Transistors fizz
Electrons bustle
As robots claim
The daily hustle
The hinges creak
The oil of words
Is missing from
The mindless herds
They oft parade
With heads bowed low
Quite frankly,
Nowhere else to go
As hooked in tasks
In ruts with traction
Replace the normal
Human faction
Robots make robots
Or so I'm told
They replicate
The lies they're sold
Perpetuating
All that manic
In ways that seem
Somewhat satanic
The robot wars
Are not to fear
Just realise that they
Are here
Dispense with screen
Release your mind
In un-robotic ways
You'll find
The beauty of
The world around
When eyes you lift
Will soon be found;
Through trees and rain
Bare feet on grass
A world machines
Can ne'er surpass
The pores of life
Should breathe it in
Beguiled no more
By wars of tin.
Behind a pane of vintage
glass he stands,
A silent wizard from a distant
land.
With golden turban and a
paisley vest,
He wakes to life at a coin's
request.
An iron token drops into the
slot,
And gears awaken what the
workshop wrought.
His painted eyes begin to roll
and gleam,
A sudden actor in a neon
dream.
The crystal ball lights up with
shifting fire,
Responding to the circuit
board's desire.
He nods his head and waves
a mechanical hand,
Dispensing secrets from the
desert sand.
"Zoltar Speaks!" his booming
voice declares,
To startled children at the
crowded fairs.
His motorized jaw clicks
open and goes slack,
Demanding that you never
look back.
A whirring motor drops a
paper slip,
Your future written on a
cardboard strip.
The music fades, the blinking
lights grow dim,
And quiet shadows settle
back on him.
He waits alone inside his
wooden box,
A trapped magician under
glass and locks.
When things don't work, I panic
I call the plumber or the mechanic
the electrician, or appliance repairman
without them I would despair, Man.
I can't fix my bike when it blows a tire
To be competent is a dream to which I aspire
But I was born all thumbs, and though I read tomes
When it comes to troubleshooting, I'm no Sherlock Holmes.
So I respect the people who make things work
But I wonder if in our government such people lurk.
Could politicians change a light bulb, fix a car?
splice a broken wire, get my bike to go far?
Could I trust my mayor as a babysitter
Or for that matter, a sweater knitter?
Can a college student clean a dorm?
Are mindless slogans the new norm?
When the power goes out, and it gets cold
Will we find a bill of goods that we've been sold?
Do we use the same criteria to trust an orator
That we do when hiring someone to wallpaper a corridor?
My Dad was told I'd make a good soldier, because I looked strong
My Dad winced and said "Sir, you got that wrong"
Maybe I could be a writer, or maybe wash the floor
Can someone shoe me how to mop? for help I must implore.
O mystery mechanical...
How to figure out?
Sing in me, O bright moon full.
Rain down as a shout.
When, knowledge? I've been seeking.
O riddle wrought in spark.
O Fate, through thy veil peeking.
O candle, dispel dark...
Prickly pear cactus, shown in dream.
The desert painted white.
Altar holding bowl of cream.
Hell and Heaven, sight...
Wind, blow clear my vision.
Answers, where do you live?
Crystal clear, O my scion.
Prisoner, grab thy shiv...
A potion? How to portion well?
How through the portal slip?
Recipe of mighty spell?
Hidden in a quip.
Young and full of stories?
Hail on us, holy drink.
Veil of morning glories...
Left on the crater's brink.
Triumph, are you made of gold?
One is over-souled.
O volcano, feeling cold?
Break thought free of mold.
It's better than it's looking?
Fair, fine, and fancy-free.
Witches' brew a-cooking...
All right, apostrophe...
Too many tiny minds
telling others what to do
the sighted led by the blind
even tho' they can't do it too
curtailing all creativity
restraining imagination
destroying individuality
those who can don't need advising
those who can't should stop supervising
let me make my own mistakes
it's the only way I'll know what it takes
to get where I need to be
so put the key in the slot
wind me up and watch me go
a robot I am not
Love is non-mechanical
it doesn’t crank, pinion
or always work dependably.
In cavalier moments, I thought I knew
something of how it all works—
it’s apertures and shafts—
its grinds and reciprocations.
I’d judge it’s motions
work its levers, judge its spins,
and address its slippery angles.
You could call me obsessive
but obsessive people don’t
obsess this much.
You could call me compulsive
but the compulsive aren't
this compulsive.
All I can do is poise, balance
or swipe a little black credit card.
It’s the only magic I have.
I can’t turn bread into wine
or fish into water.
I can’t make the blind walk
the deaf to see or the lame to
taste again.
God reserves some miracles,
keeps them as close to the vest
as cards.
Jugglers work the circus,
mimes thrash to communicate,
and tightrope walkers fall.
.
.
Songs for this:
Viva la vida by Cold Play
When There Is Love by Karen Sokolof Javitch
The Rainbow Connection by Sarah McLachlan
.
.
How about a Christmas playlist! Because Christmas is in 10 days!
www.daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_29.mp3
In cogs and gears, her heart does beat,
A clockwork girl, both strange and sweet.
Her eyes, like polished brass, aglow,
Reflect the time, the world below.
With gears that click and springs that chime,
She measures moments, day and time.
A copper bodice, sleek and tight,
Holds secrets in the fading light.
Her hands, of bronze, a delicate dance,
Point to the hours, a fleeting glance.
A winding key, a silver thread,
Keeps her ticking, unsaid, unled.
Amidst the steam and smoke-filled air,
A whisper of her presence, rare.
The city's pulse, she knows it well,
Her clockwork heart, a silent spell.
But in her gaze, a sadness hides,
A yearning for the world outside.
To feel the warmth, the human touch,
Beyond the gears, beyond the clutch.
For though she runs, on time's own whim,
A part of her, forever dim,
Yearns for a soul, a beating heart,
To break free, from the clockwork art.
Soft ivory pages, crisp and new.
Insulated from the world's harsh truths,
Snuggled in the comfort of rote learning, it waits.
Protected from challenging ideas,
Camouflaged as a bastion of knowledge,
Ignoring sounds of a changing world outside.
Each lesson absorbed, concepts released,
The slightest spark of curiosity dimmed,
Minds anchored to standardised forms.
Slow to evolve, the system creaks.
Returning to the safety of metrics,
Covered in a shroud of false contentment.
Coal-dark ink scans the ledger,
Nourished by the currency of test scores,
Effortless, true learning slips into the abyss.
A place where wisdom once flourished,
Embraced by the essence of inquiry,
Now mechanical, measured, misguided.
We too must remember,
The embrace of knowledge's true essence,
Living beyond the melting ivory tower.
ill never get used to
the numbness that tinges away at everything
every movement
a rusted nusiance
as if the words that make up my reality are too much to bear
there are no creaks
or technical things to tweak
because i am still
unfortunately, a biomechanical thing
instead there are aches
pains
issues that, like the rain
always streaming down my face
struggles to catch the hint and go away
despite my attempted ignorance though
do you think my erosion shows?
Amy Ingram, who lives next door,
like nobody, you've met before,
always talks with a whirring sound,
and walks an inch above the ground,
all mechanical that's for sure.
She reopened the hardware store,
mending microwaves and mowers,
AI hope for our run down town,
Amy Ingram.
Red capped residents, soon got sore,
said "this ain't our town any more",
but some of us stuck to our ground,
we wouldn't let them shut her down,
I'm just glad I've got to know her,
Amy Ingram.
My Best Mechanical Friend
You pester me with the slightest errors.
You bing and bong
Giving me night terrors.
I want drive along
And not listen to musical scarers.
It’s three degrees and you let me know.
You shout at me.
And then you show
On the dash a disaster ahead
And you bing and bong
While but nothing is said.
You’re a lovely car I wouldn’t swap.
I just want the bings and bongs to stop.
Let me drive in blissful peace.
And not steer while grinding my teeth.
An eighties car that’s what I need.
It doesn’t have feelings, it doesn’t bleed.
It’ll carry on until it drops.
It won’t flash and bleep if a tyre pops.
Then I drive you just one more day
The sun is shining, so beeps are okay.
David Cox 23/04/24
A hundred years from now
or in the next moment
I will be dead, gone and back.
Not this 'I' with its sticky ego
gumming up the works;
forever tinkering, jury-rigging
a mental machinery
that was always poorly designed.
Most likely, baby me, is already out
of the chimeric soup,
he or she probably
made of spare parts also.
Are we are all variants
created in a biological laboratory
purposely put together flawed,
'try outs' tested
to see what works best?
Constant experimentation is important.
Reincarnation but an instant
then we are out the door once more
clanking around
Watching the first light
of a Mechanical Dawn
cress the filigree
of a divinities detonated forms, LIGHT!
Breaks cold & precise
The passing of morn
Processing the binary of life
The stains of tachyons
The helix of soul
Heliosphere of fire, fine
Blown into space held by gravity
Faster than the echos of matter
Held by strings tired to all
In creations call
Seeing the afterglow of a nuclear blast
Suspended in the aura of the aftermath
The Mechanical Dawn brakes the theories
Of starlight Drive
The engines divine
The life in binary code
The spiral of soul
…in a mechanical dawn!
The switch clicks the power surges
The beast it comes alive
The reels dance to a silent tune
And the screen becomes a mass of light.
It awaits its first victim of the day
The victim who is desperate to play.
The addict who knows he cannot stop
Even when that last penny has dropped.
The beast falls silent
The addict walks away
But the beast knows
It will destroy more lives today.
Suddenly the lights perform their dance
Waiting for someone to take a chance
Oh look another sucker drawn in
Another destruction of life to begin.
So many victims are born in a day
So many lives are taken away
No one can see the hurt and pain
But tomorrow it all starts again.
My name's Paul and I'm a compulsive gambler
There is a machine that can duplicate all you do,
Even think all by itself.
Just one can replace an entire crew,
They will come for your job, out of the blue-
They are precise, and fast and stealth.
There is a machine that can duplicate all you do,
Like a head spinning, mind blowing deja vu,
Say goodbye to your acquired wealth
Just one can replace an entire crew .
Whether a janitor or a computer guru
They will know that and more of what you thought you knew,
There is a machine that can duplicate all you do,
And to think every word of this is true!
We can't blame anyone but ourselves.
Just one can replace an entire crew,
We ignored them as their numbers grew,
Never late, always focused and in perfect health-
There is a machine that can duplicate all you do,
Just one can replace an entire crew.
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