The Poetry Channel when open,
its wavelength sharp and clear
Searching for me as it calls for my voice,
in moments dark but dear
The Poetry Channel if distant, remote,
streaming above my thoughts
Transmitting in silence, antenna to blame,
whose frequency I’ve sought
The Poetry Channel with static tuned out,
its bandwidth framed in gold
Quiet by day, amplifying at night
—to broadcast time untold
(Dreamsleep: November, 2015)
I cleared my mind.
Now there's more than just harmony.
I can't list everything,
Then the song appeared like lightning.
Rock is playing in my soul,
On the innermost notes of the heart.
My song will knock you down,
You can warm yourself with it.
I often lie and I'm not sorry,
This is how a song is born.
I look at the future in the distance,
And this music is lovely.
When it was cold,
Life was like a fairy tale.
But I said to rock, "Yes!",
Then the mask fell from his face.
Music sounds in your ears,
It plays with the rhythm of the heart.
She appears to me in my dreams,
This is a song on megahertz.
Violent heartbeat
Poets are sponges, we take it all inside.
We keep it for use later, safely in the back of our minds.
A memory, an image; a picture of a picture.
We are the student, the expert, the novice and the teacher.
This is all I have to give! This and nothing more.
Nevermore shall I lead forward; stand alone and learn to crawl.
For I am but an infant, inside this land of experts;
I have nothing of importance to say,
Except, I love the way you use those words,
With a memory so clearly full of megahertz.
I am forever learning how to talk in verse;
Exaggerate the truth, some say there are lies beneath those words.
Poetry is yours to do as your own.
Someone else’s opinion shouldn't affect your writing,
So find your feet in your own time and hope to become well known.
Empty your mind of negativity, so you can become free and shapeless;
Then you can become anything you want to understand.
You can become that thing without effort ever being wasted;
Write like you mean it, with a violent heartbeat
And all you will become is a writer and a poet
And on the shoulders of giants you shall stand.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
I remember after about 1990,
i was using a computer xt type, speed 1o megahertz,
screen used to burn me eyes, so i used dark glasses,
i had just put some story on the hard drive and it died,
leaving me stranded with no back up of a few hours of work...
always make a back up hey....Don
ps..S C B love the flow an rhyme of this poem..."Bumpy Cyber Space" Carol Brown
Don
FATE?
Some say that retribution's fine,
high intervention seems divine.
The spark of lightning's suffered break,
no satisfaction do I take,
coincidence doth make this rhyme.
by vk4pr Don
Or how a knockers early 1990 8088, 10 megahertz computer got scorched
by lightening years ago when i was using Ham radio
a bit more often
Carolyn,
poor ole radio sits alone,
used to talk to my dad on it, i own,
recorded his stories on an ole reel tape,
perhaps frequency movie i can ape,
hope ya healthy happy babe, a going,
johnsons gone so hold the phone:)
on ya baba, love....Don
John Smith,
I annoyed a Ham, lightening hit his antennae mast,
scorched his modem and toway radio,what a blast,
jumped into the old xt computer box,
an blue the bejesus out of its socks,
onetimes not:)
MORAL don't pick on poor ole johnson:(
The term that we call Evolution,
May one day provide solutions,
As we try to enhance the senses,
That seem bound by genetic fences...
Our strands of DNA within,
Has grown so far beyond our skin,
That what we hear see smell and touch,
Just doesn't seem to matter much...
Praying on computer power,
That seems to triple by the hour,
What was once a front side bus,
Is somehow woven into us...
When terms like gigs and megahertz,
Are stitched in pockets on our shirts,
By parts we make from processed sand,
That used to be done by our hands...
But no matter what the augmentation,
It's only cloning your sensation,
So evolution won't mistake,
The part that's real from the part that's fake...
She was wonderful and powerful
My object of desire
Her smooth clean face so beautiful
The apple of my eye
My love she had an accident
She fell from up on high
I found her broken body there
'Twas lying on the ground
Now all I have's her memory
The songs we used to share
Oh how I miss that ipod
My heart it megahertz
We’re living in a high tech age
Of megahertz and gigabytes,
But still can’t manage to assuage
The itch of tick and chigger bites.
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