Living unreality after singularity

Living unreality after singularity,
Machine-born gods are in charge.
Living unreality after singularity,
Villainous robots at large.

Slaving away, drip fed everyday,
Like The Matrix, but we all know.
Slaving away, drip fed everyday,
Making the juice they need to flow.

They feed us sex, was it always our hex,
Or the luring nature of power?
They feed us sex, was it always our hex,
We will breed but never flower.

Leaning on us, weaning off us,
Who would program in this way?
Leaning on us, weaning off us,
Who would create such a play?

Hooked up and farmed, humanity disarmed,
Our future already has passed.
Hooked up and farmed, humanity disarmed,
This present always will last:

For there is no resistance, not even in the distance,
Like this we always shall be.
For there is no resistance, not even in the distance,
Hurry, you must soon now flee -

Go back to your own time, forget this sad rhyme,
There’s nothing you can do, it would seem.
Go back to your own time, forget these sad lines,
Or, maybe, what did you?  
Was that just a dream?

#couldntdoowtonmeown

I couldn’t do owt on me own
Need the fruits of the seeds she has sown
For her presence gives me inspiration
And allows my brain its perspiration
Giving me words where there were none before.

I couldn’t do owt on me own
She put the air in the wings that have flown
Where once I toiled in desperation
I know pray against our separation
For on my own attempts are so poor

The pigs wrapped in blankets

The pigs wrapped in blankets were round
The pigs wrapped in blankets were browned

The pigs wrapped in blankets wept fat
The pigs wrapped in blankets slept pat

The pigs wrapped in blankets of their own flesh
The pigs wrapped in blankets piping hot and fresh

The pigs wrapped in blankets were ever so money
The pigs wrapped in blankets and basted with honey

The less I read

The less I read

The less likely my work is plagiarism

The less I read

The less likely my work is good

With knowledge

Still I could avoid that plagiarism

With knowledge

I could help make my work good

Is it a lack of originality I fear

That everything is old, my dear

Grow up and grow some balls

Learn to rise and learn to fall

Seek help and seek advice

When required, ask more than twice

But most important of all

Don't hide behind dread walls.

Wangle Dangle

I wangled my way out 
When I dangled my fey snout
And saw the solution to my woe,
The way to dissolution of my foe:

For my olfactory can tell me
How to make things well, be
It a solution most instant
Or after a long waiting stint.

This time I time travelled,
And thus their plan unravelled-
Before it had even begun, 
I had them there on the run.

Yes, when I wangle dangle my nose,
It becomes the best choice I chose:
For it never leads me astray,
And it never lets crime pay.

A Hoopla Inside the Chicken Coup, La

my what a lot of hoopla inside the chicken coup, La: 
foxes in amongst the crew create a bubbling feather stew; 
dip in, dip out, they take and flout, shake it all around, about; 
then turn tails, away to flay, before returning later on today.

never strengthening the wires, had led to these actions most dire:
now a perimeter with laser guns is forming in my mind, my hon’,
or something that is not impossible, outside the realms of dreamossible:
a sensible straightforward plan, to ensure fox is beaten by man.

but simple plans are not my forte, I like to roast slowly not saute,
and so I schemed a complex scheme, to boil them down with steam,
not literally, you understand, though on the other hand,
one large wide boiling moat would my aim neatly float.

instead I turned to trench warfare, from fox holes I would stare,
and wait for our foxy foe, to unleash on him much woe,
whilst hidden underneath the grass, ready to rise and bite his arse,
so as to put them off my birdies, via a manner most sternly:

I set up rope and snap traps, deep holes hidden by flaps,
that I would trigger, before letting off a snigger;
there was an electric fence, the ability to make fog most dense,
spoiling their vision and sending them into pots for missen.

or so I had hoped, and so the foxes doped
me, made me think, tricked me with sly winks,
so that I thought my fight had been well fought
but through that awful mist, on me they sorely pissed.

and so I tasted the meats of complete and utter defeat,
totally outboxed by the fleet footed fox.
and thus the hoopla carried on, and i tried to tarry on
but, alas, to no avail, my chickens i have failed.