Where are you Paul?
I'm in Cyberspace Mum.
My Pentium processor has broadbanded me
Into this wondrous realm.
A pixel powered virtual landscape
Peopled by avatars
Speaking Internet Slang.
FFS, *** are you talking about?
She asks.
In so many words.
I **** and ROFL at her incredulity.

It’s full of danger, that Internet, says Mum.
That’s true.
It’s full of paedophiles,
Spammers and trolls.
Hackers.
Chat-rooms and forums
Plagued by flame-wars
And spam enough to fill a trillion tins.
Sites full of viruses, Trojans, malware and spyware.
Cyber-bullies and loons abound.
But I just Love it.
A ****** addiction
Needing every fix.
A realm indeed of quantum singularities,
And imploding nebulae.

Paul Butters

(C) PB 3\9\2011 in Yorkshire.

This is great website, and I've met some lovely writers, and I hope to I meet even more - but *** are all these preaching comments???

I've never met a writing place with so many unofficial spammy preachers!!!

I don't need ******* preaching at!!!

How do you know I need salvation - maybe I'm already saved - have you thought about that?  Or maybe I'm just a blind idiot in your opinion.  But either way your pointless unfriendly and ungodly manner has zero effect. You've never met me - you know nothing about me.  From now on anyone who spam comments and preaches on my work gets instantly blocked - use your energy elsewhere.

And here's another thought: what if what I write is called creative writing - heard of that before have you?  Not everything I write is about me, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who does that.

Apologies to all the kindly beautiful writers on here - it takes a lot make me have a swearing rant, I guess I've just ruined my kind reputation.  Just had enough of the spam ****, and in my real life I NEVER tolerate idiots, and I won't here either.

I don't mind the mention of God as a personal view, I'm not God phobic, no problem with that, but just don't leave messages as though I know nothing and I need saving - I **** well don't.

Your sincerely
One very ******* writer

Is HP now a T.V guide?
It drives me to distraction
to see these adds on the front page
when I want some poem action.
Our poets are all writing
and posting stuff to read
but the room is being taken up
by adds for crap tv.
So listen up dear spammers
this warning you should heed
shove your ****** adverts
anywhere but on my feed!!

calling IV

calling all truck drivers
calling all car dealers
            all scuba divers
            all potato peelers
            all mothers
            all sons
            all brothers
calling all who’ve won
            all losers, users, and just
            all perusers of rusty lust
calling all criminals
            all those who’ve tussled and cussed

calling all mechanics
and all whom, in them, trust
calling all politicians
for i must

beg of ye to see this infinity in we

calling all ministers of high finance
            all fragile tendencies toward your dance
            with your blossoming children
            and their salty breezes
            their blown into kerchiefs
            and their seizing sneezes
            seeing you as you carry them toward
            our unifying dust
            i hold no ill will toward that soil you till
            i’ve passed around your notes, your bonds,
            and your bills
            i’d thought i’d be one of you ‘til i met a few untils
            love your children, and love yourself,
            for they shall carry your ashes
            into a box upon a shelf
            that dust behind all wealth

calling all foxes, dogs, cats, chickens, and beetles
            all sages, rosemary, spikes, and needles
            all wages, incendiaries, wallops, and weebles
            all pages, all poets
            all police, all panthers
            all those battling fires
            without and within
            all those atop towers
            all whom are twins
calling all wheels
                  upon all surfaces
                  all of those mired
                  in a sense of worthlessness
calling all kings
calling all nations
calling all jordan’s, americas, and native stations
                  we’re writing too much blood
                  into not enough ground
                  we’ve survived our flood
                  and are forever bound

calling brother abel and brother cain
            father abraham and mother pain
            you’ve traumatized me
            from all this blood you’ve lain
            i see peace in all your eyes
            blown to pieces in terrorizing replies

calling all consumers, producers, unionizers, and managers
                  corporations, and not for profit planners
                  all doctors, nurses, clients, and programmers
                  advertisers, marketers, bloggers, and spammers
                  all engineers of damns, bridges, and destructions
                  those who fell they’re ****** due to their suctions
                  i’ve sensed a fragile beauty in your moistened orbs
                  you all carry
                  i beg of you all to come from love
                  lay down your swords
                  i beg you not tarry
                  come women laying into asphalt
                  come scientists predicting san andreas’ fault
                  come widows, charlatans, and poets of trite
                                                                 all ye poets weeping into ye hands
                                                                 all ye poets of darkness and light
                                                                 perfect light and darkness are myths upon this earth
                                                                 just as perfect black and white
                                                                 are myths spun from history’s dearth

clandestine calculations on ticker tape streamers
add to up to nothing in the vast scheme of time and space

when words fall from trees like levees breaking,

**** it

girl scouts to the rescue, if cookies can float
lined with sand bag intentions while rising waters
recede faster than the hairline of the mayor pro tem
collecting donations as his sister jumps rope
tied to the anchor of his city washing down the street

cleaning the gunk and glitz from gutter spammers
stealing passwords and paper boats
from unsuspecting children taking the day off from school
because the rains came and lemon trees no longer leaked
when anyone was looking,

ah lemon trees,

very pretty

and it's sorting the wheat from the chaff
that makes me want to laugh
as we speed type the end of the world.

some weird fascination with radicalisation
and the spammers are hammering it home,

nowhere is safe anymore,
if you
pop into next door for a chat
like we used to
they'll shoot you,

the sign reads
no trespassing and no forgiving allowed.

keep off the grass can kiss my ***
no ball games
dogs on leads
do not feed the pigeons
mind the gap
it's all krap
wear a mask
don't wear a mask
you can get vaccinated
you don't need to ask
keep six feet apart
and
breathe through your ****
stay safe and secure
unless you are poor
and then it's tough *****
life in the city
*****.