Robert J Fitz

D.a.i.s.i.e is a supercomputer with a soul. A meta-mechanical-creature that monitors the rhythms we run too. She collects all the data points we create and puts them back into her super-system.

Pinging back new rhythms for us to play with.

She comprehends the information we create on quantum levels
and works with us.
To keep us safe.
Guiding us on our musical quest.
To new dimensions of time and space.

\This is our grace.
To traverse the local universe,
In concert with the Machines innards.
Playing with music that resonates.

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Jumba-Wumba,
She loves having us over.

She loves party’s, with sparklers,
And long afternoons with laughter.

She’s one for the afters.
Smoking sea-grass from the jungle she swept under the ocean.
Bubbling-up gulps from what’s left over.

So much so that the sky is broken.

And through it all she’s…

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The Earth is a musical instrument.
Which makes the sound of metal blue-bells.

That flew down wells,
Jingling all their way to infinity.

Through the dark and sparsely lit,
Tunnel of everything.
Fluttering down towards,
The source,
The special sauce.

The water she keeps wet,
religiously.

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I know I don’t say much,
But I hope it’s enough.
To leave you with a know.
Which I have come to know.

How to love you at arms length,
As I ever let you go.

So stoic because if I ever was to say it,
Or broach the topic,
I would…

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It’s time to place your bets.
On whether or not
We have the where-with-all left.

To get ourselves out of this mess.
Before things get too intense.

Before the oceans capsize
The food runs-out and dries.
And all our pain and distress,
Finally comes to an end.

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The candle of incandescence

Keeps me up all night.
Or at least,
Keeps me company.

I’m up already.

Wrestling to wield,
A restless light.
Hiding in front of my eyes,

Giggling in the night.

Flickering trickery,
I’ve not yet wrought,
Cajoled or strangled into mine.

I will have soon,
Plucked their…

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The bellows
That fanned the flames,
Of the fire,
beneath the ships storm-soaked-deck.

Kept the powder man,
and the traveller,
Some-what-well.

Faces
flickering,
In the damp and pouring dark.

The ship,
swayed and tumbled on
In a rock-a-bye-song.

Playing on

Relentlessly innocent,
Of the jealous elements,

Rising up against it.

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Robert J Fitz

Robert J Fitz

Spoken word poetry and poetic considerations on public affairs. Maybe the odd story as well.