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Where have all the good girls gone?
The ones who prefer brains to brawn.
Today's girls seem to like tattoos;
They like bad boys who bring bad news.

When I grew up the girls were classy.
They were smart and kind and super sassy.
But now they're shallow and superficial;
They're so covetous and artificial.

Love should be about heart and soul.
About the truth that makes us whole.
Forget Facebook and Instagram;
Just talk to me: I'm an old school man.

©canadian_cowboy
Today I got her response,
It was "12 AM" on the clock.
There was no power in our block,
It was the  STUDY room where I had to skulk;
but the rain was pouring on the rocks.
Oh! I forgot to thank my poetic kludge.

I put my phone on charge and reply her back,
with an appropriate emoji that match,
and now we were exchanging words.
That flirty nature of mine;
Runs through the fingers when I had wine.
many nasty and hasty thoughts were rising;
and I had to made them extemporize,
so that it matches her vibe.

I asked her dose she have a twin?
and send her a picture to help my chances win.
soon she sees the picture she asked her name,
It's "SAZAN"  and welcome to my game.

The conversation with her was amazing and fecund,
and she worth every second.
We both are strangers but for a moment we exist together,
in a digital screen as if it's a white paper.
TRUE STORY
s Aug 26
bake the cake in time lapse
and boomerang the icing,
mark yourself on the map
but act like no-one’s watching.
swipe along the filters,
pick the gif it deserves,
couldn’t be any simpler,
yet I'm a bundle of nerves.

used to be hard to know
if it’s dream or memory,
but now I think its borrowed
from your Instagram story;
I need to reconfigure
truth from media feed,
it seems I’ve bartered reality
for the comfort of this gleam;

and crossing a trembling icon
on that five inch screen,
is no longer killing the application,
but just a version of me.
Yesterday I followed her on Instagram,
I guess watching her stories is no harm;
Oh, nothing matches hers charm,
and her thoughts were pretty much warm
"TEXT HER"- my heart raised an alarm.

HER about displays "#QUEENDOM",
Reading down I asked myself;
what's the need to her Royalty?
Maybe to evince your Loyalty.

She wears motley set of opinions,
Oh, one of her post says She hate onions.
Her reviews about movies and books shows her Morality,
so you can't shield yourself if you are guilty.

That snoozed alarm hits again;
I don't have words to go beyond her Reign,
The disarmed thoughts were on the run again,
So I thought to send her the above mentioned words
Which were not that much certain.
RAMDOM THINGS DON'T JUDGE
Jack P Aug 10
one love is skinny
one love is tough
one is unrequited
one's had enough

one points a finger
one plugs an ear;
and that's how i'd describe
how we both ended up here
hiatus, hi-at-us, an anagram for hiatus is "u a ****"
YYC Apr 29
i know,
that you'll never love me.
but,
dum spiro spero.





                                                    -­YYC
follow my instagram @yingyingchan or @yrteop.tsohg...i wrote this on my poetry instagram some time ago, and people liked it. so, here's to me hoping that you'll like it too.
Stephen James Apr 11
It seems most today are slightly confused on what actual talent is. As if word salad hastily tossed, with no seasoning or meaning, is equaling executive chef statuses. But that's just the mainstream line of thinking when it comes to social media marketing. Try to sound the most rehearsed and well-versed with big words describing nothing, and suddenly selfies with weak captions happen to bring out followers abundantly. This is just an observation...but a "cool" background is not a substitute for true use of tools for this vocation. Objectively speaking...there's more "photoshop poets" violating the "do's and don'ts" with candid pics accompanied with words of which they don't even know the meaning. Just saying. This theme is repeating. And it's annoying. Write thoughtfully...and responsibly.
a poem
Jenny Gordon Apr 6
...but I couldn't recall where to fit the line when I'd finally a chance to write next morning.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCXLVIII)


Likeas a naked bulb which can't dispense
With all the gloom, but draws up shadows' hale
Forms to leer from aught corners in betrayl,
And close in on that bit of light, I thence
Half realize Instagram details what hence
Has allus been:  lives so far distant they'll
Laugh in my face (as ever) that in pale
Excuse I thought comradrie's not pretense.
O THIS just after midnight when in poor
Reply I'm not yet back asleep, though to
Effect I've not been to the app in tour
In lo, some days.  It's just that thought I knew
Last time I watched "their" vids scroll by as twere:
I'm fooling but myself, still half blind too.

04Apr19a
Ye can take advice for how to sonneteer from any of my tutors or whomever you prefer, but I refrain from editing these stanzas, except rarely.
Jenny Gordon Mar 16
You know whence that statement is, don't you?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXXVIII)


Watch Instagram for flavour, will ya hence?
They'll talk of how their day was, and t'avail
Which styles they purchase, Starbucks like to scale
In hands well-manicured, for all good sense.
I won't remember to take photos whence
Lo, "cheeky missy" could prove she in pale
Excuse might have a life too, no.  Detail
Whatever in these sonnets none read thence.
Talk to my friends and fam'ly in a tour
Of living, NOT my phone.  NO vid'oes to
Show, um, the world I have good dishes fer
Consumption, that my style is grand and "you
Should follow me."  No.  I just live, in poor
'Scuse.  Dream of yonder, and fade slowly through.

15Mar19e
Sorry, I'm depressed.  But wasting too many hours a week ago on typing up a selection of my work I'd been thinking and wanting to post for the past month was a miserable chore not worth the effort.  I finally buckled and decided that IF I'm gonna post, I should do it daily....if I can.
Jenny Gordon Mar 10
I am.  So there.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLIX)


What? as firs whisper hoarsely to th'exhale,
Winds howling down the chimney, sirens thence
Lo, chasing which or whom on Sunday?  Dense
Cloud racks are peach, grey-blue in tow, the pale
Eye of these empty hours with what detail
I feel now in my bones?  Don't ask me whence.
"*** off yer soapbox."  Silence culling sense
Unto the 'fore as I'd talk, where is bail?
She'd post th'espresso break with this note fer
That: "necessary." I said yes, I knew.
Post Raisin Bran for breakfast...I had two.
Ne fancy artwork on milk's foam in tour,
I'd savour that, and feel the boxes'd stir
My lecture 'til he...walked away.  What's new?

10Mar19a
Well, I mean, I've this subscription to First Things, and receive two essays late Sunday morning.  Needless to say, I've put off reading them for the moment, anyway.
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