The radio towers died at noon, the screens went blank and cold,
And static ceased to whisper of the empires bought and sold.
Down in the deep concrete redoubts, where millions gasped for air,
The ordinary citizens were stripped of their despair.
But in its place came something vast, a terrible, clean weight—
The absolute, unyielding hush that settled at the gate.
For thirty days no leader spoke, no siren pierced the dark,
The automated generators left a silent spark.
Men stared into their calloused hands, unable to recall
The frantic noise that used to drive their backs against the wall.
The silence was a physical thing, a pressure in the ear,
That forced the crowded bunker-rooms to face their oldest fear.
Yet by the third long, wordless week, the madness turned to rest,
As heartbeat matched to heartbeat in the quiet of the chest.
They learned to read the shifts of light, the breathing of the crowd,
And found a stranger, softer tongue where nothing was allowed.
Before the silver wood reached down to claim the planet's lease,
The bunker citizens survived the suffocating peace.
When I
switch on
the light,
I think
of you,
Faraday.
Born
to a poor
blacksmith
in London,
where poverty
tried
to bury
your dreams.
Yet you
listened
to Nature,
while kings
listened
to power.
You discovered
electromagnetic
induction,
the heartbeat
of generators,
transformers,
and the
electric motor.
You gave
light
to a world
that had
forgotten
how to
dream.
In 1825,
you discovered
benzene,
a gift
to science
and industry.
When I
pass
the Sandemanian
church plot
at Highgate,
I remember
that greatness
can rest
in silence.
You conquered
poverty.
You conquered
ignorance.
Without
wealth.
Without
titles.
Without
formal education.
The powerful
built empires.
You built
the future.
Every lamp
that defeats
the night
whispers
your name.
And when
the streetlights
flicker,
I do not
see electricity.
I see
Michael
Faraday—
the poor
man's son,
who became
the light
of the
nineteenth
century.
Hush now—
let the generators hum.
Let the sodium lights
sing their electric hymn.
Gravel settles into itself.
Steel cools.
Boots rest by doors like obedient animals.
The moon drapes silver
across the fence line
as if tucking in a child
too tired to dream.
Sleep comes cautiously here,
through thin walls
and thinner patience.
But somewhere in the wiring
of night,
a softer frequency plays—
A lullaby
for men who build
what they may never live inside.
Encompassing a broad range of technologies
machines to perform what would usually be
the tasks and chores for humans
concepts that form the foundations
that enable assignments and and tasks
to be performed
concepts form the very being of
artificial intelligence and it's various employment
of specific usage
it's premise was to be used as an understudy
to help the thespians study there roles
Prompt desks and musical interludes included
the robots are the intellecail property
the theather and all the actions between
robot and person are filmed and are
the intellectaul property
of the studio
all words in accordance to the theathers scritps
and music. Even the humming and signing
are all the proerty of the studio or theather
rerecodings are forbiddened unless
contracted or allowed.
Scayles and Chords are conducted
Fibonacci sequence and arithmetic sequences
are arrangement of notes in a scale to the
overall form of a composition
Collaberations between humanoid and person
are contraceed.
Music Generators
Big Roy Versatile 1080
thee oughts of thoughts
recycle
so
what always goes round
turns
our crank
and we become generators
of
energies to
ward off spelling errors
and just
see
what we leave printed on
what's left
of trees
len
As he entered the room he pushed the oak door firmly against the wall trapping the shadows in a makeshift Tobelerone his hands frantic on the light switch
Even during the hottest summers he declined the comfort of the shade of towering trees.
Each room in his home had rows of light bulbs
Candles flickered in every corner
Neon tubes hummed in dazzling arrays
The constant thrum of individual generators for each living space.
At night thick slats of iron covered every window
opening only with the touch of sunlight yawn
Why do I whisper hello in my empty spaces he pondered his inner voice answering you know why
He shivered as a draught of unknown origins invited the candles to sway in unison
There is suffering, we write checks.
There is much madness, we duck and dive,
walk in groups.
Preppers dream of solar powered generators.
Small guns are concealed upon large men.
Troubled times, the news is too much
for these short days.
The popular narrative is to worry
while we can.
On a cycle path I walk on tiptoes.
Last year a young lady was assaulted
on this trail -beaten to death,
It made the local news.
Nothing occurs today
but it could.
I am harassed by storm crows,
they are smoky shadows
pecking
at my ashtray mind.
The ashtray is a heavy glass one,
it could be used as a weapon.
A Fantasy
There was I, forgotten in the attic.
Mannequin discarded, ready for demolition.
Cracks everywhere with some rags thrown on
Haphazardly over me like a scarecrow.
Suddenly all lights went out, an outage.
Immediately the generators went off but failed.
In the attic, the air went into a trembling atmosphere
Thunder boomed and lightning filled the room.
An electrical power surge lit everywhere.
Suddenly I felt alive and began to walk, rags and all.
There were other mannequins, so completely ruined,
Some in good shape. But one caught my attention
As she walked towards me. The static turned into music.
May the last waltz last forever. I took her in my embrace,
The dance began, not a word was spoken just gestures.
Mentally I counted one, two. three, around the attic.
Occasionally I twirled her around on her toes,
Suddenly the lights went on and we all went back
To where we were initially, rags and all.
Some people came to inspect the attic and said:
We must get rid of these mannequins once and for all.
A capacity payment is made by a user of an energy asset to the owner
of that asset in return for the rights to utilize the asset's capacity.
Capacity payments can be significant revenue sources for generators
because generator would still get paid even if it produced no electricity.
1.First the government gave subsidised electricity.
2.People used to addicted to it.
3.Then Pakistan doesn't have resources to give any subsidy.
4.They can't cut the subsidy cox it will cost them electorally.
5.Electric Dildos have switch functions or adjust intensity function.
Note.RAW might be involved in exposing Underworld Don of Pindi.
Cheers! Emmanuel Amos:
A Fast Gathering Moss!
No more a Rolling Stone.
The magic wrought alone…
Now, nice strong. houses builds:
Vibrated blocks for them wields
All Strong Generators
Withstand Incinerators…
Amos I’d taught in Okpo
A World I’d sought her succour:
From a tough part of the clan;
She could go to war no plan’
I would never forget Amaiyi:
Sounds much like Poet Niyi.
Four years it was over
And again turned A Rover…
A Great Meeting this year
January starts with beer!
I
its funny how words contain stories
call them by the synonym, mysteries
SLAVE also has an antidote: SALVE
where SALE of humans rendered some HALVES
of what Nature's God had given ("inalienable rights")
I wrote before: SAVIOUR, spelled so,
has within its letters: 'OUR VISA' to Heaven
Kids have often said DOG and GOD are close
Or "I" am in the middle of a PiG (I am not!)
Just the Letter "i" is in the midst of letters P, i, G
So, as you awake or prepare for work, lunch, snack, or sleep
I suggest a combo of games help redirect, change our focus
From the issues of the day (We had no piped water for 10 days, and)
In sunny South Africa, LOADSHEDDING means power is rationed
So we have six hours a day of cold food and overworked diesel generators
In a digital nation, where banks do not offer much cash: phone
Or internet banking, the order of the day - and no one told my Government!
Remember then, SHALOM SHALOM - as you think of home
Whether on earth or heaven, we need lessons on keeping sane and sad-free
We're not allowed to think it
Colonialism, apartheid had benefits
During apartheid RSA was clean
A religious sort of clean, I admit
But things worked, banks took checks
And you could go in, not pay to deposit
Out of fear of criminals, banks hide
From depositors, charge not "credit" (us)
Back before Mandela's famed win
Electricity was second cheapest
Only beaten by New Zealand in price
Now money cannot buy power/t"krag,"
My local grocery man says he can't pay
The cost of diesel, Rands1,000 an hour
To run generators to keep food fresh
And we are now in Day 2 of blackout
We are going back; the good old days?
Make a wood fire for morning mojo, tea?
NOTE:
It's 7:30 am by the time I post this, and it's 20 hours straight without any electric. The providers, government owned, just don't care enough. Corruption & lack of maintenance is destroying the first world status if our cuties & towns. Will investors come here when power is so undependable? No hot meal or drink for me since 11am yesterday, & one must travel to town in steady rain to buy, if available. God will always see us through, in Jesus's name. PTL
Old Man Winter has arrived, his boots placed firmly on the ground.
A vulgar display of wealth, assets scattered all around.
A robust distortion of nature, his domination now takes the stage.
With oversight and command, correspondence now serves his rage.
Gone are the days of thunder, lightning dancing across the sky.
With his cold and blowing wind, we’re stuck indoors just left to sigh.
A blizzard up here in the north, will overpower this fertile land.
With snowplows and generators, we’re able to take a stand.
When he rears his ugly head, with shovels we’re forced to fight.
These battles can rage, all day and often into the night.
A clear and present danger, we must respect this vile behemoth.
Precautions will save your life, when this old man has reached his zenith.
The blizzard will slowly fade, the sky will clear, and winds recede.
We’ll weather every storm; we are a hardy breed.
Life here in the north is not for the faint of heart.
We have a unique obsession, that’s why we stay and play our part.
12/5/21
“Z” Contest, New or Old – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
From Canada to Texas I pray for you.
I wish I could bring you generators,
or ask what I could do.
It’s not fair to see you suffer in the cold.
Resources on the media, “help” right away has been told.
If you read my poem, I write it from my heart.
Help from anywhere would be a start.
Stay positive, keep yourself wrapped up tight.
Hoping the cold will melt away from sunlight.
I never imagined a winter in your beautiful state.
I will stay positive, love your dear friend Kate.
Valley of the kings
Romantic ideas
Word spread rapidly
Undiscovered tomb of a pharoah
World renown archeological teams
headed for Egypt
Amateurs, we stood in line for almost twenty-hours
before it was our
turn to take a look inside.
From the sunlight to the darkness, at first you go blind.
You hopefully catch yourself
As you find yourself falling over all of the stuff the servants
Felt the Pharoah would need in the afterlife
Toys, tools, everyday items, seeds, toiletries, decorative items
Vast amounts of lapis, and gold are glimpsed at corners where
generators are lighting lamps.
The air is stale, like a death march.
There is little light; but lots of angry shadows.
I lost my footing twice, tripping over an embossed box.
There were three sarcophagus,
In this unusual tomb.
A family disaster perhaps?
I could barely see in here.
I went back out,
and gulp-breathed
Gorgeous Egyptian air,
relieved I had not been grabbed
by a mummy.
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