It’s a social
Gas
Media
Chamber
With a little
Pig
Line
Latin
Drawn down the
Speaking
Middle
In tongues
Is the mask we were trained to wear.


Stripped naked
You run in shame
With no one to
Blame.

One day
They will Not
Acknowledge you.

If They did... you would have been crucified

Tell me your secrets
unofficially
surreptitiously
on the quiet

whisper the unknown
off the record
behind closed doors
on the sly

between you and me
in camera
sub rosa
entre nous

let me be your one and only

WHY SHULD I LERN TO SPELL?
HELL,
NO ONE REEDS WHAT I SAY
ANYWAY!!! :(

Sing for the cool night,
whispers of constellations.
Sing for the supple grass,
the tall grass, gently whispering.
Sing of infinities, multitudes,
of all that lies beyond us now,
whispers begetting whispers.
And i am glad to also whisper . . .

I WUS HURT IN LUV I’M DYIN’
FER TH’ TEARS I BEEN A-CRYIN’!!!

i abide beyond serenities
and realms of grace,
above love’s misdirected earth,
i lift my face.
i am beyond finding now . . .

I WAS IN, LOVE, AND HE ******* ME!!!
THE ****!!! TOTALLY!!!

i loved her once, before, when i
was mortal too, and sometimes i
would listen and distinctly hear
her laughter from the juniper,
but did not go . . .

I JUST DON’T GET POETRY, SOMETIMES.
IT’S OKAY, I GUESS.
I REALLY DON’T READ THAT MUCH AT ALL,
I MUST CONFESS!!! ;-)

Travail, inherent to all flesh,
i do not know, nor how to feel,
although i sing them nighttimes still:
the bitter woes, that do not heal . . .

POETRY IS BORING!!!
SEE, IT *****!!! I’M SNORING!!! ZZZZZZZ!!!

The words like breath, i find them here,
among the fragrant juniper,
and conifers amid the snow,
old loves imagined long ago . . .

WHY DON’T YOU LIKE MY PERFICKT WORDS
YOU USELESS UN-AMERIC’N TURDS?!!!

What use is love, to me, or Thou?
O Words, my awe, to fly so smooth
above the anguished hearts of men
to heights unknown, Thy bare remove . . .

Keywords/Tags: Poetry, writing, chit, chat room, forum, website, social media, workshop, mortal, mortality, grass, multitudes, Walt Whitman, love, awe, serenity, serenities, grace, heights, Parnassus, art, spelling, grammar

I dreamt I was walking across the high plains,
through the husk of a small American town.

The air was hazy
with distant smoke. The sun was high in a

muted, cloudless sky. The heat radiated
through my temples. I was parched, older, leathery, searching.

I came upon
a rusted-out school bus on the side of a dirt road

I walked in. The seats had been removed
from the bus. Along the left side lay

a long row of bedridden, elderly adults, comatose and naked,
each one receiving the slow drip of a tincture into the mouth:

clear nectar oozing from a carnivorous plant
hanging from the bus’s ceiling.

There were small children, also naked,
standing there in the bus. Their eyes

were covered with dark patches. As I turned
to leave, walking back down toward the road,

one of the children tugged on my leg. I turned
to address the child, our faces now nearly meeting,

and I saw that her eyes were not covered,
but removed. Two spindly black voids hung there

instead. “It's okay,” the child said to me.
“You don't need to be afraid.”

*      *      *

I continued down the road, the air
murky, salty, boiling, deadly.

A neon billboard with an American flag waving
shone off in the distance.

behind it loomed a giant radio tower,
hard at work transmitting,

but I knew that its broadcasts
were never meant for me to begin with.

I think I'm turning paranoid,
Or at least a little mean;
I question all the motives
Of those who liked my meme.

The second I get Followed,
I ****-- turn around around to see
If he just wants a "Follow-back"
Or truly likes my feed.

Don't even get me started
On social reciprocation.
IRL I don't do so well;
In virtual, I'm an island nation.

Do I just Like what I like?
Or only what really hits home?
What if it's a horrible post
By someone who loves my poem?

...do you like me? Do you really


like me?
Does it
matter?

I
don't
know

I used to think that I was Social
And then Media came to play.
I've only ever consumed the stuff;
At creating, I'm middling - just okay.

I can't Mediate people;
Will never be a journalist;
I like talking sometimes,
But the internet? Not the greatest.

So it's time to divorce these words:
The Social from the Media.
For all the info I could want,
There's always wikipedia.

पहले ज़रुरत थी आदमी को, केवल रोटी- कपड़ा - मकान
आज लग रहा है यह नारा, कि ' मेरा मोबाईल महान '

क्रांति लाई है इसने, आया युग जानकारी का
घर बैठे काम हो गए, नहीं इंतजार अब बारी का
ई - कॉमर्स से घर पहुंचते हैं छोटे - बड़े सामान
आज लग रहा है यह नारा, कि ' मेरा मोबाईल महान '

बना यह घर का सदस्य, बसा यह सबके दिल में
आने लगा यह मैयत में, आने लगा यह महफ़िल में
आज इसने है संभाली सुख - दुःख की कमान
आज लग रहा है यह नारा, कि ' मेरा मोबाईल महान '

चाहे पास हो या दूर, पल में संपर्क बनता है
जग बना एक छोटा गांव, जिसके बने हम जनता हैं
हुआ यह इतनी तेज़ी से, कि सब हो गए हैरान
आज लग रहा है यह नारा, कि ' मेरा मोबाईल महान '

एक रात में हुए कई का इतना बड़ा नाम
एक रात में फैला दुनिया में, उनका छोटा - बड़ा नाम
बनी यह तेरी - मेरी, कभी चढ़ाव, कभी ढलान
आज लग रहा है यह नारा, कि ' मेरा मोबाईल महान '