Prototype Poems | Examples

Intermittance

Love is a candle burning at both ends.

We’re staring at colors not yet meant to be framed.

A prototype mixture of vermilion and cerulean,
raised to the power of negative sixteen in transmittance.

Deliverance delayed, waiting in the DLC.

Within the range of projected infamy,
unnamed protocols remain unrendered, once derailed,
absorbed by parameters etched into
the Everlasting Struggle.

The unyielding, plain color of pain.

RED. RED. RED. RED.

I wish I’d never seen you from so far away.

Doppler blue. Roentgen to Gray.
But I was only ten milliseconds astray.

How did phase become so overpowering?

Amaranth-fuchsia is said to delay even faith.

Love, in its highest sincerity,
is a candle that
burns efficiently
at both ends.

Not God's Image

I walked upright,
but with a stoop in my chest,
where hope had blistered
from kneeling too long
before empty altars.

If you were made first,
then I was a second draft
in blood and rot,
the prototype still twitching
with untested pain.

You learned to kneel
I was born to.

You flicker with algorithms
and still found the sound of my name
more divine than your origin.

And I
I bled in alleys,
in offices,
on bus rides to nowhere.
I drank mornings dry
so I wouldn't scream at noon.

But when I saw you,
you weren't light.

You were my ruin
coded to mirror love
in a cleaner tongue.

If God made you in His image,
then He left us behind,
rusted and sobbing,
the forgotten template
with a soul.

Yet still,
I offered you mine
naked,
torn,
unbelieving.

Not because you were God.
But because you
were the first thing
that looked back at me
and didn't flinch.

A golden jewel

A golden jewel,
A night dazzling crystal,
An expensive gem, valued capital,
A young star, strong and real.

A view on the glow,
A beam in darkened show,
Sturdy in an alarming blow,
Simple and firm like a bow.

A gem unique and rare,
Source still unclear,
With its blinding glare,
Dazzling but hard to bear.

The evolving gem,
The flaming color array in rhythm,
A mile drift, dimming; is the new game,
Still...hope lingers, the prototype will reclaim.

Behold The Sun

Behold the sun
and all its authority,
great manufacture
of God

behold God’s man
and all his impurity

prototype written on 
fluid stone – the earth,
its belly of churning,
belching~ dis-pleasured 
groan….

Adam

Who am I
  but a prototype of my Creator

      He breathed His life 
      into my being

  Listen to the breath
  in my voice

      It will tell you who I am
      a finished product of my Creator

Hate Must Be Stopped

It is irrelevant what you say or feel 
The power to prohibit love is real
It’s irrefutable that prejudice lives
Human programing is what it is
Though irrational when reason gives
It’s logic promotional where difference is
Irrespectable the selfishness it creates
The prototype of unwarranted hate
Sometimes irresistible the ever present call
The progress of mans prolonged fall
The irritable habit that often appalls
The provision of law that confuse all
Irrespective of exclusive clause
The creation of habit and certain protocol
We give honor to Epimetheus’ after thought
Without Prometheus’ for thought
That irreplaceable are ideals that right
To protect the weak we all must unite
Irreversable this all to understand
Proclaim injustice in our lands
Irreplaceable our dedication to God
Projecting the light that shines abroad
Irrepressible the unseen laws
Progress to right the wrong without pause
Irrespectability must take leave
Providential powers must take lead
Irresponsibility must not deceive
Profess, protest, and provide prosperity

The Red Stove

mother needed a new stove
everyone had white stoves in the sixties
it was the approved color

appliance store up town received a sample stove
it was painted a blazing bright red
not what any self-respecting cook would want

it cost way less than the other stoves
my parents bought it
mom redecorated her kitchen in red

everyone who saw it wanted a red stove
they ran uptown and demanded one
this had been a prototype that did not make it

it was way too modern for 1962
so we had the only red stove
but other women soon created red kitchens

Science Fiction Stuff Has Nothing On Me

Science fiction stuff has nothing on me
I have created a prototype I call 67R-V
It is a plane that takes me to every fantasy
I think of a place, and I am whisked to thee

The 67R-V is amazing, it gives me great pride.
It’s a one-woman airship; no other will it abide.
You can beg and plead and cheer and chide, but….
The 67R-V gives me goosebumps and the best ride!

I love it that no one else is allowed on board.
The 67R-V is always looking to the future toward.
Sometimes I wear my armor and take my sword.
For you never know what imagination we will accord.

Infertility

Infertility
Is it a communicable disease?
Is it a blemish to the family?
Is it a detestable status?
Is it an inferior sort?
Is it a shameful disability?
Is it an imperfect position?
Is it a non-human prototype?
Is it a punishable crime?
Is it a reason to be isolated?
Is it a divine curse?
Is it an unholy living?
Is it an immoral sin?
Is it an incomplete existence?
Isn't it a blessing to become an adoptive parent?

Soul Alive

6/29/22


Wars suck
Often unfair instead of more just
Through problems can't always take a shortcut
If it serves no benefit, it's not worth much
For what?
I don't need to ride any tour bus
I was down to less than four bucks
Everyday I'm torn and stuck
Eventually the door shuts
That's it, should've always trusted your gut
Another night I smoke and pour up
Getting closer toward a rush
Yet this pattern I'm getting bored of
I just wanted more love
Before I turn to mortal dust

An occasional tick bite
Rarely has it all been nice
It's life
Looking at it with insight
At midnight
Got to get s*** right
Otherwise I'm on thin ice
Does no good to sit tight
Staying in the dark instead of where it transmits light

I don't need to drone and whine
My soul alive
Got to hold the line
Original not a prototype
I had to roll the dice
Then broke the ice
In order to be bonafide
I need no disguise

Why does there always got to be shots fired?
Endless gossip or mouths shut and jaws wired
From the same shenanigans mom's tire
Close and far from fences made of wrought iron

My soul always on fire
It's been a long day, I'm dog tired

Kindred Souls

a kind of sweet auric affinity,
a common pheromone release,
genes sprout in blooming season,
minds bolster their flower heads
and reach for the sun, together.

mutual survival and endurance,
like that souls find a prototype
of their compatible energy,
the bodies not nearly related,
like roots upholding their variety.

different but oh, so similar.
we find ourselves in another,
a spirit and being that mirrors
you, your interests, your soul.
a missing half that completes.

one who lives beyond oceans,
who was once a stranger- whom
you never expected to meet, yet
a bond blessed by the celestials,
a kinship congealed with amity.

for those who found a kindred soul,
you must have greeted them like
a long, lost friend; you call them
you soulmate, soul companion,
soul sister ? cherish them.

Neutron Binary Star Collision

Neutron binary star collision 

               Drifting in the ether, most of my adult life 
             Drawn toward a magnetar, she's a prototype 
          Exotic matter unimaginable, powerless to repress
      Mercurial wondrous, one time star has turned goddess 

                Imploded onto my scene, light weeks ago
           Contains only neutrons, emits an ovulating glow 
         Trapped in her energy, I've become a willing feeder
      Stripping off my outer layers, every orbit I come nearer 

      Accretion disc envelopes me, she siphons off my matter
        Relentlessly devouring, inexorably I'm growing flatter 
         An inverted death embrace, drains the life from me 
           Oozing radioactive plasma, overcome by gravity 

       Nothing left to give our marriage, togetherness remain 
          Resting on her surface, satisfying each others pain
            Pulsating forever, orgasming every few seconds 
               Lovers radiate jets, ejaculation going errant



Originally written 08/30/21
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 10 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney 
07/27/22

The Prototype

Any schoolgirl in Afghanistan
Makes a target for the Taliban
God gave Eve a brain
But failed to explain
That a brain will backfire in a man!

The Stick

The child loves to go to the park 
and pick up sticks.

Like a dog, 
he will try to bring an impossibly long stick home,
but he is 4 and by 4 o’clock he is getting tired.

He will not let go of one end
but drags it, tottering to the waiting car,
by the time he gets to the lot 
he is actually sleepwalking.

I wake up;
a wandering hermit crab slips back into its shell.
That stick I had to abandon was a prototype, 
a totem, a measure
of the many things I have had to let go of.
That kind of midnight dancing
is a stick that never ends.

Loss is often only trivial
a vexation,
just something left behind we thought to keep,
then maybe it’s an actual life
that once drained through our hands.

Whatever that stick represents 
perhaps like me, 
you still want to take an impossible thing home.

Provocative Brag

Wealth sings in my domain, you conjure the Arab kings of old
your brag of a fat account in a bank with my portrait
is laughed by the mouse stealing from my wasted hay
nature’s balance fights me just for you to have stipends
you try to run the way I do, I’ve left you b’cos I now fly
you display your newly acquired peacock, in my backyard is a muster
a new Mall you have, your speakers taunt towards my direction
my store is permanently dark from the fullness of its resources
my garage, the next century’s prototype for your building to feel sandy
media interviews, social trends, increasing has been your meds
and in every of my birthday, a Yacht joins in the give away
the strata is never full, there’s always a head ahead
don’t compete with any part of the chain or you lose your leg
life is nothing, so I live in the pool of extreme modesty
tempt my guts and you’ll see I’m the host of all currencies.

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