"ipads" poems
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
“T'was the night before Christmas ...”
and Santa was busy.
The reindeer were antsy
the elves in a tizzy.
The missus was tending
the ovens like mad
And turning out cookies
to make children glad.
The wood chips were flying
the sawdust was thick
The workshop was bulging
with toys from St. Nick.
Contractors from Sega,
Nintendo and Sony
Were working on games
(and a robotic pony).
Iphones and Ipads
(with virus removal)
Were packed in their boxes
and stamped "Elf Approval".
Last minute touches
were added with flair
While elf stylists tended
to Santa's white hair.
Elf tailors were making
some last alterations
To Santa's red coat
and his waist tribulations.
The weather was fair
as the weather-elf stated
The routes were approved
and departure was slated.
Bells had been polished
and harnesses buffed
While repairs were addressed
for the hoofs that were scuffed.
The antlers were festooned
with ribbons and bells
And the reindeer were covered
with elf flying spells.
The clock approached
midnight as Santa was seated.
The countdown began
as the flight crew was greeted.
H-hour neared
and the tension was growing.
Outside it grew cloudy
and then, began snowing.
But Santa just grinned
as the weather-elf winced.
"Don't worry, my friend.
Our time has commenced."
For the weather was nothing
to Santa's conveyance.
His reindeer and sleigh
were immune to"delay-ance".
With a whirl of his whiskers
and a flick of his wrist
The reindeer were launched
in a flash of white mist.
And I heard him exclaim
through his teleport ray:
"ALERT TSA. Tell 'em
I'm on my WAY!"
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
We belong to Generation Z
We are objects
Mass produced, labeled, and sold
We are facebook, instagram, twitter
The fear of corporate America that we may define ourselves
We are molded, whittled, eroded
Down to a sliver of what could have been
We are given castles in the sky
And heads in the clouds
We are given smartphones and iPads
Our eyes are looking down
We are potential, opportunity, the future of the nation
But there's no future for this robotic generation
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
Who on Earth were these people
From the past, who made sense
Of a world without iPods, iPads or plumbing?
What’s up with those towering minds of yesteryear?
From where did they come and how come?
Goethe standing so tall
Voltaire you tower!
And bend over Beethoven,
I can’t reach your low five.
What grant of Gods favor gave them sight?
Awesome mighty minds of the past.
Descartes, I think so you are,
So smart that I think I am not.
Galileo you saw heaven before I had eyes.
Einstein, Da Vinci, Archimedes
You and your kind will all live forever,
Men will stand upon your shoulders
And then die.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
what am I...
if the mere color of my skin
smears fear, suspicion and dread
in the heads of perfect strangers...?
what am I...
if I feel the need to
recede to a sanctuary within
my very own black skin
allowing the familiar stranger
sharing the elevator
to exhale
and set her bundle of apprehension,
perceived and imagined,
aside
for the ride...?
what am I...
if I instinctively
hide my black eyes
in the screens
of iphones and ipads
avoiding icontact when isolated
with nervous strangers
lest I inflate the balloon of anxiety
to panicked proportions....?
creating that space of comfort
for all nervous strangers in my life
becomes my obsession...
and I switch lanes
by night
crossing to the other side
of streets with dim lights
lest I collide head-on
with trepidation personified
in the eyes of perfect strangers...
and I ditch the hoodie
for a crew neck sweater
by abercrombie and fitch
lest some slug with a 9mm gun
profile me as a ****
and defy order, rhyme and reason
to exercise his license to ****
in the still of a rainy night in florida
with no credible witness
in sight...
what am I...?
~ P
(7/18/2013)
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
I found my light
in not doing what's expected of me,
but in doing what's best
for a 7 year old
who lost his baby sister
and his train of thought
when counting to 20
because iPads download games in seconds
but it feels like years he's watching an ad
depicting guns and blood and dying and
every time he points a finger at a friend
the law tells me
I have to call his mom
who has no response to
"I just didn't feel like doing math today,"
but musters up every ounce of energy
she doesn't have
to expel one weak statement-
"We must do what is expected of us."
They tell me that restraint
is 3 seconds or more
of student resistance
and teacher persistence
but while my hand never touches him
my words wrap around his legs
telling them to stop pacing
and they cover his mouth
telling it to stop singing
and when he cries in the hallway
at 9:52, screaming,
"I hate this school,"
I cannot explain to him
how lucky he is
to be surrounded by adults
who fake a high tolerance
for his constant fidgeting
so instead we sit in silence
until his anger runs out
and my heart rate slows
and we are ready to try again.
Later, he hugs me.
I do not pull away.
This is not restraint.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
*My head swells,
with the words of wisdom,
implanted into my Cerebral Cortex.
Security Level:
Administrator.
The signal:
Never interrupted.
My hair;
my face;
my clothes.
My principal behaviour,
controlled.
My…
Volition;
Desire;
selection…
foretold,
by the scriptures of the box,
and the writings on the wall.
Ipods;
ipads;
mobile phones.
I need a new three piece suite,
so I’ve been told.
My head continues to swell,
to a monumental size,
and I feel my feet lift from the earth,
gently,
so gently…
lifting me to the skies.
As I float with acquiescence surrender,
over the roof tops of consumption,
I gaze at all the shadows;
their cadaverous minds.
Poor souls.
I continue on my journey;
my pilgrimage of enlightenment;
my odyssey of comprehension;
my voyage of realization.
Many miles pass,
and my head declines in size.
I start to lose altitude;
and I debark...
safe,
but with cleansed mind.
The view is humbling,
and as I look down,
I behold a flower.
I sit beside it.
I admire it.
A true example,
of Design.*
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 6:01 AM UTC
Pencil and paper turn into stylus and screen;
our world is industrializing like we've never seen.
Manufacturing products out left and right,
and soon enough our prototypes will join in the fight.
Are we possibly producing more than we can consume?
Do we understand that technology could lead to our doom?
Convenient, oh sure, as we just sit here and get fat.
We have iPhones, and iPads, but no eye contact?
The air is getting dirtier and unhealthier per day,
and we believe the government when they say it's okay.
Do we not realize how much harm we're actually doing,
even though a better world is what we're pursuing?
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
You ask me how I find the time,
But time is not the issue,
For they, are all prepared, needing only recognition,
For they, are all in readiness, needing only composition
I see a toddler swaying, see him to disaster lurching,
Somehow avoided with last second seer-like swerving,
Ten times in a ten foot walk across a patio,
My eyes code red at the incredible risk/reward ratio,
It is nature at it most incredible, miraculous, ordinariness
A young girl of ten wears a pocketbook across her forearm,
In the style of an elderly woman, as she plays with Barbie,
Tho her body immature, her psyche, says note my
Iconology, her accoutrement, texts a message subtly,
I am preteen, I am near woman, treat me accordingly
Dueling iPads in bed is a poem in my head,
rhymes accurate of screen reflections of an
X factor that stimulates my cerebral cortex.
Verbal ointment that I posses can't fix a flat tire,
but sets me up for a personal review, self awareness
Gone mad and with finger, on gas station floor,
In the grime, words are realized/written concretely,
what my heart speaks freely
Within each day, miracles present themselves,
Gauntlets thrown, note them well and be justified,
Visions, external to my physical self,
Yet product of internal chemical reactions
That blow through my veins, swirling,
Word leaves, on a November weekend,
Windswept from a thousand directions,
So you ask me how I find the time,
The question proper be amended,
How do the times find me,
How do I know them,
And why, do I share them
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
Fatigue is setting in giving my affect a kind of relaxed
hereness, because there is very little energy for anything else
Tomorrow remains a mystery, but there will be a battle, I know
the forces will arrive, armed with ipads or paper or their phones
and their judgemental brains of varying sizes and capacities
I am tired, and I need to avoid the unecessary confrontation and most
especially desist from worrying about anything that isn't happening in the moment
the battery is low, I have no grenades only a small shield and that's
not really enough to battle with, and really, I've always been out armed
and totally outnumbered and overpowered and yet somehow I'm still here
through sheer cleverness. But I make mistakes and there is so little power left now at
the end that I must be shrewd and watch them like a lioness watching a herd of gazelles
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:33 PM UTC
What happened to those days
when you work to live
and not live to work.
When a slice of pizza cost a dollar
and people fell in love in person, not online.
What happen to those days
when every other movie wasn't about
a vampire, an alien, or a zombie
but were based on real life.
What happen to those days
when people would discuss articles in the paper
instead if ignoring each other on the train
with their iPads and Kindles.
I miss those days
because life isn't the same without them.
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
Slate skies
Stinging rain
No rainbows today.
Wicked laughter
from darkened houses
terrifies.
Defenestrated neighbors
Swing from ragged ropes
Tattered clothing
Exposes inhuman things
Soulless creatures
Skulk and lurk
patiently waiting
for beating hearts
Broken gravestones
hide terrified children
clutching iPads.
Fading light in a dark, dark
world
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Lemon drops and Jam face
Were two rather unusual little girls
They spent their days in a tree house
In their rather small garden
With a single white rose
And an upturned flower ***
With a plant called the ‘Bride’
An unwanted Christmas present
Yet to be planted by their father.
The two old cats had recently died
Which created a few weeks of sadness
And a house without paws or biscuit
Trays and an empty end of the couch.
Christmas now over the girls took
Some toys to the tree house
Including their iPads and drawing paper,
Pens etc...
Lemon drops had long fair bunches
And was very thin with big blue eyes
She did not like new foods and spat
Them out sometimes she was always
Drawing funny people and loved fluffy
Animals. She had a papier mâché
Enormous ladybird on her bedroom wall
She wanted to be an artist when older
Like her two grandparents.
Grandma Mary had bought her a Sasha
Doll which she had dressed once
In silver pixie boots and a red school
Dress, blue hat and cardigan.
They both loved each other.
Daddy was her best toy.
Jam cheeks bounced about with
Long golden ringlets and a big happy
Smile. She wore baby suits and a striped
Floppy hat in yellow and black.
Mummy was getting
Her some shoes to wear to avoid
Wet feet in the garden.
She loved eating her food
And made people laugh
Including mummy who she
Kissed and cuddled a lot.
To be continued...
Love Mary Grandma xxxx
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
(Just some passing thoughts)
What if.....
...the midnight blue firmament remained midnight blue?
...dawn didn't come...the sun didn't even peep...
...the lamp posts remained bright with light
...because the hours seemed to have stopped
...because the night.....didn't want to end
what if...
...everyone got tired of the night
...dreamt, and wished for a bit of light
...bonfire flames became too much for the eyes
...they burned nonstop, like those in a funeral rite
...as if waiting for the dead one to soar
...even with the wind blowing, temperature was hot
...everyone was awaiting the sun---
...the true light of day
What if...
...electricity did not return...gone permanently
...there'd be no more cell phones, ipads
...laptops, desktops, nooks and kindles
...there would be nothing...of these gadgets
...no more appliances to make life easier
But, what if...
...light came back
...we had sun...and moon...and stars
...yet we could not speak, like we speak today?
...no papers and pens...just rocks and pointed objects?
Where would you be?
where would I be?
how would we be?
Would you be one holding a club?
dressed in your off shoulder attire of animal skin?
would your hair be long, uncombed, messy?
would your house, be a cave?
Would my hair be rudely grabbed by a man
to show the rest that he owns me?
Instead of cats and dogs, would our pets
be big, long necked creatures that eat trees?
would they be friendly enough to be patted?
Would we ever know of a blood moon
apart from a blue moon, or a yellow crescent?
would we ever know of mars? jupiter?
would we still remember our own earth?
the way life used to be?
How would we be?
where would i be?
where would you be?
Sally
Copyright September 4, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC
We draw a line,
to which we fully accept,
that our future will be scary.
We, the people of tomorrow,
are no longer afraid,
of images of war-bounded victims,
or even ****** scenes of murders and rapes,
as they are far too negatively common.
Technology would come first before our very own lives,
forgetting the true meaning of life,
friendship and relationship bounded without faces and proper communication of spoken words.
Money would be everything,
a source of good and evil,
we would either bath ourself in luxuries,
or live like ants being stomped upon.
Families would have communication breakdown,
as we face the screen of our gadgets,
never seemingly to leave it even for a moment.
The countries' economy bounded to the damp,
as we slowly run out of natural resources,
yet we never seem to care,
living still as if this crisis is a passing stone.
Our earth,
mother nature dies,
as chemical and radioactive takes over,
we all falter the line of sickness,
and depending on machines than herbs.
What would be of a world without care?
A world of climbing trees and running around the park is gone.
Empty lands now become tall skyscrapers or a high-end shopping complex,
playgrounds are now found on our iPads.
Never will the future generation experienced the joy we all grew up to as a child.
No more singing in the fields with our guitars,
No more running freely at open area.
No more water games and fun ***** activities to which our parents would scold us when we play.
We would all hold our heads up high,
thinking we're superior.
When in reality,
we are all coming to an end.
The future is scary.
And we would watch it pass us as if nothing much has changed.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
my dream house
you see my dream house is just by lake burley griffin
and as you walk in there is a coke machine at the top of
a big escalator, and at the bottom of that escalator there
are two doors, 1 door is the offices where people work and
on the other side there is my front door and i know it sounds like every
young persons fantasy, but as you enter, it was like, well the first thing you
see is the hat rack in front of the first door to the gymnasium which had a treadmill and a rower and a bike
and as you walk further you enter the lounge room where there is
a nice comfy corner lounge and a LED TV and a big stereo where you can
listen to your favourite music and as you walk further, there is an internet station
where the computer is an apple with iPads and iPhones and the internet server was
iinet wireless broadband, and as you walk further on, you see the kitchen where they had a built in
dishwasher and stove and fridge, and it had all the latest kitchen gadgets that money can buy, yeah
that sounds so cool and it has built in hot and cold water jets as well as normal tap water, and as you
walk further you see the bathroom with a shower sink and toilet with a clean air contraption, to get rid of
oopsy smells, and the bedroom was right near the other side window looking over the wonderful startrack oval
but i can’t see in because of the grandstands around it, and there was a walk in wardrobe which rarely got
messy, and i had round the clock help with cleaning and cooking, yeah this is absolute paradise, but it will
always remain just a dream house
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
It's not
the fascists with their guns.
Or the Democrats with their bumper stickers.
Or the boomers with their Facebook.
Or the leftists with their Twitter.
Or the toddlers with their iPads.
It's not
the billionaires with their minimum wage.
Or the landlords with their land.
Or the hospitals with their bills.
It's not
the ocean with its plastic.
Or the forest with its fires;
no....
The worst part of living in this boring
post-modern nightmare dystopia
is that even the god **** drugs
are poisoned now.
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 6:25 AM UTC
I
I thought that it would last my time –
That children would always read books
There would always be fields and farms
Where whippersnappers would climb
Where they would run and play in brooks
I knew there would be false alarms
II
But I never thought the malaise would spread this far
Kids not knowing what it is to be out in the air
What it means to use their mind and creativity
Just plugged in to their DSs and their Ipads in the car
Kids rooted to sofas, couch potatoes in the chair
Somehow I always thought their innocence would be free
III
There is always another day, just
As there will always be another excuse
Why we cannot go outside to play
Just sit glued to the idiot-box if you must
Passively watch this world of abuse
As our generation becomes stupider day by day
IV
Don’t write a poem or read a new book
Don’t go and sit out in the sun
The malaise is spreading and infecting us all
The crowd is young and beauty, but rooked
Rooked of their youth, it’s done
As they sit and stare at a screen in a stall
V
This really is what Orwell said, 1984
A world of computers and screens
Before I ***** it, the whole boiling will be bricked in
Nobody wants to play chess any more
A logged on generation, logging up through their teens
First cyber slum of Europe, a role it won’t be so hard to win
VI
Facebook, VK, Kikitalk, Instagram – a world that doesn’t exist
Just a world of fast past insubstantiability
Cock-eyed spelling and refute of grammar
And yet we let these kids get on with their imaginary bliss
We buy them the latest gizmos just for pacivity
And when we ask what’s to be done? You stammer
VII
We, the older generation, who knew a world better than this
A world of trees, and parks and streams
A world of old values, an idyllic pastoral
But with all pastoral, a world that can no longer exist
A world that can only reside in our dreams
Today’s world is ‘fast or nothing at all’
VIII
And I feel sorry for those kids, really
They never got to run around with a stick as a gun
They’re just getting angrier, as the malaise takes hold
Manifesting itself through boredom so easily
And then they go out and buy an AK-471
Oh well, most things are never meant, we’re told
IX
It seems, just now,
To be happening all so very fast,
For the first time, somehow
I feel that good values aren’t going to last.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
we said we wanted to be painters, and we wanted to paint the world as we see it,but we can’t paint worth **** and then we wanted to write because we needed someone to understand but no one under stood the words we uttered so in printed words it dissipated because they didnt seem legit, and we said we wanted to live as artist, and we wanted to the world to be our canvas and that we didn’t want anyone to tell us a thing. We wanted to be in bands who wrote soundless music with bare hands and posted them on sites that only the “great new age.” would download onto their iPads. We were inspired by artist and freelancers and wanted to live there and be there but we ended up nowhere because wherever that world is, doesn’t exist. Our religious parents spoke to live in a certain stance, but we felt awkward between the priers with people with folded hands and closed eyes. So we felt like nothing, and then we were between nothing.
We thought we’ve better abandoned a religion who told us that we could not hold hands under the name of a Man who would in exchanged for our love we had for each othre he would burn our skin over and over in a pit because who were we to fall in love?
We thought we’ll find ourselves in otherworldly gods and goddesses, statues of morphed species, and none of this took us off our feet. We were floating space cadets and lost souls and people who were messed up in some way or another.
In other words we refused to live for each other, our individual belonged to printed posters, artistic words and longing.
What do we have to give back?
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
here we are.
drinking coffee at 9 pm.
i am reading poetry
and you are making lists about lists.
here we are.
trying to fill the distance between us
with something.
i do it with comfortable silence,
but you start talking to me
about how iPads could replace computers one day and about iOS eleven
and i nod my head and smile to myself
because i see you
and what you're trying to do:
trying to shorten the distance
the way you know how
and instead of nodding again
i tell you how my friend is selling her phone
and how i don't know
whether to buy it or not
because the storage space
is the same as my phone's
and while you talk to me about cameras and megapixels and iCloud space
the space between us is smaller.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
i looked at the mirror and i see nothing important,
i just see me ,thats it ,thats all i see,
im NOT important,!!!!
i dont see nothing special on me,
every one have something good,
i dont,
they got good phones,beats,tablets,ipads,iphones,
i dont,,,,,,
that dosent make me different tought,does it?
no cuz material is not important!!!
maybe if i get an iphone ill be important,
they be laghing at me cuz i dont got one,
whats the difference tough?
im a human,im a person,
now i look at the mirror and i see my reflection,
wich it reflects a stong person a person who have a lot show,
if you dont wanna see that person then dont do it but thats all it matter
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
Do you believe in aliens?
We live among you.
We are here to stay and live life like you do.
Fulfill the American Dream
Our parents dreams.
Our parents sweat hasn't come with any earnings.
They toil and toil from dawn to dawn
Just to put food on the table.
But its a fable.
Because they pay the bills and waste money on gas,
there is no room for new shoes, sweaters or iPads.
Illegal we work for cheap labor
Equality has put our freedom under the table.
(because there is none)
Ignorant and lied upon
Politics are the same.
Reading fake literature to make me a little less insane.
America hasn't progressed because of immigration.
Pass the laws, make things happen,
It's our only medication.
Let us fortify this melting ***
and help the kids help their parents
who have sweated blood.
Just for a little sensation..
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
***You ask me how I find the time,
But time is not the issue,
For they, are all prepared, needing only recognition,
For they, are all in readiness, needing only composition***
I see a toddler swaying, see him to disaster lurching,
Somehow avoided with last second seer-like swerving,
Ten times in a ten foot walk across a pool's patio,
My eyes code red at the incredible risk/reward ratio,
It is nature at it most incredible, miraculous ordinariness
A young girl of ten wears a pocketbook across her forearm,
In the style of an elderly woman, as she plays with Barbie,
Tho her body immature, her psyche, says note my
Iconology, her accoutrement, texts a message subtly,
I am preteen, I am near woman, treat me accordingly
Dueling iPads in bed is a poem in my head,
rhymes accurate of screen reflections of an
X factor that stimulates my cerebral cortex
Verbal ointment that I posses can't fix a flat tire,
yet sets me up for a personal review, a self awareness,
Gone mad, I am, and with finger, on a gas station floor,
In the grime, words are realized/written concretely,
what my heart speaks freely
Within each day, miracles present themselves,
Gauntlets thrown, note them well and be justified,
Visions, external to my physical self,
Yet product of internal chemical reactions
That blow through my veins, swirling,
Word leaves, on a November weekend,
Windswept from a thousand directions,
***So you ask me how I find the time,
The question proper be amended,
How do the times find me,
How do I know them,
And why, do I share them***
<>
May 21, 2013
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
The air was different back then, somehow lighter, less heavy metals floating around and nuclear sunsets I suppose. I was born in the 60's but the 70's are my era, long hair, flares, large collars and music that still haunts today. What you need is children to amalgamate past, future, present. With their mp4's, downloads, (records and CD's old hats no one's wearing anymore ) tv box set binges, live pause, catch up, iPads, iPhones, igiveup. Technology speaks to them in so many different tongues and guises, the world has shrunk down to "someone is typing" messages from the other side of the world, nay the universe, friendships based on snapchat, facebook, twitter that don't even have the decency to start with a capital letter, Skype, facetime, with people you don't even have to 'know' coming round wanting tea and outstaying their welcome, instead hanging back in the ether waiting for the right moment the right meme to slot into the conversation. I sit and let it all wash over me, a tide ebbing and flowing long into the night, stretching time zones and bedtimes to the limit, in fact talking beyond bed, those waves never sleeping always whispering, I share music and photographs that are things from my life, they will never understand beyond the boring stories I tell them, a fount of useless information that flows, analogue from the corner of the room, the old man, the old days, you never had it so good, I am in awe, everything new, all to discover, everything to play for, world full of possibilities, not the same old 9-5 humdrum waiting for the weekend so we can pretend to be free again, it's all happening now. I enjoy these moments as an observer, no need to join in just sit and smile, with an occasional LOL or amusing emoji. My daughter bought Hotel California on vinyl the other day, I'm still in there, somewhere.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 6:06 AM UTC