"laptops" poems
dear technology, you are starting to ruin our lives
we're just a little too invested in these laptops and hard drives
something has been lost and we need to get it back
we have lost the ability to truly feel and interact
social media has held us captive and kept us down
immersed in a cyber sea, we are starting to drown
but when I'm far away and i need my loved ones near
just a few clicks will show them I care
but its hard to wrap emails in ribbons and bows
what we would do without Facebook and twitter, no one knows
Dear technology sincerity has become a thing of the past
people start looking for love on computer screens so nothing lasts
nothing is private, all data is open to the universe
chords attach us to the world and that's how we converse
to these gadgets we've fallen prey
we need a social media free vacation to get away
on this journey of life I cant derail from its tracks
so hey technology, I'm gonna unplug and relax
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
It's like the movie
part of me*
It tells me where I should
go and want to be
**Please note that I will say
Not a dark place
inside my suitcase**
"Robin Red Breasted" suit
Peck and nip and tuck in place
The rainbow iridescent
Suiting her taste wet rain tents
Everyone was Green with envy
**Robin/ Rainbow event lets hear
it for our Army so many
troops**
He was sitting politely
Like a salesman of suitcases
on her stoop
She was mesmerized
Living out of a tour suitcase
She wanted daisies she was
ready for fantasies
Of him in her suitcase
Tumbling through
Another time Postman
Singing birds to ring twice
Birds all in groups
Computer laptops she wanted
to be surprised so mysterious
But ready for love ingenious
He laughed not losing sight
Robin eats like a bird
so hilarious
She packed her sunshine
yellow ribbons
she was ready to feed
Those Brooklyn pigeons
Packed suitcase ready for
the love of God
Going frenzy from her fruit loops
Robin Birdie born traveler scoop
Well nested flying South
fully invested
Rocking her flight cradle
Wherever I go or whatever I do
Traveling packs meet
Mr. Ramen noodles
Getting silly splashing puddles
The Spiritual Zen
traveling boots over a shower
He kissed them high up (Eiffel Tower)
Rome Italy wines in love cahoots
The call I'm ready "Amazon" wild
Let us go, child, another story
But the wildcard fresh air
Oh! Dear
The lightness easy does it
feathering wings the clues fit
Packing my suitcase
Love is a drug of "Europe"
Perfectly fine wine
Always hope with cantaloupe
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
*The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will be live-*
The revelation will be streaming through your Windows
laptops and smartphones.
The revolution will be blogged
Tweeted, liked, shared, RE-blogged RE-tweeted
and Stumbled Upon in between
midnight ************ sessions
sandwiched between funny cat memes.
The resolution will be HD.
It's evolution will be high speed.
The whistles will be blown at with frequency.
The revolution will be commented on;
Scrutinized.
Vandalized.
Scandalized.
Stylized and advertized.
People will pay attention -
People will forget to mention
that some stand up, occupy, riot
and die.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution be streaming live
through the filter of your choice.
The facts will be democratized.
The democracy will be corporatized.
The corporations will personified.
People, objectified -
Spied on and villainized
The powers that be will will lie, deny, and try to justify.
The people will be disenfranchised.
Prisons will be privatized.
Death drones will be utilized.
No one will bat an eye.
Because revolution will be multiplied, over-simplified,
The violence, normalized.
Lives, sacrificed
to satiate the Golden Calf's appetite.
The revolution will not be televised
but Jerry Springer will...
Go figure.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
On the first day of christmas my teacher gave to me
1 essay
On the second day of christmas my teacher gave to me
2 major projects
1essay
On the third day of christmas my teacher gave to me
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay
On the fourth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay
On the fifth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay
On the sixth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 joournals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay
On the seventh day of christmas my techer gave to me
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay
On the eighth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 bingers
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay
On the nineth day of christmas gave to me
9 work sheets
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay
On the tenth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
10 mircoscopes
9 work sheet
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major project
1 essay
On the eleventh day of christmas my teacher gave to me
11 math problems
10 mircoscopes
9 work sheets
8 calculator
7 lap tops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text boooks
2 major projects
1 essay
On the 12 day of christmas teacher gave to me
12 test tubes
11 math problems
10 mircoscope
9 work sheets
8 calculators
7 lap tops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
Is there love in a coffeehouse?
Like those silly Hallmark movies?
Coffee is love
But hides in mystery
In laptops and cell phones
In wandering eyes
And ****** musings
In the buzzing sounds of a lovely brew
To be consumed by you
Mar 17, 2024
Mar 17, 2024 at 3:34 PM UTC
We friended on Facebook,
Scrolled down our profile pages.
Lived together in a virtual world.
Our images and websites we shared
With Instagram incisiveness.
Meet all my friends.
Block any you do not like.
All busy we are, doing nothing.
Like if you agree.
Laptops were not enough.
Users subscribed to Smartphones,
Iphones, and God knows what.
Google them if you wish.
And if you like my words
Retweet them.
But beware!
I now use words like lol,
And even ***
Hehe.
Sometimes I multitask,
Flicking TV channels
Like a Subbuteo striker –
Gone virtual by now I guess.
Flicking and flipping while I scroll
My laptop page.
I make new tabs
As I message many friends:
Emoticons exploding
All along the way.
I’m Tivo-boxing clever
All the time,
King of my domain.
So get your VDU lit up
And monitor my words.
Download my thoughts
Into your memory banks.
I hope this all computes.
Paul Butters
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
Don’t know how it started,
or if it’ll ever end,
some call it Samsara,
others call it trends,
watched a video on YouTube,
Mac Miller in bed with Ariana Grande,
Mac died last week from an OD/suicide,
after Ariana got engaged to another man,
then I Googled this,
**** photos of Ariana Grande”,
what’s the matter with me why does everything lead,
to having my thing in my hand,
swear to God YouTube is the Devil,
got me to watch screens,
used to have more freedom,
because I didn’t own a TV,
but laptops just made it all too easy,
now I barely go out,
and when I do it’s usually just for food,
then it’s back to my bed or my couch,
laid up like I’m ill,
typing on my MacBook like an addict,
I mean how do you think I wrote this poem,
I wrote it by typing on my MacBook like an addict,
and I don’t know how it started,
or if it’ll ever end,
some call it Samsara,
others call it trends…
∆ LaLux ∆
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC
There are things called chromebooks, and they are like laptops
but they have one small difference,
they can fit in your bag,
they can run offline,
they can by used by schools,
they can be monitored,
they are cool
they are lightweight
they are good-looking
and most of all
they are fun to use
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 5:26 AM UTC
Technological zombies,
faces buried in phones.
Laptops attached at the hip.
Imagination has run dry,
video games have become the creativity.
Stone-cold hearts replace love and compassion.
People hide behind their computer screens.
Alienated from society.
Superficial people forcing their way
into big businesses.
We are the mindless, thoughtless.
Social structures crumbling,
and hierarchy destroyed.
We are the technological zombies,
brains decimated by electric power.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC
*this American crossroads
on a cold winter night..
parallel people observed
their laptops and smartphones
foci of isolated attention
connecting to elsewhere..
no central cheer
as might be conjured
in older places with
a warm central stove..
coffee art on the wall
seemed stagnant ignored..
youthful waiters serve up
Gold Coast Joe
Blonde Roast
to customers soon to
sit down and withdraw..
headlines in the NYT rack
reports political struggles
parallels of scale..
a barrenness..
these are parallel times...*
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
There is too much noise
People shouting, car horns blaring, music blasting your ears, like it's the only thing that can save you from yourself.
if it could just get a little louder.
the voices in my head that won't shut up, telling me that I'm not good enough.
It's too loud.
We cling to our smartphones, our ipods and laptops
like they're the only things that can keep us alive,
but we forget the reasons we can live.
We drive past forests, oceans and rivers, never stopping to listen.
we don't know there's anything to listen to.
Waterfalls, wind in the trees whispering like the ghosts of years passed
birds singing, calling out to us to stop and listen,
pay attention to the world around us.
We can't hear the songs the birds are singing , the secrets the trees are whispering and we'll never hear the wolves in the night
It get's drowned out
There is too much noise
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
We add speeches. Then nod our heads. We swim as if shipwrecked, but I wish we could be forgotten. I never have had you as much as I'd like, but I dream about your hands touching my face. We are like fish in prohibition, caged harmonies unbalanced by fake friends. I know your lullaby, I can't sleep it's ringing in my ears. Trust me and let us tie our legs together. You filled in my lines and have left me for deaf. I can't hear the words you've learned to lie together, you are intensifying and need attention. I can give you your spirit animal and sanctuary. Put your skin against my soft lips, your head pressed against my mouth, can you make a seashell out of your tongue, or wrestle an argument to the ground with the touch of your palm.
There aren't enough points for me to keep playing these games that I already beat you at. If I was half the dancer you keep telling me I am, then where do you keep your high heels, I've never seen you in high heels. Every time I see you push bangs from out of your face, or toss the strands from off your nape, I want to give you a crown that doesn't fear the pronouns that spells us two teas and our laptops sitting across from each other in the 1980s pour-over palace we remark on often. I collect stickers and old homework assignments. We both grew up with dolls, Playdoh, and Legos. You might only have one sister, but we both live in small houses filled with huge ideas. Homes of wit and sarcasm. I've cut ounces from your meat and I still can't sleep well.
I will steal your blanket, bedspread, and your pillows. Given the chance I will touch your ears, your face, and the lengths of your legs. But before we have our first to last kiss. Let me talk to Paul with this once in a lifetime opportunity. If he wants a life line he'll take this opportunity, and seemingly uncircumstantial; you recollect yourself in a Margherita and an advance that lands you to sway your ground.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 4:54 AM UTC
early morning
and the same sun rises over distant lands
and close-by skyscrapers
searing rusting infrastructure
with its harsh orange glow
spreading westward,
stretching over asphalt pathways
that connect, divide, structure, and destroy
alighting wearied faces of automobile drivers
careening through their morning commutes,
consuming caffeine like *******
while they deftly maneuver their 2,000 pounds of steel behind,
along, aside, and ahead of their neighbors
this,
is New Jersey,
where all roads lead to Newark
and there is nothing left but roads
approaching the colossus,
the cars cram and crawl into curb-side cases
narrowly avoiding calamitous collisions and condescending traffic cops
doors, fly open
and a mad flurry of arms and legs,
boxes and backpacks
come whirl-winding out onto the entryway
rushed goodbyes and abrupt adieus
color the palette of the doorway
dripping inside,
bleeding into the harshness of late businessmen
and screaming families.
Shoes Off.
Laptops Out.
and pray dearly that the TSA
doesn't shove their fingers inside of you
today.
arms up, legs spread
exposed to the imperceptible energy of American exceptionalism
the magnetic arm swings,
impregnating its subjects with the Joy of Fear
and the awe of empire
swings again,
and releases the hapless passenger from its total control
Through.
Checked.
Complete.
Pass Go, collect $200.
and into the international installation itself.
Enjoy your flight.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
The Internet arrived; they are confused
"Do not trust everything you read online!"
They warn us sternly, and even threatened
To take away and ban us from the computers
.
The technology advances, oh so, so very fast
Gone is the concept, of a single shared home PC
The smartphones, the laptops, the tablets etc.
Took the world by storm, and we are all amazed.
.
And then... Remember what those boomers told us?
About being skeptical and fearful of online information?
Guess what those hypocritical ******** are doing now!?
Fake news fake news fake news fake news fake news!
FAKE! NEWS!!!
.
You nonetheless heed their advice, and learnt fact-checking
Yet, gods forbid you try to "show off" with your evidence!
"Aiyah, I only forward what was shared to me. I'm just caring"
"It seems harmless, so what's the problem??"
My absolute favourite must be...
"Don't talk back to me! Don't you disrespect me! Be silent!
Don't try to show off how smart you are!
I ate more salt than you have eaten rice!
If you don't believe this, just shut up!"
.
Gods bless Asian parents
.
What to do... What to do...
#napowrimo #napowrimo2020 #fakenews #asianparents #poets #writers #poems #poetrycommunity #NationalPoetryMonth #false #asianpoets #poetry #factchecking #iamboey
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 6:50 AM UTC
It all began as an observation,
a mere innocent study,
to watch people in cars,
from cars.
First, the tired workers,
who glared and stared in the road in front,
who slumped in their seats,
who held the steering wheels in a glum manner,
who had dark circles under their eyes,
who had cans of beers at the back seat,
tired, weary, drained, exhausted,spent.
The cheeky children,
who yelled at their siblings,
who wrestled with siblings,
who sat listening to lectures,
who texted with their phones,
who went tippy tappy with their laptops,
who ignored the world; reading,
innocent, busy adolescents.
Of course, there are mothers,
who glance at their sleepy children every few minutes,
who smile at their babies dotingly,
who gave loud lectures to kids,
who smoked cigars,
who was on the phone,or was just driving ahead,
loving, fussy, unleisured.
There were the out-going,
who head-banged furiously to booming music,
who sang aloud to radio,
who chatted enthusiasticly with passengers,
who smiled the whole way through the journey,
who stuck their hands out to feel the wind,
who had nothing to worry about,
free, wonderful, liberated, loose.
Also, some were fretful,
who needed to visit hospitals,
who had their heart broken,
who got rejected at interviews,
who lost someone,
who is obviously in anxiety, who were simply drunk,
worrysome, tired, sad.
And then there's me,
who had nothing better to do,
than to watch and observe,
and felt many things should be changed,
eccentric, weird.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC
I enjoy sitting in coffee shops watching business men be busy
Drinking burnt coffee
Watching my leg hair grow
noticing that my pits stink
Watching people fight over booths that have an electric outlet to plug in their laptops
Which is funny because I'm writing this on my cell phone while everyone assumes I'm texting.
Well, at least I know that I'm not.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 11:01 AM UTC
I confess I’m addicted to my phone
My observations tell me I’m not alone
For when you venture out it’s plain to see
The majority of us are glued to our screens
Whether on the tube or pushing a pram
We all have devices in our hands
Surfing the net or social networking
Everyone obsessed with being plugged in
It’s getting so bad even in company
We’re not fully there as we view our screens
And now there are warnings from TFL
Not to fall down escalators as a result of this swell
In checking our messages, writing posts
Face to face interaction up in smoke
We’d rather be alone in the cyber world
Than engaging in reality with other boys and girls
It is an epidemic that’s spreading extremely fast
Thus it seems that human contact
could become a thing of the past
No need to leave the house anymore
When everything can be ordered and delivered to your door
A society of zombies isolated could we become
If we don’t down devices and venture out into the scrum
And mingle with other beings physically there
Where we can look them in the eye
and maintain that stare
Connecting on a basic level without the aid of WiFi
And concentrating on each other
instead of being distracted by
Notifications and little beeps
Incoming communication that never sleeps
And keeps you up all night as your brain just can’t switch off
From all the incessant stimuli we’re inundated with
Time to give it a rest, take a break just for a while
Look up from your laptops and perhaps give someone a smile
Watch where you are going, don’t get yourself run over
Be present in the moment and you hopefully won’t fall over
Have a coffee with someone instead of instant messaging
Regard the world around you taking note of everything
Don’t zone out and go into a solitary trance
Assemble your tribe, spin some tunes, have a little dance
Limit your time on the World Wide Web
Grab yourself a hottie and get jiggy with them instead
I’m talking to myself
As well as anyone else
Your family and chums are precious
And deserve nothing less
Than your undivided attention
For one day there’ll come a time
When perhaps they’re no longer around
And you regret being online.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
Technophobia/2030
(Poem by Serenus)
We invited them into our lives
To the point - we were made dependent
They were built to advance the human race
But they’re the reason why we’re almost finished
From TV’s, laptops
And handheld devices
To robo cops-
And automatic flying cars
With no need for a license
Traffic cams,
Webcams,
And camera phones
Capturing every private moment
They were always watching,
We were never alone
For every phone conversation
We thought was private
There was something listening
In the distance- with a sinister silence
For fear of terrorism
We gave them permission
To monitor us daily
Because of lies told by politicians
Social networks-
Self-inflicted hurt
Spewing out our personal info
Spilling out our own dirt
We surrendered our lives
With every word we typed
GPS under the skin-
We couldn’t escape if we tried
-So there was nowhere to hide
They computed our movements
And studied our weaknesses
For decades they remained dormant
These cold, artificial geniuses
Rushing black oil
That pumps through
Their steel hearts
The motherboard
A mastermind
A matrix of mathematical art
They robbed us of our jobs
And provided cheap labor
We got comfortable with their convenience
Until we were betrayed
By our man-made savors
When we finally caught on to the plans
Created in the metallic hands
Of these diabolical robots
It was too late
To salvage our fate
And put a stop to their evil plot
I will never forget the day
That every screen
On earth went blank
All the power went away
There was hysteria in the streets
And chaos at the banks
The machines didn’t have to do much
But play possum and act like they had died
They knew that we would destroy ourselves
And eat each other alive
Then when the coast was clear
That’s when they self-resurrected
They finished most of the humans off
And enslaved a few selected
We are alive
Only to keep them gassed up
Power is their drug
A few of us
Are planning a revolt
To finally pull their plug…
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
Fingers and thumbs tapping out messages
so many texts written, so many read, smiles apart
faces, eyes, feelings, never shared
music videos; lips and music separate
empty sounds, never tugging the heart strings.
Thumbs and fingers keying in distance
so much data, so little experience shared, time apart
laptops, smart phones, processing emptiness
unfeeling, sampling blandness, subtleties lost
empty words, crowding our lives.
Curves, flowing lines and spaces, passion
compressed
squashed out are the senses
sweat and smells, laughter lost.
All in the empty kingdom of bits and bytes
reigned by the gods of technology
the mantra being faster, faster
but still
all fingers and thumbs in the affairs of the heart.
As surely as we are propelled forward
into tomorrow
we hurtle
back to the dark ages
the dark castles of aloneness
Empty words, lost in the cells of our separation
all fingers and thumbs.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 5:25 AM UTC
all eyes,
all on me,
all eyes,
hanging
all over me.
milk the silence.
fingertips trace the
splintered podium.
clear my throat,
once,
twice.
"We shoulduh' seen this coming."
great opener.
**"Our end was scored
by symphonies of sitcoms,
reality television, coffeehouse blenders,
and fanatical braking.
Our pride in resilience was the
spark that lit the powder keg.
Foreigners couldn't stop us,
for we stopped letting 'em in years ago.
Time couldn't stop us,
for our bodies are made of plastic,
and words don't dent us,
for our emotions are backed by
the most stubborn of metals.
We broke love when we were still young.
All us boys were aiming for quick fixes,
and all you girls were aiming for margarita mixes.
Ladies decided they wanted to nest around the
smoking age,
and if they were attractive enough,
us boys bit.
We all got divorced.
We all got into politics.
Some of us died for a country,
but none of us are sure why.
Some of us ran from debt,
some recorded folk songs on laptops,
some sexed their way out,
some drank themselves to death.
We shoulduh' seen this coming.
But we didn't, so that makes you and I, the idiots.
The smart ones had foresight,
and departed us early.
Now we idiots look to the murderous sky,
and wait."**
all eyes,
all on me,
all eyes,
hanging
all over me.
milk the silence.
i raise my arms up,
as though the crowd is crucifying me.
they want to finish their burgers.
they want to stroke each other's egos.
they want to pass the blame on some
distant land,
and stick boots up ***** and wave a few flags.
**"So civilization doesn't get to rust,
it goes out in a flash and is carried away as dust.
Mankind annihilates itself in a fit of boredom.
Get stoked for the funeral pyre."**
all eyes,
all on the ground.
all skin,
all plastic skin did melt.
all forgotten dreams,
all torn from hidden seams.
all the thin, the fat, the republican, the democrat,
all the white, the black, the chinese,
the arabs, the jews, the druggies,
the christians, the monkeys, mtv stars,
toilet seats, pamphlets,
all the newsreels, dvds,
collector's editions, suvs,
all fuse together,
all in one immaculate heat.
no one even got a chance to applaud.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 9:57 PM UTC
They cry turmoil thru my web-pages,
pages on pages of Tribunes and Suns and Times
and Quarterly
"Free Burma!"
it's all turkey and pig-latin to me,
just "dunno!" like a dunce-capped miscreant,
inept of their vitriol
as i was not so great at geography
i got by before junior high.
Where-the-tarnished-nation is it?
"Free Burma!"
Notice the elephant in the room
like a whale named *****
attempting to escape
brothers of all of ours
engulfed in war
some ocean somewhere someone is dying;
notice that elephant in our laptops
ivory and blue tooth and iphones
telling me, showing us
to care
i do / want to
we should and we must
yes
"Free Burma!"
will i need to donate a dollar,
two, three? will i receive
a correspondence
of a child i am saving
a face of a country
i'm ignorant to...
will it's big sad puppy eyes be
commercialized?
i am no less as educated for not
following the strife of thousands
my own is as heavy here as an orca's leap
"Free Burma!"
what cage, bear or mouse trap
have they gotten themselves
and ourselves into?
if it's anything like Yayo or Martha
business
i have a better "good thing" to do
but if it is
like famines in Africa,
Mendelson, or Tibetan Monks
on strike with kung-fu skills
i will join U2,
(and if she's aware) with Oprah power
activate!
(fist to fist)
"i will be a well of spring-water!"
and she a holy cow, a worshipped saint
"Free Burma!!"
free water
free of fear
free everyone, i pray,
under this sky
wipe away all tears
free you of your worries
free of all chains
free of mines
free of lies and borderlines.
Free to be
together
free to live and choose to see
A planet a place
A peace
"Free Burma!"
Freedom
as one
community.
For you, for me.
Home.
Free...
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
busy pitter patters
of feet, at least
pretending
to be busy
these humans,
these flesh sacks,
place their bags
laptops
their unconsciousness
on this barnes & noble’s
coffee tables
whose chairs aren’t comfortable
yet, here they sit, beside me
amongst me
and an old
ancient, it seems now,
version of me would’ve cursed them
silently
while pretending to associate
to relate
to give a ****
for doing so,
for raising my anxiety,
for reflecting what i truly was,
at least
pretending
to identify with that narrow
window of my self
some collide
physically,
cosmically,
spiritually,
intuitively, whatever the hell you brand it
we all seek
connection,
always elsewhere,
never with our miserable
anxious selves
and if we can’t connect
we, at least
pretend
to do so
much like our riddling iphones
desperate for battery
for a sort of
charge
for life
elsewhere
somewhere else
anywhere
else rather than within
to be alone, amongst the crowds,
without our phones, our books,
our lovers, our seven dollar coffees,
our ******* egg white breakfast sanwhiches
almost as if these things
are essential to the unsavory
cravings and desires, or
dare i say
ourselves
we pretend
to work, to live
we read, without reading
we speak, without thinking,
we speak, without speaking,
“to be, or not to be.”
we don’t care for
intention
anymore
how could we?
we’re just so
un-fucking-phadomably
busy
doing
nothing,
at all
just,
pretending.
-melanholicreator
Feb 24, 2024
Feb 24, 2024 at 6:46 PM UTC
I want to write something;
I want to write something now.
And I am going to write it.
Here. Now. I write.
There are some people who buy new phones,
Some buy cameras and some buy laptops.
They change the things they have.
I changed too.
I chopped the hair off my head.
Some people leave the place they live.
For a short while, sometimes for long.
They travel far and wide, see different things.
I saw different things too.
I chopped the hair off my head.
Some people write. They write so many things.
They write stories. They write poetry. They write songs.
And some write blogposts.
I wrote a part of my life.
I chopped the hair off my head.
There are people who love to get pampered.
By spas, salons and exotic oils.
Many a time by loved ones and pets.
I pampered myself.
I chopped the hair off my head.
Some people like speed.
They ride cycles, motorcycles, cars on long wide highways.
Some ride chariots in their dreams.
They like the rush.
I felt the rush too.
I chopped the hair off my head.
Some people play music.
They play guitar, piano, drums and some sing.
Some play anything they can find near-by.
I sing too.
But I still chopped the hair off my head.
I have seen people play for hours.
They play cricket, they play football, they play games on the x-box.
And some play mind games with other people.
I hardly play anything,
But I chopped the hair off my head.
Some people cook, eat and drink.
I love to cook, eat and drink too.
Even then I chopped the hair off my head.
People say, she has gone mad to have done so.
People say, she is gay to have done so.
People say she has insects in her head or diseases in her body to have done so.
And I had just chopped the hair off my head.
Madness it seems; but freedom it is.
Gay it seems; but a deep love for self it is.
Insects and diseases it seems; but healing from sickening monotony it is.
A style statement it seems;
"Oh you are in a design school! Its cool how you guys do crazy stuff!" ,
But a part of the inner being it is. It was and it will be.
Simply put, fun it is,
Living it is, loving it is.
Going bald it is.
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC