"mails" poems
Flown Away . . .
Mom tweets; Dad Twitters
The children sling angry birds
Poultry words are shared
A gap, Agape . . .
With desks connected
And sharing a power strip
We exchange e-mails
Cellacious . . .
Discourse is lacking?
Digital Intimacy!
May our Smart-Phones touch?
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
cicadas quiet
internet down
phones dead
can’t tweet
nor yelp
4 Square
won’t process
my payments
bluetooth cavities
iTunes tuned out
blogger blogged down
web surf ain’t up
G+ Circles broken
defriended on FB
Outlook e-mails
stuck in outbox
G-Mail postman
not making
appointed rounds
apps won't load
YouTube on hold
my e-commerce
bankrupt
Myspace empty
tumblr stumbled
LinkedIn disconnect
digital blips ain't blinking
not sure if I’m alive
I'm in a virtual
existential crisis
uncertain if
I’ll survive
Donna Summer
I Will Survive
Oakland
6/27/13
jbm
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:26 AM UTC
I had a dream the other day I ran into a doctor, lawyer and a constable,
We came to an agreement that I had lost some part of me and that "I" am totally responsible;
Then I had another dream I ran into a doctor, cousolor and a poet,
We came to an agreement there's certain things you just don't delegate but before then I didn't know it!
So now I'm taking six weeks off and explaining why is basically the moral of this little rhyme,
I have to find that item I lost instead of intertaining getting high and ******* all the time!
There's a lot of back stepping I must do I could have lost it anywhere,
It's a powerful asset I've always had but I lost it somewhere over this past year.
It might be right next to you or me so please look around do you see it?
This is a necessary part of me I really need so I just can't ignore or say so be it.
I must retrace my steps to lead me back to what once led me to here,
To fix that error of my past when I lost the virtue of my despair.
Now a broken bone heals in six weeks and so I think this is a realistic amount of time,
This is a personal excursion I must take because believe me I feel all of your pain combined.
I have to find my virtue the disposition to keep on doing the right thing...
Without my positive attitude the strength and prudence I have just doesn't mean a god ****** thing!
You might miss me a little bit but I plead for you to stay away,
If you don't it doesn't matter cause I'm not answering my phone, texts e-mails nor doorbells anyway.
And if you've learned anything from me you'll listen to me when I say,
Loosing virtue is like jumping off a 55 ft. bridge you'll be hurting every day!
And if like me you ever lose your virtue you'll realize this then too,
You'll go on an excursion just like me this virtue you too you will persue.
Sediment, strength, prudence and wisdom go nowhere as far as prooving who one is,
Without the moral virtue we all have that allows us to make stinky things smell like roses.
Goodbye for now I'll see you soon and for me to do this you ought,
To love yourself much and me much too and for you... to Keep a Wonderful aThought!
Robin Ashley
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC
I am counting days and nights
Sitting under the **** sky ..
Reading , writing and cherishing about
How will it be when I will ...
Actually meet you !
Those voice mails , recordered songs , text messages
While walking bare feet on the grass
And smirking watching the same text over and over .
It's night again , where I will ..
Just do what I keep doing the best !
D-R-E-A-M on !
And I keep on waiting for those days
When I will see you ...
Touch your fragile skin ...
Make you smile and keep it forever ...
Because "smile" is what you need .
You can't stop smiling just because ,
They told "not to do so , you don't look good."
They aren't somebody to understand
What one "smile" brings to people ...
It makes life worthy .
Always..
Don't stop doing something which you love to ,
Just because "they" told not to do so .
You are way more beautiful than you think .
You are beyond 'humanity'...
You are the pure soul,
Who knows what is "love"
Who knows the value of "tears"
Who knows beauty doesn't get a definition by "skin color"
You are the one I am eager to meet ,
Because you are not "somebody else".
"........ And here I keep on waiting for those days to come ,
Soon .."
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
Well, Neptune and his sad sack. What to say about the watery Fish? Nothing really. You slip around in life oversensitive to your own liquid shadow. You're far worse than Cancer when it comes to feelings and such, no wonder most of you remain lost throughout life, like a body snatcher, you dream the imaginary world of happy people and happy endings. A Disney disaster really, unable to be on your own for long, you need other people to keep you grounded and on the right track. Codependent anyone? Jesus Christ on a **** stick, I dated one of your kind and couldn't shake him, 25 voice mails later. Tragic really. But it's not all bad, you speak of posies, whisker woo-woo's, and butterfly kisses. Shut the **** up and reach into the real abyss of madness, you poser! Truly the "flake" of the zodiac, you dismiss common manners with some attitude of "Look at me, look how silly I am!" No jack *** you're an irreverent dick/bitch who has no considerations for others. Don't even get me started on the drug use, ya loser. Compassion? Go to church, don't come here.
Advice: Anything is possible when it happens, but for you, nothing ever happens. Wake up. Stop trying to find yourself and start creating yourself, you ******* *****
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
whatever you do, please remember
the sound of your little brother’s voice.
it’s not going to stay like that forever,
no matter how much you want it to.
record it. save his voice mails.
do anything you have to do.
because that’s what’s going to
make you feel at home when it’s
three in the morning and you’re alone
in a city that no longer belongs to you.
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
Every morning at 9
She puts on the
banker's disguise
puts her poetry
in a sacred jar
next to the ashes
of
her husband
her dad
her mom.
She's a river of currents
behind the smile
darkly ******
phantasims
fly and flower
She not only carries
the keys to the vaults,
but also
the keys to wisdom
sublime
She can see right through you
when
she wants to
She can read your mind
Smilies
Metaphors
Haikus
Rap
Manifestations
of
all that makes us human,
These are the currents she rides
while
she
files
e-mails
signs
floats loans
defaults
default swaps
The whole time
she's got on
John Prine's illegal smile
She's watching secret movies
inside
she's alive.
It took many years
to learn to hide
the images
the colors
thought dreams
which flow inside -
while in meetings
behind her eyes
flows
the poetry
from herself, she cannot hide.
The commute ends
The day ends
She unscrews the sacred jar
pen to paper
the currency of poetry
resurrected
she comes alive,
All disguises
hide.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
From the backbroken fliers over oceans
From between the spiny frills along palm fronds
From Mr. Happy, the chain smoking chaperone of good times
From Mr. Happy’s half-burnt **** coiled in the ashtray
From the disciples of Theravada and the skinny Buddha’s pupilless eyes scanning jocose scansions of jungle
From the tanned holy heads of students lounging in graveled football fields
From my bowl of rice at breakfast in the shade while considering western cities, you are not here
‘You are not here,’ I’ve written in my letters
‘You are not here,’ I’ve typed into e-mails immense
You are not here, my coke head pals locked in the veins of seedy nightmares
You are not here, my penniless friends who mix music in ascetic dark rooms out in Bushwick
You are not here in no eastern Central Park running naked in the night from horseback cops after hours of merciless balling in the bushes
You are not here you fair-skinned beauties in crowded alpine funiculars bearing your aquiline noses holding your hats over the mountains
You are not here my lonely mother waiting by the phone for a call at midnight
You are not here, you are not in my poems, you are not in the distorted notes harpsichorded across my crass imagination
You are not here, you will not be here, will you read my letters home?
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 6:58 AM UTC
bitter kaffe, salte tårer, rodet værelse, rodede tanker, sprukne læber, en ufortjent karakter, nøgne træer, nøgne kroppe, ****** musik, adskillige vabler, lykkeønskninger fra nogle bekendte, manglede lykkeønskninger fra nogle venner, udspilede øjne, tunge øjenlåg, forsvundet hårnåle, krakeleret neglelak, kortvarig latter, kortvarig solskin, lektier jeg ikke fik lavet, fladt baghjul, velbehag, ubehag, løbende sminke, ukomfortable kram, ulovlig film-streaming, længsel, oprigtige smil, påtagede smil, ubesvarede e-mails, tiltrængte gensyn, sammenbrud over en matematisk ligning, sammenbrud på min fødselsdag, sammenbrud over min farmor, sammenbrud
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
wet. ambition of her silken hair
scatter my moral compass
but after terse words
we set out on the road
her tale carries us for miles
and leads to many thoughts
but I'm easily distracted and distraught
by soapbox celebritys and their
rabid claims to fame
and am left to letting her choose our path
she pens regrets to me and mails them
to the wrong address so ill never know her love for me
has grown cold
I befriend the postman
putting the letters of my words
carefully on his face with a fine line pen
but he keeps whispering that I should be
so sad because love has been rejected
and my heart was returned marked postage due
the description sours when
the ink hits the page
never quite suits the thought
as we trundle along the stony path
the bone rattling pace lends misgivings
find my way home in the song of her heart
find my weary way to her door
turning the door inward
and see the vault of her hearts fortress
reduced to rubble ans she has
now gone
she has fled eastward
wagon laden with tales and trinkets
her blue dress flowing over the side and fluttering in the breeze
wet ambition is no mercy
wet ambition is cold
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
Annoying Affections of mine
For reason I do not understand
For reason I should have understood
but which do not get inside my head
or which are unacceptable on my heart
I suppose that is why it is said
Being blinded by love; literally
Sarcastically; Seriously.
Annoying---- that is the exact word;
the word to describe my feelings;
my feelings which I suppose as
emotions of affection
but Annoying --- this is to her
the woman I show
my emotions of affection
Texts carrying my Number
Mails sent from my address
Phone calls with my voice
Letters with my initials
Best wishes with my deepest regards
if anything is connected to Me
My and Mine
annoying--- that is the exact word;
Argh! Annoying affections of mine!
Affectionate chills
Flames of annoyance
burns these hearts: hers and mine!
Sigh
Annoying Affection of Mine
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Reading poems is the way of discovering
that people write for fun, they write of
the very things that you think preposterous.
They write of love, and you write of hate.
Poetry is in many ways charade of indiscipline,
even gross indignity. Gives you joy rides and goose
bumps. Why do people write- poetry?
I deliberate and out of it curse people, write a poem
send it for publication. The laptop creaks. The editor whines
when flooded by my irksome mails.
In the streets of the city, and there are plenty, I see a rag picker.
I see the *****
I see the blinded with begging bowl, but singing. Chanting.
I see barely seven or eight a child pleading for coins and mercy.
I stalk away. Walk away. My hauteur a new demeanour.
Why do people write- poetry?
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
Another typical afternoon
In the Sunshower State
South Florida we call it
On my way in to work
Listening to music
Phone in hand
Then it happened
I slipped and fell
My phone now airborne
Me on the ground
No good could come from this
Once it met with the pavement
It did three spinning backflips
Then stuck the landing
The screen now cracked
Now I'm left living phoneless
A liberated attachment
No phone calls, texts or e-mails
No random googling or facebook status checks
Freedom from complications
These are the first few days
Then it sinks in
Detachment from the world around me
In these digital days
I have lost my lifeline
No quick access to information
No calling for help
Disconnected from everyone
And everything around me
A week wait for the repair
My dependency has become clear
If you don't want to admit it
It's ok, we all have it
This is just my story
How I found out about
My cellular co-dependency
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
The flying kite never returns.
Postal mails not replied.
Someone unkind
severed our connections.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others
I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 10:03 AM UTC
Shopping in discount stores
living the unglamorous life, that's me
It's not strife
but rife, with challenge and epiphany
telling me what I want to be
no matter what I see in me now
He talks to me like he's shopping for me
comparing me to these other females
must be making a lot of e-mails
I love your voice, I like your hair, great body
does he even care I feel like a product on the shelf
is he talking to me or somebody else and now
I'm in full blown obsession, no connection but Facebook
messenger tells about his session
and it wasn't with me, you see
What to do, I don't know, he cast the hook,
I wouldn't go just can't know what right
but this feels wrong when I got home
I opened the bomb, the wine and took a big slug
worked better than his cyber hug and
promises of massages
check my phone a million times a day
I'm as crazy as yesterday
It just lies dormant in the night
I can't fight
I check the phone a million times
Oh God, here it comes again
I don't remember when I was so confused
Should I have taken is invitation to go on that impromptu vacation?
Up with his family, how awkward can that be, what to do
I'd be ballin' baby. I can't afford it. I just have to ignore it
and turn off, turn down that voice in my head
that said: you must have him now
you can't survive on your own
you must belong to someone
but I'm just fine with no one
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
You always listen to my voice mails,
So I know you care.
You always save them,
So I know you love me.
But I also know that there is another whom you love and who loves you
And I am heartbroken.
I am heartbroken because he is the one,
Your one.
I am heartbroken knowing that he gets to hold you
And you hold him.
I am heartbroken to think of him kissing you
And you kissing him.
I am heartbroken,
But I can still hope.
I hope that he treats you well.
I hope that he makes you happy.
I hope that you think of me from time to time.
But most of all,
I hope that some time in in this life or the next
We get our chance.
If any of these were to be fulfilled,
I would be happy.
But I hope it is the last.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
Be thankful for the rain ,
for when it came parched lands were quenched amugst humid skies ,
as darker clouds gathered at four in the afternoon .
The letter I meant to send you lies unopened on my table .
There was no post today ,
no stamp as the post office was closed ,
no rail road to sent by train to sort out ,
No pigeon post as my bird had died that morning in its cage ,
Or telegraph man with heavy burden of death to knock on your door .
My WiFi off line
E mails down ,
My paper plane would not take to flight ,
If I could have walked to your house and mailed it by candel light ,
Or sent a sonet ,
Or a chorister of chamber singers at dusk .
By quil and ink I would have written
‘ I love you ‘
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
God **** it!
I misunderstood everything
Your touch
The way you look at me
Your calls at night
Your e-mails
I'm a fool to think
That you love me
Then one day you're gone
You stopped caring about me
I can't feel your presence
Like crazy, every minute
I'm checking my accounts inboxes
God I love you so much
That even though it hurts
I can't stop loving you
I can't stop caring for you
I can't stop thinking about you
Where are you now?
Just one message and all my worries will be gone
I'm crazy, maybe you don’t want me because I'm crazy about you
And I hate my self for being a fool
And I also love my self for being crazy
If being crazy means loving you.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
The bond of love The bond of Trust
The festival which truly celebrates
the bond between a brother and a sister (siblings and cousins)
Celebrated in the month of August on a full moon day(purnima)
Known as Rakhi Purnima
Rakhi-The sacred thread ,
which the sister ties on the wrist of her brother .
This festival is known
as Raksha Bandhan
Raksha - means to protect
Bandhan - To be bound (Bond)
Raksha Bandhan - The Bond of Protection
A festival celebrated by Hindus all over the country.
The Celebration
The sister buys a Rakhi for her brother
Prepares or buys sweets for her brother .
On the auspicious morning ,
The brother and sister both deck up in their traditional fineries.
The sister readies a plate full of sweets ,
with a little vermilion soaked in water
along with a few rice grains , to be applied as vertical mark (tilak) on the brother's forehead.
Believed to blessings from the lord .
A lit lamp for aarti
and the Rakhi(sacred thread) which she ties on the brother's wrist ,
wishing him the best .
The brother in return promises to look after her and presents her with gifts .
** This is not a poem , more of an account of the festival and the celebration.
With time and distances it is not always possible to bring in the festival together.
However, the sister mails across the Rakhi to the brother, as I did :)**
Have beautiful memories of this festival from my younger days , celebrated with siblings and cousins alike .
Thank you all for reading !!
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 9:00 PM UTC
What you need to know about me is that i always mess it up.
I seem to be a hurricane, but really i am just the silence before the winds come.
half the time storms excite me, make me feel alive, make me dance, but the rest of the time i am too scared and i can't breathe and the world is too small and too big and everything is going to burn.
People tell me to sit still and breathe slowly and keep my veins beneath my skin, but i can't.
i apologise all the time because i am always doing something wrong. it is an apology in advance, so i can get it out before the words tie my throat shut with ink.
Other people can draw cute elephants and be happy and write songs, but all i can do is write about dead people.
these words are not good.
they are not elegant.
my handwriting is messy and i can only write when other people don't want me to,
that's another apology.
Sometimes i want to call you but all the voice mails would be me begging you to help me breathe before the air disappears.
the tv is broken by static and no one can hear the queen's annual message.
here, the Queen is a spider web of dark and polish and hooks and curtains and blurry drawings and forgotten chimneys.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
My phone's got no service
in this christian meets crazy.
Westboro baptist church.
When the negative sermon
is over.
I bet, I will
have
6 missed calls.
6 new voice mails.
&
6 texts
all from the
Lovely Lucy.
Looks like hell is
trying to get at me.
Someone wants my soul.
Maybe,
I'm going to be famous or somethin'.
Rapture Raptors.
I will be fed to the
feeding flames of infamy.
The anti-christ super-star auditions are at 3 a.m.
It's, 2 hours away!
I'm 7 years away.
Hope I make it to exit 27.
If not exit 40 works fine too.
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
Melancholy is the man who cannot sort the wheat from spam
and drowns in undiluted dross,
while others toss the waste away that keeps them from a fruitful day.
Fill my in tray with this harvest ,let me reap what I sow and not what others would throw at me,
and knock on wood
that what is sent is all good,
no deletions to e-mails,no begging letters or sad tales,no hawkers to sell me the things that they tell me I need,
let my line feed be clear
as I sit here and wait for the logic gate to crush me as the messages push past me,
I want to be free of those details of the plight of **** backed whales and the starving in China
or the food that's on offer in the shopping mall diner,the cruising of liners over sharp salted seas and how to say please in Kampala,Uganda.
Pander to the worst of them and let sleeping men lie,but the spam stacks on up and I don't wonder why,it just does and it will until I disengage from this wonder of the age and go back to
the abacus
where beads are all I need
no spam
no feed
no green screen to lead me on
just me.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
Facebook comments తో పలకరిస్తుంటావు .
Gmail attachments పంపి secret information ఇస్తుంటావు .
Google talk తో chat చేసి జిందగీ మొత్తం నువ్వనిపిస్తావు .
Hotmail use చేసి solid గా మంటెకిస్తావు .
Orkut open చేస్తే notifications లా కనపడతావు .
Google+ circles లో add చేసుకుని గుబ్బులే పుట్టిస్తావు .
Ibibo account లో నా photos అన్ని నింపేస్తావు .
Twitter tweets పంపి తికమకలలో పెటేస్తావు .
Skype call చేసి నా night నిద్రే పూర్తిగా దోచేస్తావు .
Yahoo mails పంపి ఏఖంగా నీ భానిసల చేసేస్తావు .
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 6:24 AM UTC
You send me e-mails everyday.
I hate it.
I hate you.
I'm a terrible liar.
I almost always don't mean what I say.
Here's the truth:
You're probably the most important person to me right now.
It scares me but I trust you.
I wanna know everything about you.
I want a trade of histories.
If I could be with you, I would.
but that's the thing..
You have to know where I'm coming from,
there is hesitation.
There are nights like this one,
where I am left confused,
where I entertain my doubts.
I am skeptical
but I long for you.
I am hesitant
but I speak the truth.
I want you to keep holding my hand,
I want to listen to music with you,
I want us to share triumphant struggles,
I want cozy mornings that smell of vanilla.
Of vanilla,
of dimmed lights,
of favourite songs,
there is much to say.
YOU:
An old soul
An old friend
A new love
These are my thoughts.
These are my feelings.
This is my life,
wipe your shoes and step right in.
Pache Paredes
May 2012
[email protected]
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 4:59 AM UTC