To create poetry or flash fiction in one hundred and forty characters. What a truly modern art form. Composing, like a symphony, my laziness

She adored cinema and took it all in. Now she is blind and touches the screen, constructing the images in her head, weeping at their beauty.

Friends are a wonder. Never in all my dreams could I imagine such souls that could save me from myself. That could make me feel so alive...

If one hundred and forty characters were all that's left to send help and save the world, I probably shouldn't have spent them writing this.

Poems are sometimes a lovely way to clear ones head and feel the beating of your heart and the cogs turning in your brain. Even short poems.

For it was in that one moment, suspended from fleeting, if only for that very specific moment, that nothing else mattered. And it was perfec

We are on the outside
A collection of people
Friends, acquaintances, neighbors
Coworkers, family, strangers
  The more we have
    The more we are
  Wrong.
It is not what we do
Not who we are
   But who we will be
The void is the black hole
Of cyber space
The unimaginable pace
The place of no space
  In an ever ending race
The chase- friends, followers, views
  Likes, tweets- for what?

I'm not one for these new times
I guess I belong in the past
Time once went by slowly
Now, it goes too fast

I don't know facebook
I don't tweet
In fact I don't know what that means
I belong in yesteryear
When men still cuffed their jeans

I guess I'm just an old school fool
An old school fool, that's me
I guess I'm just an old school fool
That's what I'm proud to be
I guess I'm just an old school fool
The good times now are gone
No one wants an old school fool
I guess that I will just move on

I don't get the music now
There's no song I like to hear
I'd rather sit and read a book
Or watch tv with a beer

Technology is far beyond
What my mind can take in
I do not use an atm
Because I do not know my pin

I guess I'm just an old school fool
An old school fool, that's me
I guess I'm just an old school fool
That's what I'm proud to be
I guess I'm just an old school fool
The good times now are gone
No one wants an old school fool
I guess that I will just move on

Tonight I missed a shot with nostalgia because of myself.
I've become such a slave to my phone that the flashing colours in the sky could not,
would not bother me.
Everything except for the device shining in my palms was blocked out like a voice I didn't want to hear in the first place,
Except I DID want to hear it.
I want know about everything that is happening around me without burying my face so deeply into Google to find the answers I'm searching for.
Nothing ever happens to me because I'm too busy in the comfort of my own home,
upon my own couch,
on my own phone worrying about the next Facebook status
and whether or not it will be entertaining
or in need of a dose of an opinion that is my own.

I recognize that I have my own personal "cell"-mate that will follow me wherever I go as long as I don't forget it on my kitchen counter.
I am shackled to my cellphone.
It takes me in handcuffs daily,
arresting me at my own free will.
A policemen of such small character,
yet so many brains.
And I already know my rights.
I already know my rights because I've researched them enough times with my mobile text book to have them memorized.
You have the right to post a status, anything you say can and will be taken out of context.
You have a right to an opinion, if you do not have an opinion one will be appointed to you by your desire to impress those whom share a friendship with you.

I am a servant to technology.
It's as though it is a part of my anatomy.
If it's not one item of electronics it's another and it has my full undivided attention.
As connected as we are, we have all become disconnected.
No one talks anymore.
Word of mouth has become word of texting.
Important pieces of information are shared via the internet because it's easier to get it out there all at once instead of saying it multiple times.
I sadly succumb to every chime I am beckoned with as it demands I answer whomever has interupted the surfing
and scrolling
and sharing
and liking
and commenting
and posting...
I put my phone down in disbelief.
Now tell me, "What's on your mind?"

Sometimes I think poets are full of ****
Because so many of them use beautiful words,
When talking about birds.

I mean I only notice birds:
When they wake me up at nine am on Saturdays
Or **** on my dark colored car
Or mock my bored-eyed cat
Or beg for my sandwich at the beach

Honestly when you talk about listening to birds tweeting,
I think first of Twitter.

And when you talk about birds playing,
I think of professional football.

And even when you talk about the cool birds, the night birds,

I think of a particularly disturbing YouTube video of an owl's head going all the way around.

Yeah, I think what you guys like most about birds,
Is that they're easy to rhyme with words.