Drone sub lib
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Inspiro designio
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Abstract
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A submersible drone, and satellite feed and proper laugage.
Objective
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To create a system that can warn against pending floods
Due to the amount of time a flood takes place
Even t
With traditional warning. A proper and safe system needs to be developed to create
"Act Now" evasive plans and warnings
When the creek or river pre rises it it imperial
For folk in the general population to understand the seriaty of the pending situation A warning even if it means grabbing on to floating devices, which might save the population.
Goal
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From the moment the storm is announced.
A means of communication that warns, advices and secures the safety of all people!
Research and invention.
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Terms and Technology
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a trusted governmently supported
System that works!
Damming the Gualupe River to create an environmentally stable environment for the safety of all peoples!
I used to think life was the child of serendipity.
A long time ago, it may have been.
In the hazy past, the silver river of life was dammed.
Redirected into a narrower, darker plan.
A box canyon of rationed light.
Rationed smiles rationed everything.
The damming has been going on for a millennium.
A billion-piece orchestra directed by a few parasites.
The unity of goodness has been sabotaged.
Force-fed distraction, division, bushels of lies.
The box canyon grows deeper, colder, more violent.
A giant black hole sitting at the bottom.
Swallowing the last lick of light.
What is a color
obstructed
What is a sonnet
untold
What is the price
of reluctance
Tainted in silver
or gold
What is the weight
of your damming
What is a blessing
unused
What is the lifespan
of choices unmade
Measured in freedom
— recused
(The First Book Of Prayers: July, 2025)
Although it is spring,
Cold political raindrops
Continue to fall:-
But do not worry,
“God’s gon trouble tha water…”,
Damming injustice:
In the renewal of spring,
We shall also overcome:-
MAY OUR WATER FOREVER BREAK AND FLOW
As like the water, we were created;
In the breaking of the water we came—
And it is said that we did not come here
To be sitting or standing around for nothing:-
Indeed, we are here like the waters of rivers;
Like waters of oceans and seas—flowing to be;
And like the waters, we must ever be about flowing—
Flowing to ever be free from oppressive inequities:-
Strong flowing waters can burst damming dams,
And frozen ice melts in warm flowing liberating water;
And although slow deep streaming water evaporates,
Does it not eventually fall back down on oppressive ground?
Let us forever run and flow in physical strength;
Let us forever run and flow in mental awareness;
Let us forever run and flow in spiritual uplifting;
Let us forever run and flow in undying faith:-
God has baptized us in the water of His divine love,
Graciously dipping our heads in His divine wisdom,
Guiding us towards His shores of divine liberation,
That we may forever flow in His gracious deliverance:-
There are words that I’m slow to say,
Bound inside and kept away, so
My tempered tongue I won’t betray.
Without much thought an ass will bray;
Many with their jawbone slay, so
There are words that I’m slow to say.
Fire forged barbs will make you pay;
Injured mettle I must weigh, so
My tempered tongue I won’t betray.
Unbridled thoughts expressed all day;
Biting cuts will spark a fray, so
There are words that I’m slow to say.
Floods of emotion rush my way;
Damming walls deflect the spray, so
My tempered tongue I won’t betray.
Feelings expressed in shades of gray
Shield and keep this heart of clay, so
There are words that I’m slow to say;
My tempered tongue I won’t betray.
One moment after
you get,
that your self-image of yourself,
is just a concept of a concept -
that you are in reality,
a scripture yet to be written -
only then
do you become a holy person.
Beware,
let no one eat your promises
as truth,
for they only want their beliefs
to stay pure,
and if you humor them
with other well-meaning myths,
you may well have to take holy orders,
and hide behind a whole lot more
damming words.
A software programmer named Arty Fishal
Tried to design something beneficial
But his programming
Was rather damming
Not unlike intelligence, artificial
As they push their wannabe pie in the sky
In our face until we see eye-to-their-eye
But the more they push
That tells me their tush
Actually shat out the @#$%!, they call AI
We learn that it takes lots of borrowed money
To try making us believe clouds are sunny
So they’re giving a try
At slinging AI
Which is too devious to be funny
Canyons of loss
emotional wastelands
Spires of hope
grasping for sky
Riverbeds bake
mountains are damming
Feelings once deluged
—barren and dry
(Dreamsleep: June, 2022)
How does an orphan
Vocally display the need
to runaway
What it's like throwing a
coin into a wishing well
Too curse a spell
Grow not skin but shell
Seek the face of one's mother
In every single damming crowd
Never destined to find
Walk emotionally blind and love less
As comfort less as a sleeping bag
At the bottom of a concrete step
on a hailstorm mattress
And worst of all feel it's somehow
your own fault
Surely i must have done something
wrong in order to deserve this
As not even life itself wishes
me nor my stolen tossed coin well
As still it remains laying rusting
green in a Roman fountain bath
Green with envy yet eternally blue
To the cameraman who through your distant lense
sees one man with another's wife,
and clicks and silently uploads, to expose,
and so to make those lives implode.
Who do you see behind your shuttered home?
With wife away and children gone,
no prying eye save God's alone,
yet, still you pick and throw first stone.
To the journalist, seekings idle chatter
and thinks it does not matter to craft
your print for more damming slant,
that glint of gossip, that careful hint
arising from unguarded natter.
Let’s take a lense and see your life, alone,
and how you sniff that chalky line;
and while you pick and throw that stone,
drink just one more 'fore callng ‘time’.
To the editor who holds their coats,
while dreadful damming work is done,
do tell us how you treat your wife,
and your daughter, and your son?
Show us all, expose your lives.
Before you seek those speckled eyes,
look to the logs that are your own,
before you cast your wounding stone.
Blitzed.Sagging.Worn
Wild waves awash with pain
Bursting all over his frame
Its daggers sharply sending shivers
Right into the heart of his brain
Wilting under the piercing thrusts.
There in the hand of the nurse
Lodged that tender tablet
His temporary respite
And momentary salvation
The oasis promising ease
Calming the rough swells,
Damming the pain
Until the savage seas die down
And a peaceful lagoon looms large
But the storm will rise again
A tale of shipwreck and rescue
This odyssey of torment and release.
When will it ever end?
No Happiness Here Either
She loves me, she love me not, knots
As he picked the petals of her heart
Why the cold chill your heart sought
Your petals cold, damming my start
A river of tears cries from the sky
Mine, forever a rainbow lost a pot of gold
You, a commodity richer to my eye
Than blossoms of bosoms a smile behold
On your surface I lie in your meadow
Wandering sweet dreams held in lost escrow
connie pachecho
8/5/17
Today's churches are held in disdain;
sullied by scandals and outright crime.
The foundation of faith is aging,
undermined by lies exposed by time.
Salvation awaits those who believe,
so say scriptures, to appease the crowd.
Yet, everyone's labeled a sinner;
damming anyone who speaks aloud.
Religions feed off of frustrations,
Divinely steeped in their self-image.
And enforced rules of exclusiveness;
fuel, a dominancy scrimmage.
Once a week, on your knees for an hour:
describes most relationships with God.
For we seek spiritual blessings,
just in case God is more than a fraud.
Some say God's divine presence is clear,
for it's seen throughout all creation.
But amidst war, starvation, and death,
can it be seen, in Man's damnation?
It doesn't matter if God is real
unless you believe Him to be so.
But if you doubt, look within your heart,
and if you find Him there, you will know.
Dark slay, dull darkness, sometimes reveals in any mind
No wonder it narrows the interior of creativity, that is hard to find
It beats and stones the remark ability of colors, brightness, and charm
They call it being stuck, stopped, and filled with harm
Thus, the end of the battle of blankness and flourishing, pours ideas
Into a never ending hole
Fatality following imagination is it's ugly role
Another damming event of stillness in the head, ruins the process
Of words to get inspired from what's creatively read
When uninspired letters are placed, the creative and true ones are being
Attacked and chased by the enemies who don't accept brilliant in art and writing
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