Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Paul Butters Jul 2014
For seventy or more years TV
And radio ruled the world,
Along with telephones.
But then computers made their mark,
Soon followed by mobiles, Smartphones,
Ipads, Bluetooth, Wifi and who knows what?
In no particular order.

So herds of sheep migrated
Into Cyberspace
Even Myspace!
Then on to Planet Facebook
And Terratwitter.

We talk with people we’ve never met,
And meet folk with whom we’ve never talked.
It keeps us occupied I guess,
And gives relief from stress.

These images that yet fresh images beget,
I’m sure Yeats would agree.
I tolerate these adverts flashing in my face
And soak up knowledge to my solid mental grace.

A world of wonders beckons in
The depths of Cyberspace,
And as a Nerd before they were invented,
I have to say I’ve truly found my place.

Paul Butters
About modern things.
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2014
Fabric of tomorrow  .  .  .
We are rapt in golden age,
  .  .  .  Tapestry is fraying.
Ryan Cripps Jun 2014
All I am…
Is less the man
Than I used to be.
I crumble more
Every single day.
I have no idea
How to Stop
The decay.
All I am…
Is a wounded soldier
Left on the battlefield,
Left to die left to be killed.
No man left behind?
Motto for the military
Not the motto for life.
“Given up? Here’s a knife”
“**** yourself, because you’re useless”
“Don’t know how to fix yourself you’re clueless”
Says the man in my head every day.
All I am…
Trying to do
Is find my way back.
But confidence, and energy
Is something I greatly lack.
No map, gps, or phone.
I’m out here all alone.
Who Am I?
I don’t know.
All I am…
Is a lost soul.
L H R Jun 2014
I like the way
you say care
and laugh at my jokes
and stroke my hair

You touch my body
call me your amor
and tell me I'm pretty
when I answer the door

But then.

Your phone starts beeping
I'm no longer yours
Your hands wrapped around it
Yours eyes on the floor

Transfixed by its beauty
It's body you touch
You laugh and you answer
You smile far too much

It sits on the table
Between you and me
A small metal barrier,
which past you can't see

When it goes off again
and you reach for that phone
You let go of my hand
Absorbed on your own

I get up, I leave
I'm not second best
To texting and cheating, and lying and tweeting
You inconsiderate idiot, your life's a mess
Simran Jun 2014
No words
Just pain
Width drawl
My body aches
Suffocating
Tearing apart
Each ache magnifies
A new one is born
Each different
Never enough
My eyes strain for you
Burn at the sight of you
I am your slave
Everybody wants to be,
loved somewhere, somehow internally.

Everyone's trying with heart ,
To be so the same, or be so apart.

looking for love, in all the wrong places.
gliding through applications;
rejecting, accepting, based just on their faces.

Denying love ,
Defying love,
and simply not trying love.

but its tough to be loved in the this day and age;
because we judge people on how they look on a page.

Alas..

Everybody wants to be,
loved somewhere, somehow internally.
it's tough out there sometimes guys.
Hilly Jun 2014
**** you, Old Stinky
Why are you so slow and old?
I hate you so hard.
dissipated and disillusioned worms eating through the last splinters of the rotting universal wood.

the last transmission of regret sent electronically, spluttered,
into a tissue; in a moment of self indulgent *******.

live showings of vicious execution, transmitted directly from the electromagnetic waves into the alpha waves of the young and naive. Desensitization, the last drops of humanity into complete disengagement.

endlessly recycled bohemian ideologies whispered into the ear of the eager idealist. spreading like fire, before burning out into the uncatchable reverie up with the stars, with all the other reveries, shining bright, intangible.

Instant dismissal from the old man, as the big curtain draws. Cynicism and fragmented past, falling on apathetic eyes, a proud man treat with a padded hand. faux sympathetic tones, blushing cheeks on old bones.

Begging with your body crumbling to dust with the disinterested doc, looking at the clock counting the milliseconds to the paycheck. Decomposing until you can be swept under the perpetual rug with the rest, Vacuum.
Next page