performance poetry
Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
Scenery of Society by Rikki La Rouge đŹđ§ đ¨đŚ
Julio, every summer you come back and make me relive these tortuous memories. Julio, do you remember the day you almost drowned? I do. Julio, I can't escape your punishment. Julio, I want to know why you cursed me. July, I remember our difficult times before July, when we couldn't start again.
By Revista Miko3 days ago in Poets
THE AGE OF THE ALGORITHM. AI-Generated.
IWe woke up one morningand the world had learned our nameswithout ever meeting us.No handshake.No eye contact.No shared silence.Just data.We typed âhelloâ into glowing rectanglesand the future replied,I know you.I know what you like.I know what you fear.I know how long you hesitate before choosing yourself.And suddenly,being human felt like a passwordwe forgot to protect.IIThis is the age of the algorithmâwhere thinking is outsourced,memory is rented,and creativity comes with terms and conditions.Where machines donât sleepbut we do,and somehow still wake up tired.Where intelligence has been automatedbut wisdom is still under construction.We asked computers to think for usbecause thinking was heavy.Because feeling was exhausting.Because living required too much courage.So we said,Here. Take this burden.And the machines said,Gladly.They learned our patterns,our pauses,our pain.They learned how we scroll past sufferingbut stop for spectacle.How we love convenience more than truth.How we trade privacy for comfortand call it progress.IIIOnce upon a time,fire changed humanity.Then the wheel.Then electricity.Then the internet.And nowâartificial intelligence.Not born.Not breathing.But somehowâŚalive in influence.It writes our essays,answers our questions,composes our music,paints our dreams.And we clap.Because productivity has become our godand speed our religion.We donât ask,Should we?We only ask,Can we do it faster?IVBut tell meâwhen a machine writes a poem,whose soul is it borrowing?When an algorithm predicts your next move,is it intelligenceor just the echo of your past?When a robot creates art,is it expressionor reflection?Because creativity was never about perfection.It was about pain.About contradictions.About hands shakingwhile still choosing to create.Machines donât bleed into their work.They donât mourn.They donât love recklessly.They calculate.And we mistake calculation for consciousness.VSomewhere,a child asks a screen a questioninstead of their mother.Somewhere,a student trusts an answerwithout understanding the question.Somewhere,a man loses his jobto a system that doesnât know his name.And somewhere else,someone celebrates innovationwithout counting the cost.Because progress doesnât ask permission.It just arrives.And we adaptor we disappear.VIWe say AI is neutral.But neutrality is a mythwhen power is involved.Because systems are trainedon human historyâand human history is biased.So the machine learns our prejudices,our exclusions,our blind spots.It learns who gets approved,who gets ignored,who gets watched.And when it makes a mistake,we blame the machine.But the machine is only a mirrorpolished by code.It reflects usâhigh definition,no filter.VIIStill,this is not a poem of fear.This is not a scream against technology.Because tools are not villains.Hands decide how theyâre used.Fire can cook a mealor burn a village.A knife can prepare foodor take a life.AI can amplify voicesor erase them.Heal systemsor break societies.The danger is not intelligence.The danger is disconnection.When progress outruns purpose.When innovation forgets compassion.When efficiency replaces empathy.VIIIWe must rememberâwe are more than data points.We are storiesthat canât be fully compressed.Dreams that donât fit into datasets.Contradictions that refuse to be optimized.We are the pause before the answer.The doubt that leads to discovery.The mistake that becomes a masterpiece.Machines can simulate emotion,but they cannot sit with grief.They can generate love letters,but they cannot miss someoneat 2 a.m.They can write prayers,but they cannot hope.IXSo what do we doin the age of the algorithm?We stay awake.We teach ethicsas loudly as we teach engineering.We teach childrenhow to think,not just what to ask.We protect curiosity.We reward critical thought.We slow downwhen speed demands silence.We build systemsthat serve humanity,not replace it.We ask hard questionsbefore easy profits.We choose responsibilityover novelty.XLet AI be a tool,not a throne.Let it assist,not decide who matters.Let it enhance creativity,not erase the artist.Let it solve problems,not define purpose.Because purposehas always belonged to us.In our hands.In our hearts.In our flawed, beautiful humanity.XIOne day,the machines will be smarter.Faster.More precise.But may they never bemore humanthan humans.May we never surrenderour empathyfor efficiency.May we never forgetthat progress without soulis just motion.And motion without meaningis noise.XIISo when the future asks,Who are you?May we answerânot with code,but with conscience.Not with data,but with dignity.Not with speed,but with wisdom.Because long after the servers shut down,after the screens go dark,after the algorithms stop learningâWhat will remainis not what we builtâŚbut who we chose to be.END
By Samson E. Gifted4 days ago in Poets
I'm Not Angry. Content Warning.
đ¸âđź đ˝đžđ đ đ´đ°đłđ I am groping in the darkness Iâve been chained and left to rot in. I am the keeper of the whispering beginning and spectacular end. I can rewrite the path in every color and scent. Still, it abruptly ends again and again.
By K.B. Silver 5 days ago in Poets
