"headset" poems
I have a working life Monday to Friday.
When the weekend comes I’m going to do it my way.
I get focus as put on NBA 2K.
I’m going to start my career today.
On this game my player will reach fame.
Wishing I was him...a star.
Not sure when in reality I will do the same.
Imagine me with fresh kicks, fresh clothes, and a chain.
Carry more paper bills than I do change.
I’ll switch the game and not complain
Time to relax and kick my feet back.
Turn on GTA try to raise up them stacks.
Run up the streets and prepare to attack.
This is my therapy I don’t need no feedback.
I mostly like open world games...
At the moment I play The Division 2.
When my best friend is home.
We look for enemies we have to shoot.
Finding items for protection even boots.
I guess what attracts me is the high tech gadgets.
I need them on those high level.
Very intense action my lady comes I ignore her distraction.
I take my headset off and have her repeat what she was asking.
I may be a Gamer but My Lady still come first.
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 9:32 AM UTC
I used to put these headphones on.
And at once, the whole world was gone
And the music did no wrong
Till I found myself doin’ it all day long.
But I still kept these headphones on
Because my headset drowned my strife,
Cut through it like a knife,
Till I was bound to the music for all my life.
I used to sit in earnest at my computer chair
ITunes and my iPod in hand as I prepare
Another playlist.
Indecisive between hip-hop and RnB
While I let humanity’s problems sit on a wait-list.
But I just left these headphones on.
Not a care or thought about global pollution
Amidst our world’s confusion
All signs pointing to a troubled conclusion,
But yet, me and my headphones ignore the solutions.
Why? Because music forever plays,
That even when solutions were raised,
I just sat there…
As the environment died everyday.
Because all I did was listen to these headphones.
As I laid awake in my bed,
Nothing running through my head,
Except music,
And I felt alive listening to the words that was said
When in reality Inside I was dead
But I still left these headphones in
So I can block out my parent’s groans when
I know that I have disappointed them
Maybe I’m just missing the point again.
And all the while my dads fist connecting with the door
As he has always done before, in the past
Choosing to ignore, with music full blast
I found myself more and more detached.
Not only my parents, but even the politicians are itchin’
To get me to listen,
Hopin and wishin that
This generation would eventually find its ambition.
I used to think that iTunes could do no wrong.
And that it was all I ever needed
Because all it was to me was a program full of songs
But I didn’t like where my life was headed.
And god it’s amazing, the word iTunes.
Such a fitting name
Because I tuned my friends out
And there is no one else to blame
As I tuned my parents out
Our relationship will never be the same
As I tuned the world out
Now look at who I became.
So now I’m taking these headphones off.
Because I don’t want to stay connected
Acting like I was totally unaffected
When in fact, the world around me I neglected
So I’ll change,
No longer will these headphones hold the reins
I am cutting off all of my chains
And I know a life ahead of me still remains
That without these headphones,
There is so much more to gain.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 1:12 PM UTC
We use video games
To make video gains
Until the screen goes black
And reality attacks
We lose all our progress
In the deletion process
As we level up we devolve
Around the TV we revolve
The more experience we gain
The more moments we lose
Our memories forever stained
When this is what we choose
Our life inside a hard drive
Our life becomes a hard lie
We revel in being unwise
Rage quitting life
We enjoy strife
And avoid pesky light
When we live in the dark
With consumerist plights
We are all marks
Video games balance in a zone
Between game and art
The frustration starts
When art is confused for games
And games mistook for art
People take things to heart
And spitefully spew viper venom
If this is where games send them
Then why do we play?
We have no other way
To feel accomplishment
In a society that worships competition
Video games become the second edition
Of a life filled with loss
On our pixelated cross
We are murdered millions of times
Reminiscent of the millions of lies
That make us losers in the real world
Video games become our shiny pearl
The computer displays defeat
When our lives aren't complete
Because we need someone to beat
Not realizing our lives are conquered
By frivolous topics we've pondered
Our meaningless life squandered
And hope comes in the form of new releases
While inside our faulty headset is in pieces
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
Muffins in the oven
Music in my headset
Smells wafting through the house
Egg and hash-brown casserole waiting to be made
Silent people sleeping mere feet away.
Today is a good day.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
Somewhere down in the depths of everyone, there is a spinning plate,
The Devil holds his stick parallel to yours and watches as you sweat,
You rip the sticky bottom of the bottle off of the glue and stick your bucket out to catch the fall,
The Devil plants his loafers and casually crosses one leg over the other,
Sometimes you even change the channel and pray that the entertainment value fills your cup,
The Devil licks the sides of your ice cream cone and draws faces in your food,
You drop your *** into the bean bag cloud and strum the buttons on your controller,
The Devil places the headset on his burning head and boils your water as you sit in the corner of the room, ignoring the kitchen,
Someone passes by with a similar stride and you turn a single glance into the Vietnam War,
The Devil sinks into the sofa and picks the fuzzies off of his jammies.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
@_cyber
@_punk
headset not
clear enough. can't receive circuitry
rewiring veins back to my
internal mainframe in which two
magnets start to spew out
dystopian propaganda. neon motorcycles
that can turn at any corner
dash through the streets.
concept? oh no
@_end
@_function
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC
Abalang-abala ka sa pakikipag-usap sa iyong kustomer at hindi mo na namalayang tumatakbo ang oras. Ang nasa isip mo lamang nang mga oras na iyon ay matapos mo ang iyong trabaho nang walang palya at walang ano mang iisipin pa. Nang iyong tanggalin ang headset ay doon mo lamang napansing ikaw na lamang pala ang nag-iisang ahente sa ikatlong palapag ng opisinang iyong pinapasukan sa isang call center.
Tanging ang liwanag na lamang sa iyong station ang tanglaw nang mga oras na iyon. Kaya naman ay sinipat mo ang orasan sa iyong wrist watch at napagtantong isang oras na lamang at sarado na rin ang buong building at kailangan mo ng umuwi.
Inayos mo na ang iyong mga gamit at siniguradong na-i-document mo nang maayos ang mga calls recordings mo. Nag-inat-inat ka pa muna bago mo pinatay ang monitor at CPU ng iyong kompyuter. Hinintay mo munang naka-shut down na ito bago ka tumayo. Nang tuluyan na nga itong namatay ay agad **** binitbit ang iyong back pack. Nang tatalikod ka na ay isang malamig na simoy ng hangin ang nanuot sa iyong balat.
Sa iyong pagkakaalam ay sarado naman ang mga bintana sa opisinang iyon at sigurado kang pinapatay na rin ang aircon kapag isang tao o walang tao nang naiiwan roon. Ngunit, kakaibang lamig ang iyong naramdaman. Hindi lang iyon dahil isa, dalawa, at talong beses kang nakarinig na may nagtitipa sa keyboard.
Halos lumabas na ang iyong mata sa takot pero nanatili ka pa ring matapang. Huminga ka muna nang malalim at agad nilingon ang kanina pang nagtitipang bagay sa iyong likuran. At doon ay lalo kang nanginig nang makita ng iyong dalawang mata ang biglang pagliwanag ng monitor at sunod-sunod na pagtitipa ng wala namang kamay na mga letra sa keyboard.
Nang mag-flash sa screen ang mga letra ay doon ka na nagtatakbo palabas dahil nakasulat doon ang mga katagang TYPING KEYBOARD na may kasamang pigura ng duguang bungo.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
Atop oil stained concrete
A fast food employee
Wears a headset
Takes out the trash
And god is an eloquent *****
She paints freckles on his face
A cigarette in his hand
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
I have some very destructive tendencies
I'm a bad judge of character
Whether the the character is my own or not
Begs to be determined.
I tried the pretty, pleasant method
Of letting the venom from my veins
But these emotions have succeeded in their task
Of rotting me from the inside out.
The floor embraced my pen
And my ears were lovingly teased
I tried to fall into the high from my headset
But your passion did not sate me.
Elemental damage was never my strong suit
As prone as we are to wildfires
You'd think the liquid cauterizing me
Would hurt less than these god **** thoughts.
And tonight the truth made its way to me
My shadow understands; his love is pure
I'm a cruel, witless ***** a scourge in my own right
But he still dries my tears.
I can't even pretend I'm not hurt
So I'm voiding my lungs tonight
Peppered smoke promises relief
But I'm soon discerning the lie.
We are back to square one but
All the pop music these days is too melancholy
I've had altitude sickness before,
But this time it's different.
And I smile,
a painful thing that I'm glad there's no evidence of
I told you these things are rare, like you
This inspiration at the cost of my heart
But this is my salvation
When you move from prose to poetry
That's when I'm done with you.
My habits die hard
But unlike you, the feelings, the talent,
the slow agonizing death by fire,
the bad character
are all mine.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
Soon I'll be a work day chump
9 hours a day, 1 hour drive
each way
Satisfied the pay's above minimum wage
and I got the weekends free to drink and play
8 hours of impersonal lonely phone calls
next to people unlike me in every way
except how we're all paid
A headset be my cursed crown
I'll forget to take it off
when I leave for lunch downtown
"You're doing this for her."
I'll say to the framed question mark
atop my plastic desk
A future wife, another life
Don't let the exhaustive poison win
We're destined for other places
And darling, you'd leave me here
face it
But, your king is a thrill seeking breadwinner
Who shall conquer fertile forests
abound with cabin mansions, reindeer dinners
and more than 5 hours of weekday waking freedom time
Till then, I just wish I could promise you
I won't lose my mind
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
Lights on,
Lights off.
Stared in the mirror,
But could never see clearer.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Prayed for the burden to get lighter,
Got all but none to make it feel better.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Tried to lay it off my head,
Got too carried away by it, instead.
Should've plugged the headset when they started talking;
Should've left the words to rot when I knew where they were going;
Should've shrugged it off because it wasn't my business,
Now I can't accept anything but brash and reckless.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Should've done it,
Should've tossed it.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Had to put the lid,
But never did.
Lights on,
Lights off.
Never the path had been so light,
Lights on,
Lights off.
I just haven't been myself tonight.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 7:20 AM UTC
To all music morons
Glued to their earphones
The look-alike clones
Sunk in the dune of tunes
In the crowded buses
In public places
With drooping eyes like a yogi
Cracking heads and bursting ears
Thinking it the only escape
Salvation’s gateway
Balm for boredom
Pleasure’s pinnacle,
Don’t just fritter away
The one chance to be here
For a brief while
And leave with a blind existence
And a blasted hearing,
And before it’s late
Redraw your fate
Take off the headset
Open the yogic eyes
And in the yogi’s spirit
Give the world a good look
Recreate in her beauties
Make her melody your pastime
Her rhythm your heart’s rhyme,
So you don’t regret
When your time comes along
That you never could tell a bird from her song!
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
Trying to be creative with someone looking over your shoulder, even while that someone is giving me a massage is distracting;
nonetheless,
he says he's not looking
but he's too good at lying to me
he always knows what to say
even when I don't, like today.
Ouu
my shoulders tense from school and work
he raises the pressure in his palms and fingers
rubs me right where it hurts.
And though sometimes,
it seems like nothing could ever been worse than this-
like now, when he interrupts my train of thought typed out on this keyboard, his loud rap music blaring through his supposedly topline headset, Grand Theft Auto 5 on the screen.
Angry lyrics spat through the canals of my ear and continuing their defiance, the intense beat on my drums.
The loudness from the slightly broken silence,m
stills my thoughts too a low hum.
and so,
I have lost my- was it my train of thought
or inspiration?
thanks alot
******* *******
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Give the suckers what they want. PT Barnum
Vibrating condoms that stay hard when you can't.
Pigeons that don't **** Invisibility cloaks.
Parents with a mute button. Happy nightmares.
Politicians with Pinnochio noses. A blow job app.
Self-repairing cars. Seduction lie detector.
A time machine. Mind reading headset. Hope.
****** pills. Portable STD scanner. Edible cups.
Gourmet cook robot. Sincerity meter. Honesty.
Gun gloves. X-ray specs, Teleporter. Laughter.
Anti-loneliness inhaler. Broken heart tape.
Complete do it yourself dental care kit.
Many other brightly colored useless objects.
Find an Angel. Do a start-up. Go public.
The American Dream: have more money than god.
~mce
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
This will land like focaccia,
Like the careless 'forgot ya'!
And a man will stand while staring in, through the coffee shop window, going off glossolalia.
The ebullient cashier trainee
remembers every name and mixes up almost all the orders
for coffee,
Cars are lined up for the drive-
through, their voices sound like
didjeridoos, in the ears covered
by single cyborg clip-ons
headset taking orders.
The ****** iconoclast, Street person, bows to the ground, hat off his head, as he prays to the cigarette holes he made in the EXIT sign outside,
his hat remains empty, as each car that whips up the wind that tumbles the receipts tossed egregiously at him, like leaves in the Fall,
While the cruciverbalist sits in the corner in the only soft seat, finger pecking her keyboard while stares at the line and sips her chai tea,
lagniappe of chocolate stashed,
away in her voluptuous bag, the beleaguered barista has cups lined up over the transcendental horizon,
and she can't wait for her break
so she can eat with Olio Nuovo
olive oil, and Selection Artisan
ged balsamic vinegar, she brought
to dip, her focaccia bread in,
which she forgot almost,
on the counter at home.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
I saw a Way, forward
and cloaked myself in the skin
of a Digital dimension.
I began living
cloud-soaring and ascending soft
then the headset came off.
Now curtains are
retreating, from the light streaming
into my shrinking eyeballs.
Ow! To whit, I prefer
to refer to it now as a Path.
Plans fail, but
Paths diverge.
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 10:53 AM UTC
It plays and I'm at home in myself for once.
Therapy through a headset.
It thumps through my body and my mind is at rest for 3 minutes and 46 seconds.
The memories behind it is its own measure of infinity.
The remedy for the feelings I can't understand.
It says the right words when no one else can.
Medication being injected in the form of sound waves.
The formula for how I am humanly made up.
The antidote to the poison that is my constant surroundings.
This is to you, My favorite song.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
The day before seeing you
Sky
Is unreasonably
Overcast.
Plaintain stalks
Quarrel with each other
Birds go silent
Friends talk
In some other language
When the tea vendor
Asks for change
I give him a pen
When the girl in the office
Asks for the headset
I hand over my mobile
Car’s key
To the beggar
A crow
Scolds me
Asks me
Where have I gone
I ask myself the same
The day before
I came to see you
No
Nothing
Hope
It’ll rain
Tomorrow
The sky
Grins knowingly.
Translator - Shyma P
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
At Qadisiyyah, Khalid, the great Islamic leader, defeated the Sassanids or Persians in 636 AD leading to the conquest of Persia by Islam Recently there was a battle between ISIS and the Iraqis in the same place.
Firing the Kord 12.7 heavy machine gun
In the back of the Toyota was powerful
Especially in the dark
The muzzle flash half a meter long
He was an instrument of the Divine
Blessed be his name
The brothers were crossing the same red orange soil
Where Khalid defeated the Sassinids
Down that long road that led to Bagdad
Everything was so pure, so clean
No thoughts of that skinny sickly man, his father
Or mother’s tears and wailing
The swollen bodies left in ditches
All the innocent dead
Just the wind and the dust
Hands on the trigger, the road unwinding like a rope
Two f-18s sliding through the sky at twilight
All the displays lit
Coming on the convoy from behind
Missiles locked and launched, hostiles hit
Another pass, two more flashes
Back to the carrier, 10 out of 10
He opened the eye that could see
Noticed the stars burning like a river in the skies
A sickle moon setting
Faded into a dream state for a while
Images of a boy running through the ocean surf towards….
Then the pain tore him back
The heavy gun lying across his legs and belly
Something wrong with his right arm
But he could move the left
Wiped crusted red from his eye, called out to his brothers
Just silence and the wind
Moved his left hand to the trigger grip of the heavy gun
Could still traverse a little bit
Clicked off the safety and squeezed
The gun roared with a spout of flame
Now let them come
The drone jockey was bored
Waiting to go to the bar
He’d texted Jess and she’d said maybe, maybe…
Ops guy on the headset said activity on the road
So he flew the drone down to the still smoking ruin of trucks
Sure enough, movement and a muzzle flash
Target acquired and Hellfire away
Get some
Screen went white
More bad guys blown and gone
The blast uncovered part of an inscribed stone slab
The writing could have been Persian or Babylonian or…
Might have been about a battle or a grave, we’ll never know
The carrion eaters began to come
And the red orange dust slid across
The road.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Everything I say
You whisper condolences
On my soul
On my spirit
On the very essence of who I am
Where I have been
You wait
Like pigeons
For that moment
I feed you the scraps
Tiny morsels
Of my being
Sit on the window sill of your life
Waiting
For patience
Promises unkept
That swept
Up and up
From cranberry filled faucets of life
Where we sat in
Now you
Pull the drain
And Swish swish
Where one you were my voiceless
Power strip
Now you are editing the very frequency of my being
I must now turn up the volume
Shout it loud
Leave this room of our lives
Leave the stereo at 10
Listen to my voice
On the headset
And walk the **** out
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 11:38 PM UTC
Copy yourself,
make something other
a binary you,
in a world
of starships and code
and the fact that death
doesn’t really mean anything here.
Right here,
we don’t need
oxygen or food,
in this world
of falsity and fantasy
and the sweetness of hallucination
that aches behind your body.
Stand still,
headset firmly on
and breaths calm,
a new world awaits your better self
where you forget the depersonalisation
of still always being human.
Copy that,
you’re the captain
of false starships,
hurtling through uncertainty
with virtual reality comforting
you when you realise that
you’ll never be like this.
Another you,
version fifty-three
in a chain,
never changing yourself
or becoming something better
only sticking in mistakes
and pretending like it’s improvement.
Copy yourself,
make another other
for another self,
forget your body
and transmit human signals
to other fake-people
who tell themselves aching stories
of a reality
that we daren’t change.
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:40 AM UTC
Late night drives while seated at the backseat
I observe my dad and his heavy hands balancing the steering wheel
Even though with half closed eyes I can feel his drowsiness
A cap resides on his head and his fingers are too huge for his wedding ring
And I wonder if mom is wearing hers,
Or if it’s placed in some inner pocket of her purse
Her unsteady head accompanied with light snores
Her reflection an image, almost an apparition on the window
And the vast blackness that comes along with it
I remember smiling as I drift off to sleep
The humming of the engine circulating the air,
Creating an ambience as I hug my knees
I look at my brother one last time
Faint beats escape his headset plugged into an mp3 player
I jokingly nudge at his shoulder
And a smile curls up the corners of his lips
I recall feeling content as I gaze out
Ahead were the dim city lights and the superior night surrounding unseen stars
I fell in love with every moment of it
n.j.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
clothed only in electrons
insinuating beneath my skin
hard-wired into random memories
she radiates a cathode glow
scanning, scanning through
my screen-shot eyes
her pulsating presence
at such a frequency
as to appear solid
tinkling giggles
broadcast over my headset
watching my groping hand
finding only illusion
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
‘I’m coming to get you now,’ he said,
‘I’m coming to get you tonight!’
Derek sat with his headset on,
His face was white with fright.
‘I think you have the wrong guy,’ he said,
‘It couldn’t be me you mean!’
‘Oh yes, I’m coming to get you now,
I know you, Derek McLean.’
He sat there silent as eerie chills
Spread up and along his spine,
A face came on his computer screen
That rang some bell in his mind.
‘This better not be a joke,’ he said,
‘You’d better not mess with me!’
The voice in the headset chuckled low
In some evil deviltry.
‘It’s taken a while to track you down,
But track you down I did,
You should have stayed off the Internet,
Covered your head, and hid.’
‘I’ve nothing to hide from,’ Derek said,
But his voice broke high in alarm,
‘You’ll never be able to block it out,
That day on Emerson’s Farm.’
At the very mention of Emerson’s Farm
The listener held his breath,
For years he’d struggled to block it out,
The site of that childhood death.
They’d played together in sodden fields
And had ventured into the marsh,
Thinking to pick the bluebells there
But the end of that was harsh.
‘I’d like to know who you are,’ he said,
But his words came out in a whine,
‘You know full well, do I have to tell,
I’m here for the second time.
You left me there and you ran on home
As I sank in there to my neck,
You had no care for my tiny life
But tonight, I’ll teach you respect.’
Derek shuddered and hit the switch
To turn the computer off,
But nothing flickered, the screen stayed on
And Derek began to cough.
‘Have you any idea what it’s like to drown
In a sludge of grass and mud?
It isn’t pleasant, I’ll tell you that
You should try it once, you should!’
Derek coughed and began to choke
In a fit of remorse, and fear,
He’d tried to forget the little bloke
Who had haunted him, year by year.
The doctor, when he examined him
Said, ‘Heart attack, and he choked.
His eyes are staring, as if in fear
But there’s mud in the back of his throat!’
David Lewis Paget
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC