"blogger" poems
cicadas quiet
internet down
phones dead
can’t tweet
nor yelp
4 Square
won’t process
my payments
bluetooth cavities
iTunes tuned out
blogger blogged down
web surf ain’t up
G+ Circles broken
defriended on FB
Outlook e-mails
stuck in outbox
G-Mail postman
not making
appointed rounds
apps won't load
YouTube on hold
my e-commerce
bankrupt
Myspace empty
tumblr stumbled
LinkedIn disconnect
digital blips ain't blinking
not sure if I’m alive
I'm in a virtual
existential crisis
uncertain if
I’ll survive
Donna Summer
I Will Survive
Oakland
6/27/13
jbm
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
I went to close the window because it was getting windy and rainy. "can't leave this **** window open anyhow, without aluminum dust settling over the room"...Grrrr! ******* f-f-faggot factory!"
Oh **** I said ****** To myself, out loud. I felt something coming up in my chest! Laughter! Why, that factory doesn't even have a ***** besides the one it uses to **** my environment. I guess that's gay. Not in a happy or homosexual way, but in a way I am against.
So, what does this make me? A gay basher? Someone who has hit it off with almost every gay man I ever met? I always felt like they get me, which makes me feel good. I did find out a couple really did want to get me in the pooper, which made me feel even better than "getting me".
Just because it's not my lifestyle or I don't believe in it, doesn't mean I hate gay people. Does it? I mean I don't believe in *** with women either.
{Just leave this here so kids don't go to xhamster, which is uncensored. I wrote this after seeing a blogger talking about how a guy said an amusement park was gay, and not as good as his favorite park. An amusement park should be gay! Anyhow, there are actually people fighting over this crap. I know words can hurt, but so does being burned 5 times on the face with a cigarette. Yet, I don't blame everyone with a cigarette, just the guy who burned me. I bet if you dug up the men from the gay 90's they would feel a certain way about how gay is used now. I wish we could dig them up and send them after the bloggers who do nothing really, and **** sure have no gay fun. I believe that the use of bad words in poetry shows a weak vocabulary. Sometimes it's needed.)
Aug 25, 2021
Aug 25, 2021 at 2:11 PM UTC
I am a writer, yet often the little daily goal box to "write something" remains unchecked.
I am a photographer, but my camera has dust on it and my uploading sites are sparsely filled.
I am an academic, yet for the most part I find myself only studying what is given to me while the material I've collected remains halfway read.
I am a reader, but I keep rereading the same books and they don't get opened every night.
I am a loner, but I have those I love and those who love me.
I am quiet, but I must speak 80,000 words a day.
I am a horse owner, but the leather of my saddle creaks and groans with disuse.
I am a fan, but episodes are left unwatched.
I am young, but I do not have much energy.
I am in love, but I do not get to see her but once every few months.
I am in a long distance relationship, but I'm not much good at setting up Skype dates or leaving her messages on Facebook.
I am a performer, but I have not touched a stage in over a year.
I am a gamer, but I only play one game.
I am a dork, but I smoke cigarettes and drink black coffee.
I am a nerd, but I was never much into comics and I do not wear glasses.
I am mentally ill, but I talk to therapists as though I am upbeat and I am not behind on my schoolwork.
I am a musician, but I cannot play an instrument though I've tried many times.
I am a blogger, but I've let many die and I do not network well.
I am of the computer generation, but I could not explain how a computer works.
I am a daughter, but for many years I hated my parents.
I am a sister, but I have to remind myself to speak to my siblings.
I am a friend, but I prefer to keep to myself and I don't always have the right thing to say.
I am American, but I don't know much about politics and I don't like apple pie.
I am a vegetarian, but I have to eat fish sometimes.
I am gay, but I don't know exactly how to explain so that other people who have questions understand.
I am a student, but sometimes I don't feel like I'm much good at "critical thinking."
I am sad, but I smile.
I am an optimist, but I am cynical sometimes.
I am guarded, but I spill myself.
I am myself, but I don't know who I am.
I am not much good at being the things I am.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
**Inspired by Meg Cranston's Artist for President
(http://www.uniteddivas.com/megcranston/megpresident.html)**
We assert that there is a youth culture that is different and separate from all other cultures and that our culture is governed by principles which the aged population finds peculiar or offensive.
We are tired of being labeled.
We are tired of being segmented.
We are tired of hearing old people talk about us.
We are tired of being the respondents to your 20 city questionnaire.
We are done with being ignored.
We are sick of 1980s spandex.
We are sick of your Top 40 hits on a compact disc.
We are sick of your rom-coms and big budget fantasy sci-fi sequels.
We are sick of 60 billion ad messages being hurled from satellites in outer space.
We are done with being disappointed.
We demand the right to change everything.
We demand the right to create our own words.
We demand the right to define what is cool in the morning.
We demand the right to re-define what is cool in the evening.
We are done with being told to follow.
We reserve the right to be elitist.
We reserve the right to choose our heroes.
We reserve the right to create jobs that never existed before.
We reserve the right to outsource, open-source and crowdsource everything and all.
We are done with your rigid ways.
We condemn the wars that you started.
We condemn the poverty and hunger you created.
We condemn your irresponsibility in ignoring our dying planet.
We condemn the forces of greed that keeps an honest man from climbing the income brackets.
We will fix the mess you left behind.
This is for school kids
This is for college students
This is for young professionals
This is for the young artist who shares his creations on DeviantArt
This is for the young blogger who dreams of being a travel journalist
This is for the podcaster who is on her way to become a successful RJ
This is for the YouTube user who dreams of her own television show and feature film
This is for the photography enthusiast who spends his pocket money on a Flickr Pro Account
This is for the opinionated Twitter-for-Blackberry addict destined to become a Twitter celebrity. (Even we don’t know what that means!)
This is for the coding guru who gifts his geek friend a mobile gaming app based on Dungeons & Dragons for his birthday. Yes that is cool...for now.
This is youth culture
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 2:24 PM UTC
Your Wreath, Un-Thrifting Essence, bears his Name
And Fine be your Acts soothe such Heavy Hand
Which Time boost as his Protector and Sage
Skimming the Dirt infect his Rising Sand
Though one would Wonder why such Blogger speak
Of Secrets known must bequeath to the Few
Though in your Boy's Best Fate subdue the Meek
Out of Best Concern his Wild Growth does stew
So persistent be our same Wonder at
Those Keys deserved should never be Endorsed
For his own Respect; As ours Mature that
Let the Gentleman go if his Plays be Forced.
My Loyalty, still, Un-Conditioned will be
Though Swords still stab on such Smile you Reprieve.
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
For Steve Yocum
~~~
an old marine called me the other night
a poet from the left coast,
a correspondent and a first responder
to my messy essays
we both, vintners of men,
compared notes on our progeny's
full bodied temperament,
and our own full body's aches and miscreants
bemoaning our losses,
of earnest poets,
of friends, even foes,
and favored football teams,
and ne'er forgetting to tally up
our occasional victories
he authors books,
he authors life,
with grainy portraits,
that try to be peepholes
to clarity
me, a periodic poetist,
more confessional blogger shootist,
than artful-words-to-please dodger,
in a vainglorious futile insanely repeating attempts
to better separate
life's wheat from the chafe of its chaff
perhaps,
we shall someday meet,
a twosome of codgers,
walk the saddened-today, blood-reddened Oregon soil,
armed with each other's comforting wisdom,
tasting grapes,
acknowledging
but for the grace of god,
we go
*together, to gather,
each other closer,
walk the vineyards and the cellars
to clarify
the wine from the sediment,
getting uproariously drunk
on friendship*
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
It's 2:38 am
I have again been
left alone
abandoned.
Just because they say
3 am is a time for the lonely
does not mean
it has to be sad.
I can be alone
and dress
like a soft grunge blogger
with heavy eyeliner
just for me
and i get to pick the music
at 2:38 am
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
I log into my blogger,
I look at all the poems that I've ever written,
On my phone, on my math book during class, or scribbled in a hurry.
I search for the perfect one I can give,
To get a message back from Hello Poetry.
The first one I see is the one I wrote for my brother,
He left last year, I miss that fella,
I hope college is nice to him.
The next one is about the season ending, stars and constellations, and career choices,
I wonder what I was thinking while writing it,
No wonder my mum thinks I have ADHD.
The third one is a poem called 'maybe',
I remember when one of my best friends said she loved it,
I remember that that was the first time I showed my poems to her,
I was so happy.
As I see the fourth one,
I think this is stupid.
All these poems are old now,
I don't want to give these.
I spend a few minutes thinking what I should do,
I think and think,
I wonder what they'll like.
I wonder if the person who reads this poem,
Is a girl or a guy.
I continue thinking,
Rest thoughts aside.
Suddenly I realise,
Oh yeah, I can write.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
Closed at 10am,
With customers outside,
Opening at 12pm,
By then the interest's died.
*Sometimes I feel as a blogger, like a shopkeeper with no customers. It isn't that I want people to buy anything, but it would be nice to have a few folk wander in and browse for a while. We may not have free WiFi, but we could always just talk to each other.......
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
I’ve been told many times
Poetry is dead
Why want to be a poet?
As honored and humbled as I am
I’m here to express
I’m not a poet
I’m not a writer
I’m not a blogger
I’m not a columnist
Nor into journalism
I’m just simply
Undeniably
Expressively
Unapologetically
For better or worst
The
Messenger
Of
Love
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 5:29 AM UTC
My mouse is frozen
But all the gifs are going
A blogger's haiku
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Let me submit some thoughts to the public:
If one novel can
Overturn your worldview, then
Maybe the view's wrong
If one poem can
Make you turn to suicide
Then you're not happy
If a few berries
Can overthrow your empire
Then it's bound to fall
If one whistleblower
Can discredit you, then your
Actions might be wrong
If one blogger can
Threaten your morals, then the
Morals are too strict
If one flaw can break
The entire system, it's
already broken
That's all.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
Is that a game?
no, art.
i remember the first time I talked to you
i knew you were a blogger or something...
yah!... you guessed right.
our first lines
now I know more... more, more
you do not eat cake
which I could never relate too
you do not eat pizza
that can be okay....
you studied a stranger kind of medicine
the kind a twisted mind holds onto
you walked away from it
you like complexity
simple and routine is boring for you
you can afford to junk only once a year
you talk about your child with less emotion
you ask questions
not because you need the answer
but you want to know that the other party wants the same thing
you want people to tell you what they want
only because somehow you expect them to say...
they want you...
you pull away when they don't.
you are complex
you reach out and pull back at the same time
there is a part of you that wants to be chased.
or wants to tell someone simple i'm not interested.
you smile in between kisses.
you make actual conversation
not the kind that says I do not want to know
you are confusing
you are not forgettable though.....
so.....
what do you want....
happiness....good people..
what do you want....
NOTHING!
probably our last lines.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 1:27 AM UTC
From my chair
Through the air
I want my info now
Truth or dare
I don’t care
Give me info now
Hip wired infolites
Something bout usage rights
Whereas my info wow
Flying flags ever knowing
Looking back never going
Here’s my info now
Meaning without content
Exists without it being sent
The contents meaning slowly dies
Contending feeds on sore full eyes
Mercy typo pings brindle blogger
Immortal mention 2 NSA loggers
Wikimaster with google goggles
Seeks truthess acknak for boondoggle
Give me just a little push
My parental burning bush
Life lite the snippet deluxe
Youtube the world gone amuck
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 9:51 AM UTC
Loony-Toothed Blogger, your Trussled Pen spite
Save to spike such Heart plombed by Heresy
That Heresy be Truth pin proves Delight
Come Trenching Escapades grip his Fantasy
Though permit his Trade be for Answers meet
And fill Sore Minds his Clients satisfy
Preach Hearts for Profits; His Code on the Street
Would squeeze such Scandal from his Salsify
Be there Room then for your ardent Refuge
For you as one seeks his Innards to Change
For Betterment's House shut Public's Confuse
And let your Person enjoy his own Range.
His Arrows be his choose his Portents bend
Though Blame blunt his Skies by Penance amend.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
Wear it
share it
put it on a chain and walk it, but
'what if'
you just don't post it?
Instagram for instant fame
Facebook is just the same
Twitter for a bit a fun,
Linkedin,
Blogger another cog, a wheel
in the mill,
your tube, youtube?
always on ****** strike
what's not to like?
and the midwife comments,
'congratulations
you've given birth to a
healthy selfie.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 2:52 AM UTC
I heard a spool of yarn only yesterday yearn
whence from atop a hill subsistent with lore
her newspaper turned blogger here
why her demon cut loose
when she haled tomfoolery her ally cat
from outback went to purr upon her shoulder
as it ran; out from under her carpet that flesh
lingered trough the night but in her bed side table drew a pen
then paper from her shelf below
for we slept together with her stiletto yet lingerie forevermore.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
*I used to wonder about you
The girl with the pretty glimmer in her eyes:
The girl with the broken shards of honey speckled glass
Lost in the deep brown chestnut of your iris
I used to wonder how your eyes alone could be so mesmerizing
Yet I’ve never actually seen them in person.
But before I even questioned the beauty of your eyes,
You we’re just words to me,
Another faceless blog to follow,
Another desperate artist bleeding your insides against a keyboard,
I couldn’t stop myself from questioning the inner workings of your mind,
The way your words seemed to echo throughout not just my head, but my whole body.
I craved to know the artist behind the words that drenched my soul in sadness
The artist who wrote not with ink, but with blood,
Your past memories made your words sing like a requiem for the opening of a funeral,
And I was in a trance,
I stalked, then I stalked some more.
(Not in the creepy way I might add)
But in a way where my soul craved to know pieces of you
As beautiful as you are, I had no idea what you looked like.
I stalked your words more than I poured over my own work.
I think I saw the hunger in your words, maybe a sense of loss and a sense of positivity,
You we’re different. The way you wrote wasn’t like any other I had met.
I think I fell in love with your writing at some point,
Then I saw you, and I had wondered why such a beautiful woman would feel such pain
But I couldn’t help but be selfish with your words; I read them and re-read them
Hanging onto each one as if it was a delicate kiss from something beyond this world
You we’re so positive but behind the positivity I could feel a shadow of sadness
Maybe that’s why you’ve always been so beautiful to me;
Because I saw you for your words before I saw you for your looks
Even now to this day, I crave you.
I crave your words like nothing I have experienced
And sometimes, when I feel lost I look for you; I look for your words
Because you’ve always somehow managed to become part of me
Even if you as a person never became part of my life
Your words, your story, and your emotions, they felt like home*
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
I'm keepin' all these things inside
yet saying so, guess I can't hide
but you don't really need to know
so what's to talk about?
It's early to bed and early to rise
and what I keep back, well that's no big surprise
just one less thing I'm offering
the world to have to think about
and better for you that I've saved you the time
and kept 'em as drafts 'cause they're privately mine
I'm not always open though often I find
in my heart that I'm secretly smitten
but who really cares what I've got on my plate
and whose-it said what about whats-her-name's mate
and before I can write it, yesterday's news
and the views, none are wise that I've written
so I'll pick out a few since I can't take no mo
and read all you've got, like you're some kind of show
a daily soap opera I'd rather not miss
save the kiss and the bliss or be dissin
And though YouTube is boobery still I can choose
what I'd rather be hearing without any dues
if I need a good cry, I can tune into blues
and bawl my eyes out or just listen
Hang onto your hat, you can meet me for lunch
I'm easy, but don't getyour briefs in a bunch
it's true and I know that I rarely say much
but somehow I make myself clear
Just give me a call, you can drop me line
I'm better in person when feeling quite fine
my knickers are twisted, at times in a pinch,
I'm a ***** but I'll always be near
I'll wrap up this poem with a quaint little line
it's good to say nothin' with so little time
then maybe the words that I use though they rhyme
will be ones that your wanting to hear
or not.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
Untamed mammal's release Tension's before mine own eyes,
Chains are broke, no more smoke to hide those dreading thought's of suicide!!!!
Raging dictating swearer's,
Jewels traded for tools,
As the sun lowereth this place get's barer and rarer!!!!
Cars surround,
Compound their tires to bullet's of plasma issued brace!!!
Captivating,
Excruciating,
Music to thy ears turns to bad news!!!!
Chess sweepers,
Checker winner's,
Both losers,
The rest born sinners!!!!
Costly state pay to fatcat's pocket booked hands,
Some issue warnings,
Whilst protective custody issues strong demands!!!!
All prosecuting stands issued remaxed detective blogger's,
Rednecked respecters come with protector's,
While odd breed's come with a dodger!!!!
Mystique,
Defeat!!!
To thy hands thou hath tied from Behind!!!
Move up the latter,
Taste thy corroded own chatter,
The deaf hath now turned blind!!!!
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
This past year's scribblings can be found (maybe - Google improved their Blogger so much that it doesn't format) at:
https://poeticdrivel.blogspot.com/
20 September 2020 - Google "updated" (cough) their Blogger to the point where it no longer works, so I am back here until this fails again.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 2:35 PM UTC
The palm asks for your certificate. Scottish Scotland and the Scottish Gaelic Islands from 1468 to 1490. I think and think of a children's home; That's the difference between monumental memories that begin nowhere in the world. But hotter and hotter. I am not now a Holy ***** in true love and in truth, who lives in a home of love: Death: This world is a testimony of "signs". I am interested in many of our gifts, like Melissa. If you want to commit adultery, you can do nothing. The most important answer at the beginning of the story was money, money, money, research and research. Bring your hair into the world of global warmth. Authorization License to see all your dogs and ****** developed by the Conservation Council. In this country is one of the best women in the mosque. A child is the same: "My help is one." Hunger and death work and work on it. These games are not a global connection. I have alcoholic drinks. In the diary, Dilby wrote openly, saying the relatives were told that thousands of wounded and dogs had been blessed by many. Espadrilles [Music], just a book written in Scotland. 1468 and 1490 the last secretary in the world. But there is no fire. Old examples, diseases and money. Because the temperature on the earth is clean. In general, the peace plans for fishing. The island of Moscow is an hour here. The kids say, 'I want to send it. "The Seed, Amos, a happy ***** and happy, who likes to listen, is quickly interested in the site." According to Selisa, this process of heat treatment is the best place to detect ***** Requirements for medicinal products for medicinal products. A woman is looking for ideas. Ideas, ****** and time. Blogger will be able to remember this content from the world. WHEN THE ROAD IS REACHED. Hot weather; The value of the sale was broken. Through a global contract. It is approved in the United States. 1 The mosque is growing at night. You can have it. "In the heart, Dilbert's staff also calls when he believes in many books," he said, "playing with his life, his health, and the hospital." 1490 miniskirts; 1468 The most important 1. The most important problems in Scotland: If you want to benefit, analyze and discover the global war still applies to Melissa; Many of us can also lead the world. Dogs cover dogs, the two best women are the same. II. "When you think about something, you think that you are not alone." It is not brought into the world in which the game is played. He says he's a drunken **** and dictator and says, "I'm a dog in the heart of love to prepare for thousands: Alby knows ... and a ***** eats it.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
for the remainder of time everything seems useless
especially time
for the remainder of time everyone seems hollow
probably me
for the remainder, there will be two sides
with much division within each side!
for the remainder, everyone is a blogger
for the remainder, everyone is perfect
for the remainder of life, time is meaningless
ya see, life never ends
time ends
Sep 27, 2021
Sep 27, 2021 at 6:33 AM UTC
Today I
F
E
L
L
for you
a little bit more.
Those words were magic,
and giving them to me
has made me feel so
special.
That's all I wanted to say
that's actually all I can say since
if I think about it
This is the first time I've
F
A
L
L
E
N
at all.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC