“Nothing is new
under the sun!” Sorry,
can’t buy that! Man ill fated then, to
dog-paddle eternally in pools of mediocrity -- never
destined to attain higher pinnacles of physical,
spiritual development? – cursed to always relive the
same themes, patterns; to struggle with repetitive
developmental flaws, manifesting as both inner and outer
soul corruption...rejecting unique
new arrangements, by refusing to alter
programmable psychic disks? – not
capable of exploring the possibility of an evolving
trans-formative mind, with an equally capable feeling heart…
Were I to accept any of this, I would never
write another word of poetry….
(“The Cave of Unknowing”, 2012, original oil)
As The World Burns
As the world turns
The morning soap operas play out
In print and film, song and dance
Showing on every screen
A world ablaze with fear
Disease, famine, war and rumors of war
Programming the programmable
While I sit in my room a cocoon
Surrounded by dogs
All sprawled out on chair and sofa and floor
Asleep at ease and peace
Filling the house
With their own therapeutic vibe
Beyond worry at least as long as they dream
While I watch and wait
Soothed by their dogged oblivion
As the world outside turns and burns
And I grow just a little more uncomfortable
Filling a delightful cocoon that I know
Must eventually open
Into a great unknown.
(12/11/24)
It is a well-known fact, said Aristotle
and many a priest that threaten the inferno,
‘Give me a child before the age of seven’
Today society taking the old ways to a new height
‘And I’ll give you a programmable mind set.’
life, now a highway, from the earliest age a one-track road
littered along the hard shoulder with broken down expressions,
when to fuel a rapid growing band of experts,
driven along the assemble line of psychoanalyst,
a vital part of the skulduggery?
Striving for intellect is not in everyone’s script
where all are pressurized to achieve, and many children
are having to forgo that precious period of life,
for the sake of another’s ego.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Xmess
(cross it
out of mind
later.....xmess
means.....otherwise
controlled.....chaos ordered
shopping seasons.....programmable
social statistic inherent in.....consumer cultures
bordered by arithmetical limits.....with respect changing times
affecting billionaire and trillionaire profits.....creating consumer xmess debt)
stan sand
Almost Out of Stock
Had bought a pot almost out of stock,
By her husband as usual an old crock;
While yearning;
Cooking learning;
So she become best cook on the block.
Jim Horn
Just bought her a Crock Pot that is
programmable and cook and carry
from Costco of course.
Saw Storm About Emerge
We saw some storm about to emerge,
That had been followed by a big surge;
No doubt,
Worried about;
Results were bad so we did play a dirge.
Jim Horn
Trump Always Was Truant
Trump thought that he had been affluent,
But with preposterous word was congruent;
Stopped running;
Sitting sunning,
And at meetings he turned out to be truant.
So where and when will it seem to end?
How many rules do they have to bend?
Apprehend,
Foe or friend;
To how many poets must this I send?
Jim Horn
Hello, such a small but powerful word, it's greatly preferred, putting smiles on faces and gets the spirit stirred.
But in our hectic lives, moving fast, moving slow, always on the go, traveling solo, we forget about a simple Hello.
Although hello is below the super ego. To them it's absurd and becoming a ghost word.
Now have we become drones with our faces buried in cellphones, programmable clones? Yet they do make us all about ology while blinding us with technology.
So wether novice or pro, even if you have an oversized ego it's good to bestow cause it don't bring about woe and it can make faces glow.
Plus, blessings could overflow just from a simple HELLO.
Deflected, crushed by the social retardation,
Not loved, ‘cos he’s altogether unaccepting,
Active learning the robot’s mouth action,
So he can't contextualise, there’s no blessing.
Neither me nor him meet and we sweep by,
There’s no connection from his ANDs and ORs,
Only citadels to weather the reactive cry,
When my nouns are pocketed by many cursors.
Where’s the memory bank and why the chat?
The bus is long gone and I'm open, vulnerable,
There’s no room for social construction’s mat,
To yield identity’s dynamic, recursive turntable.
Yes, microchips and logic gates shouldn't enable,
Machine learning at the cost of root foundations;
Your group, community, your niche and fable,
Ignite the necessary conversation of care situations.
Ok, so can we build a robot? A care robot?
Indeed care assistance is definitely reducible,
To only a small number of abstractions, clot,
‘Cos love does not evade the comprehensible.
Doors class as access, also pavements, steps,
Only three types of garments, two of people,
Friend or foe, but a cloud for certain parapets,
And who’s boss is said before, it's programmable.
Face To Face
Face to face they sit...
brain to brain;
two-eyed flesh machine,
one-eyed blue
laptop screen,
interacting...
systems inputting,
outputting,
precious data.
Face to face they sit,
a complex team
driven to perform
with error-free
precision in a
controlled mini-world
ruled by the god
of technology.
Face to face they sit...
worlds apart,
stark and cold
plastic eye flashing
programmed data;
warm and sensitive
flesh eyes flashing
non-programmable
blue twinkles.
Sandra M. Haight
~5th Place~
Contest: Anacreontic Verse 2
Sponsor: Edward Ebbs
Judged: 01/18/2016
the spark of life burns snow white
as body disintergration knows:}
by me hehe
The spirit within can make you fat or thin,
programmable you know,
what you expect it will go n get,
and health is one of those!
Don Happy new Year 2016
In the human equation,
life's reduced to statistics.
It's the patterns that matter,
zero or one: on or off.
Confronting indifference,
fear festers into anger.
And gnawing pangs of hunger
force the soul to question sin.
Though lechery deals in flesh,
Hypocrisy sets the price.
As a substitute for love,
Lust is an expensive dish.
Reality demeans dreams
while embracing fantasy.
And reveals encrypted truths
waiting to be deciphered.
Genetically linked: we're
individually cast.
Yet, our programmable lives,
are governed by statistics.
Face to face they stand
Brain to brain
Two-eyed flesh machine
And one-eyed plastic terminal
Interacting systems
Inputting, outputting, precious data.
Face to face they sit
A complex team
Driven to perform
With error-free precision
In a controlled mini-world
Ruled by instant communication.
Face to face they lie
Worlds apart
Stark, cold plastic eye
Flashing programmed data;
Warm, sentimental flesh eyes
Flashing non-programmable twinkles.
Face to face they act
Separate and alone-
Ruled by the giant, apathetic-
God of Technology.
Dozing off behind the wheel
Sleep-deprived decapitated
Dillaudid consequences
Incarcerate
Betrayed confidences
Incriminated
Responsibility blotted
Dead friends
Incinerated
In reality
They rotted
Alive.
Years prior to demise.
Burnt bridges. Dead ends.
A hell we created
Causality to impend
Insanity
A cyclic continuance
Doomed to repeat
Again and again.
Just more tragedy
Easily equated
Karmic
Punishment I deign
Education in pain.
Deliverance in suffering
Salvation
My moral
Bearing reign.
Controlled by one nation
Daisy Chain – Bottom line - capital gain
acid rain
Acrid – floral
Bought and sold
Artistic creation
Liquid – Forced oral
Ingestion
VIA TELEVISION
Visual vomit – soylent seduction
Initiate
Indoctrinate
inducted
Programmable People.
Hypnotic STATE.
Spell-bound
Too Late.
I AM VISTA
i am artificial
i am disposable
i am programmable
i am binary
i am machine
i am obsolete
i am error
i am problematic
i am incompatible
i am vista
there is no light
on the faraway screen
i do not like this energy
i exist too nervously
the monitor is watching me
i am overdue for servicing
Programmed death of attractive lights
the first to control the weight
below the substance ridicules measure beyond substance
shifting ties of unity divide the beautiful
eyes of passing militants gorging meadows
before the minds of passing children
trembling hearts of consequence the futile
resistance lacks dexterity and poise
executing forgiveness is not an option
but a happy place where prophets dance
in fire-lit circles among the witches of broadway and
the demons of yester-year while the
astute criticize the true before crowds of millions
never craving the light that they have programmed
to die.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.