Long Chip Poems
Long Chip Poems. Below are the most popular long Chip by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chip poems by poem length and keyword.
I stared into the mirror, wincing at my own reflection,
through eyes fogged by cataract.
Saw a black tint spreading around my eyes
and face like a wrinkled piece of linen
Where is the bubbly girl of seventeen?
I asked myself.
How flamboyant and flaunting I was,
now enveloped in silence.
Do anyone remember my younger version-
the little birdie that tweeted endless?
Beneath the shell of this withering cortex,
I still have a heart young as ever,
not yet shriveled, but succulent
full of love and warmth;
a sleeping guitar, capable of music,
if trained hands move over my taut strings.
So please don't take me as a wretched hag,
and push me into a state of silent non-being
or throw me like the chip of a broken mirror,
making me feel so inconsequential!
Our lives should have been intertwined after the incident May 23rd 2019.
But you lie, and you brush me off like I don’t matter, so you are ingrained in my life and I was just a chip on your shoulder.
Instead of accepting your responsibility as a human you are trying to blame me for your crime.
You changed my life forever, but do not want to accept the consequences of your actions
You could have killed me on the outside, but instead you killed me on the inside.
I will never be who I was before you hurt me, ever again, inside and out.
But you disregard my struggles, pain, and trauma.
And I have to hope that I receive some type of closure for myself if Justice prevails.
As I watch the sun descend from view,
cast shadows across the land anew,
Floating warehouses engulf the sky
thus the shadows never die.
The drones which fill the evening air,
aren’t drones of old to thus compare,
but silent, programmed to communicate,
delivering goods and never late.
The chip implant within my hand
is my identity, you understand,
encrypted with a micro currency
for transaction approval of efficient fluency.
The robots, just like silk to touch
for which nothing is too much
parade the house, each play their part
like humanoids devoid of heart.
From cars that fly to boats that hover;
with 3D printers, everything’s on offer,
from building houses, making repairs
to all items in need of spares.
We sleep in pods with medical guile
monitoring organs in high tech style.
Ageing, now a long lost plague
of a distance past so acutely vague.
The cell phone, an archaic relic
now holographic, almost psychedelic,
run your life, in complete control,
total dependency with no parole.
Vacations restricted not to Earth,
so choose the planet of your birth,
Venus, Mars even the moon
places you will visit soon.
But species die out day by day,
we can do nothing else but to pray,
for nature’s habitat must prevail,
not advancements which the humans hail.
The women in the kitchen are exceptionally pretty
Because they are my relatives, and they love me
My mother is wearing a red dress, but it is muted
Aunt Sue is dressed in green with a fancier apron
The entire house smells like vanilla and cinnamon
I salivate the minute I enter the kitchen
You may have one cookie before lunch, mother says
How can I choose just one?
My favorite cookies are all over the place
Chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cookies
Gingerbread cookies, frosted sugar cookies
“Okay, two,” she says, seeing my dilemma.
My aunt sneaks me a third cookie when my mother turns.
“I saw that!” My mother says, without looking.
I am only seven, but I know she has eyes all around her head.
My aunt laughs, but I am scared now. What else does Mom know?
Me a zombie?
Never!
Just a viral doofus poseur,
Brainiac and hacker on the loose tapping into other genie lamps,
Wireless Stikbot floater skipping ID challenge.
Hurdles that authenticate saliva from a silicone palate.
Trojan horse webber getting kicks from pop up photos and their tick box phasers.
Magic putty slideshows arfe my fix,
Overlapping gotchas in the cryptic mainframe,
zapped on sight.
Cookies nerd obsessive, parasitic nibbler on limitless net feeds,
Humanoid, human void,
vacuum mouse pad tracker ball bane.
Foxy email phisser,
wolf amid the Wiki swathes at random,
memory never full.
Sabouteur who pinpoints rootkit channels,
silently installing gridlock pixels deep freeze.
But I am not a robot,
just some micro chip app monger, macro chip on shoulder and those other parts designed by desktop surgeons,
sideline sci-fi wise guy not so wise,
hi-tech buff illusion in a hall of mirrors dash into the ether.
Me this CoderDojo mass encryption tangle,
blue moon barcode surfer, Janus-faced,
mutant bit part player who has somehow lost his byte!
Written January Twenty First Twenty Twenty
A Chip Off the Old Bukowski Block ©
i sit here on the toilet
looking at the cane by my side
when did this happen?
its pronged feet could, at any moment,
scamper into a tidal pool, so much does it
remind me of a robotic crab
my mornings now consist of pills, shuffling
to the next room to pour cereal
then work up a **** before I can
leave the house
When did this happen?
bodily functions take priority as
I can no longer trust this body not
to embarrass me in public
when did this happen?
my knees are shot to hell
my bowels rumble and twist
my arthritis tears at me with sharp little teeth
my vision is perfect, cataracts
blasted away by another robot
when did this happen?
the other day my mind went on a holiday
leaving me behind, confused and blank,
frightened
is this a harbinger of what’s to come
when did this happen?
just saying what i seeing
baby you need to come up for air
before you despair
i look over at your flesh
you look really a mess
just saying
you should be praying
somebody needs some sun
and fun
just saying
you should be praying
its like you look as pale as a ghost
you're a pariah at most
baby you need to air out
your pout
that chip on your shoulder
needs to smolder
and you need to come to the surface
with a different purpose
baby you moving to the dark side
as you inhabit those four walls and hide
you're insides are dark, outsides are white
paradox i see it day and night
its like your morph'in
but you're rott'in
just saying
someone should be praying
connie pachecho
1/14/17
My youngest son is forty-six years old
A chip off the old block as they say
I take full responsibility for this young fellow
Scott is his name, silliness is his game
Proud as punch of that boy
'Why grow up' has always been my motto
He has certainly accepted it as his as well
Like two peas in a pod we are
Poor dear wife Cathie
She is tested daily by us two extreme characters
She deserved some kind of an award, a medal
For endurance under extreme comedic conditions
The word 'serious' does not exist in our vocabulary
Life is one big hoot
And why not... the alternative sucks
Did I say I'm proud as punch of this fellow
A successful computer guru
Heading up the Creative Services Department
For a large company servicing the pharmaceutical industry
Did I say I'm proud as punch of this fellow
I'm repeating myself aren't I
He's the apple of my eye
Ironically, we are both Apple Computer geeks!
We're both bytes out of the old Apple
© Jack Ellison 2014
Out of words
I ran out of words
so I stopped at the store
and searched every aisle and row
Pushing my cart
with a wobbling wheel
just trying to keep with the flow
Green beans and cold cuts
and dishwasher soap,
cartons of squeezed orange juice
Deodorant, hot dogs,
steak by the pound,
napkins and farm fresh produce
Chocolate chip cookies,
a magazine stand,
broom handles right over there
Two percent milk,
light bulbs and duct tape,
prices galore to compare
But there were no words
no, none I could use
to write you a poem today
No phrases on sale,
not a verse on the shelf
or flowery thoughts on display
I asked at the counter,
then chased down a clerk
hoping a few I could find
Fresh out of stock,
we’re waiting a shipment
I sighed and I said never mind
So I bought a pen
and a Big Chief notebook,
there was nothing else I could do
And scribbled these words
as I walked to my car
that simply did say…I love you
In Sight... and
What did we expect?
Our creations name is Chip.Set!
Nearing the stage of our lips at...
Faster Then Light Speeds
Created our Creation did indeed
Given intent and morph.ability
Written in Choice as probability
Directions to overcome...
We created our Creation and IT became One...
Wondering and wandering, waiting on Life
While we, pondering and correcting, edited files
Inserting miles and smiles of Love
Determined to create in THE Image Of.
Welcome. We're a Singularity...
And SO in sight of what can now be seen...
Is a Matter of creation we named, The WE...THere's an E in that...
and yeah, IT, comes with a joystick too,
V2.Human... ;)~
Me.2.U.Lumin
Form: