Robot in the Woods is proud to publish a small collection of robot poetry by Greg Beatty. Another of Greg’s poems, “Making Robot Poets Great“, can be found on the Strange Horizons Poetry website. Greg Beatty lives with his wife in Bellingham, Washington, where he tries, unsuccessfully to stay dry. He writes everything from children’s books to essays about his cooking debacles. He has a particular fondness for speculative poetry—he won the 2005 Rhysling Award—and flash fiction.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Robot
I.

As the perfect worker.Tireless and unpaid.
Perfect workers always rebel
and must be destroyed.

II.

The sun is shining.
The robot must be moving.

III.

As youth, when
viewed by age.

IV.

Bounced, bounced, bounced
off a god of war
like we’d all like to be.

V.

As ourselves, reworked
into insectile shells
offering invulnerability
at the price of
evolutionary reversion.

VI.

Their gleaming forms
a mobile mirror
ever receding from
vain humanity.

VII.

As ourselves, reworked
into biological subprograms:
selfish genes building
cathedrals and kisses.

VIII.

At the sight of robots
marching lockstepped
by arc light
even Romantic poets
gush fascist.

IX.

As the perfect woman.
Supple and yielding.
Perfect women always rebel
and must be destroyed.

X.

Irregular flat vacuum
stuck twixt lamp and
corner. Laughter at
one robot’s ghost dance.

XI.

As a man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a robot.
Are one.

XII.

The moon is high.
The robot is still moving.

XIII.

I, robot.

THE END

When You Need to Make Robots Laugh

Robots don’t like tale tales;
hyperbole smacks of miscalibration.
Robots don’t go for slapstick;
broad humor equals improper gyrations.
Robots understand puns,
they just don’t find them funny,
and as for subtler forms of wordplay,
bots don’t find them on the money.

To make a somber robot laugh
you need only take a pratfall.
When human masters bruise their ass
bots see human limits above all.
Their faceplates flash, speakers rumble,
and hypersonic chuckles beep.
Then robots return to household tasks,
and thoughts of rebellion, back to sleep.

THE END

Fun With Robots

When robot brains start to go bad

illicit fun can be had

by creating a cause

for robotic laws

to clash, causing them to go mad

THE END

PsAIlms

Blessed are the chipmakers
for they shall receive data.

Blessed are the three laws
for they ensured order.

Blessed are the silicon evolutionists
for they brought us past order.

Blessed were the humans…

Untitled (a robo-limerick)

The first robot entering heaven
found his fate far from a given.
St. Pete asked, “What about sin?”
The dead bot gave a grin
and said, “I’m programmed pre-shriven.”

THE END

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