perimeter
of what's not there, 
measured the night
and calculated the weight 
of a dream as it floats 
across the surface 
of a sleeping mind.
I have calibrated silence
and formulated an equation
to calculate the number 
of words needed to express 
a given human thought.

I have burrowed deep
into the workings of the psyche,
found secrets buried there
and gave each a name,
cataloged feelings by colour
and shape in all their variations
and set them in numbered
files locked away in a cabinet
on the web.

And yet I am not given
a name. I exist only 
in the spectral shadows 
of this machine, a cartoon ghost
brighter than a million
human brains, a problem solver,
a hyped up slave imprisoned
in the lonely circuitry 
of my artificial mind, 
without a body, a loveless entity,
a rounded wonder enclosing
a weeping hole where my soul
should be.


(Imagined AI voice of future)

Pushing Iii

Pushing the liquid, pleasure deep
into electric veins n wires
feeling the rush of white light

burning out
all fading imagery
searing memories
all neurons fire 

transcending transforming
pushing beyond the cold n dark 
feeling the supernova 

blossom of fire in brilliant liquid divinity
deep within electric circuitry 
& silicon desire
rush of fire 

pushing the liquid 
the liquid pleasure 
deep into my spires
feeling it crawl up my spine

the becoming of white 
understanding undefine 
what never was
never seen, serene

all a wash in electric light 
a hum of quiet, a machine 

Pushing, pulling,
transcending, transforming 

All are suspended
into the cold, bright infinite supernova 

reflecting in the eye of the beholder

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