Private journal of Jefferey Dronehmer (Operator of the predator / reaper drones for US targets))

   A drone hums high in the merciless sky,   A prison guard grins, watching souls die.   One wears a uniform, the other a screen,   Yet both take pleasure in the suffering unseen.   The Nazi prison guard, his whip in hand,   Took pride in breaking the weak on command.   Inflicting pain, tearing flesh apart,   For the crime of a faith, for the crime of a heart.   The drone pilot now, in his dark-lit room,   Fires waves that blister, that burn and consume.   Neck, head, and chest—no mark, no trace,   Yet pain and suffering twists on the victim’s face.   Electromagnetic storms, unseen fists,   Damaging organs, coiling like mist.   Radiation dances, bruises bloom,   Yet the drone operator sits smug in his cozy room.   Or worse—the hand that never appears,   Reaches with sound to mock and leer.   Infrasou...

Technical background on the poem: Remotely manipulating objects through barriers like walls or floors could involve the use of directed energy weapons (DEWs) that emit concentrated electromagnetic waves or high-power microwaves. These DEWs can penetrate non-conductive materials, potentially allowing for remote interaction with objects or individuals within a structure..  One theoretical application is the use of high-power microwave (HPM) systems, which emit electromagnetic radiation capable of coupling into targets through unintended pathways such as seams or apertures precisely controlling the frequency and amplitude of these waves, it's conceivable to create simulating the effect of a physical touch or grasp.  Another avenue involves the use of ultrasonic waves, which have been explored for creating tactile sensations in mid-air focusing ultrasonic waves at a point in space, it's possible to generate a sensation of touch, allowing users to 'feel' virtual objects with...

 Technical background on the poem: Remotely manipulating objects through barriers like walls or floors could involve the use of directed energy weapons (DEWs) that emit concentrated electromagnetic waves or high-power microwaves. These DEWs can penetrate non-conductive materials, potentially allowing for remote interaction with objects or individuals within a structure.. One theoretical application is the use of high-power microwave (HPM) systems, which emit electromagnetic radiation capable of coupling into targets through unintended pathways such as seams or apertures precisely controlling the frequency and amplitude of these waves, it's conceivable to create simulating the effect of a physical touch or grasp. Another avenue involves the use of ultrasonic waves, which have been explored for creating tactile sensations in mid-air focusing ultrasonic waves at a point in space, it's possible to generate a sensation of touch, allowing users to 'feel' virtual objects witho...

In the sleepy sprawl of Plano's night, Jeffrey Dronehmer takes to flight. No hurried steps, no restless gaze— He hunts in shadows, he loves the haze. Patient as time, he perches unseen, A digital phantom with a ghostly sheen. His prey, unknowing, lies alone, Lit by the glow of his cellphone. A man in ritual, ready for bed, Jeffrey watches, cold as the dead. Hours pass, the target turns, In restless tossing, his victim churns. And then it comes—the perfect time, Dronehmer's artistry, a silent crime. With sensors sharp and motions keen, He conjures horrors, cold, unseen. An infrasound arm, spectral and pale, Emerges slow, like a ghastly tale. It snakes and curls, a tentacle's grace, Reaching softly for its chosen place. The neck it clutches, with icy claws, A Dracula's grip with no mortal laws. The victim writhes in half-woke dread, Caught between dreaming and a bed-bound thread. Or perhaps the chest, his second love, Where pain is pressed from above. He digs, he p...

In the witching hours, when the world lay bare, Jeffrey Drohnemer danced through the air. A ninja assassin with a drone for a heart, Torture was his science, and death his art. “Get rid of him,” his bosses had said, “A muslim loudmouth with nothing but dread. No real crimes, but his face is a sin— Poor, ugly, outspoken—wipe his grin.” Drohnemer grinned, his pupils pinpricks, The cocaine hit hard, he loved his tricks. Through the shadows, his reaper did creep, Its hum like a lullaby where nightmares sleep. The target lay dreaming, unaware of his plight, Tangled in sheets, bathed in soft moonlight. Drohnemer whispered through waves unseen, A ghost with gadgets, precise and mean. The man stirred, sensing the wrong in the air, A cold, buzzing presence, heavy despair. “Look,” he muttered, half-asleep in his bed, “I’ll shut up online, just spare my head. I’ll get a job, I’ll save my dough, I’ll even try skincare—just let me go. I’ll disappear, I swear, from your radar and feed, Just le...

By day, he’s the man with the steady hand, Piloting drones at his agency’s command. Polite at brunch, well-mannered, refined, A model citizen, cool and aligned. But when the sun sinks, the hunger begins, A fetish for power, control, and sins. He seeks out men with skin not white Whispers smooth, but his grip is tight. He laughs when they flinch, from his drone invade, If they resist, he brings out his trade. Not fists, not blades, but a silent infrasound storm— Invisible pulses to badger the victim his norm  A gentleman’s mask, a predator’s eyes, In silk and steel, he tells his lies. A monster hidden in clothes so neat, If not the groin, then he'll particle beam their feet. No records, no trails, just secrets untold, The perfect dronejock in jockstrap, like slime mould By morning, he’s back, sipping his brew, Smiling, nodding—who ever knew?

Verily, feast thine eyes upon yon wondrous AI portraits posthaste; The mischievous cockroach doth soar like a winged squire; forsooth have patience, dear gallant comrades, and with great anticipation, scroll beneath these visages, for a jolly poem doth follow... It bit of poem follow by bit of imagery den again bit of poetry di poem sad scary an funny but tek heart jah peoples. "We must accept finite disappointment but never lose infinite hope" -Martin Luther King Jr                      In the shadowed realm  where freedom's light is faint, Where words of truth are met with silent taint, Predator/Reapers prowls, not of flesh or bone, But metal and wire, military contractor RPS' drone. The sky's disgrace, silent sentinel, It stalks the night with an unseen spell, Infra red eyes, gleam with a cold, digital glow, A harbinger of fear, a silent foe. Fielded by hands that once bore our trust, Against us tu...