24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
In this world
its all about what you can do with your brain
and with your hands
that others can see and experience
What can you do for me?
We desire to be consumed with gratification instantly
we function with our brains on overload
robotically clipped to cellphones, tablets, laptops and remote controls
Our brains have more space than planets
our fingertips search google by default
the no in technology was a precursor
there to remind us to stop before we started.
We talked all the time
Now that you have a cell phone
We don’t even speak
What picked us up when we fell down?
What controls the weather, what produces sound?
Technology
Where did it come from? Where will it go?
Is there any way for us to know?
Technology
Will it make us better, will it make us fools?
Will it let us produce even more than tools?
Technology
When will it reach its end?
When will time pass so that it can no longer extend?
Technology
What is our Overlord? Who is our master?
Who cracks the whip telling us ‘Faster, faster’?
Technology
What will remain when we ?
What will allow us to see the sky?
Who will answer our screams while the people die?
Technology
All hail the robots, bow down to the machines
Allow yourself to subcumb to the elecronic marines.
Technology
The sound of a small dog scratching her back
and holding on to that old slipper at the same time
keeps my mind temporarily occupied.
That moment is broken by three chirping parakeets
that are probably asking for their late dinner.
The small dog howls for seconds, too.
An Instant Message from daughter;
she responds to my inquiry about a collar.
I guess salmon wasn’t enough for the yapping mutt;
she’s singing back-up with the parakeets.
There are other birds chirping outside, too:
they must be hungry, but I’m low on food and energy.
I notice this machine guesses what I’m going to write:
I should just think and let it type,
but it knows when to fail, of course.
Except for the birds and the yapper,
home is uneasily quiet now that daughter
is away from home after being home
for a couple of weeks for summer break.
As different and distant as we are now,
I love hearing her come home
with her, “Hi, Little Mom!”
She’s always kept that sweet, childish smile:
that’s what i miss the most when she’s away,
and I miss her sweet giggles and youthful laughter.
Copyright@2016 Martina Gallegos
A painting lay forgotten
In an old little corner
New set of dark eyes
Watch unnerving dead ones
A caramel coloured face
Full of burning scars
A tilt on her mouth
A lift to the eyebrow
Disgust on alive one’s face
At the ugly little picture
Careless shrug of indifference
The story doesn’t end here
Tracing the old scars
Day in and day out
Loving small things
Of a dead person’s face
The ugly little picture
Now a world to him
Framed in the centre of room
She watches over her house
I had this idea for a story for a long time. So the poem it is.
The mirror is too high.
She cannot see herself
in the purple fairy dress,
so I lift her (high as I can)
and her happiness
over lavender ruffles
(above mismatched shoes),
is more stunning
than any designer gown.
The Beauty in the Light
The beauty of the incandescent light,
Power obtained by weapons made of steel,
The shrinking-world result of human flight.
We’ve redefined the terms and what is real,
But after all the things that we have learned
I think we have forgotten how to feel.
And though technology may have now earned
Us bragging rights, and lots of things to sell,
The heat of knowledge has caused us some burns.
The truth is since the day that humans fell,
It seems we may have lost a bit of sight.
Alas, without our tools, it’s hard to tell
If we have ever truly earned the right
To free the power trapped within the light.
It doesn’t matter that I have purple hair,
Nor does it matter what I wear.
What I saw looking at this picture was, Strength!!
As I looked at what was surrounding me,
What I thought would overtake me,
I realized what was in me,
It was not by mistake that chaos broke out on every side,
I just had to let go, all pride had to be put aside!
As I danced and I worshipped,
The weight, the heaviness it had to break!!
See even the strong feel weak and have to be reminded of just what they possess!
In my storm, I am powerful!
In my peace, I am powerful!
I carry the necessary equipment,
To divide and conquer every situation that tries to hinder me!!
I AM FREE!!!!
I can count to ten in Latin
and speak prose in French,
I can debate in fluid Italian
have people laugh at my Czech.
I can curse in Romanian
and grumble in Russian,
I can sing to Japanese,
cry to Chinese haiku,
dance to Deutch,
scream in Afrikaans,
well honey didn’t you know?
Google Translate’s not the place to go!
Not if you want to speak proper diction,
there’s plenty of books if you have the itch to speak ’em!
TECHNO… HELL NO!!
There is no denying
somewhere along the line
I missed something.
With book in hand, I survey the doctor’s waiting room.
To the left of me, they’re playing games on their phone.
To the right of me, are texters and sexters,
moving their fingers rapidly along the keys.
You know, the keyboard, that some of us cannot SEE.
Outside the room someone is yelling into their phone.
I look to see if anyone else is reading a book.
You know, you remember, the thing that is made of paper.
Nope, no bookers or magazine readers.
I secretly mourn for the paper mills and wonder how long paper will last.
So I stow it away, fresh reams of paper. My secret.
I’m embarrassed that the tech world has surpassed my abilities.
I can’t tweet on twitter
or pin at pinterest.
Face, FaceBook
or download an app.
I’m officially a dinosaur
no techie meckie
a throwback
a LOSER.
HELP!!