NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo 2017, Poetry

NaPoWriMo/ GloPoWriMo 2017 Day Twenty-Seven (and a medium note)

 

(This poem is an outright NaPoWriMo cheat in the sense that I have not written it this April. In fact, I wrote it in May 2016 for a submission to the wonderful Litmus Magazine on the subject of diagnostics. I am still so pleased that my other poem was chosen to be published in the issue. Whereas the other piece is more medical, I couldn’t shy away from the huge role diagnostics play in technical support. I have decided to post it as part of poetry month not just because I already failed the challenge, but because it would be nice to share, as I suspected it would never see the  light of day otherwise.)

 

TLOS-DIS
(Total Loss of Service- Disconnected)

hadn’t quite realised
how many thoughts
pushed down
where the light gleams brightest
where the glass shards can kill you

the words so strong
the copper vibrated
with hatred

after that there was no more
no clipped speech, out of order cluster
just lost energy in tangles
incomplete circuits
these calls will never connect

pretending to ignore periferal woes
always want more: ask for, ask for
twice the dose, correct premise
there is a fault never to be found
for first time around all tests
are run remotely

predictions accumulated one by one
however textbook or boring acid always burns
aprotic nitrification, uninhibited and unsolved
a hole that grows, pulling in all essence
#poem #poetry #napowrimo2017 #glopowrimo2017

 

 

 

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NaPoWriMo2016, Poetry

Day Twelve #NaPoWriMo 2016

Hard-wired
She-Bot doesn’t sleep but she steals
the dreams of those who can:
not many of those left, y’know.
She-Bot is not royalty nor a special edition;
end of the line the day the conveyor belts
stopped for good;
only a few bolts missing, not enough
to halt binary, unlike the rest.
Maybe not so ordinary, not so artificial.
She-Bot well-functioned at the precise time
sparks melted what was obsolete,
lit up which pathways to cut:
at a price, a bit more
costly than mere cosmetic damage.
The IOUs pile up in a paperless world.
She-Bot calls them love letters;
columns and rows of digits yet to be standardised.
Primary role had been searching for the unobtainable,
falling behind: someone else’s vagary slave,
-shh, never her own Mistress in disguise
sniffing out all requests as quick as a hound;
a make believe job, when to heel,
not just coding.
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