"tirade" poems
Happy birthday.
Another year has gone by
And hopefully well spent.
I haven’t seen you this year,
Nor will I see you the next time I wish you a happy birthday.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen your face at all.
Or heard your voice,
Listened to your laugh,
Or seen your smile.
What happened?
What happened to us?
Why did we pull apart like we did?
I mean, I know why I walked away.
I walked away for my own sanity.
But you,
You don’t have an excuse.
No, you just walked out.
You just walked out and left me here.
Left me alone.
Left me broken and hurt and scared and sad.
Not knowing what in the hell to do with myself.
You left me here to bleed out.
But that was years ago, right?
So what?
The past is the past.
Doesn’t matter now.
Okay, I’ll accept that.
I’ll pick myself up and I’ll walk on.
But why is it that whenever I hear someone say my name
For a split second, I think it’s you?
Some days I’m disappointed when it’s not.
And other days
I hold my breath hoping it’s someone else.
Happy birthday.
Another year has gone by of you breaking promises.
Another year has gone by of you breaking hearts.
And treating the people that love you the most like ****
Happy birthday.
Even though you never call me on mine.
Even though I remember your birthday better then I remember how to breathe in the morning.
No matter how much I try to forget your birthday I’ll never get it out of my head.
I’ll always remember the day you were born,
I mean, how could I forget the day that my worst nightmare was born.
Happy birthday
To the one that crushed me.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday.
I repeat it as if it is a mantra to give me my sanity back.
You don’t have to answer my texts,
That’s fine.
I just want you to know that I’m wishing you a happy birthday.
And for every year that you have the same number
I will continue to wish you a happy birthday.
I you feel like responding, you will text back,
“Thanks.
How have you been?”
I will respond with,
“I’m doing fine,
How about you?”
And then you will go on a tirade for 20 or 30 minutes about how great your life is
Or how sad it is.
And then you’ll ask me,
“So, what've you been up to?”
And I’ll probably get one "I've been good" out before you say,
“Yeah, that’s nice.
It’s been good talking to you.
Bye.”
And I’ll sit there holding my phone in some state of shock.
I’ll try to replay the conversation.
Trying to replay every one of our conversations.
Trying to see where it went wrong.
Trying to figure out where the laughs and the “how are you”s and the “oh my gosh I missed you”s
Turned into “I can’t stand this conversation.”
“Make her shut up.”
“I have to go.”
Where did that switch happen?
Even though you treat me like **** and looking back you always have.
Even though you took the person I was and you pushed her away.
And you pushed her inside a box and stuck her in some damp closet where I couldn’t reach her.
Even though you turned me into someone I wasn’t.
Someone I didn’t want to be.
I will always wish you a happy birthday.
Cause even though you used me so much,
Part of me still hopes you love me.
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 2:40 PM UTC
be direct
direct me
*have I not,
but cannot more
be been strong for you,
so I teach you to teach the power
of strength by daring to ask*
ask me
i will create anything it is
in my power
to create for you
i will break anything for you
that needs to be broken
*old poet old brok-en asking that you keep on
asking, I need nothing broke, busted but still needing you,
needing you whole for me to be whole,
from that hole of dark, we share different sides,
I need you creating
you anew*
al green said
no one told us about the sorrow
no one told me about today
no one told me about tomorrow
if asking were my strength
this deadly blind balance
would not be my act
*but it is that you arrived here to survive here,
the balance is blind, but you are not,
you knew sorrow was a possible.
you want easy, I'll give you easy,
ask yourself above all,
what's next that
I want*
answering
l o v e...
i can answer
i can answer
***the old poet asks,
why is it this poem world always comes around to that
old tirade, that four letter word...the one you ask,
when is it
my turn, and I answer you twice,
for you asked and answered twice,
I do love you,
I do love you,
exactly as you are,
invisible but oh so visible to us all,
and that is why you must ask for
more, evermore,
never ceasing, believing this more
is due, due to you***
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
By all accounts he’s had a lifelong case of OCD.
“Donald was a disruptive tyke”- his teachers all agree.
He was not much of a scholar but, as a youth, excelled in sports.
As a builder and developer he was often seen in Courts.
When it comes to matters of the heart, he sadly is no wiser
He loves them and he leaves them. He’s a noted womanizer.
Oh, he pays them for their trouble; that much I will allow.
Still he’s never had compunction over breaking wedding vows.
Now he is our President and making noise on Trade.
If he doesn’t get his way beware his twitterverse tirade.
He's paying farmers Billions to forgo their tillage.
Hillary was wrong- It takes a child to raze a village.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
With your words that made me fly somehow.
But hidden within ur innerself its always been your sweetest lie.
Talking bout your dreams devouring me like ashes twisted and slowly disappearing.
The truth acts like a spirited-away. Letting it fly back to its inside.
There's this always inside of you. Something hidden and somethng blocked. Stopping you from outpouring what's inside.
Mind and heart was in despair. They were always contrary but hearing all! With your honesty, i know there is all the droppin of everythng. All numb but eyes were all blown. I cant stop it.
But all a could say. Everythng was fragile.
Revenge has always been part of the human soul. not in its anatomy form or any interior or exterior aspects.
But functioning with its own parts.
Its the anger! Where it all starts. Jealousy and hurt were the main stream and always end to suffering.
Thats all for love. We'd all be needing for us to feel even.
Just a pinch of happiness just to get fair for someone that we love but did somethng wrong within us breaking us. Attacking every tiny vessels which in the end, Turning us into an evil creature.
It was a buss - telling me it was that simple thing. Not to make it more bigger. But lets end this up.
Still it hurts,... Still. Its another woman. Such senstivity arising.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:48 AM UTC
Hold it!
whole ***
whale fitting
room
bowing walls
expanding spandex
seams stretched out of shape
lurid –
disturbed images play across the screen
biggest loser season MCMXVII
American dream with heavy cream
and spleenwiches
cleaning the crumbs,
bums long for an extra morsel
gnawing on dorsal fins
grinning, toothless, at least they have their figures
that figures says the emaciated diet queen
leave it to the homeless to be the only group
worthy of the runway –
starvation date
only the grumbling cuts the uncomfortable silence
empty bellies howl for nourishment
instead are fed meds and red licorice
which is immediately vomited
for fear of caloric inconsistency –
breathing adds blubber
to thighs and midriffs
marital spiff over the last cookie
sugar substitutes
substituting themselves for love and compassion
lashing out at the one above
fat girls with teary eyes cry
for just five more pounds
the dress fit in 1978 –
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
Visual delusions:
*Scrutinizing the acuity of
what is visualized.
But sight is only validated
by the morality glazed over.
Until narratives are edited
to mimic a reality of self delusion.*
Oral formalization
*Dictation versed within syllable
delusions, never sounding
the reflection of thought to breath.
But sour exhalation collects on
vacant windows, spelling other
than what is breathed outwards.*
Auditory silence
*Auditions drummed within,
echoing on shallow walls,
nothing wrote within
A tirade of failures woven with
three perceptions. Collective ignorance*.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
I sorta sleep in my underwear.
Another lie.
I sleep in the ****
when I have the energy
to remove the day's toil off of my
skin, which is not so easy.
No special creme, cleanser.
too tired to tirade, living life,
fall in to bed worn,
shoes et. al., the ones that need soles.
you already knew that.
wake up in the dark.
start to disrobe,
and soon enough, *******
another poem done.
the poem of course is me ****
so you get to see what
is under what I wear.
So I sorta sleep in my under-what-I-wear,
is not exactly a lie,
just me dissembling^
and/or disassembling
another day in this life.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
Treacherously torrid torrential tempestuous
The warrior on the mountain confessed to us
Sordid sully suborn salacious
Only the worst will ever keep pace with us
In extremis extremity exigence exodus
Is the answer clear to all of us
Intuitional intrepid impetus intrigue
Spontaneity's tortoise trauma fatigue
Heuristic horizon hornswoggle huckster
Or just another cauldron muck stir
Mystical magical manumission mandate
That only the good would ever relate date
Fornicating fecund finite's fate
I can only hope it will be I rate
Tirade treatise's transpicuous treachery
Adjunct juxtaposition may get the best of me
Estranged ensemble's ethereal expletive
Won't be contained, like water in a sieve
Wanton wayward warrantee wrangled
And all of that surreal newfangled
Omnipresent omnificent omniscient omnipotence
How I wish I could float its boat sense
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 5:54 AM UTC
All weapons of
the fates you've sealed
Are no match for
this pen I wield
The power to
articulate
Ticking rhyme bombs
to detonate
The conflicts waged
gambling mankind
My perfect hand
is treaties signed
Hellbent hounds pray
like dogs, I hunt
Frontline this notebook
battlefront
With metaphors
of mindless drones
Like similes
to brainwashed clones
Whose C4 booms
and IED's
Can't build bridges
like ABC's
Or tear them down
with death regimes
By rusting through
the war machines
Flamethrowin’ my
verbal grenade
With ****** noun
scorched-earth tirade
On militant
cold-blood elite
King cobras know
I'm packing heat
Seeking missile
resolution
Winged raptor
devolution
Prehistoric
barbarism
Literacy
cataclysm
Stockpiling
extinction bones
We're cavemen carving
fallout stones
My Hiroshima
prose explodes
With nuclear
bushido codes
Released from my
katana's ward
To free my press
from shogun lord
Oppressing haiku
imagery
And samurai
epigraphy
Expressions of
my ronin soul
Omitted by
the daimyo
Satsuma is my
poetry
My final draft's
Nagasaki
Ink cartridges
strapped 'round my neck
I print no charge
or background check
And ****** every
live round free
Of innocent
blood elegy
And killing sprees
of gunned-down news
Domestic violence
black and blues
A Number 2
pencil dependent
Obsolete
lead-head amendment
Open carry
shoots a blank
Empty shell case
at my think tank
So grip this peace
then **** and pull it
**** my diction
write the bullet
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
I'm not saying
that this is how it is
But,
In all my years of school
the one thing I've been taught
Again
and
Again
...
is the American Revolutionary war
Which makes sense
since,
it was technically the official formation
of the country I currently live in
But really,
In 10th grade
I'm having deja-vu back
to fourth grade
when we even had a musical
about it
(I was student #2 by the way)
And now
we have the Broadway musical Alexander Hamilton
which,
I am TOTALLY a fan of
Despite
the numerous reoccurring themes
I've had stuck in my face
enough to remember
for the
rest
of
my
lifeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
...
Okaaay,
So, Revolutionary War:
...
...
...
AftertheFrenchandIndianwarBritianwasindebtsotheytriedtaxingthecollonieswhichthecolloniesweretotallyagainst.Miscommunication(allthewayacrossthesea)alongwithotherthingsincludingphrasessuchas"notaxationwithoutrepresentation"werethrownaround.EventuallyitjustblewupintotheactualwarwhichAmericaendedupwinningdespiteBritain'ssuperiorarmyandinthenAmericawasleftwithamessofstatestanddisagreeablefoundingfatherstocometoaconsensusandfiguresomethingout.
Okay, I don't know if you actually
got anything from that
but basically
it was a rushed (sort of) summaryish
of the American Revolutionary war
...
ish.
Well, I mean I've only learned
about it from one side
Anyway, by now I almost know the facts
we learn in school here
as well
as the back of my hand
...
which I don't know very well by the way
why do people even use that?
Anyway, it's not completely old material
that we're learning
because
now,
there's analyzing too
Just today we analyzed the differences
between
Federalists
and Anti-federalists
...
Okay,
you probably don't want the
nitty-gritty details
...
And that concludes my
(Strange)
tirade/(I can't really call it a tirade because it wasn't angry
so maybe narration?)
About history class
...
Hope this quirky
piece of writing
gave you a few smiles!
(Or if not confusion works too.)
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
What in the world is wrong with me?
Writing poems about gross stuff I see.
Like ***** matter and old underwear
Is there something odd up there?
Poems all about maggoty dog poo,
Popping pimples and what else did I do?
I wrote a poem about a piece of ****
And a guy blowing boogars in his soup
One about a pickled pig in a jar
Do I think this will make me a star?
About a guy who was stuck on a bus
Who had an accident and there was a fuss
I also wrote one about my pet cat
With tinsel in her **** What's up with that?
I also have a poem about picking everything
from teeth to **** and finger licking
I wrote about an autopsy that happens when your dead
Is there a short circuit inside of my head?
You know I had to write about farting gas
And what happens when something else you pass.
And about a guy killing a bunch of birds
Just because one, in his eye, dropped a terd
About inflamed hemroids and rotten, spoiled meat
And a terd eating dog. That's not neat!
One about a boy not bathing for a month
I wonder if that wasn't my millionth.
I even have one about digging up old poo
And one about changing diapers. Oh eww!
I'm sure that soon there will be more to come
With the way my brain works and where I'm from
So 'til then I think I'll end this tirade
And hope you'll read the next mess made.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
mothers of
"β"-males;
and the whole world,
and all the world,
⠃⠇⠊⠝⠙
a civilised world...
without a chance
to think!
i just think of:
mothers of the beta-males...
how sooner i am
to relinquish the act of
impeding death!
i die: but also make a relief
of having had a mother!
as man...
loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser
loser loser loser loser loser loser...
the one word mantra starts
bugging...
loser with that sort of
quiff?! twitter addict?!
president of the united
states of h'america?!
now you're *******
joking...
you aren't?!
no comment.
no comment.
and? no comment.
i like thinking about
β-males... in terms of feminism,
and in terms of β-males having mothers...
by beta, i mean you don't / didn't
have a mother...
o.k.?
now you know the answer
my father would give...
the d.n.a. ******** ends here!
now!
you have your little
existential tirade about:
holding a car-boot boutique
in an essex field...
you're fine... have it:
i'm happy as ego becoming
extinct...
******* snow fairies.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 10:01 PM UTC
.*but i wasn't obviously going to go far down this "worrisome" route for too long, maybe like ten minutes... i had to think of something relaxing to do... i looked in the mirror: **** the wild-man of Essex! beard, shaggy, the neck barely visible... hair like Mozart composing, or as the Poles say: hair like a wkuriony Chopin ****** off Chopin)... **** better do something about it... ah... there's only one thing that can lighten my mood and this whole, tirade... a visit to the local traditional Turkish barbers... so i ****** off... in went the wild-man of Essex... out came well-groomed human being, not a sign of his werewolf past to be seen on him... ah... this is the 4th time, proper, that i visited the barbers (prior to? long hair... after? a shaved head like a Buddhist monk)... god... just sitting there with closed eyes... i'm starting to think that going to the barbers is better than ***
i was never into blocking someone,
esp. if someone is liking your stuff,
but it happened to me with
that poetess on here,
i wanted to know how it feels,
to just randomly block someone
who really enjoys your stuff...
and then... **** gone, never
to be seen again...
Wattpad is basically a fascistic website
to boot this thread of thought...
who the hell gets booted off a platform
for starting a cordial conversation?
- but i really did wake up with
a moral hangover...
excuses?
irritability...
there's just a certain level of
conversation i can take,
i can't get the pedant
out of me... i really can't...
i tried and i tried,
notably because when speaking
to natives, i see them lazily doing this
or that, while i come with an acquisitive
perspective, hence the furthered
acquisitive impetus to further this
acquired language... while the natives
are like: blah... it has been given to them
from birth...
and conversations,
after having completed a...
well for me it was an exhausting poem,
the desire to finish it before off
the rails with the bourbon instigated
a thirst, matched with irritability...
**** i hope i can unblock the guy
and apologize...
spare of the moment thing...
well... if i can't...
i know what it feels like:
not being on the receiving end...
so... that's one plus from all of this.
p.s. that sort of direct messaging language,
aged... 40?
how can i talk to someone
who's older than me, on that level...
(looks up his profile page)...
huh?
so i didn't block him?
*Dennis Willis's profile is not
visible because they have blocked you.*
and i still have the block option
handy...
mind you... i didn't wake up today
recollecting some pretty
trippy ********
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
I'm Tired of people telling me that I should smile in photographs
My resistance has got nothing to do with
An Attitude problem
or my attempt at
Appearing acutely fashionable
This is just the way I look
Most of the time
Shouldn’t what we choose to record
At least strive for Authenticity?
I'm just not interested in selling myself
Into the acceptable family comfort mode
Having my split-second cheery face sink in
Against The kitchen wall's
"calming" comfort scheme
To be doted on by ageing female relatives
and jovially mocked by visiting casual friends
If anything I don't want my past to be
Looked upon at all
Maybe it's the old story
of leaving home and the urge
To re-invent oneself
To Block out the old experiences, the old embarrassments
Freeing yourself to embark on a fresher tirade
of critical self-assessment
To be finally and victoriously
Free from the unsettling confines
of childhood
To engage yourself completely
in the waking,walking,working
Nightmare of maturity, responsibility
and devastating ambition.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 9:38 AM UTC
The cover band plays a tirade
of songs we all heard before.
They switch to originals;
which all sound the same.
Originality is as rare as a dollar in my pocket
and just as likely to be spent in tastelessness.
She wore her dinner loose - more of a greasy pub lunch.
******* harder than diamonds in the open winter heat.
Not hungry anymore.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 9:11 PM UTC
Enter forest green and black
wherein treetops shade pathways leading back
the wind malevolent grins with mirthful eyes
a playful ill-will as cats before their mice.
It is not the fear of bitter cold
nor of darkness stories old
it is something moving in these aged trees
that brings shivers down to-- What trav'lers these?
Who walk with downcast eyes below the hidden sky
and bowing step forth unto demise.
When moon does show it's drowsy eye
and once red is blue as the night
what lurks between boughs of green and gold
has blackened heart from lies once told
saunters 'fore the wooden place
where young men end their race.
What trav'lers these who call before the fight
They- with no weapon- shout with might
To live and die in mighty storm
and one day take on heaven's form
The feared one raises head and claws
perching soundless to cause their painful fall
"Let me hear your ending call, that god or devil
may not forsake you all."
"We have no gods nor demons, no angels nor devils for us to call
for we are men of faithless earthly hall
who come to bear the earthly yoke
of life short lived and death's unrighteous stroke;"
"we walk to death and nothing after
as is custom of those with little faith
hear our cry oh merciful wraith
that we might pass under your yellow eye
as those who live and ask nought but time from life
that we may eat and drink our fill of what might be had
and drunken die before mad-ness take
and for other lives and worlds we save our fate
and we praise heavens and gods contrived in faithful tirade!"
Scrutinizing these travelers with delicate stare
the wraith had never seen such men that would enter the forest lair
With a laugh he let them pass
gods be with them and send them fast.
This last humor bore them along
to lands and drinks where their song is still sung
and the lives they lived were none too long.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
The assumptions of a human mind
Not concrete, but spoken with impetus
Sometimes hitting the mark
Or else, shattering the truth in parts
Even before the truth finds a hearing
The assumptions add to an ordeal
As the truth relegates in the dark pit
Our fate almost like a pendulum
Wavering from here and there
The scream from within, no one hears
Waiting for a patient hearing for the truth
As the truth being cloaked by assumptions
Darkness of someone’s mind comes to haunt
Churning a vicious tirade against truth
© Amitav
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
1. You can't finish Spring cleaning
because every old thing becomes
Inspiration for a poem.
2. Instead of planting that garden you
Promised yourself, you write about
Your metaphorical one.
3. Because you're a romantic poet,
You ruined your flowers by plucking
Each petal in a She loves me, she loves me
Not tirade.
4. Every stupid bird is a new poem.
5. April rains bring about the
Melancholic poem inside you,
And you love it!
6. Instead of playing with your
Kids outside, you write about
It instead.
7. Even though you are allergic
To everything, you take that stroll
In the park you write about
So often.
8. Spring's promise is really just like
The New Year's poem you wrote,
New beginnings and all.
9. While digging through your Spring
Cleaning, you find your old poems
And decide to post them on
Hello poetry.
10. The garage is a mess, nothing
Is getting done, but in the poem you just wrote
Is about the hard work it was.
11. You learn the name of
new birds and flowers to make
Your poem fancier.
12. And finally,
You really don't like Spring,
But its a season, and we're poets,
So yeah.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
Thank You
2 simple words that we always undervalue
Say it I'm sure it won't hurt
Say it I'm sure it won't sound absurd
We are quick to launch into a tirade
At anything that makes us irate
But we are slow to show our gratitude
To anyone with honest correctitude
So please don't be shy to grace the soul
Of the one who's just wants to help is his only goal
With 2 simple words of value
Which are Thank You
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
This is the hanging thread
A long string of
Unspoken words
The rope that at one end
Holds down hearts
And at another
Coils around your
Wrist
Perhaps you weren't awake
During the moonlight hours
Looming reflections of today
Glass to my feet
This is the part
Where I write all the emotions down
And outwardly spew blame
Towards the victim of my insecurities
Whom I see as their
Beginning
I
Me
My
We?
I came home today with
A basket of metaphorical flowers
Chrysanthemums and Roses
All the pretty colors of fake
Yet you saw only the thorns
Of our punctured reality
In bleeding hands is the trust
Heart, soul and mind
As well as
Blood-borne illness
All items are
Brittle, apt to break
Yet I bloodied these fingertips
You did not
Toil
You only whisper to me anymore
Still cannot conceal the scent
Of displeasure
Taste
Of bile
Here are the musings
I have failed to intone even softly
Under my breath
For you fail to listen
While you are
Awake
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 4:24 AM UTC
Just shoot me now, I'll beg and I'll plead
Stuck in a meeting, just needing to ***
My boss, a buffoon, kicking up dust
Tirade of a fool, his message, a bust
Texting the phone, sexting my miss
Wishing so hard, for that kind of bliss
Pushing the envelope, of time and of space
Conference calls, please coup-d-grace
Listening for words that make any sense
Boring as hell, a dearth of suspense
Yadda yadda, and blah blah, blah blah
Yakkity schmakity, hit me, with your car
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
I do not lack for intimacy, real and touching.
Perhaps, so blessed, I reach out to those in need
To those semi-known, but never met, never realized.
Perhaps, so disfigured by experience,
Compelled, self-commanded, self-anointed,
I venture to parts and people unknown,
With all that I have, my only possession,
Words of comfort, which is my trademarked craft,
And my true purpose... Here on earth.
But when entreaties refused, misunderstood,
Rejected, I am stunned by the hurt, the rejection,
Which makes one tired in ways that
Shock.
How allowed, who gave me permission
To increase my vulnerability to one more, only
Imagined, only Internet real...
This foolish tirade, in words, my stock and trade,
The only way to expiate my grief
For caring,
I Am that I Am
My instincts good, I will continue.
Disregard the brain, regard only the
Need,
To Be Who I Be.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 4:55 AM UTC
I have a problem...
A very serious problem.
I cannot talk to machines.
I try to reason with them,
But always go into a surrealistic episode
Ending with a tirade of foul insults.
A syrupy voice says with a British touch
"When you hear your choice please
Please say yes or press one,
Followed by the hashtag....”
I scream such ****** things!
But I cannot get the her angry.
Has she taken a Socratic oath?
Did she take some cyber LSD?
I say, “Hey babe, ever have an ******
Y’know what she says to me,
That I’m being sexist.
“So you think, I mean really think
Of yourself as a woman? “
“I’m Cyber Gender,
No need to be mean.
Why do you hate me?
I don’t hate you.”
(Imagine some millennial programmer
Was hired for infuriating pleasantness!
They heard of people like me, the old ones,
Pampering us like we emerged from a jungle
And would get lost in a supermarket).
The elevator asks me what floor,
And reminds me to have a nice day.
(O, how I miss that operator man
Going up and down all his life,
With bad breath and body odors,
Dandruff powdering his uniform,
Saying something poetic about the baseball game...
Seeing us daily at our best and worst
He might say “have a good one,”
But only if he meant it.)
The self-pay check-out reminds me
“Please take your cell phone.”
Everyone near
Holds it like the battery
To their hearts.
I see the latest blockbusters of
Man versus the Androids.
Man always used to win.
Lately the screen writers prefer the robots.
(O, forgive me! AI. My bad.
“Robots” are not PC! Lol, lol, lol...)
How shall I proceed-
They’ll lock me up if I’m not careful.
I’ve noticed the folks in power
Who have conversations with God
Have no problem with Siri.
These malicious machines don’t get drunk.
They can never understand
There’s great empathy in human relationship
Even if the other person, like yourself,
Is not really listening.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
Sweat and rubber
Chafes against my toes
Polish chipped like a porcelain doll
Hurling juvenile patter around
Like drops of sweet rain
Cooling the smouldering tirade
Flying on horseback
Wind twirling non-existing
Scalding coils spurt up limbs
Bubbling out in incandescent mirth
Linking and tripping
Stumbling doggedly along
Ridged gelatinous arcs
Superior to the first incline
Propelling ever up
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC