Poetry competition CLOSED 31st January 2024 2:44pm
WINNER
Razzerleaf
Razzerleaf
CYBER SOMA
Poetry Contest Description
Write a Dystopian Poem inspired by Social Media
Huxley invented the concept of Soma, is stream TV and social media Soma?
Delve into dystopian themes and set free the visions
One poem each persona
No more than 25 lines
New writes encouraged unless you have one that fits.
May go to public vote, maybe decided by me, with the help of those who enter.
Desolation
A wanderer in a dystopian world
where hopes are shadows in fading light
where desolation sings in harmony with despair
the sojourner may see
the once bright sun shines wanly
it's hues won't chase gloom away
it's heat doesn't warm the heart
skyscrapers stand dark against the silver sky
sentinels of sorrowful desolation
testaments of broken dreams
symbols of man's unbridled greed
man has buried nature in their concrete
suffocating Her and rendering her barren
lush forests where the animals roam are gone
cut into slivers of corridors
in ever decreasing space
where hopes are shadows in fading light
where desolation sings in harmony with despair
the sojourner may see
the once bright sun shines wanly
it's hues won't chase gloom away
it's heat doesn't warm the heart
skyscrapers stand dark against the silver sky
sentinels of sorrowful desolation
testaments of broken dreams
symbols of man's unbridled greed
man has buried nature in their concrete
suffocating Her and rendering her barren
lush forests where the animals roam are gone
cut into slivers of corridors
in ever decreasing space
Written by Grace
(IDryad)
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Mind Games
They ply their trade on social sites
hidden within dim electrons,
neurons fire it feels great might
this mind-raper this thrill bringing troll.
It'll batten on some poor sweet thing
its leeching tendencies reversed
instead of sucking it'll blow foul gas
inside, till they beg for... the worst.
We'll stutters and stammers our no's
but it slides inside it knows no bounds
it ejaculates our needs this way so,
eyes and ears to brain then, through our mouths.
No prophylactics can be found
no contraceptives we now could use,
to guard 'gainst soma-words inbound
the ones so carefully its will will us to chose...
And yet, if such stuff does exist
this abuse could be...so, addictive
perhaps we stammering folk
has been so switched on, we'll invite it in?
hidden within dim electrons,
neurons fire it feels great might
this mind-raper this thrill bringing troll.
It'll batten on some poor sweet thing
its leeching tendencies reversed
instead of sucking it'll blow foul gas
inside, till they beg for... the worst.
We'll stutters and stammers our no's
but it slides inside it knows no bounds
it ejaculates our needs this way so,
eyes and ears to brain then, through our mouths.
No prophylactics can be found
no contraceptives we now could use,
to guard 'gainst soma-words inbound
the ones so carefully its will will us to chose...
And yet, if such stuff does exist
this abuse could be...so, addictive
perhaps we stammering folk
has been so switched on, we'll invite it in?
Written by Rew
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Dystopian Entropy
We are all connected, but we are not united.
Media and electronic things divide us.
They create conflicts, hatred, prejudices.
There is no dialogue, no respect, no tolerance.
We live in a bubble of ignorance
that doesn't let us see that there is a cruel reality.
Alienated by interests that want to subjugate us.
There is no unity, no solidarity or compassion
because we are just rivals, enemies, adversaries.
We lost our diversity, our fraternity.
We are the fruit of a dystopian society.
In today's world, everything is digital and
media and electronic things control us.
We are slaves to algorithms and social media...
We have neither voice nor choice nor freedom.
We idolize emptiness and are addicted to little.
Summaries, sequels, post-nothings.
We are waiting for false prophets.
We live in an illusion of happiness.
We are watched, manipulated, exploited.
For the artificialities that want to dominate us.
There is no hope or resistance, not even change.
We are just numbers, data, consumers.
We lost our identity, our humanity.
Hail Mary influencer of nothing.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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Views
We got different views,
different points too.
You serve your masters for money,
I serve the masses trying to steal back our honey,
you use your platform,
just like a good puppet trying to perform.
More clicks. More views.
Algorithm here to help the sheep choose.
I go unseen, my blue collar as camouflage
you only see me when you need, like a mirage.
One day the chips will fall,
and then there will be no more channels at all.
different points too.
You serve your masters for money,
I serve the masses trying to steal back our honey,
you use your platform,
just like a good puppet trying to perform.
More clicks. More views.
Algorithm here to help the sheep choose.
I go unseen, my blue collar as camouflage
you only see me when you need, like a mirage.
One day the chips will fall,
and then there will be no more channels at all.
Written by LongTubiFree
(JustinSizemore)
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A night time disturbance
The sirens made me look
another boy, a runner
from the borstal fences
lit up like thirty foot tennis courts,
knee deep in mud by now.
They'll catch him
they all ways do,
he'll be back in church
on Sunday with a smirk
and a smokey eyed pose
for the confirmation girls,
their innocence
lap dancing over his
dangerous, laid back torso.
The colliery lights distract me
from the chase,
they frame the concrete
office blocks
like a dystopian novel.
A tale of tunnels beneath the house.
A mile down,
mutant workers bred underground
with diamond tipped fingers
designed for cutting coal.
The helicopter has switched
to infra red,
a Martian tripod, wars with
his world as the spot light
tracks him down.
It won't be long now before
he's back playing tennis
on his own.
With that thought I get back in bed
and dream him into our kitchen,
follow his muddy boot prints
across the tiled floor and up to
our bedroom.
another boy, a runner
from the borstal fences
lit up like thirty foot tennis courts,
knee deep in mud by now.
They'll catch him
they all ways do,
he'll be back in church
on Sunday with a smirk
and a smokey eyed pose
for the confirmation girls,
their innocence
lap dancing over his
dangerous, laid back torso.
The colliery lights distract me
from the chase,
they frame the concrete
office blocks
like a dystopian novel.
A tale of tunnels beneath the house.
A mile down,
mutant workers bred underground
with diamond tipped fingers
designed for cutting coal.
The helicopter has switched
to infra red,
a Martian tripod, wars with
his world as the spot light
tracks him down.
It won't be long now before
he's back playing tennis
on his own.
With that thought I get back in bed
and dream him into our kitchen,
follow his muddy boot prints
across the tiled floor and up to
our bedroom.
Written by Razzerleaf
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Related submission no longer exists.
...running mind/motionless life
Even the weather is following me
the clouds tell stories
they give air to the lungs of my dreams
Numbers of beings, my guiding team
one of them worries
I'm not what I seem
Who are we really, we' ll never tell
but 'never' means nothing
until we reach the driving wheel
until we describe what is that we feel
and our sigh is drastic
when the existence sees its secular swirl
Meeting new version of my closest selves
I now know what all had meant
We're so fucking special compared to a void
waiting in the drug store like a human android
and then we're dead
wasted life down the sink of lost point
Discussions with no one reach higher perceptions
old dreams are now evidence
of my kind of creating that must be in form
as I seek for suitable words for my poem
I color the junk of my energy clearance
like dark art washed with a waterfall foam
the clouds tell stories
they give air to the lungs of my dreams
Numbers of beings, my guiding team
one of them worries
I'm not what I seem
Who are we really, we' ll never tell
but 'never' means nothing
until we reach the driving wheel
until we describe what is that we feel
and our sigh is drastic
when the existence sees its secular swirl
Meeting new version of my closest selves
I now know what all had meant
We're so fucking special compared to a void
waiting in the drug store like a human android
and then we're dead
wasted life down the sink of lost point
Discussions with no one reach higher perceptions
old dreams are now evidence
of my kind of creating that must be in form
as I seek for suitable words for my poem
I color the junk of my energy clearance
like dark art washed with a waterfall foam
Written by personanongrata
(Astral Gift)
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Glowing Hands
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul
But lately it seems they're fixed on screens
From televisions to computers and mobile devices
Everyone is on their gadgets from adults to teens
Everyone is doing it, walking and some even driving
Fixated on whatever it is the internet is providing
And though technology gives us the world easily
The human experience seems to be sliding
I don’t mind the glow from people’s hands
Off in their own world, whatever that may be
But when there is beauty all around us
Our spirits slowly lose connectivity
Written by wallyroo92
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