"twitters" 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
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.
Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.
He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.
His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.
Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
15.4k
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies;
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, grey city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.
The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine, and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun,
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night--
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.
So be my passing!
My task accomplished and the long day done,
My wages taken, and in my heart
Some late lark singing,
Let me be gathered to the quiet west,
The sundown splendid and serene,
Death.
10.1k
There once was a little sparrow who fell in love with a lion.
The lion warned the sparrow not to love him,
for he was bigger than she,
and he could crush her fragile bones.
But, the sparrow said, "No, Lion. I cannot go. I will love you even as I lay broken beneath your paw."
And so it was.
He loved her like he shouldn't, said they.
She didn't know how to love, said them.
Their squawks and twitters fell upon deaf ears.
The lion and the sparrow ran from them.
The sparrow flew away to nestle in the lions mane,
The lion roared at the slanderers, unknowing animals.
They ignored them.
They walked through woods in the rain,
Escaped in the night
And ran through the plains.
The lion stepped softly,
Kept the sparrow safe.
The sparrow sang sweetly,
Kept him in her wake.
"I love you," said the lion,
"like I never thought I could."
"I love you," said the sparrow,
"like I never knew I would."
"Don't ever go," said the lion,
"I cannot imagine you gone."
"Don't ever leave," said the sparrow,
"I know now, you are my song."
The murmurs faded,
Beasts quieted with time,
But the lion and the sparrow vowed to love the other,
Until the stars fell down.
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 9:42 AM UTC
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies:
And from the west,
Where the sun, his day's work ended,
Lingers as in content,
There falls on the old, gray city
An influence luminous and serene,
A shining peace.
The smoke ascends
In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires
Shine and are changed. In the valley
Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun,
Closing his benediction,
Sinks, and the darkening air
Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night--
Night with her train of stars
And her great gift of sleep.
So be my passing!
My task accomplish'd and the long day done,
My wages taken, and in my heart
Some late lark singing,
Let me be gather'd to the quiet west,
The sundown splendid and serene,
Death.
3k
Such Waste!
When I leave the tears flow,
Whilst at home I know,
Smile inside,
Behind green eyes,
Knowing that you painted it,
Hiding in visage,
A pretty happy place,
Since you stumbled sadly,
Into disarray by chance,
Know we may be together,
Only sometimes,
In times choice,
Simple speck,
Entirely!
Share heart space,
In grace,
Ingratiated,
Grateful for your time,
Twitters float as hummingbird,
Miniscule flirts with love,
Serenely talented,
Awaiting touch of serendipity!
We can never be in honesty,
Maybe,
Honestly guided,
Through duet of crazy lives!
A bond so definite,
So infinite in style,
Captured,
Fondness,
Much more than fondness,
Snatched in my warm heart,
Your smile,
Laced,
While tactile tenderness prevails!
Pen pushes while we drift,
Alive in sleep,
Dark pens kiss,
Fire and ice,
Pleasantries,
Not always,
Always filled with spice,
Diurnal in eternal writes,
Divagated by his own diversity,
A writing fuelled fellow,
Filled with deviance!
Character presented,
Is just soul tormented,
So classically unreal!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 5:47 AM UTC
We must never **** the spiders
While, they wove their words into the likeness of thunder
You only watch the news to find out
Where the con artist stands,
He opens his mouth and nonsense comes out
He twitters like a bird and the sound of a dog bark echo,
Lowlife, unhinged, bigoted, racists, misogynist,
How do one goes from eating at his table:
To coming in through the back entrance,
And whether it matter to us or not;
We got to see what division can do to us
Some might even say, salacious and ridiculous
I think it’s a game change, with the wars of words
Bishop and knight checkmate!!
your move my dear..
and by the way :
You are fired!!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC
Oh if I were the velvet rose
Upon the red rose vine,
I’d climb to touch his window
And make his casement fine.
And if I were the little bird
That twitters on the tree,
All day I’d sing my love for him
Till he should harken me.
But since I am a maiden
I go with downcast eyes,
And he will never hear the songs
That he has turned to sighs.
And since I am a maiden
My love will never know
That I could kiss him with a mouth
More red than roses blow.
2.1k
Dawn, and just me and a lonely cardinal
Play out our songs for God to hear
In the spare air the bird twitters
I, in my chair stretch my wits
We each sit, the bird on a branch
And I, leaning in the Lazy Boy
The day lies before us like an unwritten score
or a scroll unaccustomed to ink
We will fly across this unknown expanse
and cherish our freedom to fly where we will
The white clouds and clear blue skies
will be the ears for our stories
And nightfall will draw our tales to an end.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
twitters and tweets
pictures are sweets
keeping you hooked
on the tabloid elites
just out of bed, hair on his head
matted and messy, way better than said
your public is waiting and verging on vexed
"stay tuned for more selfies", you casually text.
stand by the mirror and pose for your followers
leading them into the worship of men
drawn to the sight of your bare naked belly
this bowl full of jelly is quaking, and then
this one, her *** just after the baby
she's worked out like crazy, perhaps she just clazy
spray-tanned and bare butted
tattooed and nare studded
back in the crack but her tact has been share gutted
no worries, it all comes around
in some hotel bathroom you click at your Iphone
like all of the rest of us, yet so alone
trying to snap one both **** and manly
the wife beater t-shirt, the boxers and phone
we can't really blame you, your business, your life quest
but fashion is funny right down to the jewels
both earlobes sport earrings, just like mommy dearest
whatever your pleasure, some little girl drools
and she scantly clad there, for all of her viewers
could not give a **** about "ahhers" or "ew'ers"
but don't stop, you're on top and making your money
and laughing right back, since we're also quite funny
we once wore our hair all pulled up or with mullet
thought no one was laughing, we knew we were cool
and now all the stuff which we wore gone forever
or passed off as costume, just vintage, old school
where somebody bought it from some smelly thrift shop
and wore it again with a sense of true style
the polaroid pictures we took at the bus stop
that camera is back and will be for a while
Stand at the mirror and smile for your camera
not really getting that folks can be odd
some are perverted, while others disturbed
and still others are cranky and smelling like cod.
Someday you'll grow up, a mommy or daddy or maybe
a granny once shaking her *****
or maybe a pop-pop
and scoff a their moptop
and laugh with your grandkids
it all comes around.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
A song echoes here in my ears
It sings in a place no one hears
It twitters along
And sings bold and strong
It's lullaby calms all my fears.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 8:55 PM UTC
The joker lives close by, right under my skin
That is stretched tight over to hide him
My lips full and red smile to cover his grin
My voice sings and twitters to chide him
Touch my body, his shell, touch and feel: he is in
Never ask he rides me or I ride him
With his flesh brazen brass and his nerves tinkling tin
He craves Solomon's wisdom to guide him
He wanders with clouds with no home and no kin
Just the joker and shadow beside him
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
There is a wheel inside my head
Of wantonness and wine,
An old, cracked fiddle is begging without,
But the wind with scents of the sea is fed,
And the sun seems glad to shine.
The sun and the wind are akin to you,
As you are akin to June.
But the fiddle! . . . It giggles and twitters about,
And, love and laughter! who gave him the cue?--
He's playing your favourite tune.
1.1k
And as the moonlight came closer
You and I saw us sitting by the sea-side
And as our hearts drew nearer
You and I saw lips that never lied
As I listened to your sweet rhymes
Your tongue moved a thousand times
Between us the birds dropped their feathers
Whispering to themselves about you and me
On the coastal trees heard we their twitters
Hitting everywhere and thus rolling the sea
Your eyes were raptured looking into mine
And I became sure our affection was divine
As we heard the murmurs of the breeze
And the songs of the fronds around the air
I cuddled you and your hairs would freeze
You felt relieved and away ran your fear
Sea-side love seemed like earthly paradise
And its reflection emanated from your eyes
Bolatito, wherever you may be today
I wish you recall us and what we share
Remember how we use to love and play
And how my touch once killed your malaria
I can't wait to see you and repeat a walk
And do again our sea-side twilight talk
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
The Beatnik Café’
Cigarettes, coffee, a ****** beret
Blue smoke and Blue Mountain, blue verse, blue rhyme --
O Come to the side-street beatnik café;
Here present-tense yourself; caffeine the time
Here order your Bacon very well Donne
And jam your java with croissants and Keats
Orate from Spenser; groove with Tennyson
Tap out a line of Seafarer-four beats
Tap out a manifesto; everyone does
Pulp-print Red rags yelp “Revolution Now!”
The typewriter is holy, and Up the Fuzz!
Bongo that Kerouac, and Howl, but how?
Bongo that beat, oh, yeah, it’s crazzzzy, man
Sheaffer that rhythm, cat; Parker that line
Ferlinghetti your truth to a yellow pad
Sharpen your verbs to a rebel design
Sharpen your verbs from a bottle of ink
Light up a Camel; blow intellectual smoke
Teach the ****** bourgeois how they should think
Grey-suited capitalists – what a joke!
L’Envoi – Time Slouches On
Tee-shirted capitalists joke in Mandarin
The latest chained coffee’s inside the mall
English and Apples are original sin
On glowing screens where the pale pixels crawl
And no one crawls through rhythm, rhyme, or verse,
Or bongos out an existential cry
For poetry is dead; the twitters terse
Reduce the ancient loves to I, me, my.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
I stumble online, finding stories saying
"90 year old couple dies holding each other" and "Lovers find each other
again after 50 year separation" and I think of the modern day love story,
meeting in between bar stools, exchanging twitters and Instagrams
adding them on Facebook, waiting for the message button to light up
cutting every minute they won't reply into an exact science of what it
all means, we fall in love in front of our phone or our computer screens,
looking into the eyes of a camera and playing chopsticks on the skin
of our keyboards I stumble online, finding
these stories,
and I hope their true.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
All it took was for Ahmed
who had been sleeping in his hut
(built at least twenty meters away from the rest of the village),
to stop snoring
to realize that something was out of the ordinary.
Silence crawled over the land,
bringing with it the sensation
of a severed hand in desperate need to attach itself
(any arm would do),
scraping over the sand, against the walls of mud dwellings.
Fadwa touched her wrist, looked up
through a hole in the roof covering;
synthetic satellite blinks took over a clear pre-dawn sky—
the stars cowered,
some even fell away at the sight of their man-made twitters.
Tweets and twitters in the sky
“… news had said they’d blocked the Net,
that a kind-hearted group in the Netherlands had opened their servers
for those folk
either in need to contact loved ones or to tell the ****** truth that stains this sand.”
Or something like that; Fadwa yawned—
she wasn’t sure what the Net was
but it sounded like “serious business”— that’s what he had said,
Uncle Mohammed,
who came for dinner the night before; there’d been terror in his voice.
A stifled yelp broke the stillness.
Within seconds the dunes were lit,
strewn with military-style boots, the rubber soles of which reeked
of corruption
carried in from army bases located not far from where the city ***** souls.
Ahmed was on his hands and knees
Fadwa was peeking through the key hole,
or what was left of the door; Billy the Kid, Fadwa’s goat
had been at it.
Two troops held handguns to his head but Ahmed had already departed.
Mar 6, 2011
Mar 6, 2011 at 2:44 AM UTC
A swish carpet of summer flowers sweeps across the plains.
Blossoms deck the mountains all around.
My skin is swathed in humid southern air
As aromas of fresh-cut grass and lavender
Lounge around the lazy gardens.
Flowers of every hue
Are guarded by sentinel trees.
Red, white, orange, purple, pink….
Every nuance of colour represented here.
Taste that grass, that floating pollen.
**** that nectar under summer skies.
A blackbird twitters,
Those bees they buzz.
All birds are singing
Heavenly chorus,
From God above.
Paul Butters
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 5:55 AM UTC
I used to find a pop bottle
And cash it in for a two-cent grab-bag.
Three could get me a five-cent
Wine-dipped cigarillo
To smoke in the dug-out on a Sunday afternoon
With my best friend.
We went door-to-door
Collecting bottles, clothes-hangers and baskets,
Get fifteen cents and play a game in the pool hall;
We traded old Supermans for older Batmans.
Successive generations decrie
Their loss of innocence,
But this one tweets, twitters and instas;
I see ultra-sounds of small penises, and more.
There goes the last surprise.
I'd rather loose innocence than privacy,
For after that,
All you've left
Is the skin of your teeth.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC
a sparrow twitters
it's happiness and does not
know its wonder mind
May 27, 2023
May 27, 2023 at 4:55 PM UTC
What is Woke
Unbridled intention or activism shrouded by an enveloping cloak?
Doing Good
Embracing causes from some unwritten book.
Driving Equity
Is there some clarity or just another term for charity.
Pro-Choice
For set boundaries to be given a clear voice.
Gender-Neutral
A novel fad or a path to personal renewal?
Gay Rights
To live a life without the need for constant fights.
Homeless Plight
Society's need to choose what's wrong or right.
Substance Abuse
An epidemic that needs firm action not excuse.
Open Borders
If uncontrolled a breeding ground for horrors.
Carbon Neutral
A stark requirement lest our future be most brutal.
Glass Ceiling
Breaking boundaries seemingly unyielding.
Me Too
Spiking conversations that once were just taboo.
There's no ready song book
To how this should sound or simply just look,
The line is precariously fine
When our social mores often turn on the tone of a solitary line.
Some we get right
Where the path may be bathed in moral sunlight,
Others might flail
Promoted by Twitters’ loud mocking wail.
But try we so must
To craft a society that’s fair and inherently just.
While criticism is rarely benign
To also care deeply is never malign.
So let us unite if not all then just some
To craft a new world where we’re different but One.
Feb 23, 2023
Feb 23, 2023 at 4:35 PM UTC
i’m about to retire
and i will surely miss
the blackboard
and the chalk,
the faces
and the eyes
and the hands
and the voices
of my students
who always talk
about the latest trends
in twitters and facebook
while my mouth bubbles
with poetry and revolution.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 7:59 AM UTC
*magpie robin on her black and white wings
all day seems to frolic twitters sweetest nothings
is she singing her songs to lay a lover's trap
or love she isn't searching but her hunger's scrap!
she's the cutest damsel hopping the ledges for insect
with no rainbow on her plumes yet dazzlingly perfect
is she whistling to catch a heart find for her one good mate
or it's only her hunger's call still can wait her first date!
in the sleepy noons rends the air her plaintive cries
drunk in the desire that comes renewed each sunrise
is she pursuing tireless for her love nest a golden straw
or her pursuit is not of passion but fending hunger's gnaw!
when the evening comes she finds herself a perch
tranced in night's lullaby under the starry arch
is she still in her sleep singing for love to born
or she's is just dreaming her hunger's golden corn!*
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
behind your eyes become more then just blue skies
as two roads begin to show
of somethin out of sight.
you are ready for adventure. an endless summer
all u no is wet and cold. dry and hot
curious of other life
time to decide.
u look to the right. and theres that life,
the one where u have come so far to leave.
same as before so safe and secure.
no step is takin yet,
for you have yet to look at the left.
wit a faint smile ur turn to the left.
lightning sparks as thunder roars.
the ground tingles ur toes, and jumps ur heart.
ur lost for words.
such a rush
as tho its a crush.
u stop and look bak.
u think, am i ready?
one foot twitters, u begin to move.
black.
ur eyes open, sit up.
it was a dream.
shoulda known, it was so unreal.
then u think.
what did i choose? what would i choose?
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC