"unplugged" poems
Tonight, I spoke into the darkness,
No stars to light my way,
The black void all encompassing
My words drifting up in ribbons,
I waited for something, anything to happen
I felt a rumble that was akin to ripples emanating from a drop of water hitting a puddle
I was small next to the impossible,
And when it spoke back, it changed me
The blank canvas of stark black was pierced by blades of light,
The sky becoming a shutter in a rain storm
Blowing open and closed
The words came and wrapped themselves across my body in its entirety
Constricting my air flow
I felt myself shatter
An implosion of feeble glass
Ricocheting through a skeleton of paper, reflecting the brightness above inside ripped skin
I was nothing.
I didn't exist.
I floated in an incomprehensible place that had no end, no walls
No ceiling or floor
Just illumination in every direction
I opened my eyes
And was blinded by an incredible radiance
I shut my eyes tight and swatted in front of me
My hand struck something metal and I yelped in pain
I shot up and stared downward
Towards the desklamp unplugged on the floor
Breathing heavily, I sat upright in my bed,
Struggling to pull away words that had already sunken in
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
We are all so clever,
With our posts and our lies,
And honest comments deleted
To wither and die.
Filters for beauty free of flaws
So we may withstand societies claws.
So we upload
pictures, stories and posts.
I wounder what is it
we long for the most?
To be accepted?
To be seen?
To cause envy?
Or Jealousy?
What is the point?
The whole worlds plugged in,
And we all have hundreds of thousands of “friends”.
yet who is it that
truly cares for us in the end?
Face to face?
What a disgrace!
Letters to send?
This must come to an end!
Written word?
Thats simply absurd!
Memories made?
They still do that these days?!
Now this is a crazy idea..
Just a thought..
But,
What if we all....
Just unplugged?
Not once or twice
And call it a night,
But more like a day?
To spend as you may?
To feel the sun?
To laugh with friends?
And make beautiful memories
to carry with you til the end?
Enjoy the moment of pure bliss,
Without
filters, comments or harsh judgements.
To be yourself
and embrace your life,
Then when your done
You can replug.
And check on all your comments and likes.
And see which was the thing you remember at night.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 5:14 PM UTC
wrapped up in aluminum foil
head resting on cracked concrete
surrounded by winking lights
and blinking eyes
warmth from the glow of humility
basking in the rays of a two dollar toaster
cardboard dwelling and trashbag scenery
paper towel t-shirt, styrofoam socks
salt and pepper lunchtime
pedastal reconstruction
hot coffee burnt tongue
peanut allergy and poisoned water
locked cabinet, rotting condiments inside an unplugged refrigerator
dying romance read only in magazines
purple heart scrawled on my arm
syringe full of bourbon plunged directly in my eye.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:03 AM UTC
It’s a quarter past 3 o’clock in the morning
Full moon overhead , makes the mood just right
This beautiful song comes on
From my old music box
That was left unplugged
On the old coffee table next to my bed
My old music box always has a bad habit
singing on its own without warning
Even while being unplugged
Almost as if
There is a ghost sharing
The house with us
But this time
The song released was beautiful ,
Beautiful because it was about love
Or
Maybe perhaps it could’ve been
About hatred
Half asleep I really cannot tell,
But anyhow,
In between of the sweetness
Of the artist voice
Us howling at the moon
And the record’s hoarse,
Lies , violent skips
I dance, I dance anyway,
My gentle moves in my bed,
Over, under
And
In between the sheets
And
In her steady arms
And her sweet caressed
I found solace and forgiveness
Until the light of day
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 3:45 AM UTC
silver flute sits in the case
Studio awaits, soul suppress
Space slammed
silver flute rests on the stand
Insecurity of melody
Gasping for air
Trembling, closed off
silver flute plays a sweet song once, yesterday
For Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, & for Uriel
Resonance, chord floating,
pure revelation
last song of hope, courage
last wild witch prayer
Last organic sound, unplugged
silver flute sits in the case
Great Open Outdoors awaits, soul regenerates
Have we arrived to the sacred tree?
Silver flute will play Naked, wild, free!
All ears wide open
Open eyes, Open hearts, Open minds
True human connection returns
CODA
Silver flute floats in my heart & hand
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
yesterday the telephone rang non stop
and the dashed thing had me on the hop
all my time was spent saying hello and goodbye
I had to tell the person on the other end I must fly
those telephone marketers are an insistent lot
they are more pesky than a horse fly bot
not for one minute did they leave me alone
ring ring ring went the overbearing telephone
to get some peace from the telephone's hassling
I unplugged the ruddy rampant thing
one is fearful of reconnecting it to the socket
as it may well send one right off one's rocket
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
So I'm sitting here
in my space
and it really is space,
outer space,
and if I listen to it,
it sounds
like the spaceship
which it is,
and since
I have unplugged
the television
and turned off
the radio,
I can hear
the unusual sounds
of this unearthly, earthly spaceship
humming,
and when I listen closely
I can hear
the hum and high-pitched hiss
of my brain
and nervous system,
as I go traveling outward
into the vastness
of the universe
in this spaceship
called my house
in the suburbs.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC
The setting was stately
Overweight, stationary, smoking
she was totally content
unaware of the vibrations
which to me, were uncomfortable
television droned
I wished it were turned off, unplugged
But she did not know
She was dead to vibrations
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 5:47 PM UTC
"We have come to be danced
not the pretty dance
not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance
but the claw our way back into the belly
of the sacred, sensual animal dance
the unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance
the holding the precious moment in the palms
of our hands and feet dance
We have come to be danced
not the jiffy ***** shake your ***** for him dance
but the wring the sadness from our skin dance
the blow the chip off our shoulder dance
the slap the apology from our posture dance
We have come to be danced
not the monkey see, monkey do dance
one, two dance like you
one two three, dance like me dance
but the grave robber, tomb stalker
tearing scabs & scars open dance
the rub the rhythm raw against our souls dance
WE have come to be danced
not the nice invisible, self conscious shuffle
but the matted hair flying, voodoo mama
shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance
the strip us from our casings, return our wings
sharpen our claws & tongues dance
the shed dead cells and slip into
the luminous skin of love dance
We have come to be danced
not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance
but the meeting of the trinity: the body, breath & beat dance
the shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance
the mother may I?
yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance
the Olly Olly Oxen Free Free Free dance
the everyone can come to our heaven dance
We have come to be danced
where the kingdom’s collide
in the cathedral of flesh
to burn back into the light
to unravel, to play, to fly, to pray
to root in skin sanctuary
We have come to be danced
WE HAVE COME"
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
We are the disconnect community.
We think, therefore we are.
We blink, therefor we see the
ticking, flicking florescent FIVE HUNDRED.
A personal "connection-collection" of mine.
500 pieces of redefining human identity as bees in a hive.
Buzzing. Whirring. Chatting.
A world can be displayed on a single screen
of ticking, flicking florescent FIVE HUNDRED.
All tuned in.
*All turning into hive minded creatures.
Degeneration at it's best.
For the most advanced generation,
We are zombies disguised as cyborgs;
carrying our hearts literally out on our sleeves.
For home, I'm told, is where the heart is.
And though books say it's in our chests,
One look and tell you "Homepage" is handheld.
And with the world in the palm of your hand,
the rest comes fast, calm and easy.
Like breathing,
But without feeling.
Invisible networks bond the inner workings
Like an ultra-cranium.
Or a hive, dangling precariously over the valley.
Lives, carelessly unaware that a bow can break
when it forgets it's roots.
Like jumping in puddles in rubber boots.
The difference between what's easy and what's simple.
The little girl on Youtube who can't flip a page of a magaizine because all she know's are HD touch screens.
Learning to type before learning to write.
Obesity, skyrocketing to a sun we barely lay eyes on.
One by one, we stop hooking up, and get hooked up to the trending crazes.
Hang up. Telenophobics praised.
E-mail and texts.
Social skills wrecked.
Eye contact replaced with descontent looks.
Pirating crooks
Torenting video games, DVDs &books.;
The 25th of December is more for toys than the son of God.
You can't remember the last time you went fishing with your dad, because you've been too busy playing C.O.D.
Unplugged is savagery.
but escapism with a drug by any name is just as inhumane.
Just as fatal.
For all the blinking,
and thinking,
chattering,
babbling
500 redefined "friends",
Can you easily feel alive when it's more simple to call us dead?
Do you know all your neighbors names without checking online?
Can you understand relationships, as they were meant to be?*
We are the disconnect community.
Cut out "unity".
Leave the rest for our virtual home page address.
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
In the corner next to the underpaid electricity
where no one wants to sit and reheat leftovers
admitting each bite taste better than the original,
hardly ready to walk down an isle of silver ware
but if I were I 'd pick the Waterford to match
during the reception I'll wear my glass as glasses
the shallow smiles will ask my dress to snake
as I crave the framed grace, the crisscrossed
napkins and two bites of the others peanut butter
truffle cheesecake, I'll hardly have to worry about
a thing, easy on the musty air my lungs won't
stop flexing this microphone everyone saw got
unplugged an hour ago and as the last couple
to enter will be the first to leave I'll eat a strawberry
to taste the sweetness of the moment
later I'll put my guard down long enough to side slip a
glance to the guest who walked around laces flapping,
shoulder tapping, fingers mapping with eyes stating
the impossibility of believing any of it
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 11:26 AM UTC
*The wind blows hard tonight. The wind takes every bit of warmth from my marrow and doesn't bring any of it back. No, this is not an art that you have mastered exclusively, as much as that may disappoint you.
Ninety six days culminate and rot within my intestines. The feeling, well, the feeling is like **** but the images interpreted are more than appealing, beautiful I would say.
I don't stay at home anymore; I go to other people's homes and stay there because it fascinates me. It fascinates me for so many reasons, expressions, to name a few.
Keeping true to the convention of keeping true to the convention, I shed a layer of skin when I threw the old tea box full of photographs from the terrace this morning.
The air smelt of coriander and fresh mud, fresh rain. I took it into my lungs as a restatement of my existence but it felt smug and in vain when winter's wisdom slapped me as I exhaled. The pain was a harsh reminder; I was real. My face was red more from the shame than the sting of it.
The whole occurrence was organic, and the memory makes me laugh. Some say to me that I'm made to laugh easily, that I laugh like a fool. I'm a bad hand out of a deck of cards. I am dealt with. It's all in my stars.
In comparison, sardonicism has never known a friend, but I've had one or two. Most people are hopeless to me; I am unplugged.
You speak to me, you want me to be connected. You have a longing in your voice, not so much for me, but for the thought of me rejected.
I had stars in my sights the nights you ignored me and made my hands your ****** Time, and time again, you justify keeping me pressed against your window, believing every inclination is adored.
Time has passed, these creases will stay forever in my corduroys. The fragmented fire wood we never got to burn and those forgotten chapters of childhood still litter my mother's yard.
Maintaining a reserved tone, tensing those muscles in your face, for what? Try dying twice and then you will see that there is no magic, no mystery behind the way things are happening, especially here.
Happy to be hurt, ironic, the pain in my neck reminds me of you.*
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 6:33 PM UTC
places I rarely visit
consist of programmers obeying restrictions
operating under false assumptions
distracted by faulty wiring
swarms gather under fluorescent lights
to contemplate organic life technologically
never satisfied with the diagnosis
for it always leaves them feeling empty
can I be blamed,
for not only wanting this digital life to be restrained,
but for also wanting it to change?
a persistent desire to aspire some revolution
to move away from
light pollution & pixel resolution
absent of
abbreviated emotion & cyber fixation
only
unplugged love & three dimensional conversation
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
Phone rings, only breathing
Landlord yelling, dog barking,
Mexican music, nosey neighbors
Long cigarette and goodbye girl
She’s absent and she’s catatonic
She’s boiling in unwanted fever
She hums as she irons unplugged
She hums as she cleans up the blood
She’s levitating against her will
She’s nailing the door shut with a candle
She’s rolling him up in a carpet
Yeah, your high horse and your sports
Are just heavy metaphors
For something a lot sweatier
****** Made Her Menstrual
You supplied the weapons
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 8:16 PM UTC
when I say the wind blows
you already know
but how do the leaves portend
emerald on the end
or grasping to the limb?
If the Love is Lost, when?
feelings were ample
yet, when unplugged they limp lame
sentiment in lieu of visceral slanguage;
Who needs a Heart when a record can be Broken?
i think therefor iThoughts
Depress into cracked lead
and bled red into inkwell;
gun shots have more potent stocks
tragically hip to be so square ingots
what gracious melodies and languid lives
battered idioms with only one just is to bear
how Sad their flirtatious Ness affair
with Pain must fin' ish and putrefy,
those believers in Death will die
hail a Hashtag worthy of
Octothorp
for phoenixes are found everyday
prostrate your Poetry for posthumous
consumption
apply the alembic of alteration
and
Heal our Hashtag heathen history
or
**** It
Hate the Hashtag
that's Life!
#love #life #sad #pain #depression #thoughts #death #sadness #heartbreak #lost
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
Before the flight takes off
Before our ascent into the skies
Before I'm unplugged from the grid
Before I'm temporarily disconnected
I think about what I'll miss,
If the flight never landed.
I think about the goals unfulfilled
People unmet, sights unseen
Words unsaid, tears uncried
Emotions unshared, pain unfelt
Fights unhad, hands unheld
Stories untold, lives unlived
But most of all,
I think of you.
And feel
Hope.
Mar 26, 2023
Mar 26, 2023 at 2:28 AM UTC
I’m trying to have a
Pity Party…
But people just won’t leave me alone…
I’ve got all the necessary accoutrement...
A bottle of Richard’s Wild Irish Rose...
Flannel Pajamas with oddly shaped holes
In all the wrong places...
A proper toothache ensuring my face is
Properly lumpy…
Worked hard on this body now properly bumpy
From too much soul food
That is... Food For The Soul
Such as
Pizza… and
Pudding…and
Tater Chips and Dips… and
Coco Puffs by the large serving bowl...
Donuts
And the holes to go with them...
Lifetime Channel already tuned in...
Blinds pulled down...
Unplugged my phone…
But these people!
They just won’t leave me alone!
Being all supportive and huggy and lovey and clean-y
I don’t see…
Why they don’t see…
That now is just not the time…
They need to get on out’a here
And let me drink my wine… cuz
I’m trying to have
A Pity Party!
But I swear they just won’t leave me alone…
NOW HEAR THIS!
NOW HEAR THIS!
Would
All
Pity
Party
Poopers
Please
Just Go Home!
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
Rain that falls as dust
Rain that feels like ashes
Wasted on skin that might as well be dead
Not feeling it
Not the life of the party
My life a crime scene
That nobody bothered to report
Knuckles glossy red
Unplugged like spilled lemonade
Face-planted on papier-mâché curbs
And I didn't even get to keep the balloons
No more wicked games
This was my ship
To wreck
Just raise it from the bottomless pit
They say
Live like an adult
But I'd rather
Die like a child
Jul 25, 2015
Jul 25, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
Revelatory refractions held in the disco ***** reflection, glancing off the wall.
Dim-lit dreams tilt forward, spilt into a paper cup, bounced backward and sprinkled up.
******* synonyms from the cold, dead pages of the riddle’s mask.
Breaching spatial avenues left for those who understood the task.
Taking hits from a dry-lit flask, leaving windows closed to bask
Clapped the snap back bass kit as it turned Wallace snitch.
The Wire drawn and laid on lawns boundless in the ditch.
Deaf to congruencies of affection, brought about by an adolescent ********
Blind spot in the centre of view. Rhythmic dancing, oblivious to the pew
Unplugged mixing, interlocked twisting
Pulsing in tune with distorted computation
Dehydrated seizures next to the watering station
Molly Mary caught in the flashing lights, blinded by the car’s brights.
A necklace found, nothing else around.
Body grasped for fun, stuffed, mounted, late night pokes meticulously counted.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
I was tired of the routine,
In fact exhausted,
"Dinner is ready."
No response,
"DINNER IS READY".
Coming!
No one at the table.
The T.V. is on full blast,
There is an interesting match,
Somebody is on the mobile,
Kids on the PlayStation,
My pretty daughter on the internet with her boyfriend.
So I disconnected the WIFI,
Unplugged the T.V.,
Hid the mobiles and playstation.
Everybody was at the table,
Eating, talking and laughing as a family.
From then on Rule Number One:
No T.V., mobile, computer or PlayStation during breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I have my family with me.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
there was a mother somewhere today
who held her child for the very first time
there was a mother somewhere today
who gave birth to a stillborn child
there was a mother somewhere today
who made the hard decision of abortion
there was a mother somewhere today
who was allowed to use a stethoscope to listen to her childs last heartbeats as the doctors unplugged him
there was a mother somewhere today
whos child came out to them
there was a mother somewhere today
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
I want to stumble into you
Like the locked door at the end of the hallway
The one with the sign that doesn’t say
DO NOT ENTER
As much as it says
I ****** DARE YOU
And I dare
I dare to devour your deviance
Like a grungy punk rocker on a microphone
Head shake tongue wag cartoon coyote horn howl
What?
I have no discretion
Leave the lights on
I want us both to see why we taste so bad
I mean
Let’s pound like pistons
Until the oil dries up
And our engines seize
I have nowhere to go
I do not want to go home tonight
I want to sloppy seconds myself
Before passing out
With my head in the crook of your neck
Even drenched in sweat
You smell so sweet
I want to kiss you
I want to taste your body’s attempt
To cool what I do to you
I want to heat you up again
I bought the clapper and unplugged everything else
Just so you could tell me to **** you like a strobe light
Well
Gorgeous
Now I can
Come place your lips on my throat
And I will sing for you
You are so much more beautiful than I could ever be
Let me know what that feels like
By wanting me back
This gentle ache
Of dancing
And drying joints
I wonder if you’ll still be this **** when you’re old
I ask because I have lost any desire for grace
I have fallen from it
And want to stumble into you like a locked door
Fumble for the house keys
Might actually make it inside
If you took your hands off me
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:36 AM UTC
I was suckling the barrel
of my grandpa's favorite gun,
when Gloria strolled in,
head held high,
like a 12-story *****
"What the **** are you doing?"
"Nothin', sweets, I was just wondering about the taste."
Gloria mixed herself a Mt. Vesuvius,
unplugged the telephone,
turned on the tv,
dug her nails into my weary couch,
over and over.
I didn't ask how her day went,
she didn't call me babycakes,
we didn't touch,
I just watched as she changed channels,
sunk further into oblivion,
I traced my kneecap with
grandpa's gun,
it was something to do, I suppose.
"You know you got to get out," she finally said.
I looked like a suicidal ******* baptized in cobwebs,
and every word I threw at every guest teemed parasitic.
I hadn't left the apartment for awhile,
it seemed like every time I did, I would collide with
some enemy, and my bloodlust was subsiding.
I didn't like it to be so awfully one-sided.
"Hey, look at me," she demanded.
Maybe the neurons are crippled,
can't cross the synapse,
or perhaps it's this culture that
listens only to the false priest in its head,
but when no one else around you is living,
it makes the whole gig seem a bit pointless.
"Gloria, sometimes it's better just to die."
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
Gazing into nothing
With my ghastly swollen eyes
Amazed I'm so emotional
And that takes me by surprise
Tired of being crowded
With people and my thoughts
I sneak into the shadows
And try to unscramble your retorts
At no given moment
Was I aware of the pain
Until I was alone once more
And reunited with disdain
It's the feeling of grey
A vision blurred with a cloud
A taste so greatly rotten
A silent scream, unplugged, aloud
As I melt into reality
The figure is much more clear
Much more potent to my memory
So ugly as it starts to veer
I don't know what to do with it
So I poke it and conceive
It's something I can get past
Just a time wasting little peeve
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 11:58 AM UTC
Snow Knee Deep,
Footprints Indent The Sheer Surface,
Hoarforst Coats The Trees,
Don't Run Away From,
My Poor Human Body,
The Fraile Mess That Runs After You,
Is Not The One I Wish To Be,
Don't Run Away From Me,
I'm Still One Of You
Consciousness Regained,
Wiping Watery Eyes With Blood Stained Palms,
Dreading These Long,
17 Hour Days,
Unplugged From The Material Plain,
All I Hear,
Is Their Voices Slamming,
Against Innocent Lockers,
All I Smell Is Poisoned Berry Perfume,
All I Say,
Is One Scream,
All I Can Feel,
Is My Book Slamming On The Ground,
All I See,
Is Blurry Brick Walls,
White As The Snow I Lost My Family Upon
All I Can Feel Are Peoples Arms Around Me,
Asking If I'm Okay,
No,
Incase You Are Wondering,
All I Can Tell Myself Is,
Stop Running Away
Don't Runaway From Me Again,
I Feel All Alone,
Don't Runaway From Me Lobo,
You Are The Only True Thing I Know
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC