Suddenly, the 502s were back
those unexpected disconnects
that make posting whack
and my nerves a wreck

Like blank spots in time
that made me backtrack
unable to use rhymes
I felt trapped and  highjacked

Did the server choke on a bone?
Was 5G stalling me, wordless and postponed?
Did the firewall collapse, did DNS lapse?
Was it my laptop, was it my phone?

People watched me, on the metro,
as I frowned and moaned at my useless iPhone.
The issues seemed flagrant, I was becoming impatient
Was I some kind of nut? I was showing emotion.
We don’t DO that in Paris - have public implosions.

Did it happen to you?
Or was I one of a few.
What were the chances
that it only happened to poets in France?
.
.
Song for this:
Alone Again (Naturally) by Gilbert O'Sullivan
La Vie en Rose by Allison Adams Tucker

We think we're saving us.
Saving humanity
through
technology.
Convenience we think,
is of utmost importance.
And through that very convenience,
we lose ourselves.
True intelligence
in trade for
the artificial.
The greatest feats of humanity
imitated in mere seconds.
Art.
Literature,
Paintings,
Expression,
All consumed
by the raging desire
for convenience.
How much further must we fall
before realization
strikes the tree of ignorance,
revealing its roots
that bleed with the ink of true creativity?

the digital footprint
a modern record.
how we keep score,
as we move forward.

hieroglyphics,
poetry and sonnets,
philosophical teachings,
those things so far from us,

yes, they’re quite the same.

only now this time,
it’s constantly flowing
through a digital frame,
in a different way.

the humour
the laughter
the delight and wonder
the experience of human nature
we truly never change

we’ve kept score
it’s all the same

our existence in the world,
being noted,
being recognised,
to show we’re here;
we existed.

we experience.
we observe.
we reflect.
we create.
we document.
we remember.

like those moments,
like those eras,
like those people,
from before.

we learn about them,
day in, day out.
we learn from a distance,
removed from those times.

yet, living a life
near identical.

just in a
different
shape.

at a different
time.

we are the parallel,
we are the reflection,
we are the consequence,
we are the continuation,
we are the mirror,
to those who came before us.
they are part of us.
they may even be us.

so, we do what they do.
we do what they dreamed.

the impossible
from their eyes.

…now so mundane to our eyes.


a new frontier
a new facet of life.

the digital footprint
a new proof of life.

the new dark age
heart goes out
world goes up
all due to a love of concrete
and iron indignities

buildings grown in the heartland
steel your future
wrap your face in a foreign flag
make it medieval
so fear and superstition
can live on each floor

from above the cityscape
blueprints of a pinball machine
a train to nowhere
like candles on a cake
that will burn someday
when least expected

ladies against the glass
of morning commutes
show too much cleavage
to people on Sunday
gentlemen with their death sticks
conjure the factory smoke
poisoning a life of leisure
these infinite vistas
continue to rise
elevation well in hand
stitched together
but growing apart

the biomechanical soul
a species out of control
mother solitude and her
modern failures
take the stairs to the roof of her mouth
progress leaves an echo
her final words are
empty, foreboding
and full of lead

buzz, buzz
the bees used to sing
tweet, tweet
the birds would call

media does buzz
twitter does tweet
the worthless leader
who's would does crumble
with one critic
to their fragile identity

buzz, tweet
phone, twitter
the old World does know
simplicity has power
gone will it be
just as the bees

it’s mine.
swaddled in a down embrace
my Outlook
changes
the air, muggy
carries the high-pitched
alerts
of chorus frogs
i need not respond.
a solitary fingertip
illuminated
s
c
r
o
l
l
i
n
g
blue burned eyes
resisting
sabotaging
The Day