"router" poems
The router's a strobe light;
I can't connect.
The microwave fritzed,
I can't heat.
The circuit shut;
guess no electricity.
Ayo no technology.
Let's talk ancient
philosophy,
NOT whether
Beyonce is a feminist.
Let's have a bonfire
and roast meat
cause none of us
were vegan
before this.
Let's light candles
in the streets.
Pray batteries die
on LCD screens.
Cause we were alchemists
before technology,
the versed probing
the multiverse,
thrilled,
lighting our golden
embroidery on life.
Now were just bored.
Coy toys to tied strings,
webs that touch
everything,
but the space between.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
In our world technological,
Here's how to talk to gadgets digital,
"Now, listen up, keyboard and router,
Not to mention dysfunctional mouser...
Are you listening to me carefully?
(I am talking to them, but silently),
I do have replacements for each of thee,
I see a future ahead of you three,
Tossed into the gaping jaws of a bin,
off to the council tip, repository of sin,
Did you hear that? Listening in,
Stop trying to do my head in!"
Now they're behaving dutifully,
Technology responding beautifully,
"I'm warning each one of thee,
No more messing around with me!"
Yes, how to talk to technology!
(But make sure you do it silently!)
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Instead of foraging around making connections
with cables and wireless systems that
bluetooth and sync their way
into our pocket technologies
and portable screens
(tablets of which we self-prescribe
and regulate through overdose
and comatose keenings of stillness
and waking dreams)
why, instead
don’t we fool around
making connections
with others of like mind and brainwaves
instead of radiowaves and
the mastered minds of computer waves
and lift an arm and
really wave
beyond our windows to
real people
in real time
rather than peeping
like a holographic Tom through
tabs and browsing windows,
multi-tasking time in a state of mime
like it’s about to expire
(like the wireless wires will break)
and all that we’ll have is
all we can physically take
from this moment awake we call ‘life’
– a mistake.
What else is left now
in this vegetative
one man one woman state
where we live to close our eyes
and shut our minds and wait for
the modem-router to re-dial and
get our avatar back online and
our friends back into our
multi-dimensional realer-than-time
time?
Pseudonyms solving identity changes
emerge without birth
with designer non-faces, as
now that we no longer need imperfection
or meaning or privacy
or even perception
we alter ourselves to impress our connections
with whom we connect without really connecting
by hiding as one almost nearing detection
and tip-toeing straight past
concern or reflection
(invisible firewalls at our protection)
our own walls around us
with keys we can capslock,
screening ourselves from unfriended friends,
and playfully sated by charm and ‘pretends’
that will mean next to nothing
when fantasy ends.
Where ARE the connections we make
in this digital age
that we rarely turn off since
the internet craze has become a new God
that we dial to be saved
as we sacrifice friends we once made
face to face
with those we are longing to meet
as we race across networks
with hunger and haste and
with spambots and data and viruses made
to detect and infect
and reject, just for starters,
and that’s not to mention
the ads and the logins and
passwords that lock us
from somewhere far yonder
that doesn’t exist
as we grow ever fonder
of pics and of pixels and
texts of expression
– the reality of which
we could lose in a second.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
Enter: Insecure like your neighbor's router.
The girl next door vs. an identity crisis
Caught in the torment of her name
Konfusion
The Konstantine of your dreams
In a nightmare of reality
The relationship
She fell out of
To follow a polluted path
To become
A misled materialized martyr
After
He says to her,
Something misogynistic
about her role
Or what he thinks he can control
To put her in her place
She's just a pawn on his chessboard
Never a Queen he should be fighting for
Using her body as a human shield
to avenge his own shadows
Exploited.
This is their daily
He's the blade
And she's the self-harm
Tracing the anti-battlescars
Writing love on her arms
Just when the knife couldn't cut any deeper
Somewhere between
Too far
And fillet o' soul
She had enough
but didn't break
Just felt her ego pull
Broken/Free
She packed her eternal baggage
And hit the runway
Running on the emptiness inside.
Fueled by frustrations
To keep the fire burning
Before she doused herself in the elixir
A hungry ghost
purging patience
In spite of everything
Soon to be made up
And lined up for the onslaught
Led to slaughter what dignity she has left
She says, "Oh, but I'll show him now. I'm not his precious little prize"
...
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
I. Prologue
Splash words across: images on canvas.
Before Abraham was, I am:
the cubist of poets. Mangled and tangled;
Here thoughts emerge, in reverent perspectives.
The real world: how many dimensions,
depends on who you ask; Monotone
in my unidimensions. Filter. Baritone.
Coffee-brown is the best colour around.
II. Love
Here we sit by two-arms distance. To north,
to south. Facing opposing poles.
There is an attraction.
Here are images from the industrial world
gone post-industrial. Broken commodes.
Outsource your misery here. The sky can afford
a hole from on here. As long as
there's none in my shoe.
Sometimes, I roll over in waves.
Sometimes, you wave over.
Questions still hidden in the corners.
III. Peace
All that's passed remains flickering
green like the wireless router
silently at nights: recover, play it over.
Flush it all up. Splash it all around. Cubism.
Art nouveau. Portmanteau. Now fruck the world.
Neon shades rippling through the smoke
riding out dancing to metal clang;
Crazy laughter like that of an empty skull:
smoke the pipe, brother,
spread the peace around. 2013, stupid.
Idealism died in 1967. And many times since.
Repeats always a farce.
IV. Spirit
Only one man died for the poor.
Who called the dead to life.
All other stories are about barons and hedgehats:
while the millions were ground over
to oil the world. While they roiled the world.
How the poor die under the heels
of those that claim to love that man?
Disagree? Drone. Agree? The throne.
Yes, we can, brother, we can defeat this
****** corruption. Brother,
be not corrupt.
V. Prospect
A sigh of disapproval, soft in sleep.
I come and lie, back to your back,
waiting for love to seep over.
Yes, we can, brother, we can overcome
bigotry vile. Brother,
say not, mine, the only way ever.
Happy lovers day. Shout out aloud,
peans more to the meek women's rights.
Forget not, there's some in your sights.
Two arms' distance is about the right in the day.
There are two faces seen in this bubble,
formed at the mouth of the tooth paste tube.
Peace to the world, every morning after.
Every little home by home.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
Telephone scams are driving me crazy--
Both on my landline and on my cell!
I'm on the verge of telling every
Pesky caller to go to hell!
The IRS is after me.
Oh, the message sounds so dire.
The person says I'd better respond
Or I will be in big trouble. Liar!
Or a recording tells me that my
Router has been hacked, and so
If I don't call them right away,
They'll shut my router down. Oh, no!
A caller claims he's from HP
And says that they know for sure
That my computer has a virus.
I want to say he's full of manure.
Another swears he's calling from
The FBI, demanding money
Because I'm being investigated.
I must pay, or else! Funny!
Because you've managed to make our lives
So miserable, scammers, I swear:
There has to be a special place
In hell for you. You'd better beware!
-by Bob B (8-23-18)
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
Hie Yamaha Wegman ****** voyager, voted vonage valuable, unrepentant TIME Magazine subscriber. Spotify sportsman Snapchat smartly. Sleuth slenderman silences Shutterfly schvitzing. Saxby sassy Santander sais sage rues rudimentary router rotorooter.
Royale Rococco rigged remarkably regular referee reefers red reddit reeder recuperating. Reconnaissance recluse really rabid. QVC quotient quoting, quo quoi quivering quite quirky. Quisling quipped. Quintuplets quintessentially quiet. Quids Quicken questions.
Quartermaster qualified quaint quaffing quadrilateral Pythons. Pyrex pylons put purdy purposeful puny punsters punching. Pumpkin pumice publicized prudential protean pros properly pronouncing prolific prodigies.
Proletariats professors' problematic. Pro privileges prioritized. Principle primates prevaricate. Preppy pregnant, praying prattler possibly Porgie. Poseidon pooping poodle ponders poppycock. Plum? Polite poison pods ply pitiful pinterest.
Pinhead Pillsbury pillager Pi. Pigskin pierce petsmart pests permanently. Perdition percolates peppered PennState pedigreed PearlJam Patagonian. Pastor pastes passion passably. Papas' paginated orbitz okayed. Nutty node needs money.
Next netzero nee naugahyde. Nattering nationwide nabob Moxie Molly McGee. Monosodium livingsocial joyus je kickstarter. Identityguard Huffington GMO. Gluten Glutamate footloose fancy free footlocker. Fingerhut fetishistic fabrication Cingular.
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
feels liberating
these little first world problems
resolved by unsubscribing
from an annoying mailing list
or deleting an aged account
that is useless, created on a whim
filling in-boxes with spam and junk
killing social media links,
paring back digital presences
all with the idea
of spending less time farting about
more time creating, living, reading
but they **** you back
with 2 for 1 deals, 10% off,
free for a month, look we’ve added
some **** and yeah, it costs more, but
our life will be better with it
so the rest of the night
is filled with creating spam filters
more unsubscribing, more account deletions
until someone recommends you sign up for
the new revolutionary internet saviour
the be all and end all of all your woes
it will make you stronger, faster, more
organised, less likely to drink yourself
to sleep each night, give you the power
of 10 rhinos, and the ****** prowess of
a puma!
probably best to disconnect now
turn off the router, unplug the modem
get your **** the old fashioned way
before they tie your nervous system
to the silicon pathways
and advertise to your dreams
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 8:23 AM UTC
Reset pv4 pin ID add host lvl
with my broken concentration,
while the reboot computes and
command prompt prefers
and no I don't have the router,
but yes I'm an administrator.
Who is in charge,
and who is punishing me?
Superstition sends me around back into the
Ground beef while I'm repenting of my sins
to get my hard drive running smoother,
like it's a catholic father
who just gets crotchety in the presence of gigabits
and lil ***** who won't behave
and condemns this piece of crap to an early grave.
Oh, but maybe it's just I need to unscrew and then pull out and blow off and put back in...
doubting it all again and a big circle starts anew.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
Even my coffee needs a pep talk,
For I feel no relief when the
caffeine kicks in.
I know the tools
Time heals;
Not all wounds
Are bad memories to ****
Yet I go to war defeated
Escape in the world of dreams,
Only to wake up even more
drained.
Time heals, they say, but how
much time — when it seems
infinite.
Switched off the router today,
Waited a few seconds
Maybe my energy will start
blinking
again.
Not yet,
Dear friend.
Be patient,
The sun has not set.
My coffee just kicked in, and I can
still write a poem.
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 8:38 AM UTC
It's D-Day.
Essay due.
Some foolish theorem on:
"Relativity & You"
All typed up,
ready to print.
God I hope the printer,
Still has some ink.
****
No luck.
and
the switch is stuck
on colour.
F*ck.
E-Mail maybe?
The Net'll save me!
I think the bills been paid lately.
Router on:
Cursor gone,
Mouse has died,
Keyboards fried,
Oh what a wonderful way
To start a College day.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
Right now,
it smells like old, crumbling stories
from the bookshelves out in the hall
there's a Barbie cup on the desk where I sit
cradling pens that for years have gone unnoticed and unused
I'm surrounded by photos
of young people now old and old people now dead,
and across from me is that faulty router
that brought me up here in the first place
Sometimes there is nothing to write beyond the ordinary
no beauty to behold, no story to be told
and all that is left to capture is
life as it is
before it fades a w a y
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Apparently
the lines are down
and communication is ******
No way to get through
and I find myself here
sitting so deeply stuck
I only wish
To somehow create
a telephone line
straight to your heart
to tune it up
and tune it in
to fix it
make it
spew sparks
I want to ensure
that the lines will work
No matter how, no matter when
In all weather conditions
Or natural disasters
Floods or tornados
Wild winds that whip
Will not stop us
I want us to have
easy access
to those thoughts and words
that seem to fly
with witchlike magic
into our brains
into our minds
and directly into my lines
making me so high
What shame to be cut off
when the router has already found you
Your satellite
is floating around the planet
of my heart
and I am sending signals...
even if they are made from smoke
I care not
As long as they reach you
in the right place
at the right time
As long as you know
that somehow---
You're divinely
mine
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
If I were a lantern
I'd light your way
I'd keep you company
At the end of everyday
If I were a kayak
I'd get you home safely
No matter the weather
Currents are rough lately
If I were an umbrella
I'd keep you dry
I may attract lightning
But only a few times
If I were a chef
You'd have perfect dinner
Everything so tasty
You might start wishing you were thinner
If I were a house
You'd have a home
Cozy at best but
You'd never be alone
If I were a statue
I'd watch over you
Perhaps a little eerie
But its what I'd like to do
If I were a wifi router
You'd have unlimited speed
No waiting for hours
Instantaneously download your needs
If I were a lover
I'd be the cheesiest one
Flowers, chocolates, jokes
Whatever you want for fun
If I were a millionaire
You'd never need a thing
I'd take care of all your needs
Only a smile you need bring
If I were an actor
I'd struggle I admit
I don't like being fake
For you I'd do it for the bit
If I were a teapot
Your cup would always flow
Energized or relaxed
Either way I've got honey ready to go
If I were an outlet
I'd charge your cords
Endless hours of digital entertainment
so you are never bored
If I were in love
The ink would fill my pen
But it seems I'm not
So it's random thoughts until then
Aug 15, 2025
Aug 15, 2025 at 1:54 PM UTC
Do you remember Y2K?
The panic we all felt?
Everyone was going nuts
Expecting the world to end.
Computers ran the world “they” said,
And as the day drew near,
"All numbers will return to zeroes,
Crash all systems—we’ll be dead!"
No one knew how to respond,
So, we prepared for emergency;
stashed away food, water, batteries
Then partied like t'was 1999
and waited to be Y2Ked.
Didn't happen, we panicked for nothing.
2000 came and went.
It was all a big, fat, nothing-burger
Until last week; and then
Wednesday, 10/2/ Twenty-Nineteen,
When they checked the power at work,
Our wireless routers didn't like it--
quit working just to be mean.
For three days and countless hours
Chef instructor/IT man scrambled
To find out what was wrong with our routers
To learn why our network was dead.
Try after try, while we waited and prayed,
Late on the 4th connections were made.
Nineteen years too late, router clocks were all zeroes,
We finally found out, we'd been Y2Ked!
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC
watching Zïzëk expound
upon the death of capitalism
when the router crashes
and turns the philosopher
into frozen pixels
leaving the rest of us
with something to do
besides Wifi philosophy.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC
the sound of silence
ironically, can be deafening
the dead of night
a lamp is on
the cars **** past
on streets with crunchy snow
the crickets chirp
an owl goes hoot
but everything is still
albeit all inanimate
well, i suppose
the wifi router dot does blink
and the little hand on the clock
it doesn't tick, a modern kind
just rotates and keeps the time
the cats asleep
no padding paws
but the crickets chirp
and the cars **** past
its not dead silence
whatever it is
its deafening.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
As I lie on my bed, my eyes dart to the ceiling. The ambiance was a mixture of the cold breeze from the air conditioner and the warmth of the darkness; having only a faint green light from the router as it kept on blinking. I roam my eyes and observe the shadow of the guitar as it hangs on the wall. My senses felt in rhythm as the ticking of the clock echoed. In my mind was only one question, why did we not try? Are we that cold enough not to feel any sign of love expressing? Are we too blind to journey in the dark with a dying flashlight? Are we scared of those harmless shadows that watch us? Or are we scared to be a little late as we feel the time being wasted? Please tell me why, why did we not try?
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 10:27 AM UTC
I see
I see pictures on a blank canvas.
I see images inside your image.
I see the tranquility within the madness.
I see a beautiful world only I can envisage.
I see words where none are written.
I see winter gardens on a mid-summers afternoon.
I see Macintosh before it was ever bitten.
I see colours of sunlight when all illumination is from a moon.
I see history designing your future.
I see the past repeating here and now.
I see technology; forever advancing roots of a router.
I see an empty space, with floating ice mountains in the background.
I see Fuji rising over Emoji.
I see all in jigsaw pieces.
I see connections where no attachment should be.
I see the perpetual wave;
Beauty never ceases.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
Robots
boot up each morning,
strap on their combat boots
and ride into the battle
of prattle.
Floods of wireless information burn
their wires, blow their fuses.
With fusions and acquisitions
they acquire higher
positions.
Detrimental turnover data talk turns
them over, upside down,
up and down the escalators
till they escalate,
deviate.
Spiked punch in one hand they punch
their boss in the face,
face trial, try
rehab: habitually helps reboot.
En route …
They learn that living without wires rocks,
they figure figures rock their world no more,
they shed their armor, breastplates, hard as rocks,
when inspiration comes knocking at their door.
They learn to cherish nature, the divine,
their limbs grow flesh where only metal dwelt,
so do their cheeks flash in a healthy shine
and from their lips a firy spell is spelt.
They sculpt and paint do yoga and restore,
their empty batteries, their fuses blown
they blow their money at the wellness store,
And finally, anew they find their own.
Afresh they get back home, where bills grew roots
they turn their router on, strap on
their combat boots.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 3:06 AM UTC