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daniela Jun 2015
I DON'T WRITE LETTERS, JUST POEMS
BUT IF THIS IS AN OPEN LETTER THEN IT'S GOT THE ADDRESS
OF ALL YOUR HIDEOUTS, ALL YOUR GHOST TOWNS
TATTOOED ON IT

SO ******* FOR ALL THAT WE'VE BEEN THROUGH
I FEEL LIKE I LEFT ALL MY PIECES IN YOUR BEDROOM,
THERE'S NO PEACE HERE IN MY HEAD
LAST TIME I SAW YOU I FELT LIKE I RELAPSED
BACK INTO MY BEST BAD HABIT
I’M SO ******* STUPID, SWORE I WOULDN’T BUT I’M A LIAR

PAST BEHAVIOR IS THE BEST INDICATOR OF FUTURE BEHAVIOR
AND IF YOU'VE BEEN AN ADDICT,
I'VE HEARD YOU'RE ALWAYS GOING TO BE ADDICT
EVEN WHEN YOU'RE CLEAN
I'VE HEARD THAT YOU'RE ALWAYS GOING TO BE
ITCHING FOR SOMETHING
SO DOES IT MAKE ANY SENSE WHEN I SAY
I THINK I LOVE YOU AGAIN?

I THINK THAT'S A GOOD METAPHOR
BECAUSE WE DIDN'T HAVE A LOVE LIKE NURSERY RHYMES
AT OUR BEST WE WERE A HORROR STORY,
AT OUR WORST WE WERE JUST AN ALLEGORY
AND THE SUN FELL IN LOVE WITH THE MOON
WHAT A ******* TRAGEDY, LOVERS WHO COULD NEVER BE
LOVERS WHO COULD NEVER EXIST
AT THE SAME TIME AND PLACE,
ALWAYS PASSING EACH OTHER BY LIKE SHIPS IN THE NIGHT
EXCEPT I'M NOT THE SUN
AND YOU'RE SURE AS HELL NOT THE MOON
WE'RE MORE LIKE COMETS ONLY DESTINED TO COLLIDE
AND CHIP EACH OTHER'S SHOULDERS
ON OUR WAY OUT THE DOOR
AND IF WE WERE A SHIP THEN WE WERE A SINKING ONE
SO WHY DO I FEEL LIKE THE TITANIC WITHOUT YOU?
TRYING TO BAIL MYSELF OUT
I DIDN'T THINK THIS IS WHAT LOVE
WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT
AND YOU KNOW WE HAD IT COMING LIKE A TRAIN EN ROUTE
INESCAPABLE,
I'M ABLE TO SEE LIKE HINDSIGHT IS 20/20
BUT I SWEAR I NEVER SAW A BETTER VISION THAN YOU

AND I THINK I'M A LITTLE SCARED THAT YOU'LL ALWAYS BE
IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD, AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS,
HIDDEN EVERY POEM I EVER WRITE
I'M SO SORRY THAT EVERY SONG ON THE RADIO
FEELS LIKE IT'S ABOUT US
YOUR VOICE  USED TO CRACK ON ALL THE HIGH NOTES
YOU'RE STILL THE BEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD

AND THIS IS A STORY THAT'S ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN
PLAGIARIZATION OF MY OWN DREAMS
I THINK THINGS ARE JUST AS OFTEN WHAT THEY SEEM
AS THEY AREN'T
AND I THINK SOMETIMES ANGRY IS JUST A STYLISTIC CHOICE
BECAUSE BEING SAD IS PLAYED OUT
i haven't been writing as much as i'd like lately (i.e. all the time) so what better than trying a weird angry new style am i right? so, sorry if this is really visually obnoxious it just fit the vibe.
Pisceanesque Jul 2015
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.
© Tamara Natividad
www.pisceanesque.com
Written 10 September, 2013
-
Lottie Jan 2015
WHY DO PEOPLE NOTICE,
ONLY WHEN ITS YELLED?
IT DOES YOUR WORDS NO JUSTICE
AND RUINS THE MEANING HELD.
Poetic T Aug 2017
They wield the button as a weapon of
their verse, throwing words like a glove.
But it was limp like there inconsistent verse,
like a lefty throwing, right handed but worse.

Your momentary time of the month, I gave
you an emoji tissue to wipe off the embarrassment
of sweaty words you opened up on now behave.
needing a little dignity, reverse on your disembarrassment.

Either that or been known for your CAPSLOCK stutter,
seeing you tripping over yourself amid ridiculed clutter.
now see that light on the side, click it speak respectably.
now calm your rage, and talk respect others expectedly.
You always have one :)
Ken Pepiton Sep 2021
Breathing easy, without a care, con-
science filling emptiness in me, auto-pilot,
in and out of wonder why and how.
Bard arrogance, pretending,
it all may be, let us see.

The rule is beauty is truth,
- a temptation,
- a eh, a canadian dare,
- prove all things out and about as
- this being that in a preceptous sense.
according to a cultural rule, we use,
truth is beauty,
and that is plenty to know,
not useful, but plenty
well known…
emplanted in my psyche plot
when I was less than fully functional.

No sweat. Em space, letters let us
see beauty in the symmeasury,
perfect curves and ratio.
Line after line, then
line upon line, then story
to story to now, from ever so long
long before thoughts were fit to spells,
common to all speakers of sacred songs.

Enter the grid of Em, between the lines.

Right,
it's out there
to be brought in
by the eye
of the being holding beauty
as a measure for a portion,
I am asking, as in prayer,
may I have more?
-------- there was an art in forming type

I may destroy it,
I am sorry to say so,
but you know, once we take,
giving seems worthless,
how can I give beauty back
that I took in from there,
see
right there?

Aldus, Theobaldo, is this a spirit
you pondered with, a musement bit
of ifery, in tune to older reasons
easier to use, as we learn
new means of making
knowledge reach beyond the grave,
and back to us in books,
set beautifully in emphatic type styled
perfectly, at the touch of a key

see, set as aesthetic-pleasant, as I wish
this is my magic letter forming
word
rush, through salt marsh, to briny deep

now I lay down my type, perfection of old
rural pens poking angled pits in drying clay,
here is proof of beauty sung,
measure worth of what I learned
in years of seasons spent in trial
resetting of the worth to cost ration,
coin of exchange, goods for service,
clearing rats from the Rathaus,
pressing poets into political
religatory bonds
at exorbitant interest paid in
occurrencys, specie, value
holding letters,
formed as words holding knows, ready
to know,
read and see, we learned to use the mind
reading signs in numbers, sames in shapes and
colors and sounds,
rhythms reoccurring some patterns form,
we agree, see
north, and east,
south, and west, after many seasons,
winters all become one winter,
summers become one summer,
harvest and planting all become one, over all
this is life,
We live we
learn, we leave the knowing showing,
I was here, and when I was
here, others were with me, we went on
according to the story with the center to
where all winds meet,
where all water flows up from into
this beauty
we be
holding as breaths, each as beautiful, or more
so than all that came before, and went.
-----------------

My grand daughter is a bright spot calling,
in passing, as would the shadow
of the jay harvesting the hillside out side
my window.
- I smile a treasure smile

Struck by Brynn Aulyn's fashion sense,
since holey jeans were forboten
in my gramma's haus.
- a lucidated old man am I -
- ever learning there is beauty
-----------------------
Hoping to form a gem of immense
value,
the old bard, stutters,
takes back a step,
looks you over, eye to eye, to make
the circuit, as we
know, left eye, right brain take the order
bend it to the shape
seeming something
you could see - and so it is, you see.

These unnumbered lines are indexed,
linked and crosslinked to all the info
ever, up to now, your time,
when electricity is still the tool to keep
things forming letters in your mental
word process, listening,
far in the future, faceward flow
of all we think to ask to know,
what lies can make a mirror,

¿ stop me in my tracks? Do I know?
Do you imagine, we may know?

Does your reality hide truth?
Why, I wondered too loud, why
I heard only being
caused by quests set to type, adventure

tragic remembrance warning
comic awareness insisting, sense is essential.

ESSE, HEY, capslock, s'cool type reading
we can learn
to think a thought a second time differ
ing in time, up a line, down a line
right to left to right, this is
a twist to things we do
inside, brainwise, neuro-resurgical, burp
of reco
gnosis, tricky gnosis para site graph point.
Stitch
in time. Torn jeans, signify nothing more
than NY Times Digest from yesterday.

--- and my Saturday continues on to yours, soon
enough, let's make peace, since sense is now science.

One time, in my life, at the middle school mark in time we called Junior High,
grade six
through eight,
the formative years, Televised Profusely,
since Our Miss Brooks, I think,
back to when I first pretended to know
the guy that became
John Rambo's boss.

Bite me in my own buts, but, but
I did
read First Blood, before, the movie
made the idea a cultural meme,
meaning one thing to men
of a certain, certified-archetype mold,
hot lead poured to military purpose,
in the imaginary battles boys can
set in array
on vast plains
of rag rugs, in front of hearth, in home
of grandpa, telling
of a friend
who must remember stories alone…

-hot lead type pouring from my gnosis
I I ai don't wish to say this… so
we make a mental meta

using toy soldiers cast in ready state
standing at attention, bayonets fixed.

What comes next, child, may you
never know.
So. that book closes.
Saturday with kids in celebration of no school, and all the world at play. And me waxing pleasantly poetic and feeling no pain from yesterday or year or whatever before. Time is so swift from now.
solEmn oaSis Mar 31
w -e may notice why the
       first letter of some
       title sometimes might
       be a little one
      
  R  -earrangeable once
      we set the capslock
      botton and make it
      capitalize

  i -used backspace
     eventually for me to
     change and delete it at
     the same time

  S -erenade peeking at a
     maiden played by
     young singer deeply So
     in Love

  T -hey press and hold
     shift key in their left
     and right just to
     control dull moments
     in long lonely night

    © Easter Sunday
        March 31 2024
        11:20 a.m.
When the _w
seems to be so silent
while it has been sent
predictably, R_ is next to it
before the vowel such _i
followed by an alertness
of the consunants
_S tailed by T will conclude
Perpendicularly...
there'll be another w R i S T without taking the Risk somewhere down those parallel roads.
And I will take over when zigzag is upcoming , patiently I won't over take in midnight blue with a blind curve.
Ken Pepiton Oct 27
-------be it cool of the day, or twilight, last star, first, ---------
I appear,
back at my theory
that it's a game, not simulated,
actual factual competition
with machines,
like us, told that the knowledge
of good came
with the knowledge
of evil, and that's fundamental
the child's story, culturally required,
by commonalities enforced, at least,
since Frank Capra, we suspect,
as far back as
Edison, the plan, in Tesla's day,
was evident to any with a wit
of intelligence,
ears everywhere,
even then the bums net
worked as it works
to this day, see, we,
measures, see,
anything smaller than
a jug, is a bottle,
and a bottle is plenty,
to night, dark side
of today, still some say
at the third star we wishta see t'night,
this night of certain cultural acceptance,
what ifery, afeared in Pentecostal circles,
five weeks, five points, five senses, plus
this sixth,
you use to test poet's licenses.
Ai, aught, indeed,
we might wish a way we might, feel
the function
of the riches
of the wicked,
laid up, as it were,
in the word
of God, go see,
for the just, iust to think, used to
think, for just an instance of just is.
These mingled wines,
these recycled ***** dreams,
from the era of spirits at war,

the second great awakening, they
who write the anointed chronicles,
ai, yes, aye, indeed, we take time,
and we make time, we use time
to make knowing happen, once
and again, at second glance, we knew
knowledge towb ra' was all good.

the riches of the twisted,
for that's what wicked always means,
twisted
in order
to intwine the agreements,
see, we both, me and you, I and thee, indeed
the same knowing needful
for agreements
to function, drunk,
on a strand
of otherwise,
sure, each line prepositioned
pure, and mere, completely as if
what any drunk shall swear is true,
as when we play a video game, and ****
perfectly strange entities we are supposed
to pretend, as ender did,
in training, also known as education,
under the auspices
of old city minds
metasocial,
after all's been said and done,
held
in memory, inscribed
on the skin, processed
during drunken rejoicing,
inclusion experiences, some
came slow longing
for the order
of qwerty and capslock
breathing deep on high
no commas, or commas
between/ and .
that, granted,
with fairy godmother grace,
makes good sense,
when you exposed your child
to the Stravinsky suite, did you
ante or anti
cipitate
the effect
of such exposure,
after three generatoins? Today
imagine how many children, boys and girls,
succumb
to the tradition
of any Disney,When you wisht
upon a star, you were eight and I was nine.

this is the world that turned to color
as Oz did for our parents, all magic, indeed
essentially sublime, subtler than any beast.
is Wonderful to us, We are entranced,
by the sound, of musings, entrapped,
Marching silver dimes, at Christmas,
next year, Polio was gone, I helped
indeed, did we not all help as kids,
faced with a mission, fill this card, beg,
watch
wait, see
the iron lungs all breathe their last,
and we are survivors facing Nuclear war.

Outa our way, we say, turn on
tune in, drop out and bloom in dotage…
emotionally impressed to move on up

by a mountain mind,
in a family opposed,
to face fakest facist fanciest facis ever
on the backside
on the Phrygian cap dime
blade bound, handle bound, barrel staves,
enclosing the loosened will
to merry make,
roll out the barrel, let's make hearts
merry,
it's Christmas, all's forgiven, honest, wait
and see, suffer it
to be so now, deeper

we must make us pretend we went and saw

all that ever was stacked
for value, whying
science, and literal liars, prospering, stupid,
for the economy,
politically strategic intell,
it's swell,

let's have another cuppacoffee,
let's have a Nescafe',
eh?
O, sure, someday, we all can relate,
the idea, Instant Coffee, pre Kuerig,
pre death
of the jelly fish eating things,
all destroyed
in the jelly fish take over.
Wishing life lacked stupid rich people... we had fun with superstitions
Talk about Ghandi and Socrates, haha, kidding, you gotsta be, most ain't worthy their two cents and definitely ain't a lottery.
How I see is in between, so I can checkpoint at any, post haste, flow on all these over-throw aways, set you back down to lower case, pass up all these runs in place.
Keyboard junkies tryna capslock what, Instagram hoes ha ******* in the ****, just like an edit, you can find yourself cut.
Your not suppose to understand your supposed to support so many now days just observe and distort, or alter contents fables import.
Oh they don't like this attitude, be lucky I didn't take a stab at you, hating they can't grasp a view, they gravitate to me like I'm the glue, I'll admit even I don't always got a clue, but at least I'm always learning new.

— The End —