Technology poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of technology poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on technology are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Gingerbread, Jellybean and KitKat with tiny sims, Safely secured in everyone’s pocket like magical plastics ; We carelessly treasure these gags, As if we could preserve them; For an entire life it seems. Our helpless youth’s every moment, Is glued
Gone are the days when faces were buried into books We are now phasing out the books for FaceBook Those were times when kids jumped, played hide-n-seek and bruised knees Now it’s all about swiping, wiping and fidgeting with keys…
The advent of the new Century, Brought rapid strides in Technology. Obsolete, became MS DOS, Replaced now, by Windows. Standalones got wired, through LANS, On-line, real-time, brought WAN. Close on heels, came E-mail, To see information Sail. Mere surfing of
Suddenly I hit upon a question, But where to find the answer? In the Wikipedia or to be Googled, Totally was I bamboozled. To relieve myself I took to Facebook, But my Dad showed me the text book. Next then,a
Are we ready for what’s to come? Will we know how to behave? Never before in human history has there been such disruption. It was once a much simpler place. No more. The future is arriving faster than ever before.
Cold fingers, glowing face Head down, thumbs up Red eyes, watery and strained Our heads ache from the new emperor’s reign. There’s buzzing pockets A reminder that it’s always there and the people on the other side demand our attention
Down through the millennia grand armies have marched across plains of destruction. Battle cries forever lost in the ether, spilt blood absorb and recycled. Names of the warriors forever lost, unknown to the future. Civilizations have come and gone some
Mankind began as a troop animal. Living amongst its own kind. Stepping out of the trees onto the Savanna. Mankind became a wander, small family bands bound by blood. Millenia past, mankind developed farming and the wanderer settled down. Small
I wonder how many poets died with voices unheard How many minds were robbed from the herd The amount of people with beautiful science in their mind Forced to neglect, to go through everyday’s struggle and grind Why must a
The Saga Of Romance is a collection of romantic poems, mostly on metaphysical attachment, that may be helpful for younger generation in developing a better and healthy world. The poet’s style of writing comprises of forms like free verse, haiku, senryu, sonnet,
Of things we once had in comparison to now were mom married to dad and a garden to plow before pharmaceuticals and psychology books we got, pull up your bootstraps or you’ll get dirty looks long before fast food when
Will the Twenty First Century be the end for Homo Sapiens? Can human minds and psyches stand up to the speed of change being metered out? Today, we make more decisions in a day than were made one hundred years
The subtly of it was breathtaking. The genius of it was undeniable. Not a single shot was fired. It took decades to accomplish, and no one saw it coming. Slowly but surely humans used technology. It offered so many benefits
It began as the second decade of the 21 Century entered middle age, an underlying sense of unease, change. New technology increasingly altering perceptions. Reality not seeming so sure. Our five senses, were they enough? Were they telling us the
We can see this in the generations coming after the the Sixty Something’s of the early 21st Century, those of us who were born into a world of limited technology. For Millennia technological change occurred at glacial speed. Generation after
I went for a walk at Monson Village today. A place in the woods where people lived in the 1700’s. Rock foundations were all that was left in each spot. Small signs marked the holes in the ground and describes
About the book – Ray Mootrey, first time author and poet has captured elements of new-age spirituality in an exciting post-apocalyptic science fiction fantasy. HARRY THE MOLE is an epic poem; the story of a reluctant hero who overcomes his
July 20th, 1822. We’ve done it. As I lay down my tools for the last time, Here stands before me the fruit of my labour. This night, a technology beyond its time has been born. She truly is beautiful. A
They first used to respect me Before they didn’t know me It’s only when they knew me That they started abusing me Knowledge made them evil I’m talking about the people They studied geology Now they are hurting me with
Shuuuuuuush! And listen! Listen carefully, To the rebirth of emotions strengthening bonds Bonds disguised in ignorance Listen, to the birth of revolutionary ideas which mother creativity Creativity which sprinkles glitter ❇ to this earth inform of epic art, soul touching
What did it mean to be human? What does it mean to be human? What will it mean to be human? Humanity has fought and clawed its way to the current. Wars and superstitions filled our hearts and minds. King
How will it change when we know? How will civilization be rearranged? All that we known comes from one place and time, one little speck in space. Great religions over eons have arisen telling all how things must certainly be.
A darling princess named puzzle-o-pia Of puzzles, she had a cornucopia When she solved them, she was in utopia The Queen worried her daughter, would get myopia! Losing her most precious puzzle, this was the little girl’s phobia So she
Fuss and confusion; At the nearby café, a woman is hanged on her high velvet hat, concealing a left crossed-eye behind a piece of texture pretending transparency. A director with two extra-ordinary long sideburns points at an old man, who
But there is an anti-particle to wvery particle in this universe” The physics teacher quoted in class twelfth “Ally with real life” he said, And a life lesson was learnt that heyday. “to every single ‘event’ there is an ‘anti
A chaotic moments we did face, Filled with tension and bubbling of heads; Here the shouting came, There the things flew. Any day was emergency, Any day was important. Lamps did burn all night through, No food we did touch.
GIRL ON WESTGATE/ FANCY AND IMAGINATION from the coach-window I see the girl on the city-kerb eating the orange ice-pop, hair fanning in the breeze, the centre of her own continuum, catching the smear of exhaust tasting the sharpness of
Cupid wrote a poem Hefty in the shape of hearts The mischievous wind grew jealous Plotting to scatter his heartfelt leaflets Not remembering their order He sorted them best he could The wind laughed at his misfortune Proud of its
At the END OF THIS AUTUMN, I am standing Under a barren tree, bleak and exposed TO weather with shedding leaves, There rests a house away from the barn, Decorated with vivid colours of rainbow And maintained by careful hearts
There was a time when I sat still. Soaking in unavoidable truth. Choosing instead to sit and bathe in a world of thought. The sun peeked through the window, concerned by the calmness that struck my lips. A sudden grip
Grouse not for what you don’t have Enough you have which others don’t have when you can’t assess the value of what you have what is the use desiring things which you don’t have Value the life you have already