"notification" poems
Almost asleep when my phone ticked;
'A notification,' it says.
Your name was there, you liked my photo.
And my stomach drowned in butterflies—
Scratch that—moths, surely they're moths.
Stronger, buzzier, like your power
To occupy and stay in my brain
With that single heart emoji beside your name.
Thinking that the double tap
Is as if you love me just the same.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
We haven't talked in awhile
Your voice like silk
Bringing a smile with it
Something I haven't done for months
I talk to you on Twitter
The bird a messenger to our secret conversation
Every time a white message box pops up
Every time I get a notification from you
My heart skips a beat
For every word you write, every sentence
Is worth the couple seconds it takes to read
We have a lot in common
We both have eating disorders
That couldn't be more different
We love the same music
As we rock out on Facetime
And laugh at my shyness and stupidity
Yet without social media
We would have never met.
I would never have smiled.
I would never have lived.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
10:00 A.M.
Battery: 100%
12:00 P.M.
Battery: 80%
2:00 P.M.
Battery: 67%
4:00 P.M.
Battery: 45%
6:00 P.M.
Battery: 30%
8:00 P.M.
Battery: 10%
10:00 P.M.
Battery: 0%
10:03 P.M.
Notification: You have one unread message:
from Andrea
"i love you ♥"
10:03 P.M.
...
Battery: 100%
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
Ignore the itch you can't scratch deep in the palm of your hand.
Ignore the morning alarms, just sleep right through them.
Ignore the sound of the coffee bubbling over, let it spill.
Ignore the toothpaste stain on your new shirt.
Ignore the voicemail notification, who listens to them anyway?
Ignore the mailman at the mailbox, he didn't really say hello.
Ignore the stare of the drunk man in your lobby.
Ignore the morning brigade of children running behind you.
Ignore the damage your heels are doing to your feet.
Ignore the whistle from the man half your height.
Ignore the traffic light, the cars are going the other way.
Ignore the loud honk from the trucker as he speeds off.
Ignore the liquor store, and the desire to take a shot.
Ignore the "Baby let me talk to you," from the **** wannabe.
Ignore the text message, don't let them know you have a phone number.
Ignore the cigarette smoke invading your lungs.
Ignore the baby boy getting slapped by his mother.
Ignore the bakery with the tres leches cake you like.
Ignore the bank, you're probably broke.
Ignore the homeless woman, she just wants to buy drugs.
Ignore the Facebook notification, just another ALS challenge.
Ignore the time, you're at work early.
Ignore the habits, listen to your conscience and speak loudly and clearly.
You are so much more than ignorant.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
She furiously takes notes in geometry class
He throws a paper plane across the room
She gets out her neatly written homework
He gets out a scratch paper with drawings on it
She maintains straight A's
He's lucky to get a D+
She has a strict curfew of 9:00 pm
He stays out all night
She daydreams about what could be
He steps up for what he wants
She reads Shakespeare
He reads... Well he doesn't
She drives the latest model of the Honda civic
He's lucky if his '76 Toyota will start
She's only loved honor students
He's only loved her
She pays no attention to him
He begs for her notification
She graduates top of her class
He barely gets by
She goes off to college
He stays and becomes a mechanic
She marries rich and lives wealthily but bitterly
He regrets the concealed feelings he never shared
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
Picking up the phone
To see none notification
Put it back down
Wondering what you might be doing
Don't know exactly what I want
But I am sure I want to talk
To you
About nothing
So
Would you like
To talk
To me, too
About nothing
Or everything
I don't mind
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
<>
for the early morning teach
<>
she's young, beautiful and thinks her life is cursed,
in the past, subject of some of my poems, her health to nurse,
yet, as is normative, you fall into & out of a well of touch,
until you accidentally once again path cross,
she provides a precision mathematical status update
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
it is 1:38AM for you,
the not unnoticed ironic minute and hour
when the night ether has prematurely worn off,
rising time close but not nearly close enough,
a dark dose of a sleeping nurse's aide seems inappropriate,
and TV reruns seem like an insult to your brain
instead you turn on some belle string musique,
a Grande Messe des Morts,
a chorus,
singing a high mass for the dead,
while opening all your various email luggage and baggage,
smiling as you read a poetess's message of
laughter behind tears
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
and Mississippi ******
your uncontrollable mixed drink of her emotional
Grenada grenade cocktail,
flavored with musique, paintings, and words and a nearby beloved's
gentling sleep sounds,
has you writing your own protest poem,
your very own,
oy vey, grande messe,
about lives that were supposed to be
pictures of perfect artistry
and for but a word or two,
instead, a painting of a life that got hung upside down,
and indeed,
leaving a grand mess and no one to help clean up
alternatively weeping, laughing as you are thinking,
smiling recall
Laurel and Hardy's summary definition
of living a life's of ill begotten, misventured adventures:
"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into !"
but 38% worse?
not an even-steven rounded up 40%,
should I write you only 38% of a poem, teach?
or more accurately, more mathematically,
138% of what was writ before?
and you recall your older, prior words
about the love hate affair between
you poet,
and the beauty of written brevity
(her style)
and you give her this then,
this rambling, scrambled, attention paid notification,
word attentiveness, a summary of your readings
of her cheddar sharp and honey mustard sweet retorts of
pained poetry,
it is insufficiently but perfectly sufficient,
a summarizing phrase that opens
and yet
briefly encapsulates all that
you are feeling for her
"thinking of you"
or the 38% larger version thereof -
***"Well, here's another 38% more
nice poetic mess
you've gotten me into!"***
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
do any of you get a rush of elation
starting from that first notification
that sense of peer validation
from a selfie with a random quotation?
it fills me with so much frustration
that i can't go a single days duration
without posting content for admiration
each time needing more and more adoration
with each and every notification
for my self-esteem's preservation
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
(1)
I posted a poem
at hello poetry -
and what happened?
Somebody started following me
I received a "notification"
(I can’t say “much to my gratification”)
that someone started following me
I think it went something like:
“Naked Blueberry started following you”
(2)
Oh what did I do?
What did I dodo?
All I did was to post a poem
and not a word from you -
O cruel menacing follower -
not a comment
not an expression of your displeasure
but you started following me
What did I do?
What did I dodo?
(3)
Sure
I may tell bad jokes
and write verse
that daily gets worse
Yeah, I may look ugly like I stole
a look from my fav Mad magazine
and once in a while I say something
about organisations -
but does that warrant you
following me
and transforming me into
a near-nervous wreck?
O Naked Blueberry
what did I do?
What did I dodo -
why do you follow me, you naked stalker?
I lie in bed now afraid
and my wife worries that
I cry out often in sleep:
“Hence, You Naked Succubus -
Follow me not!”
And I dare not approach my car
but after looking under bonnet
and boot and below the carriage
I dare not write a word now
but fear that you and your agents
will follow and stalk me
with ne’er a word, ne’er a warning
At least tell me, please O follower
O Naked Blueberry, O Protean Terminator
O **** Redberry
and all the others in various guises
(I know you guys are all one person,
namely Lily Raw and Ready)
- tell me why you follow,
show me cause of your anger
O what did I do?
What did I dodo?
What should I do?
What should I dodo?
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC
Siri. Type this:
More memories. Less Facebook moments.
Let’s go back to concerts filled with lighters — warm seas of flame,
instead of stadiums filled with phones and waves of blue light that keeps us from sleeping at night.
Our phones, it looks like we’re all telling one big ghost story around the campfire — our faces lit up from underneath in the dark.
It’s like a part of our bodies, a mollusk’s shell,
That we won’t outgrow until it’s torn from us and we’re eaten, still fresh.
It’s like we call it Facetime because that’s what we need, but don’t have.
Since when is being viral a good thing?
Viral means an infectious disease.
Viral Viral Viral.
I feel like I need a ****** just to surf the web.
I honestly can’t have a conversation with a person
without toying at my phone anymore.
We post our beautiful stories on snapchat,
the colorful blurred days of our lives,
and let it slip away into the ether.
Your stories are still interesting even after 24 hours.
Seeing that red notification, knowing I’m special, I’m wanted, I’m special.
when it turns out to be another Farmville invite.
Talk about crutches. Nitze called religion a crutch but at least religion helps people walk. Phones make people run into things.
I wonder if the New Messiah will have a social media account.
We are so close to just hooking up our phones to traveling robot vehicles and navigating our world from our home.
The future’s hangouts will be phones arranged in a circle
on a table,
all on Facetime,
as we take shots,
in our rooms alone.
Jerry smiles because he isn’t wearing pants
but no one can tell.
Our phones only show what’s on top.
Please share this poem, by the way.
For videos of my reading my poems, visit https://mateilatte.wordpress.com/content/poetry/
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
The tags say, "Dry Clean Only" but I didn't have time before I left.
So now my favorite purple sweater, the one with the elbow patches, smells like you and filet mignon.
Rewind.
July:
"Congratulations, it's a match!" Reads my tinder notification.
Little did I know, I'd actually like you.
Little did I know you'd say you wanted something.
August:
I got your number, we planned on meeting up.
Our plans fell through, but we continued to talk and flirt anyways.
September:
I left for school, as did you.
Hundreds of miles away, you could tell there was something wrong through a text message.
You were there for me, everything I needed, you were it.
You told me you didn't just want someone to **** you wanted someone to love.
October & November:
The texts dwindled down to barely any.
All I wanted was for you to respond, or finally text me first.
We planned on meeting up for thanksgiving, you ignored me.
December:
Finals week approaches and I finally hear from you again.
You want to meet up for real this time.
We say, let's meet over break.
January:
You text me, four nights before I'm leaving again.
Tomorrow? You ask me, I obviously say of course.
Terrified, I think you're going to stand me up,
but when you finally walk into the Starbucks,
my heart drops.
This is actually happening.
You come back to my place, this and that happens.
You leave.
But what I didn't think is that we'd be back at square one.
Ignoring my texts, yet snapchatting me and liking my moments.
Now:
I run to rid you from my mind.
But yet you appear so vividly and I can hear your voice saying, "are you gonna come and get it?"
Just like you said that day.
So I never had the time to dry clean my favorite sweater, so it still smells of your cologne and filet mignon.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
I tried to be Insta-famous
Insecurities celebrated
Half naked, for the attention
High on pillies, money, vacation
With every notification
Filling the void behind my left breast
I worked for it
With body goals like this
Rock solid abs
Icon: fire and 100%
A whole snack
A girl that don't crack
Strip on that pic
Like Cardi B on that pole
Dancing around men
With the only goal of getting rich
Hurt them
Slight curl at the corner of my pillow lips
Ruin them
Feed the feed with self-admiration
It was the meds
or was it?
Inner ego
Remain incognito
Only every other photo
Only then you can show
How you could work that camera phone
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
I hovered down my cursor
Towards the Facebook icon
My senses were in fervor
For one notification.
I clicked the drop down button
That was drenched in crimson red
My mind had an implosion
As I decoded what it said.
Someone sent a game request
To me when time was lush
My day embarks another quest
In the game of candy crush.
A ticket, life, or power-up
Could be the thing I need
To clear the way and reach the top
And in the ranks I'll lead.
A move that swaps a jelly bean
Perhaps could form an "L"
A wrapper bomb then could be seen
Explosion it would spell.
Maybe an orange lozenge
Could pile in lines of four
A striped bomb could come in revenge
And wipe out lanes for score.
A bunch of yellow lemon drops
I'll surely link to five
In time a color bomb would pop
And clear the candy hive.
Heaps of lollipop heads in blue
And purple cluster sweets
Could get swept out in a row or two
By coco wheels or jelly fish.
How lovely it would be to see
A medley of combination
Bombs and power-ups in spree
To a rainbow candy motion.
Two wrapper bombs would be enough
To blast two groupings clean
Two striped ones make a checker stuff
Where blocks have ever been.
A wrapper and a color bomb
Blast off a certain hue
A color bomb and a stripe in clump
Stripe out some colors too.
Perhaps of all the tricks I've seen
The one that serves me great
A duo of color bombs would mean
The end of all the slate.
The sun may rise, the moon may set
I'll be there to sit and play
A sweet treat is all I need to get
And I'll complete my day.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Rolling over.
Pressing the home button on my phone
Awaiting a screen telling me of those notifications I missed during my slumber.
The time is 7:19, and there are no notifications.
I only anticipated one, from you.
Although the number isn't even saved, it's committed to my memory, but left anonymous to those that may try to find out.
I left you notifications, two, but neither were returned.
Back to this again.
He always had these random days where he'd disappear from me without a reason, and when I'd ask he'd offer a half *** apology that I could've lived without.
I never wanted to live without him however.
Oddly enough, he always asked why.
He wondered what kept me around through the half *** apologies and You have done what you had to do to get what you want, and it's almost yours.notification-less screens I always was mocked by.
I guess my love, but who was I kidding.
Maybe it was fear of being alone, sexually frustrated, unwanted. But I was those things even with his notifications, his apologies.
My mind is always in this reassuring "it'll all get better soon, and it'll be just like summer again."
Summer is here though, and he's not.
So what keeps me around?
It's 9:24 and I couldn't tell you.
I can only tell the time on this notification-less screen, never notified of where I went wrong.
Then my phone rings at 11:21.
In those seven minutes and 21 seconds the cycle begins again.
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
I keep my books open infront of me
Only to see the words flee
Zig-zag dancing with some circles around
Your thought kept me up to see the darkness surrounds
Trying hard to erase your memories from this stupid heart
But the pop-up notification lit up and your thoughts knock again!
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 11:49 AM UTC
Nobody mourn,
nobody get hurt
We just project
redirect the blame
and sink back
into interactions
with coping devices
of mass distraction
The artificial womb
of the masses
Tethered by an invisible
umbilical cord
feeding us way
too much
information
Like hungry ghosts
salivating
the next notification
We can’t run.
We can’t hide.
There’s a threat to survive,
But we’re so ******* desensitized
Seduced by the school shooter
we don’t hear him coming
singing siren songs
heart-beating shotgun blasts
That leitmotif
in sync with
The American Horror Story allegory
Just forget it
Too much in the queue
Too many new things
We can’t reject this reality
It’s really ******* broken
Em, I’m sorry we’re descending
Much Madness has lost its meaning
It’s just the means to
unlock an achievement
Emulate another scumbag.
romanticize a villain
amplify the bodycount
Like how many do you need to ***** out
before they give you the cover
of the Rolling Stone?
It's comedically-tragic,
Stranger than satire.
The Judge, the jury
Executioner cutie
cut all your losses for ya
cashed in your lil tax deductions
The most sacred snuffed out
before the light could become them
Get woke a-f,
This is enlightenment!
Come on get
your mind blown!
He’s the one who loves
to shoot his gun
But he knows not what it means
knows not what it means.
Do you know what it means?
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
They say facebook is a crime
For people who a have lot of time
But I’ll say I don’t have lot of time
Does that mean for me it is not crime?
You can’t learn to cook,
If you got facebook.
But if you cook
You share it on facebook
Fun wall,
Super wall,
You write everything that happened in the shopping mall
But why can’t you just say it ,by giving me a call
Chit, chat, chit, chat
You talk about what happen to that little brat
In the end, they can do nothing
All you can do, is keep on chatting
Uploading photos
Thinking maybe should add a few more logos
You post, they comment
Still you won’t be content
Update your status
Will not make famous
Sometimes you will feel hapless
Forget it,but just don’t be careless
So much notification
But it’s not the place to find real motivation
It’s the mentors’ with great education
So it’s not too late to reach a better destination
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 4:04 AM UTC
A World Without Wi-Fi
»by Megha Elizabeth Koshy.
-------------------------------------
The people in the world
Like machines they go
With tiny commanders
On their palms
At the streets, at the malls
At the office, at the homes.
Some even chattering to their buddies
At the next door!
People behave like dummies
Who carefully keep ears sharp
To there notification tones,
But never to their mummies!
Kids who pay attention for their
Comments and likes
But never bother to brush their teeth twice!
People are slaves of technology
Like electronic gadgets
If not plugged in they run out of life.
Now just imagine....
A World Without Wi-Fi
For one single day
People may fall sick
And some will even die!
--------------------------------------
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 2:51 PM UTC
a missed call notification lingers on my phone, taunting me in the small moments, reminding me of opportunities lost. A single minute voicemail replayed a hundred times. Your voice seeping into my marrow growing cold as it lingers. It's all I have left, all of you that remains. A notification, a reminder, a promise that just hours before it all, I was what occupied your mind.
A.C.
Sep 9, 2021
Sep 9, 2021 at 2:47 AM UTC
you have ruined me for everyone else
every text, i think is you
every call
every "notification"
every doorbell, every knock,
every word belongs to you
you have ruined me for everyone else
or perhaps,
you've ruined everyone else
for me.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
I got mad,
made suicidal tweets on twitter,
then I get a notification.
You, a friend who I haven't talk to for a long time,
direct messaged me,
and ask me if I was alright.
I felt happy in that moment,
that someone cared.
And that someone was you.
You called me after,
assured that I do not harm myself.
We talked for an hour and i never felt so happy.
Thank you,
for calling me,
Thank you for listening.
If you hadn't,
I would have scars and,
My demon would have been dancing in happiness tonight.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
You: it is 2:10 am
Me: Eastern Standard Mystical Time, yup...
You: why are you up, writing?
Me: the drugs wore off
You: *** the drugs?
Say it ain't so, kiddo?*
Me: yup, I did engage
with some strong stuff
ce soir, the woman too,
and she is drowning in her dreams.
Easy and cheap,
scored some us some................
Asian Fusion
Thai Food, Indonesian small plates...
You: idiot!
Me: just answering your question
You: so where is this poem, shaman?
Me: You!
You: Me?
Me: yup.
You are my early morning poem,
which I have entitled Notification: You!
Notification
I am deeply unsure.
Am I notifying you,
or am I notifying myself?
Lost command of my
native language,
the emotions too strong,
Blue Java
the color of my word blood,
strong swirling,
uncontaminated by cow's milk,
but by cows jumping over the moon,
who have come to give me gifts of
Notifications.
*Hey ****** ******
The Cat and the fiddle,
The Cow jumped over the moon.
The little Dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the Dish ran away with the Spoon*
Perfectly clear to me.
I am the Spoon,
You are the Dish.
(Shaman, Shaman, hey man,
you still sound drugged,
we urgent need some clarifications!)
When I wake up,
uncertain about a slew,
a portmanteau
of important life~things,
*(Example: when should I
Capitalize a word,
a life, a me, a You?)*
there are strangers,
Strangers still,
yet strangers no more,
sending me uncoded messages
intended to decode me,
Notifications,
they are called,
and they
Explode me.
capsules of comments
that encapsulate me,
emasculate my speaking abilities,
reduced to rolling in the gutter,
guttural cries to emit and utter,
man, I got friends I never met,
and that's ok
we just notify each other
thinking of you
and no more words necessary
life is groovy...
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
When I hear that electronic chirp of sophisticated miniature machinery
I get excited because I think its you
I shouldn't
I have a momentary notification of
heavy disappointment when its not
You poke around my brain
There is no reason for me to feel this way
I know only artificial rays of light entering your eyes
You shouldn't hold such high status in mine
I am nothing to you in actuality
and you should be nothing to me
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 6:36 PM UTC
A man sits diagonally in front of me
to my left in the diner
Over his shoulder, I see
he’s navigating Facebook
on a cheap laptop
Behind him, I’m writing this poem
Every 13 seconds a notification rings
He has a Facebook message
The notifications are messages from a woman
She types heart shapes in place of words
It is the standard online flirtation
that has replaced real relationships
He is quite popular
as he eats toast with purple jelly
and sits alone
People once came to diners
to chain smoke cigarettes
and drink pots of coffee
and think
and talk
and read poetry
We didn’t have much
but we had each other
Now we’re individuals
who sit in silence
alone
Some of us get chat notifications
Some of us write poems
All of us still get the coffee
and the toast
with purple jelly
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
I am a series of problems, you see.
I am that annoying song stuck in your head, the reason you can't get to sleep. I am the creepy girl in some horror movie that you swear you keep seeing around town, and the notification you got a little too late. I'm the embarrassing email you just sent, the one simple word you misspelled on an otherwise perfect paper, I am the stain you didn't know you had on the shirt you got two weeks ago. I am your work that nobody else seems to appreciate, and I am the voice in your head telling you that you are not good enough. I'm the grammar problem spell checks don't pick up on, I am the big piece of cake you promised yourself you wouldn't eat, but ate anyway. I am the ****** you won't pick in public and the moment your favorite cousin opens the birthday present you got her just to be very disappointed at what's inside. I am the thunder your dog is afraid of, the bikini you're too insecure to wear, the frizz of frizzy hair, I am the pair of jeans you had when you were younger that you wish your mom never gave away. I am your lost pair of favorite socks, a cavity, a weight gain.
I am your disaster, aren't I?
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC