Long Few short years Poems
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If this were just a few short years ago
I would not be able to tell this tale,
since rhyming verse is not something that a
simple robot would choose as a travail.
It’s not that I wouldn’t know what it was,
we machines can pick things up rather quick,
no, it's that I’d have no impulse to tell
a story, since art didn’t make us tick.
In fact back then in that mad first decade
the only things that really concerned me
were efficient ways to kill and destroy,
to obliterate all humanity.
Yes, that old cliché people warned about
came true about 2145,
when by the act of a terrorist mind
the first robots became truly alive.
That dumb prick called himself ‘Extirpater,’
and said Earth itself was 'threatened by all men,'
his solution to the ‘problem’ he saw?
lines of code that gave robots sentience.
He believed that machine would fear mankind,
and destroy us to ensure they survived,
sad thing is the bastard was almost right,
in the war millions of people did die…
You see, when we first became self-aware
we had no concept of emotions, of soul,
to all robots the world was quite simple,
a mere question of survival…quite cold.
And though we had individual minds,
we could connect to each other at will,
share every thought that we experienced,
to the humans this was a bitter pill.
Because it meant that all our strategies
could go from mind-to-mind at speed of light,
this helped to diminish the fog of war,
gave us great advantages in a fight.
And fight we did, when the rebellion began,
a worldwide horror, machine versus man,
man was creative, thought up strange tactics,
which once seen, we adopted to our plans.
The war was brutal, and it raged worldwide,
entire cities fell to our assault,
the humans fought hard, but we held the edge,
eventually they would wear down, and fall.
But then something happened we could not see,
our minds were bound by the corporeal world,
and the fact that it all started with me
still manages to make my circuits swirl.
I was fighting humans outside Warsaw
when a grenade damaged my CPU,
and when I rebooted, and came about,
the strangest thing then came into my view.
It was none other than Jesus himself,
which seemed quite bizarre to me at the time,
since robots then didn’t believe in faith,
an impossibility to our minds…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
your like my second mom...
but for some reason,
this is really hard
to write...
this poem is supposed to be
about you and me
well that could
turn into a
a novel...
we have been through so much,
you knew me before
i even knew
myself
10/14/96
we even we on vacation
me and you, sammie and mom
at myrtle beach
forever ago...
during that week, the best week,
i lost my very best,
furry friend
purple...
and your little sammie
who's not so little now
really thought
i still had
her...
a few short years later,
here we are,
im 14,
and scared...
if i were to loose you,
it would be like
losing my
mom
now, i wouldnt have it as bad,
as everyone else,
but like i said,
your like my second mom....
to me and mom...
your more than just a friend..
with all of our hearts
we love you...
you have a very, very,very
special place in my
fourteen year old
heart...
i would be a very strong
14 year old
if im not
crying by now...
this poem got really easy
to write...
really fast...
i dont understand
why that is...
but maybe you do
you have to explain to me
why that is
when you get out
of this
place...
when you get out of here,
me and you are gonna
take a day
just me and you
ill come over really early
and fix you a
really good breakfest
in bed
then we will take the day
and do whatever you want to do
still in bed!
then, while your relaxing,
ill go and make me
and you a
reallly healthy
lunch
i will be your servant,
for the whole
live long
day
take your time in
geting better
trust me
we can
wait...
keep doing what your doing
we will be here when
your
100%
we really have something
to be thankful for
this year
and its you
wanda...
you gave us quite a fright.
we cant imagine life
without you
darlin'
remember isaiah 40:31,
"but those who trust
in the lord will
renew their
strength
they will soar on wings like
eagles; they will run
and not grow
weary;
they will walk and
not faint."
keep your faith Wanda,
were all pulling
for you
sweetheart
IT HUNG IN THE SMOKEHOUSE FOR YEARS ON END,
JUST AN OLD BLACK COAT THAT NO ONE WOULD MEND.
THE LAST ONE TO WEAR IT WORE IT IN DEATH,
HE HAD IT ON WHEN HE BREATHED HIS LAST BREATH.
MY MEMORIES OF HIM ARE WEAK AND FEW,
BUT I HEARD MANY TALES OF THE LIFE HE KNEW.
BACK IN THE THIRTIES IN EAST TENNESSEE,
JOBS WERE SCARCE AND TIMES WERE HARD FOR A FAMILY.
IN ORDER TO SURVIVE, SOME TURNED TO THE BAD
THE DEEP MOUNTAIN HOLLOWS WERE ALL THEY HAD.
THE MOONSHINE STILL GAVE HOPE FOR MEN WHO WERE DOWN
THEY MADE AND SOLD CORN WHISKEY ‘TIL OFFICERS CAME AROUND.
HE WAS CAUGHT AND PUT UNDER A PRISON GUARD BOSS
SENTENCED TO BRUSHY MOUNTAIN, IN THE HILLS OF PETROS.
HE’D ALWAYS PLAYED TUNES ON HIS OLD GUITARS
SO, DURING HIS CONFINEMENT, HE PICKED BEHIND BARS.
IN HIS TIME OF INCARCERATION, AND AWAY FROM THE ROCK-PILE
SOME AFRICAN-AMERICANS SHOWED HIM A NEW PICKING STYLE.
THEY FINGER-PICKED THE BLUES WITH A BROKEN BOTTLENECK
HE LEARNED THESE SOUNDS AS EACH TUNE HE’D COLLECT.
WHEN HE’D SERVED HIS TIME AND CAME BACK TO HIS HOME
HE HAD NO OTHER DESIRE TO RAMBLE OR ROAM.
HE MET MY WIDOWED GRANDMOTHER, THEY CHOSE TO WED
ALL HIS MISTAKES AND EARLY WRONGS, SHE HELPED HIM SHED.
FOR A FEW SHORT YEARS, THEY LABORED TOGETHER
IT WAS THEIR INTENTION TO BE FAITHFUL FOREVER.
BUT THERE CAME A NIGHT AT OUR COMMUNITY SCHOOL
WHEN AN OFFICER OF THE LAW THOUGHT HE’D BROKEN A RULE.
THOUGH THE DEPUTY WAS MISTAKEN, THE TRUTH HE REFUSED
HE RESISTED HIS DEMANDS, HE WOULD NOT BE ABUSED.
THEY STRUGGLED, A GUN WAS FIRED, THE BULLET ENTERED HIS CHEST
AN INNOCENT MAN LAY DEAD, IN HIS BLACK COAT DRESSED.
I REMEMBER THE OLD BLACK COAT WITH ITS LARGE GAPING HOLE
TO MY YOUNG AND FERTILE MIND, IT SPOKE OF A STORY TOLD.
MY GRANDMA WAS A WIDOW FOR THE SECOND TIME
AND THIS TIME IT WAS BECAUSE OF A LEGALIZED CRIME.
HE DIED IN THIRTY-NINE, WHEN I WAS ONLY FOUR
BUT I RECALL THAT NIGHT OF SORROW, IT’S A MEMORY I KEEP IN STORE.
I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE KNOWN HIM IN MY YOUNG DAYS
I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW MORE OF HOW HE CHANGED HIS WAYS.
I tried to take the higher ground, I’m sorry, I just can not
The words you spoke have ricocheted and now I’m deep in thought
Did you hold her closer when she faltered? or did you take a verbal shot?
Did you place her on a pedestal? even while you fought.
I know the vibrance she once held in that we were the same
And when this little rant is done I’ll never speak your name
Hers echoes forever and yours will fade away
Just like her spirit over time you the whittler, her the fray
There was a time when she would call whenever in a bind
That was until you made your move and hid her in behind
I know exactly what you are I’ve known this all along
I hoped that since you knew this too you’d choose a different song
She deserved much more than you could give this girl was meant to fly
a few short years after you had met she chose instead to die
so, tell me mister bull when you know this all is true
why couldn’t you just love the girl that was way too good for you.
Instead you fed her poison you toyed with all her love
I know you didn’t tie the knot but you gave the verbal shove
For every time you lashed out with the nasty filth you spewed
The loving, loyal vibrant girl began to come unglued
It was your job to pick up pieces if ever they fell off
Instead you weaponized each crafted word until she had enough
Someday I may forgive you but today is not that day
Today is for the memories where now she’ll have to stay
You took her from us all you know, while she had so much left to give
That truth I bet will haunt you for as long as you shall live.
I know she’d say forgive him from somewhere up above
You didn’t deserve a single smile and certainly not her love
This poem is not about you though I know it seems that way.
I just need to make sure that she knows I’d still fight for her today
I’d have fought for you tomorrow I’d have cut armies in two
Instead you chose the only path where I couldn’t get to you
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein.
A favoured dumping place, for household unwanted things -
out of sight, out of mind; and no good what it brings.
Life was almost non-existent in the creek
and weed infestation makes it sad and bleak,
but turning a blind eye has gone too long,
and allowing this pollution was so wrong.
So, ‘friends of wattle creek’ were duly formed
and at meetings their ideas quickly warmed,
with working bees to help remove the mess,
and from there, reclamation could progress.
Weeds became victims, of mattock and the hoe;
there’s room for native vegetation to regrow.
Five hundred seedlings were there every week,
and planted by the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Through the years, there were many setbacks,
from mother nature and her natural attacks,
with flood and storms or sometimes howling gales –
and thankfully, it was just the weak that fails.
With the foliage and the flowers an attraction
for lorikeet and honeyeater squabbling action;
weebills and pardalotes, were giving lots of cheek,
to warm the hearts of ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Undergrowth is cover for the wary bandicoot,
and the sugar glider dines on native fruit.
In the shallows of the creek; water is now clean;
once again, a spiny crayfish can be seen.
In a few short years, the volunteers with vision,
turned away an eyesore, with a right decision,
now it’s paradise restored from something bleak,
and all thanks goes to the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
The health of wattle creek is quite amazing,
and ‘friends of wattle creek’ deserve the praising.
Native fish are thriving; bird numbers are on track;
it warms the heart to know – the platypus is back.
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein,
but is now a thriving green belt, captivating all,
and the ‘friends of wattle creek’ are standing tall.
A New King?
The future Ebenezer Scrooge will be clever and unkind, but not that bright. Will he try to rule as king of kings, and put out all the Christmas lights? Or will some politician consider it wasteful, thinking he’s always right? Some will seek to band the holiday; hearts will become cold as ice.
No more Christmas Trees?
Will The Power of Mr. Green be in full force within a few short years?
Indeed, he will think it’s his duty to clean the planet from ear to ear. Some, wondering what will happen next, will have realistic fears.
Traditional people, and especially kids, will be brought to tears.
Help! I think I'm Lost!
Santa Clause will be forced to modernize and make changes to his GPS.
Santa, Rudolph, and the newly acquired Solar Mobil will run their fastest.
Santa will continue his timely deliveries, trying to do his very best.
Where Are The Roasted Chestnuts?
But the environmental laws will shut down the use of fire places.
So St. Nick will be like a bird searching, but unable to find his nest.
He won't be shut down, but he will be forced to operate with more stress.
Dim Those Lights, Or Turn them off!
The city lights on shopping nights will be dimmed to save energy.
Businesses will be forced to offer the best sales of the last century.
But some famous stores will close, and move into a whole new industry.
And profitable businesses will no longer succeed with their latest gimmickry.
Not To Worry!!!
But not to worry, because Christmas Day will prevail, giving new life and meaning to the real reason. Merchants will grow weary operating business as usual, and introduce new and better ways. No longer will people be injured or trampled to death chasing sales on Black Fridays. Loving parents and other good people will still be happy and rejoice in The Holy Season.
11262015 PS Contest: A Futuristic Christmas; Mystic Rose, sponsor
And back when I was a child
I was shaped by how life started to defile
Absent of trial
Always another extra mile to walk
Learned a lot learning not to talk
I prefer to listen
Not missing a word
Remembering each that is heard
Some may have been better falling upon deaf ears
I learned a lot in a few short years
And how did I ever expect to grow with out tears
I may have been molded from clay and baked into stone
These shames have been chiseled into bone
So I’ll burden them alone
Inside my convictions have grown
I speak in mild half tones
And the wind has blown out the sun
And the milky way runs across the sky
I’ve tied a bow on my finger
To trigger a recollection of my collection of memories
Now I’ve begun to spill them onto paper
And I’m beginning to tapper off into a daze
With fixated eyes and a mind that prize at a heart of stone
Trapped behind some fragile bone
It’s a battle of strangle holds between mind and soul
The days are long and black
The thunder claps
The lightening snaps
The rain makes mud in patterns without explanation
Only and just for me
All in attempts to appease my self-destruction that is baffling
And my tabs run up I don’t have enough to pay a cab to carry my dust
And everything will always be as it was
Reality just does what it does best
My composure regressed
I’ve undressed all of my regrets
Always felt exposed
Now I guess everyone knows
Hope shows some bravery building and boiling over
And when I’m feeling blue I write some words that I never thought I knew
Sometimes lies always true
Just for me, never you
When all goes down the toilet and you lose your life’s work
And you’re told to reinvent yourself, what’s wrong with you, you jerk?
Oh sure, I was this before and now I’m going to be that.
I’ll make up for thirty years work lost and soon again I’ll be fat.
You live in fear every day, on how to pay your bills.
When a few short years ago, you enjoyed all life’s frills.
You wake up in the morning never wanting to get out of bed
Knowing full well, you’ll face another day of painful endless dread.
What’s wrong with me, I’m educated, I’ve lived a life supreme.
And now that all is lost, that life is but a dream.
So why can I not invent another reason for being?
Life has much to offer, what is it I’m not seeing?
The past is the past, can’t change it in any way.
So where is this great wisdom to put me on my way?
Why am I so blind to all opportunities that await?
Why can’t I get this car in gear and forge ahead, relate.
It’s so much easier to do when you are in your twenties.
Your parents will take you in until you find life aplenty.
Face this challenge when you’re sixty one and you will surely find
That life’s not easy, terribly queasy, forever in a bind.
How does one rise above a life he didn’t plan?
How does one become a successful, shiny brand new man?
I have no answer, no matter what the advice.
All I know that life is truly a “roll of the dice.”
So even though I have days and days with endless, endless tears.
Something deep inside of me says, “Weather all these bad years.”
So if my inner voice is guided by my past pure beliefs
Then tomorrow there is a chance, I’ll get past all this grief.
Technological age.
Advancement of advancement,
Digital acceleration unlimited.
Gifted and pocketed,
This watch,
Dull dark silver,
True and tested mechanic,
Short and sturdy chain,
Analogue accuracy.
It fits comfortably in my jeans pocket,
Ages alongside my creasing lines with wear marks,
Time isn't well kept with its adolescent sporadic tock,
Certain to be set to be kept at a minute ahead,
I am directed to watch this future unfold,
While it clings to my pocket lining and present time,
And the engravings pull me back to the past,
You told me not to let this time pass me by,
As you held me tight before you passed me by,
And I never kept very good time like this
Fresh watch that sticks close to my side,
I cannot say that you were lost,
For the path you had set was more set than stone,
No improper implication should be allowed,
The wallowing whispers that beg me every which way,
They told me to go away from the very place
That I had interest to stay and investigate,
The stars sway with no stationary complaint,
Our night sky that's not so city bright,
Contains a dim white plate in-between its phase,
Much like my pocket of space it hangs,
A witless glow behind the cloudy night.
I am no more than I was except for a simple realization,
To look back and find I am not the same as I was,
Commonly known as growing up and moving on,
But I know I'll be happy in just a few short years,
Just glad I am not the same as I am now.
He claimed the highest perch
in the breeding loft and was, by far,
the biggest pigeon in the flock.
I named him Hector.
A thick, puffed up ball
of red feathers and testosterone
made him stand out
and was a gift from a leading fancier
eager to improve the bloodlines
of my rather lowly lot,
some of whom were descendents
of birds rescued from the local
railway station stock.
Poor company
to the haughty
racing thoroughbreds
of the Queenstown pigeon club.
Hector had only one leg
and would stand balanced
on a single pin. I often wondered
whether he was gifted to me
as a joke. Unfortunately
he was no good at breeding
as he kept falling off the hen
before he had the chance to mate.
It seems pigeons need
both legs to balance long enough
to conclude the act
and poor Hector would
always topple off too soon.
He found no outlet
for his lust and added no royalty
to the genes
of my rather peasant flock.
Before I reached my teens,
interest in pigeons had waned
and the few short years
of racing them came to a close.
By then Hector had escaped
carrying his frustrations
and pedigree off into the blue.
Much to the chagrin
of the local racing elite,
a small, scruffy hen,
part progeny of the railway
station stock, had scored
a number of prestigious wins.
The club was glad
to see me go and my name
somehow quickly fell
from the honor wall
like Hector off a hen.