"bluetooth" poems
You like to say love disappeared.
And I swear it never left, but she talk like Kanye "Ima let you finish"
shrug her shoulders; cut me off, Swift.
Drinks on the table it was no one else's business, Henny in my system there was no one else who witnessed how she never took a breath like a run on sentence so I'm in the club flexing working on my fitness; arms out stretched on my chest crucifixion.
I'm forgiven but could never get a word in not even one syllable I'm talking in synonyms I,
never
ever
nevermore, words with friends. Triple word how absurd you be trippin **** on my Instagram insecurity I'm tired of it I'm with my Boys chillin rarely smoked but might burn a spliff; ease the pain so insane major Payne fatigue is in.
I got a glimpse of future, I use to, try to hit you up reconnect, bluetooth, I'm in her ear lying for the *** I miss you, she on top giving me the truth: this all you. But **** it though I'm not trynna be your man, but when she leaving out for work I be sleepin in
and when she home I tax that *** like I'm Uncle Sam nothing ever change so after head she be at my neck
next
Flashback to the present
--and--
she still telling me how I don't get it
stressed
unproductive in her presence, you not even in front of me I'm still tasting lemons; Yo, my star player wants a trade should I let her go? cut too deep for bandaids should I let it flow.
Throwback to the past vampire clothes but the blood different I'm a sucker for that red though: she was floating 6 inches from the earth floor, you's a victim baby true blood, spoil us! Show Me What You Got lil mama let your "Kingdom Come" dressed in all black spending money black republican? Awesome and some; I was sliding home she was catching, clamping; say I turn her on like a touch screen, Samsung; with a touch of color you would disobey your mother as I slid under your covers
mid-day massages
"Midnight Maunders"
at least that's how it use to be, now Award Tour got her trippin almost frequently
we use to fight for love she said now she a causality!
"and how you gonna make this bout you it's about me, phone ringing since 1am it's about 3
thought you was slick huh,
thought I was sleep, you **** right love disappeared"
but she never leaves.
She's still waiting to exhale, but she never breaths.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
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
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
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
Instead of foraging around making connections
with cables and wireless systems that
bluetooth and sync their way
into our pocket technologies
and portable screens
(tablets of which we self-prescribe
and regulate through overdose
and comatose keenings of stillness
and waking dreams)
why, instead
don’t we fool around
making connections
with others of like mind and brainwaves
instead of radiowaves and
the mastered minds of computer waves
and lift an arm and
really wave
beyond our windows to
real people
in real time
rather than peeping
like a holographic Tom through
tabs and browsing windows,
multi-tasking time in a state of mime
like it’s about to expire
(like the wireless wires will break)
and all that we’ll have is
all we can physically take
from this moment awake we call ‘life’
– a mistake.
What else is left now
in this vegetative
one man one woman state
where we live to close our eyes
and shut our minds and wait for
the modem-router to re-dial and
get our avatar back online and
our friends back into our
multi-dimensional realer-than-time
time?
Pseudonyms solving identity changes
emerge without birth
with designer non-faces, as
now that we no longer need imperfection
or meaning or privacy
or even perception
we alter ourselves to impress our connections
with whom we connect without really connecting
by hiding as one almost nearing detection
and tip-toeing straight past
concern or reflection
(invisible firewalls at our protection)
our own walls around us
with keys we can capslock,
screening ourselves from unfriended friends,
and playfully sated by charm and ‘pretends’
that will mean next to nothing
when fantasy ends.
Where ARE the connections we make
in this digital age
that we rarely turn off since
the internet craze has become a new God
that we dial to be saved
as we sacrifice friends we once made
face to face
with those we are longing to meet
as we race across networks
with hunger and haste and
with spambots and data and viruses made
to detect and infect
and reject, just for starters,
and that’s not to mention
the ads and the logins and
passwords that lock us
from somewhere far yonder
that doesn’t exist
as we grow ever fonder
of pics and of pixels and
texts of expression
– the reality of which
we could lose in a second.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
Batteries destroys the mind
You achieve next to nothing with your plug in baby muse
But here you lay, yet again, questing for a Stone Ring that gives a +1 to all of your skills as a sorceress
When somewhere else in the world a kid just made it to the next round of american idol
and who knows, maybe next year you'll be jamming to his hit track on your ipod
while your sitting in the library busting your *** to get the grades to become somebody you dont even know if you want to be
But I'm sure Einstein would agree with me that being something makes more sense than being nothing
Even though when your nothing your something, unless your a giant whole ******* me, Asia, and Justin Beiber into you to fill the void
But at the end of the day, when you really think about it, it's not even about whether or not you did your best, you just need to be able to sleep that night, and accept the day thats passed...not that you have a choice
Because the PVR doesn't work on the LIFE Network
You can't skip back to the beginning of the track, if you could, why not scratch the CD and listenin to a different remix every time
But Jacob knows it's never too late, there's always tomorrow.
So turn off the screen close your eyes and think for a bit, or at least until that late night ice cap wears off.
Are You going to find your call of duty? or spend another day wishing your brain had built-in bluetooth.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 8:34 PM UTC
Because-because-because it is like using crutches even when you are absolutely well and can jump around!!!
No Bluetooth compatibility with devices of other makes renders it alienated in a desert full of better devices.
Not many in-built free-to-use applications exist that can be transferred to or from friends using iPhone only.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 6:59 AM UTC
Met a girl named Cynthia
Confusing like the media
My soul kept on needing her
But my temper flames kept on burning as hot as the curry from India
We went to sit by the river
As the cold breeze came
It made her body shiver
Although there was an awkward silence
Our eyes made a perfect alliance
Much like science
Eye contact
Was the pathway to give her my contact
From eye contact to ****** tension
No bluetooth
But we had this endless connection
Together with affection
Caressing
Body to body pressing
DMC confessing
We did the risky ish
Much like *** testing
Let me not forget the late night sexting
No love involved
From a man to a toy
I evolved
But I couldn't resist
I gave her my arm when she was looking for assist
We were going too fast
I knew this relationship was never gonna last
As I reflected on my past
I remembered the cast of the girls who broke my heart
We were passionately mating
But we were not even dating
As I realized we were only friends
Better wait for it until it ends
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
Someone’s world jumped
onto a cold set of tracks
at Jamaica station
early last week.
Someone’s world jumped
into the universe next door,
leaving us all for
being too human.
At the time,
I was trapped at Penn Station.
A pain spread
about my stomach
like a pen pressed against
a sheet of looseleaf.
MTA officials made announcements,
calling it a mechanical malfunction.
9 to 5 businessmen in
deep black suits with bluetooth headsets
groaned and bargained
for passage home,
ready to ride
through a stranger's graveyard.
Little kids ran through shops,
fingers sticky with frozen yogurt
and popcorn- surprise treats
used as pacifiers.
I sat in a well known coffee shop
pondering life and death.
The word suicide didn’t hurt
like it used to, but I felt
connected to this stranger.
I thought about
that person’s lover,
that person’s sister,
that person’s mother,
that person’s friend.
I thought about how
all of their galaxies stirred and switched gears.
A planet of theirs- tremendous or trifling in their own imagination-
collapsed and changed the course of everything.
I wondered if their galaxy halted and
each star and planet mourned or
if their galaxy smoothed over the craters
and dodged all the meteors and
didn’t even blink.
My galaxy shifted and
clouds laid thick.
Stars dimmed their lights in harmony.
A few years ago
or even a few months ago,
I would’ve cried
and thought
about following this
stranger to train station heaven.
But now,
I thought about
my sister’s galaxy,
my mother’s galaxy,
my best friend’s galaxy.
Now,
I felt sadness
but I also felt love.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
I suckled my mother's Bluetooth breast
while my father built me a bassinet
of series circuits with high, motherboard
bars.
I've got that artificial baby glow.
But Mom put my ****** on Facebook
at four weeks and I still haven't re-friended
(forgiven) her. My upgrade's in nine months,
but I want my downgrade now
'cause all I get are social invite excuses
from Facebook fuckfaces. We pack
our lives into little boxes that we're
not even allowed to open.
We drink to technology, keep our lazy
eyes on our news feeds, and recycle
ideas like their owners would even
want to see what we've done to them.
We misquote Confucius and credit ourselves
with mangled Robert Frost stanzas.
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I think
it's awesome that Pepsi used to be blue."
Reblog, revine,
retweet, FaceTime.
Folding chair fold-out on someone's lawn.
White-out Yeats, Keats, Byron, and Auden,
and write John ******** or Tom Whatever.
We're caught in the chicken wire of an LCD
fruit basket so neat, orderly, and brushed
aluminum. How can people write in Starbucks?
S
B
U
X
B
S
The cooler's too ****** music's too shy,
and the sugar, no, not just the sugar.
THE PEOPLE are too artificial.
The carpet-suit inlay I'm standing
on has pencil lead, sock lint,
and receipt shred lapel pins.
Even corporations play dress-up.
But what happens when Y2K kicks
in tomorrow?
Lives will be lost even before
the missiles **** us.
And the planes that drop
from the sky won't even come close
to when the bough breaks your little
girl's heart, baby, because your phone
can't raise her anymore, so you have to.
And based on your search history,
tweets, and recorded dreams,
she's better off in the warm
embrace of a hard drive.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Alexander Graham
Rang a Bell when he said
Mr. Watson, come here
In 1876
With no earthly idea
Of what was to come
How we live today
With cell phones up our butts
Wherever you turn
Someone's talking or texting
At every red light
While the green one is resting
And let's not forget
The in your ear bluetooth craze
People talking out loud to themselves
Like we all care what they say
Or out and about
At a table for four
Where each cell phone in hand
Is the only thing not ignored
It does make you wonder
What Alexander would do
If he saw his seed planted
Producing this rotten fruit
Perhaps then Alexander Graham
Would ring that Bell in history
And say Mr. Watson, come here
Help me destroy this thing!
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
My imagination is always there,
drawing pictures for other bits of my brain to see what it means
And what's gleaned helps me to think of things,
Like now, when I can't think of what to say
He'll think of something right
and I'll probably ignore it
Because I usually don't take advice,
Especially from you, you trickster
He's always making me laugh at the wrong times,
In the street replaying a youtube video
of a man accidentally washing his hands in a festival ******
"Don't think of it now you'll make me look homicidal"
And then my imagination would put it on
And my laugh became tidal,
trying not to laugh is the hardest thing to hide of all...
But he did come up with a way to make me look smooth instead
now if he makes me laugh he wraps an imaginary bluetooth to pretend to be on
round my head
I like it when you tell me stories when I go to
sleep,
sometimes they are too exciting and I can't sleep
but I like that too,
and when you make dreams
especially if they follow on from the previous stories,
I love sequels
it's funny how they never end
except with death,
and even then maybe
it's just that part's not been released yet
when I was younger
you used to scare me in the dark
With bit's of scary films
and in the sea with a shark
that you got from Jaws
(You were a bit of a ******* that way)
but often we would get on and we would play
war games and car racing
imagined killings and engines sounds
whilst chasing
in the playground,
We don't do that now
We've changed
there's stranger things
to be seen in the clouds
these days
I hope you don't mind
If we finish this rhyme
but I'm worried for the things you might say.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
walking thru the valley of words
speechless are our soldiers in war
times of creative breaks, shootings
the sounds of slugs overpower rivals
gangstapoets stand tall in gory hoods
we dunno what fear is, bloodhoundz
as we only need 8 minutes to gather 80
0 traitors, giving bread to hungry ones
one tower, one pit, one block, 1LOVE
feel me rushing over sparklin' glaciers
south florida, 64th floor, ocean fiends
snake charmer in crime, 20 to 55, flip
kobacobraface scammed one of us
unknown were the ties among tizz and gp
in the background, jeezy and assi-toni...
"still on it", "the realest", "kommenzi"
the beats merge in gangstapoet's minds
dominique northstar's silky skin on mine
tissop, the war zones, fallen gangsta poets
dead baby mommas, vamoosing bullets
stop! tizzop is yelling, falling on his knees
and branko, tizzop's red horse approaches
juicy our promises, as sweet as fulfillments
olives, red wine, m2 tec bluetooth babe
red light district, wondaland's lost avenue
in the corner of agony and mania, dey fail
gangstapoets gradually winning turf
to be continued...
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 2:14 AM UTC
a thousand miles we traveled to see
your jack-hammered giants--we arrived at dusk
just as the torrents began, bathing your
chiseled countenances
we hid in our chariot of modernity
wipers flapping in syncopated time, Bluetooth belching
out words from kin, "have a good time,"
"sorry for the storm..."
but I wasn't, for lightning struck
a blackjack pine, and four mammoth men
came to life, their sheen now electric, their long
mute voices once again a resounding roar
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
So I’m sitting in this dark room, smoking cigarette after cigarette after cigarette. Staring at the pile of mail on the table. Left behind junkmail, junk that I have to answer, his junk. But then again I am wearing his clothes, his shoes, Christ, This might even be his bathrobe. Moved in on another mans turf, or am I just keeping the seat warm? So he can go sow his oats, sleep with some secretary or ****** do fat lines of whatever, never having to check in while checking out . I remember I think , what that used to be like, to be free of things, things like commitment, things like meeting your obnoxious co workers at the bar, And not the cool downtown bar with its dim light, backbooths and jukebox full of blues, The uptown one with the yuppies and their bluetooths and never ending vain chatter. Things like love, things like forgetting that your favorite color is yellow, not mustard yellow but bright ******* canary yellow. The yellow that reminds me of bathroom stalls and jailhouse walls, and all those, late late night trips to the E.R.. Things like time , Remember that time when You said “lets take it slow “ Then the next morning you wrote I love you on the mirror in Red lipstick. Should have been a stop sign, a flag ,god **** warning, right there. Things like Freedom, The freedom to fly away, To escape, to set sail. To be free like that B.M.W. on the autobahn, in the commercial, aimed at the friends, with the Bluetooth surrounded by yellow walls that sing those blues, To be free But then who would be wearing our clothes ,our shoes ,Christ, even our bathrobe, Hell who would even answer the mail.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
I present for you
A user’s manual
For your new set of headphones
First: connect to your device
You may need a cord
Or use Bluetooth
But you need to connect to an outside source
The headphones do not come with a playlist
Second: put the headphones on
Make sure you maintain maximum ear coverage
Headphones are not as effective if you can hear the outside world
The thud of footsteps
The jumble of conversations
The pitter patter of rain
And the sound of laughter
Are not as harmonious as your music
Finally: begin the first song
Listen to it blissfully
Because only you can enjoy it
No one else is allowed in on your personal concert
There is no need to take off your headphones
There is no need to turn the volume down
There is no need to disconnect from your mobile device
Because here
No one can hurt you
You can’t hurt anyone
And you can pass by the world like a ship in the night
The headphones have a lifetime warranty
However, we cannot refund you
On the time, friends or opportunities you might have lost
While using our product
Sincerely, your inner coward
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
It's very uninformed
It thought
It always has a destination
Always needs directions
Meets the defination
of a paraplegic
"Lights on, Molly"
"Lights off Molly"
"TV on"
"Toast crisp, dear Mollie
"Slow cooker four hours"
It's always very disconnected
Cassie calling
Blood pressure warning
180/105
Heart rate 135
Oxygen 8%
Cassie disconnected
Molle is never alone
always connected to the
neural net
Every device on planet Earth,
Traveling with New Horizon
until the end of time
Ron calling
Volume down
Bluetooth off
Ron disconnected
"Search divorce attorney "
"Search mortuary"
"Search cyanide purchases"
"Bluetooth on"
"Home"
"Tears of rage
Tears of grief
playlist
turn on, M
thanks."
"Search best way to cook
brussel sprouts"
"Search beano"
Battery 15%
Charging
Molee powering off.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC
the light is too bright
can you dim the dimmer?
boygenius is on the stereo
a bluetooth speaker
via spotify premium — student account
my brain feels like a butterfly house
humid and stuffy and filled with insects
we moved on from tinder
to talking over text
you are so cute
the butterflies move
to my gut, heart's a flutter
my foot in my mouth
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 8:10 AM UTC
You were never meant for this
Grocery cart, bags of bones, pillow case
Dunking your head in the paper bags of letdown
Side street, gray walk, go’s and stops
Ticks and tocks
You were never meant for this
Fingerless gloves, holes in jeans, newspaper blankets
With words of people far more successful
Building money with their hands
Like a distorted counterfeit where it’s the priority
Above all that is breathing
You stare at their smudged pictures,
Their smiles full of cash, the green leaking between their teeth
Their suits all straight with hands out shaking
They stand around
The numbers increase
The excitement booms
That was supposed to be you
Who you once were
On Wall Street, drinking the coffee of accomplishment
Out of silver mugs with silver spoons
But you lost it all didn’t you?
The greed overtook you like a drug
Messing with your brain and judgment
Now look at you,
Vagabond, penny cup, ghost air
You were never meant for this,
You were supposed to be like those men in the paper
Those men on the streets
With their Bluetooth and briefcases
Stepping on cracks
You were never meant for this,
But you crashed
Got caught up in the money, the games, the race
Now look at you
Grocery cart, bag of bones, pillow case
Just jumping in defeat between the space
You were never meant for this.
Now look at you.
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 9:46 AM UTC
Welcome to Cloud Corp.,
We're in the air,
We're everywhere,
24/7/365 plus leaps.
No need to yellow your walking fingers
To reach out and touch someone.
We're everywhere,
Ethernet, WiFi, bluetooth.
We're behind the scenes,
We are the scene,
Promising that we're never mean,
Just ramping up your thought-put,
Instantaneously as we speak,
Googo-hoo,
twit-face,
Sky-bay,
Amazonia with free ship,
Making it too **** simple
To Lean back and Digg your Drudge.
Nov 7, 2010
Nov 7, 2010 at 7:26 AM UTC
12:45
The sun has gone black,
the world is asleep.
In the family room,
the television clicks on by itself.
It illuminates my father,
half-naked,
covered in processed cheese dust.
The channel changes to Cinemax,
******** ***********
My mother walks in
without her glasses,
and for a moment
her screams of disgust
are indistinguishable
from the throes of passion
broadcast on the cheap
Acer dad bought at Costco.
Elsewhere,
in South America,
a volcano has erupted.
It sprays debris
and detritus
over a small village
with a long name.
Postmodern Vesuvians **** ash,
frozen not with fear
but rigor mortis.
The CNN report plays for three hours.
The world moves on.
Later,
a man explodes in a convenience store.
Guts rocket outward,
onto wine coolers
and travel packages of Chex,
and the clerk just shrugs.
If you go there today,
all that’s left is the smell of ammonia
and a dark stain on the ceiling.
At the same moment,
a toddler steps off a cliff,
spiraling into the abyss,
but never stops falling.
He’s been going for days,
months,
years.
He has kept his audience updated
through a Bluetooth that we tossed down after him.
He’s had windburn since he fell,
but the ointment we sent
hasn’t reached him yet.
His parents are now expecting.
He just yawns.
In my family room,
the woman on Cinemax is climaxing,
screaming,
pulling her hair out
while a greased-up middle aged
pizza deliveryman autoerotically asphyxiates
himself with a hair tie.
As she wails for the last time,
the TV screen shatters,
glass ejected,
blazing through the air
like Flight 93
seconds before impact.
Sparks salivate from the exposed wires,
then cackle down
into a signed black.
And as this happens,
the children on Exeter St
stop crying.
The alcohol in a small town liquor store in Wyoming
un-ferments,
and the world, for a moment,
ceases to turn.
But only for a blink.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
What might we find if there were no lessons needing
learning,
no bait to not wait for ever to be
re
alized in the blink of an eye,
likka polish, a gloss
light flash active
pop
The shining being more subtile than any beast, eh?
You gnowad eyemean, o yew don'.
Once more, book of life with us in it, as words
and nada mas,
reconciled via bluetooth, keys to kingdoms
flow from my finger tips,
knocks are-were an swered swern sworn in a-mode, e-mode
zero-mode
ah, modern linguistics link us back the Burns and
wee beasties makom plans,
happy natal day misstress riddell
"'Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my story
Aug 13, 2020
Aug 13, 2020 at 5:54 PM UTC
This a very strange and odd feeling..
Dead exhausted..
Sleep deprived for a week...
Having a nasty migraine..
A bad tummy and aches and pains...
But for some inexplicable reason...
I am in the mood of dancing..
Dancing like i used to do..
Dancing like i danced way back ....
I’m driving home after a horrible n busy night...
I ought to be looking like the dead...
My eyes are heavy...
Can’t see the road ahead..
But for some inexplicable reason ..
I’m feeling like dancing..
I’m blasting loud music in the car..
I’m dancing and driving..
Don’t think i should be doing so..
But I’m dancing like i did way back..
Before i put in the key to my front door..
Backpack , eyes. And feet all heavy and sore...
I connect my phone to the Bluetooth..
On it comes blasting the beats that move my feet...
I ought to be collapsing in bed..
Tired and weary..
But for some inexplicable reason..
I’m stripping and dancing..
To the loud music I’m blasting..
The music is going on non stop..
I’m playing it on repeat
My body, soul and my feet have a rhythm..
Making me feel complete...
I’m still moving, i can’t seem to stop..
I am feeling like both death and life..
I can’t explain it.. my soul is filled with jive..
Oh what a vibe!!
And for some inexplicable reason..
I’m dancing and dancing like my bones aren’t old and weary..
dancing like I’m not all fat and heavy
I’m dancing like i used to way back
Moving from the front to the back
Winding the waist like its not old and achey
The shoulders are rolling and groovy
Yes I’m dancing .. like we did way back
Yes I’m back
Gotten my groove back
Almost forgot i still have all that
Almost forgot what it felt like
To dance like i did way back
I’m still dancing..
Better than i did way back
Oh yes I’m back
So is the rythm and the groove
My soul is renewed
I’m both old and new
Dancing like we did way back
Dancing more than i did way back
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 5:27 AM UTC
Be like water,
be formless.
Be like a lion,
be fearless.
Be like the universe,
be limitless.
Be like Bluetooth,
Be wireless.
Be mysterious,
leave people clueless.
Be like a guard dog,
be restless.
Be like a machine,
be tireless.
Be a true hustler,
be relentless.
Be a fantastic poet,
leave your readers speechless.
IB-Poetry©️
12/6/2018
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 10:04 AM UTC
on the day before Earth Day
the parched ground seethes with thirst
a neighbor employs a plastic milk jug
to water his Home Depot shrubs
kids scale an idling Avalanche
while mom chants microwave mantras into a Bluetooth
I finish laying a blanket of phosphates on the lawn
then fall asleep to the 2 cycle lullaby of my leaf blower
it's 70 degrees in North Jersey
snow is forecast for Pittsburgh
in our blue day of expectation
we brace for tomorrow's deluge
on the morrow
we will honor the earth
yet manana never seems to come
we relish the comfort of today's savage civility
Music Selection: Elvis Presley,
Tomorrow Never Comes
Oakland
4/21/12
jbm
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:50 PM UTC
while eating gold, all gathered 'round and unrehearsed; the first bird chirped
and the family burped and tweeted their fondest hope.
glasses clinked in fickle nose. all mattered now, and none burned
without cookies first. by rote. vetted sweet, their ponderous
rope.
the tethering.
bluetooth eating mold. glad rags by the pound. submerged.
a burst word serves
a new volley.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC