Technology Poems
98. Wonders of My World
by Kea Campbell
The entire world is in our back pockets.
Our perceived worth is in the other.
Condensed into a hand-size machine, everything humanity has ever seen. My head aches as technology abuses my brain chemistry.
My eyes burn from blue light, consumed by the escape. Interesting how our race is so distant, yet all in the same place.
This is not self-harm, but we are harming ourselves.
Our friends, foes, futures, and forsaken mental health.
In the other pocket, a piece of metal framed in colored plastic. With or without it, might determine our health and lavish.
A medium between what we have and what we owe. A representation of our will in the form of an 8 to 12 digit code.
......
Apple 1984
by Chris M
Up and down the cobalt walls some run
Looking for Rita Hayworth
Chanting reverberates from guard and prisoner alike
As each settles into their pillory, to watch
Shadows held aloft, electrified by the current behind them
Cakewalking for a puppeteer with looped strings
A man from outside stoops down
To rescue the prisoners from their cobalt dungeon
Those still skittering, refusing to be pilloried
Drag the man into the grime
......
Our New Gods
by Sagar Mistry
We hold new gods in our pockets safe and sound,
Forgetting what the world is, no looking around;
A god buzzing our lives with all sorts of sounds,
Keeping us busy, as the Earth makes rounds;
We know not what the person beside us feels like,
But we surely know, how much the market hiked;
Forgetting to communicate with the ones in front of our eyes,
Staring so hard to get a connection in the skies;
We see the world now from someone else’s view,
Never caring to notice, what around us is new;
......
Metamorphosis
by Brady Stewart
The sky drips with oil
The birds chirp tar-like sound
The horizon swallowed the flame of the sun
As a delicacy brewed by the stars
Glass blown bulbs are fine.
The hands are eight fingered
Drywall scurried for bug-licking wires
On a web of cyan copper
......
A C Hack
by Jesus Betancourt
In a futuristic city you don't hail a taxi
Simply dial for an autonomous car
Still identified with yellow chassis
Manufactured by Jaguar
Self driving auto prowls the street like a cat
Looking to snatch a passenger
You can pay with an app for that
Just beware there's no driver
......
Pixelated Vibrations
by Christine Kuruvilla
Vibrations resonate down my spine,
Transmitted through invisible lines.
Multicoloured, unseen waves,
Eat slowly through my waking days.
Look out—see the birds, the flowers,
Feel the rhythm of passing hours.
The yellow sand, the endless sky,
A kind hello, a thank you, goodbye.
......
Words Die
by C Duggan
Words die when there is nobody to speak them,
Lips no longer mouth the syllables of free thought,
speech,
human emotion.
How far will censorship go?
Take away our words,
stories,
histories.
Generations are blind to the real connection,
craving sustenance,
......
98. Wonders of My World
by Kea Campbell
The entire world is in our back pockets.
Our perceived worth is in the other.
Condensed into a hand-size machine, everything humanity has ever seen. My head aches as technology abuses my brain chemistry.
My eyes burn from blue light, consumed by the escape. Interesting how our race is so distant, yet all in the same place.
This is not self-harm, but we are harming ourselves.
Our friends, foes, futures, and forsaken mental health.
In the other pocket, a piece of metal framed in colored plastic. With or without it, might determine our health and lavish.
A medium between what we have and what we owe. A representation of our will in the form of an 8 to 12 digit code.
......
A C Hack
by Jesus Betancourt
In a futuristic city you don't hail a taxi
Simply dial for an autonomous car
Still identified with yellow chassis
Manufactured by Jaguar
Self driving auto prowls the street like a cat
Looking to snatch a passenger
You can pay with an app for that
Just beware there's no driver
......
Metamorphosis
by Brady Stewart
The sky drips with oil
The birds chirp tar-like sound
The horizon swallowed the flame of the sun
As a delicacy brewed by the stars
Glass blown bulbs are fine.
The hands are eight fingered
Drywall scurried for bug-licking wires
On a web of cyan copper
......
