"typed" poems
as i stand on this street corner and watch these two roads meet, i finally feel at peace
maybe it’s because it’s my feet at the intersection of two distinct paths,
merging at a point of vulnerability
maybe because it’s a reminder of you and me
and a blissful bond we once shared.
without a care in the world,
your arms wrapped around me to shelter me from the cold.
two souls kept warm by each other’s company.
two hearts dancing in the rain playfully, two minds with the same thing in mind; you want me to be yours and i want you to be mine.
i don’t know, maybe i’m crazy.
maybe time has finally outplayed me maybe i’ve stopped seeing beauty in the little things, maybe i’ve stopped appreciating the gift life brings.
maybe i’m in over my head, or
maybe i miss the familiar contours of your body between the chalk white sheets of my bed.
i don’t know,
maybe this is normal.
maybe i stopped being myself after you left, maybe this is all a test.
maybe i failed and i
couldn’t clean up the mess
maybe thats why the rain suddenly feels colder on my skin.
maybe thats why whenever i try to apologize i don’t know where to begin or
where to end all these that I’ve typed in my mind to tell you i just
can’t hit send
maybe i ****** up and i won’t admit it maybe I’m a coward.
seems like I’ve got all the time in the world, maybe i should do something about it i mean
every minute without you feels like an hour
maybe I’m a fool for distancing myself from you
maybe that why i couldn’t end with that i loved you because for some reason
i couldn’t accept that
maybe
just maybe you might of loved me too
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
I could never tell you what was on my mind
So I wrote every thing down on paper
Each passing day with you only made things worse
Because all the things I was too shy to say
Became too lengthy to write in one sitting
So I typed them instead
Then one day you kissed me
And all the things I tried so hard to hide
Spilled from my mouth
And I dare say
Into your heart
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
If we were more honest
If we typed our minds
There'd be a lot more comments
And a lot less likes
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
I hesitate to show him the truth.
The words I write may never reach his eyes
I am afraid of the torture after rejection.
These feelings cannot be denied,
my poems will never cease to exist
even if i erased these heavy thoughts I typed
burned them alive
the memories of us will float around endlessly
somewhere, out of my reach.
If he sees himself in mirrors
in a monotone and meaningless way
he will not anymore
because reflections of him
lie not only visually in images,
such as projections on clear glass
but in others who admire him too.
We become who we love eventually
Admiration for someone else
makes us melt
covering past pages of who were before.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
I whatsapped you through my nokia
And is it your existence I crave?
Or does my mind order
What is beyond the border
Unseen like the little light bulps in the sky
I whatsapped you through my nokia
And is it your fingertips I need?
Spending minutes on
Semantic and hours on our news feed
And high lights of our day
See my days are all the same
I ask myself questions and I find answers
In the shape of instant messages
Vibrating through my phone;
And as if it’s exhaling some deadly poison
It rings and rings and rings and rings and rings and rings and stops…
I whatsapped you through my nokia
Asking you
“you there?”
But you never answered
Because your iphone cannot show any whatsapp notifications
Coming from hopeless thinkers trying to figure out the typed mysteries of life….
Because your blackberry
Is too black to turn into a satisfactory vision
Of what your future should be;
Because your android
Is practically messy
And willingly complex
Like meteor showers hitting your phone
Every time the truth vibrates
In the shape of unanswered questions
For the answers are there…
But our phones are so smart they hide it;
I wahtsapped you through my nokia
Asking myself
Is my nokia a primitive technology?
A shameful scar on the scale of science
Like syringes ******* all the blood from the unstoppable sweet rush of statistical knowledge
I whatsapped you through my nokia…and all this comes out
Is it me being silly, or us being shallow?
Please do not whatsapp me the answer
For am tired of green screens
And boxed spaces
I need clean streams
Of fine faces
And eyes that glimmer
Rather than phones that shiver…
I shall remind my phone
To remind me
That I don’t need it anymore…
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
Never again,
Never ever again,
Will I ever type my work up!
I'll save myself from computer err
By handwriting my poems.
Then and only then
Will I put them to the computer!
The self hatred,
The hate for technology,
Increases as my rage boils over.
Realizing that all the words,
All my emotions and feelings,
So thoughtfully phrased and typed,
Are lost,
Is a feeling like no other.
Rewriting the words,
Trying to remember exact phrases,
Is just painful!
Never again,
Never ever again,
Will I ever type my work up!
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
Why the hell ... do they do it … ???
They run blacks like ... " Fluid " ... !!!
Well ... THE TRUTH is ...
Most Coppers ... Keep Proving ...
... They're ... STUPID ... !!!!!
Harassment ... INDEED ... !!!!
is why ... some of them ... BLEED ... !!!!!
But ... Let me ... Proceed ...
cos' ... I will ... NOT Concede ... !!!!!
that ... ANY ... Police Force ...
is .... " RACISM FREE " ... !!!!!!!!!
" This Morn' " ...
It was ... ME ...
who they wanted ... " To be " ...
ANOTHER ... Young Black ...
in .... " Police Custody " ....
“Excuse me sir,
your car is registered,
to a national bank ?”
“THAT’S BECAUSE THE CAR’S LEASED,
I’M PAYING A FEE,
SO THE CAR IS THE BANKS ….
IT DON’T, BELONG TO ME … !!!…”
“Okay Okay !!!
but, can we have,
your name please ?”
“LET’S GO TO MY WORKPLACE,
IT’S OVER THERE, SEE !”
See .....
That's when ... their faces ...
Disguised their ... TRUE HATRED ... !!!!!
of ... seeing a black ...
Who Ain't ... " Selling Crack " ... !!!!!
The car that I drive ...
is ... " LEGIT " ...
That's a .... FACT .... !!!!!
While ... RACIST OLD BILL ...
NEVER SEEM ... to get ... " SACKED " … !?! …
When ...
" Their Nature's " ... EXPOSED ... !!!!!
They Quickly ... ” DECOMPOSE ” ... !!!
and then ... just .... RESORT ...
to ... ******* ... Up Their Nose ... !!!
Which ...
Just goes to ... SHOW ...
It's NOT ... " Only Blacks " ...
who take drugs ... when they're low ...
It's ... White People ... TOO ... !!!!!
who shove ... Coc' ... Up Their Nose ...
But whose ... " Cashing In " ... ???
is what ... I want to ... KNOW ... !!!!!!!
because i'm ... Getting Sick ...
of ...... " ALL TELL " ......
and ... " NO SHOW " ... !!!!!
They ... KEEP ON HARASSING ... !!!
Then ... KEEP ON SUGGESTING ...
"Blacks being mis-treated,
is NOT a Race Thing !"
But …. ???? ….
These ... "hidden-cam" ... shows
Now Show ... how things' go ...
It's ... NOT JUST ... undercovers' ...
Who ... " Sniff Out " ... THE TRUTH ... !!!
Now ... Journalists too ...
have ... " Suddenly Learned " ... !?!
That .....
" White Men " ... under cover ...
Show Racism's ... TRUE ... !!!!!!!!!!
NOT ...
A figment in ... Black peoples' ...
****** …. Brain Tool ... !!!?!!! …
Now ...
Those are not words ...
I believe to be ... True ... !!!
I’m just ... " THE BLACK ” ...
.... Sherlock Holmes .... !!!! ....
Giving people ... " Some Clues " ...
as to ... WHY ... " Some " ... Black Men ...
feel the way that ... I DO ... !!!
Harassment ... is ... REAL ... !!!
But ...
Here is ... THE DEAL ... !!!
" Some " ... Black people STEAL ...
and DO ... move in ... "The Dark' ...
Like ... "Covert" ... Navy Seals ... !!!!!
But ......
THIS ... Does Not mean ...
that ... EVERY ... Black Person ...
is into ... " THAT SCENE " ... !!!!!!!!
and that ... Money they've made ...
Really NEEDS ... A Good Clean ...
in a .... " Laundry Machine " .... ?!?
It's Policemen ... to me ...
who work in ... " ***** TEAMS " ...
and then in ... " Their Dreams " ...
Make ... Black People ... SCREAM ... !!!!!!
Just check through ... THE NEWS ...
You'll SEE ... what I mean ...
Well .....
My day's getting ... better ....
now i've ... " Typed " ...
These few ... " Letters " ...
But it's .....
Time to ... STOP TAPPING ...
cos' this poem i've written ...
has allowed me to ... VENT ... !!!
My View ...
On These ... PIGS ... !!!!!
Who ...... THRIVE ON ......
……… ” HARASSMENT ” ………. !!! ? !!!
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
Disappointment hurts more than anything.
Actually, no scratch that. "Feeling" like a disappointment hurts more than anything. Honestly, I feel like my whole life is a disappointment...but not because of me, but because of life in general. Life isn't fair and it won't ever be. Miracles happen, but you have to have your eyes open to see them. My eyes have been forced shut. Forcefully shut by society. A society that no longer has faith. None. Me, I have faith. And I've read that the smallest faith will move mountains. The mountain in front of me; disappointment. Waking up daily knowing that the smallest thing can cause any disappointment. From who? My loved ones. My mother. My Stepdad. My brothers. Everyone. Oh, you can't get out bed today because you are so overwhelmed; DISAPPOINTMENT! Oh, you want to move out and spread your wings; DISAPPOINTMENT! Oh, your alive today; DISAPPOINTMENT! Sorry that last bit might've been a little excessive, but sometimes the letters and words just flow like they were meant to be spoken, typed, or written.
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
Once it was garbage, refuse, trash.
A jumble of foul-smelling detritus hauled to the curb
And removed by sinewy men
Contributing a harder day's work
Than anyone else in the city.
Our energy now removes its entropy.
Sorted and classified into coloured bins,
We add order to our rejected matter.
Specialized trucks arrive to collect
The date-synchronized bins
Emptying them into functionally compatible mechanisms.
Most desolate is the black box of paper and cardboard.
Brochures and flyers, old magazines and letters.
Annual reports and cereal boxes.
Once these were enameled with crafted sentences,
Painstakingly typed, edited and debated,
On the monitors of copywriters.
Now they are just millions of words printed on flattened fibre substrates,
Jumbled into the bruised and scarred black box,
Entering into the recycling stream.
The nouns and adjectives,
Prepositions and gerunds,
All jumble together.
Fragments of precisely-crafted sentences and paragraphs
Are gradually broken, shredded and pulped.
Incomplete thoughts, broken phrases
Like those of a rejected stranger
In an lonely, unknown country.
Then words without context.
Then just disparate letters
Are all that remain.
Their M ea N inG
G r a Du all y
is re mov
e d
.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
Education is currently being used as a weapon
to arm the educated to defend the system.
Question the system.
Go out there and equip yourself for the right belief.
Be a dreamer. The dream is beautiful.
The problem with dreams is that you don’t know
the dream has turned into a nightmare until you wake up.
Are you awake? Be awake.
The problem with being awake; we need to rest.
Lucidly dream. Be lucid.
The problem with being lucid; you’re lucid.
There was a dream not long ago. The dream was beautiful.
We liked the dream, the dream became ours and we slept.
Slowly we all grew tired.
Those that did not need to sleep,
those that did not like our dream,
we treated like children.
We know that we need to rest and we were tired. We left our children to starve.
We forced others to sleep and so, we forced our children to sleep.
Even in our sleep, we forced others to sleep.
And so the big dream grew.
It became nightmare.
We all dream. Be aware of others dreams. Be aware of others while we sleep.
Be aware of those that sleep while we awaken.
When you wake and see your siblings rest no longer.
That their dream, once ours, has turned to terror.
The problem with dreams…
We force our children to sleep.
Is this bad? Always question. Should we force them to wake?
Force can create. Force can destroy.
The problem with being awake, when we know our brothers and sisters
sweat in there nightmares; we have a choice.
That is not a choice to wake them or not. To hope for the best.
That the nightmare will end and the dream will return.
A dream that has travelled
through the terrors of our minds
will not return the same.
Would you like the red pill or the blue pill?
Is there good and bad? Force can create and destroy.
Be mindful of how you wake.
Be lucid of how you force others to wake.
Tea or coffee; a cigarette; some breakfast; some fear?
Use balance.
We are all unique.
I have a personal story. As I wrote this, typos occurred in the original edit.
The technology, ‘swipe’ was used. I meant to spell unique and unite was spelt.
Personal became powerful and with turned to WE.
Is there a reason ‘i’ should always be capitalized?
‘i’ wish to be mindful of my readers. ‘i’ want to stay true to them.
We that can read are the readers. ‘i’ am the reader.
When I isn’t capitalized I began to feel more comfortable with using it,
if i gave it arms; ‘i’.
And when I typed to explain that,
I went to preferring if isn’t typing out ‘and then i and then ‘, to just type two of them;
ii.
We don’t want to be alone.
There’s no I in teamwork but
there is and I in kind.
I is complicated. Be you.
Find your voice. Have a voice and be aware.
Others have a voice.
What would happen if we all respected each other’s voice?
What would happen if we all had the same voice?
That was the beauty of the dream.
The dream is travelling through nightmare
and is slowly returning.
It has changed.
Unite our uniqueness’s.
Do you eat fast food? I love it. It is a dream… Do I eat it all the time, I hope not.
Ken Robinson is a good man to ask. Consider food for the mind.
There are beliefs out there. There’s a belief out there that our world is ******
Forgive the language. Understand it.
I wanted to say, ‘that our world is doomed; eternally ****** to be destroyed’ and that scared me. **** There will always be nightmares, disaster and destruction.
What is an ‘aster’? Curious.
When did we chose to destroy; each other?
Could we create; each other?
There’s a belief out there for that one too.
Are you awake, yet?
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancrea pooped
top-floor blood pressure
while all the fear of the wasted years
laughs between my toes
no woman will live with me
no Florence Nightingale to watch the
Johnny Carson show with
if I have a stroke I will lay here for six
days, my three cats hungrily ripping the flesh
from my elbows, wrists, head
the radio playing classical music ...
I promised myself never to write old man poems
but this one's funny, you see, excusable, be-
cause I've long gone past using myself and there's
still more left
here at 3 a.m. I am going to take this sheet from
the typer
pour another glass and
insert
make love to the fresh new whiteness
maybe get lucky
again
first for
me
later
for you.
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985
7.9k
Hanging out new to the scene
So often wonder what that means
As I sit in front of the world's screen
Started in on ...Googling
I typed in a single word
Pressed enter for the Google search
Took me down the path absurd
Where all the lines were blurred
From there I ventured off the path
Wish I'd known there's no turning back
Marveled at the knowledge that I lack
Like how to whittle your own baseball bat
Just in case you're wondering
Midgets don't melt in the rain
Who doesn't think that that's insane
As I dive deeper into Googling
The art of bathing a Hindu rat
Skinning a two-headed Siamese cat
The taking of the perfect nap
Standing up while keeping your lap intact
How to delicately pierce a Rhino's ear
Dressing up then down a deer
50 different ways a man can cheer
While toasting his favorite Micro beer
Abstract art using cotton *****
How to paint between the lines on paisley walls
Teaching Yankees how the South says ya'll
Lost episodes of the show called Lost
Food served upon the world's menus
Even specialties from Timbuktu
Why the sea is green and the sky is blue
As my googling madness continues
More artwork this time with the jam of toes
How to pick your friends but never your friend's nose
Cleaning of the house without a stitch of clothes
The whole time being careful with the vacuum hose
80's Hairbands I used to like
That now know what bald feels like
Making a homemade Hindenburg kite
One that lands this time
How to handle midlife like a man
Taking a survey of what you could have been
Raising Spider Monkey's in the comfort of your den
As I keep on Googling
I now find myself Googling out in front
As I'm Googling from behind
Googling up as I'm Googling down
To the left and to the right
I've learned how to gargle Google
That's a well known Google fact
And if you don't believe me
You can even Google that
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
I think I started writing you away before you were gone
I wanted to make sure I could let you go before I did
I wanted to feel numb when I pushed you away
so I wrote
I put you on pages,
typed chapter titles for every single time you looked at me
I wrote until you were a novel,
read you until you were no longer novel,
and put you on a shelf so I could start waiting to forget about you,
a memory trapped in unused synapses
and after I shut your final chapter
but before your pages had started to collect dust,
I realized what I had done
See, I had taken each word from within me,
harvested my heartstrings, plucking them and mixing them to make ink,
The pieces of you I kept in my heart
sat as words on a page, aging
while my heart, once strong, felt too empty
and cavernous to beat under the weight of the sigh pinning down my chest
In all of my preparing
I had forgotten that I am human
I forgot feelings aren't like a fountain
there's no faucet you can turn off to keep them from
running through your mind
no way to stop them from flowing
back through your mouth when you try to
swallow them, mixed with *** in your best friend's basement,
days after you forgot that you can't turn off a rainstorm
you can try to catch the raindrops in a bucket
but the bucket you'll need is big enough to drown in
you can try to hold out an umbrella
but if the wind is hard enough
you're still going to end up cold and dripping,
tearstained and shivering
waiting until the sun comes out
I forgot that I can't control the weather,
or anything other than myself for that matter
The end of a storm doesn't equate to the appearance of a rainbow
I realized that just because my fingers twisted around yours until
they melted together doesn't mean you'll forgive me
and that you left tattoos on me that only time will fade
and we're both going to be mad
I found out that
every song that ever reminded me of you doesn't cease to exist
I have to re-watch movies because they're different now, somehow,
and just because my hair is probably still all over your clothes
and I talked to you every day
and you gave me months of memories
and thinking about you is gut-wrenching
doesn't mean that I won't spend days praying for patience
and hoping for healing because
**** it, letting you go doesn't mean I don't miss you*
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
Real communication
Has been lost
In the depths
Of the cloud.
True feeling
Is seldom seen-
Now, thoughts
Are shown
Through emojis.
Does anyone feel
The wholesomeness
Of somebody else's
Voice anymore?
The smell of their
Skin, the faces
That they make, or
Simply- their presence.
Conversations are
Much more
Than the words
Typed out on a
Smartphone screen.
People are meant
To actually be
Seen.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
My mind was pulsing
with endless subtly shaded descriptors
and shockwave verbs,
when a pop-up alert flashed
red and yellow and blue…
YOU HAVE ONLY 9 WORDS LEFT !
ACT NOW !!!
YOUR LIFETIME ALLOTMENT IS 20,000,000,010 WRITTEN WORDS,
AND.........YOU HAVE USED 20,000,000,001.
ACT NOW OR LOSE YOUR RIGHT TO WRITE FOREVER!
BUT WAIT !!!!!!
COMPLETE THE SIMPLE FORM BELOW IN THE NEXT 60 SECONDS
AND WE’LL DOUBLE YOU TO 40 BILLION MORE.
IMAGINE ALL THE SHIMMERING ADJECTIVES, THICK NOUNS,
CLEVER ADVERBS AND PITHY PRONOUNS YOU WILL HAVE!!!!!!!!!
Panicking, I clicked on the form
and furiously typed …
William Shakespeare
10 Henley Street Village South
Statford Upon . . . . . .
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 7:29 AM UTC
Hey there, baby!
I got what you need.
You came into my store -
I got what you need.
You bought a stick of gum -
Do you want a soda with that?
You searched for a pair of shoes -
Don't you think these shoes are nice?
You liked a post about Darwin -
Darwin books: Half-off!
You listened to the Rolling Stones -
Try some Jeff Beck - I'm a Genius, I should know
you better than yourself.
You thought about ****** -
I can sell you seventeen ways to get away with it.
You thought about suicide -
Better buy one last pleasure before you go - you won't be needing
that money anyway,
Have you made your final arrangements?
You thought about *** -
I know you did
You typed "re"(demption)
Did you mean "Redbox"?
Here are the new releases.
I got what you need.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 3:51 AM UTC
I woke up next to you,
Watched your balanced breathing,
Chuckled at your tousled hair,
But the only difference was
Where I’d usually trace the words,
I love you on your back,
I typed them into instant message,
Got up,
Yawned,
Stretched,
Rubbed away eye crusties,
And turned off Skype.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
Hannah decided to have a heartwarming party
After all home is where the heart is
So she invited anyone with lungs that breathe
To come share the warming air
She typed up a flier that read:
I welcome you all to see
The moon meet the sun
Cover charge: one body handshake
The drug for this evening will be hugs
I've heard if you have too many or
Squeeze too hard you can
Overdose on love
But we will take our chances
Bring a friend or
Better yet an enemy
Show them that the
Night can dance with the day
It will dawn on them at dusk
This won't be one of those
BYOB affairs
More like bring your own everything
So we all can play emotional musical chairs
Smiles are free
Surrounded by such company
So be sure to RSVP
Even though walk ins are always accepted
It would make me so happy
To know you're coming! :)
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.
Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.
II
Dawn freshens, Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends,
Towards the steam tugs yelping down a glade of cranes
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In dark glens, beside pale-green lochs
Men long for news.
III
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.
IV
Thousands are still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying monsters
Or of friendly tea beside the band in Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
4.7k
My hands fly across the key board as I search around.
Not for anything in particular, just watching people cross in front of my eyesight.
A girl walking in circles in a blue fleecy vest, talking on the phone.
I remember my father telling me the importance of leaning to type without having to look at the keyboard.
I thought he was stupid.
I thought it was silly.
I ****** at typing.
I still use three fingers only, mainly.
Pinky for the shift key occasionally.
Right ring finger for the return key.
I don’t even use the thumb for the space bar
Like you’re supposed to-
I use my right pointer finger.
I always had to endure the agony of typing with
The Box
Over my fingers in elementary school.
My best friend can recreate fond memories of a 10-year-old me
Squeezing
My eyeballs shut,
Lining up my fingers, my tongue sticking out,
Only to discover
I had typed everything
Wrong
Start over.
But having entered the college age.
I’m happy to be able to
Glance
Around
While I work.
Makes it seem like some automaton is recording my thoughts, which I don’t even have to think About as I
Consider a flowerpot full of yellow flowers…pansies?
So the poet was right.
He was always looking out windows.
Like all his poems would come streaming through them.
Bits of cloudy thoughts captured on paper, because his
Eyes were free to wander.
Silly poet.
Silly little girl.
Asdf
Lkjh
G
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
my poetry is mine again
no longer influenced by you
no longer influenced by what you do.
and i can say that because you will no longer see,
the words i love you typed across your screen.
and i can say that because you will no longer feel,
the agony, the pain, the scars that were real.
because you left,
it's possible to feel.
because you left,
nothing seems real.
we'll never be just friends,
but that's okay because my poetry is mine again.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 9:35 AM UTC
I've been lying
Tryin' to make like my says were more than
Tippin' my head and
Letting ink run onto papers
(to be later typed up for the general public)
Wanted to be all
Art and whatever
Use words to weave beautiful things, but
It came out wrong 'cause
They were saying honest things,
Average things,
from an
average Joe
Runnin' his dumb mouth
My name is Runaway Joe.
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
Human way to just dictate
Robotics way to translate
Technology being a relay
No physical office workers to be there
Robotics will be the new twist
This is something no one will miss
Efficiency faster than human labor
Dictation will be more of a snap
There will be even time to research a destination map
Business letters electronically typed by using your voice
How the business letters are arranged being your choice
Imagine financial statements being precise to the T
Everything ready for presentation for all to see
Human speed won’t be needed anymore
Labor physical employees will be given the open door
Office automation being office technology of tomorrow
But to the human employee force meaning sorrow
Technology being on the move
Efficiency in precise and decisions in never have to think twice.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
our typed up words hide emotions unseen
where sound can give a taste of truth
and even postcards can reveal
the tangles of the century and it's related loves
of technology's soft whispers
of clicking keys and computer buzz
in those ones and zeros that hold us close to heart
the miles are still real, seemingly we'll part
another buzz another ring another taste of you
but can these magical machines bring
me more than just the best of you
I want to hear the stutter when you're nervous and can't speak,
the whisper's of the secrets of what we'll do next week,
I want to see your hair disheveled when you get up out of bed
the slight portliness of figure like the bearded fella wearing a suit of red
I want to taste the treats of the dishes that I've seen
and of course
I want to taste your lips
carrying the flavors of cigar and wine
See the the glimmer in your eye
When some little excitement passes by
And hear loquacious diatribes as to gladly chime on in
starting from your normal dinner topics to our lives of sin
But all those ones and zero... and our miles still remain
hopes of this togetherness from which my brain
can not refrain
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
black skirt climbing up her shining thighs…
she pulls it down and the excitement dies
from the men around her: **** she’s fine!”
looking up from her phone- she’s next in line.
“may i see your id?” asks the giant,
she shows it to him- acting compliant.
female, black hair, brown eyes, twenty-one.
everything checks out- “stay safe, have fun.”
once she steps through those guarded doors,
she puts her pvc plastic back inside her michael kors.
no ‘x’ on her hand, but an ex on her mind-
she steps onto the dance floor and begins to grind.
many men manage to embrace her swaying hips,
bite her beautiful neck, and kiss her thirsty lips.
from their mouths flows a river of lies,
while hands below swim up sweating thighs.
she’s feeling ecstatic, but he wants more,
her “friends” watch as he carries her out the door.
to say “yes,” she’s in no position,
so he advances without a proposition.
the next morning when she wakes,
in funny places her body aches.
next to her he’s fast asleep,
her phone rings: bleep, bleep!
texts from her “friends” fill her screen-
things they typed, they did not mean.
“we’re worried… where are you? text me the address!”
she gathers her things and pulls down her black dress.
tiptoeing through his apartment, she quietly closes the door.
she’s quiet in the car still, afraid of being called a *****
when they asked her to come out that night, she said: “i don’t like partying anymore.”
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC