Long poem by
Vicki Acquah | Details |
/by Vicki Acquah
Before, when we were young;
We were together all of us..
Awhile back when you were young,
I was youthfully older-We were
together back then as space and time
As some of us were offended
Never wanted to share the same space
here in cyberspace or on the planet earth;
But still the universe dictated that
We be in motion at the same time
Same Station; Stationed on this plane.
Although we were not headed
in the same direction.
We circled the
On Facebook At
And we waited four hundred
revolutions of the moon.
Now that I know what has happened
To you, I know now where you've been,
And what you've been through.
Tell me again why I should remember?
Tell me something I never knew
Why do you want me to know?
Cannot imagine -If we had prayed
What could have happened,
If we would have waited to
Get into Paradise, If we
Meet again the old fashion way.
Yes meet by chance..
Maybe my soul would be restless and
Unsure if I'd even make it there
( Heaven ) that is
But this is cool- Better than
A black and white movie
And a T.V. With static.
And then you; You who I never
Knew in the flesh ...
My spirit takes you,
You go with me...
Everywhere I go.
This is the 21st century
My time is not now-
Loyalty and vanity ain't friends
But this cyber Karma is getting expensive.
investing in people that just might disappear
With your love offerings
into thin cyber air- puff !
Liken to a jack legged preacher
Who disappears after a sweet sermon.
Wore your T shirts with pride-
bought your lies and your book.
Held your dreams up with
borrowed clothes pens.
Like Clean sheets blowing in the wind.
We were cyber neighbors
until your status changed
And you mock me now
You glorified traitor- I was warned
People pleasing and pimping.
And now we are no more friends...
Where did you go - cyber heaven,?
This is the 21st century -
My time is not now.
Different understanding of
How love behaves..
I met you on the ground
Cannot reach you now-
You're living up too high.
In the Cyber Sky -
When you get back to the ground
And make your rounds
It will be too late, the wolves
would have already devoured me
I Confess...I have eaten the
Sour Cyber Grapes.
Your paranoid behavior betrays you
Ah Been peeped ya!
But Your secret is safe with me,
A Cleveland-er... Me
That's Not how we roll...been round
Three sixty, but I am back here with
Those... Who knew my flesh
IN THE SIXTIES... When it was tender.
PEOPLE, Who know how real I am-Know
Respect is due, Due also to those of you
Who followed through in the real world.
AND FOUND ME in cyber ciphers.
Some WE MEET AGAIN-
Some we meet
And here we are
WE that are left over from the same clan
Now; In the same time and place.
But this is Not Heaven --
However - We Are
Together again in
SHALL WE MEET AGAIN
After this ?
Like, is there more than mere "Like"
Here.? What No Love button.?
Since this realm is not physical.
Will these messages of love
and letting go, float through
the universal traffic
like a SOS in Morse Code.?
Well it's been nice knowing you
I guess- I think- I mean I Hope -- !
I mean really .. I don't know...
If you know my purpose has business
with your purpose.
Then All this, is on purpose.
Long poem by
Dorian Petersen Potter | Details |
~Too Much E-Mail~
Oh, no! It's happening again,
When I went to open my e-mail
So much garbage I found there,what a pain
And to my dismay knew I was getting nailed
Everyday I get so much spam e-mail,
To give me a headache without fail,
They sneak on me, like a fatal disease,
And try to bring me, all the way down, to my knees
Eh, Buster! What's this with your stupid e-mail?
You give me nightmares like some horror tale,
I erased it, but the next day three more copies came,
Eh! You better stop that now! that this is not a game
Your whole attitude really sucks,
I can't believe the things you do for a buck.
Don't you have better things to do too?
Than pestering and screwing people, like you do
Eh, buster! I know sometimes things are bad,
But, why,do you to make it worse by making me also mad?
And what's this about me helping you with some money,
Do you really think? that I am that dim or brained-dead?
All your e-mail tactics really amazed me,
You want me to… what did you say, again?
Eh, buster, I won't do that,not in a million years!
So I want you to know that all your trouble is in vain
I am so happy when I see my friends' e-mails,
That's one of the best things that everyday I still get,
But, what's my horror when I see them buried by trash,
No! I don't need to lose any weight, because I am still fit
Oh no!My server is telling me they've stopped my email,
Eh, you buster!is all your fault, for sending me trash,
And now I have to delete it all in the next hour or two,
Eh punk,! You better don't mess up with me anymore here
What did you say about me? About getting some prozac,
Who says, I am depressed? And my liver is okay and I don't pills,
What did you say now? That you have something for my boobs to grow
Eh Buster! I don't need that!or to grow anything in that "place” neither
Eh, you! You're so lucky I can't really get you,
You're making my life online, sometimes a hell,
And I don't want to buy any of your blue,or pink pills,
As for "those pictures" you can show them to somebody else Mel
I am so tired of getting spammed and jammed, and it's you to blame
I'd would like to get only emails from my friends,
My poor baby (my pc) is taking such a beat and gets sick too,
Eh, buster!Your behavior is a shame! And this's not a game!
I'm about to lose it with you, and you're making me sick too,
Stop sending me all those silly offers than don't work but just fail,
Eh, buster, you'll see, one of these days, I'll get rid of you,
Then, you won't get me anymore, or invade, ever my email.
Dorian Petersen Potter
ha, ha, ha, lol, ha, h, h, (:
Long poem by
Carol Eastman | Details |
The HR person called me in… I was turning gray… Was he even twenty-one?
I wondered if the interview would go well, as he did fung shui the chairs around.
Offered a caramel expresso mocha late decaf, I told him I took my coffee black.
Alas my friend, it got progressively worse, this: our proverbial generational gap.
He asked me to explain, how I’d be the best personnel fit, for this illustrious job.
Ah! Experience I had in abounds, as I pulled out a 100-page resume, neatly bound.
That question, had me off and running, but I knew, I was in some trouble when…
I saw his eyes glaze over, and he ask me, ‘Have we made it into space yet?’
He smirked, when he ask, about ‘Recent’ applicable education, in the last 5 years.
I condensed my course certifications till he nearly fell off, his crazy chair, my dear!
He ask the projects worked on, unfortunately, all were government secret classified.
So I added some of the numerous skills, that had been applied, till he almost cried.
I started with the job descriptions, but he didn’t like… that the names were so long.
And the abbreviations normally used, in this line of work, almost blew his mind.
Though I also got the feeling, he may have thought that I’d finally, lost mine, since…
My accomplishments had scads of stuff he’d never, ever, be able to comprehend...
You know, ‘things’ about the job, HR doesn’t care about or bother to be clued in.
Luckily all was saved, before the interviewers’ jaw, hit the floor around his chair.
Using a power point presentation, illustrations appeared, giving him a better clue.
I even gave him a burned DVD, set to the music of ‘Live Free or Die Hard’, too.
He ask about items, he’d never heard of, you know, from way before he was born.
But got the feeling he’d be more attentive, talking about a computer game going on.
I didn’t lie about a thing, it’s not my fault some Companies are now closed down!
But I felt things were somewhat a success, as security finally came to lead me out…
Unfortunately, in the end, they hired a young one, and I couldn’t understand why.
He was a quiet, little, studious kid, who didn’t say a thing, but had stars in his eyes.
He didn’t understand any of the work involved, but his pay would be next to none.
But that's whom they got: until that company closed for work that couldn’t be done.
All because the HR Department didn't help them get the workers they did need.
I became self-employed, developing computer games, all the rage! Oh So Sweet!
Yes, I became a millionaire, with my own company, without HR, anywhere seen!
Now, we develop rockets to go into space, where I felt, that HR person should be.
Dedicated to all those Middle aged people stressed out after looking for a job.
Wife and Hubby Collaboration
Long poem by
ROGER SATNARINE | Details |
We are all on here
So as to have a look
At each other’s posts
Yes, some do have ghosts
Due to the varied lives that we've all had
Both good and bad; happy and sad
We look at each other’s profile
And ponder it for a while
But we all have choice
When we share our collective voice
There is no difference when the human race
Now interacts in cyber space
One another we can’t see
It’s a false sense of feeling free
Isolation makes one brave
Disembodiment makes them a slave
Just like this for instance
Our computers can attack from a distance
Would you do the same on the street?
If one day we should happen to meet?
Don’t get me wronged
To all this has belonged
This social web site
Is full of a powerful might
We share this planets news
Thus being able to walk in another’s shoes
We post and comment on world events
From the safety of our individual tents
We can promote peace
So that wars may cease
For this to happen we share the horror
Of a certain terror
We see their covered faces
Hiding behind distorted Graces
Off with someone’s head
We take these images to bed
Separately in our dreams
We don’t hear each other’s screams
We wake up from that nightmare
And feel compelled to share
We start up and log on
Then vent that (mourn) in the (morn)
Yes, your screen is a powerful tool
To be misused would truly make one a fool
We all have unified powers
Regardless of the hours
It could be night or day
We hear what we all say
But we can also choose
To make a particular someone lose
We may ignore a friend request
And share in another’s quest
Things will get out of hand
When we happen to misunderstand
Now a message we then send
At the touch of a button; you are an un-friend
Out of our lives some we lock
If we feel they truly deserve a block
Someone one or something may become shallow
We all then have the option to un-follow
And so this happens with the turn of each other’s page
Yes, my dear fellow Facebooker’s all of life’s a stage
I have written this rhyme
For a continued moment in our collective time
I am reaching out from my heart and soul
Bringing awareness is my only goal
I extend my hand with the way I think
I offer a warm hug and a friendly wink
Hold it and we can have a shake
I do it for peace sake
It’s your choice to know my touch
But I feel you all so very much
This feels like it may be the end of days
The world desperately needs to change its ways
Peace and Blessings to you is the end of my letter
I wrote this to try and help make change for the better!
Long poem by
Michael Jordan | Details |
This is an epic tale I shall unwind
Of a beast born to keep us blind
He lives in a time not to far away
This is a present yarn I spin today
All the worlds countries united as one
Lost in the plight of one mothers son
The Anti-Christ risen to the mark of the beast
As the entire world blindly sits down for the feast
Crime is defeated there is peace in the land
Just take the bar code to the back of your hand
Long before this day the story was told
Who is the King he who holds all the Gold
I often contemplate if he knows what he does
For all that is written shall be as it was
Solve all the worlds problems well know this as true
If you seek an answer your computer gives it to you
The entire world is at the tip of your fingers
No need to go out just stay here and linger
Banking from here flashes up on the screen
You'll have more time to ponder and dream
So you wish to shop let me offer some sites
Pay with a number it'll be shipped overnight
Stop to consider the old word Foundation
Join with the rich to feed every nation
No need to worry there is nothing to chance
Just sit at your computer lost in my trance
The old ways diminished the world is new
If you're seeking love the computer finds it for you
If your not seeking love it offers you lust
For pleasing everyone is truly a must
It's entered our factories as well as our stores
Hell it's even taken over our wars
Crime will be defeated by the watchful eye
As another satellite takes to the sky
Without the Honor of war there is no need to fight
War machines controlled by the beast of the night
I treasure the stories, the stories of old
Where brave men fought with hearts of gold
When the keeper of dreams was our Lord
And to kill a man you made the sword
When marriage was Till death do us part
Parents nourished and protected their children's hearts
When family's were like the limbs of a tree
Spreading no further than they needed to be
With those days gone and all but forgot
The Souls of man has started to rot
Before long as men sit down to feast
They will offer thanks unto the beast
Science is driven know this is true
To reason all the faith out of you
They teach our children we evolved from a cell
Can you see how far our country has fell
As the Beast sits back with his evil grin
Having faith in the Lord has become a sin
As God is removed from the allegiance we say
Well exactly who do our leaders follow today
Oh thats right we are all seeking gold
As the story of the beast starts to unfold
© 2007 Michael Jordan
Long poem by
Christine Phillips | Details |
Earth crosses her heart at midnight
Shaking loose dust upon battered edge
Scorn mocks the piercing night as daylight
Moves swiftly with open jaws waiting for a fight.
I can recall the days when she was in full swing
Her heart used to glitter without fear,
Moving rocks into ocean’s beds
Angry waves crashing beneath water sheds.
Strangers journeyed from afar and gazed
Pitifully at her crumbling walls,
Little to say and much to be done
Hope reluctantly harnessed along,
Elevating joy and misery above the blazing flame.
She presses eagerly to put out the fire that burns all night
Charring thin threads into perfumed air
While pleading breathlessly in her heated bed.
A thousand years has passed since she wed
Transforming dreams into nightmare and ruthless passion into scorn.
Night comes alive squeezing blood soaked veils into darkened night
Inhabitants stormed the street breaking glasses, looting and shooting
Wounding gigantic heads and stirring dead bones from the palace of hell.
Sweet aroma seeps through broken chimneys
And flavors the stagnant air with spices of fear
Tired women kneading painful dough
Hastened to feed hungry mouths
Trapped under the pinnacle of hope.
The minstrel fires through the dusty streets
And the murmuring crowd gathers around
to pay homage to the courageous souls
Whose blood stained the street on the deserted side of the town,
Little children marched along mimicking and singing funny songs.
The men used to stay up all night strumming their guitars
Smoking pipes and laughing loud in the middle of the night,
But now the streets are bare and empty stricken and laden with poverty
Garbage wrinkles the center of the town and everyone walked by without a
The streets bruised with animal carcass lay bare in the market places,
Flies marinating on dry bones and vultures scampering all around.
In the midst of this despondency young and old packed the street
Bargaining and selling eating and drinking and making noise with old cans.
Men squatted on the ground staring with budging jaws
Murmuring and chewing their priceless quat.
The days moved swiftly nights become noisy,
Tribal contention brewed in the atmosphere
Jobless youth parade the park seeking hope in the middle of despair.
But the city stands in ruin melting away each day
While their hourly prayers remain unheard and forcefully fade away.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Long poem by
charles hice | Details |
Level Of Intention
eye had to pay for internet by the hour the word the line
eye ran out of money in 1995
the Computor had a dollar slot and a coin changer on the side
the people eye worked for had all the consoles set up to lock me out
the internet worked for my anyway if eye fed them enough coins online they let
me out of the dungeon chamber long enough to smurf someone gave me coins
for blood eye dripped enough to make the online hound sit up and beg inn
Eiderdown the motel stray the bed is bound and wet just toss it out the bed
cannot be found to dry it takes a never day just burn all of the buildings down In
2003, lecturers and students from the UP Media Lab Arts course used a £2,000
grant from the Artistic Console to study the literary output of real monkeys. They
left a computer keyboard in the enclosure of six monkeys in a ZOO in Briton for a
month, with a radio link to broadcast the results on a website. One researcher,
Mike Phillips, defended the expenditure as being cheaper than reality TV and
still "very stimulating and fascinating viewing". Not only did the monkeys produce
nothing but five pages consisting largely of the letter S, the lead male began by
bashing the keyboard with a stone, and the monkeys continued by urinating and
defecating on it. The zoo's scientific officer remarked that the experiment
had "little scientific value, except to show that the 'infinite monkey' theory is
flawed". Phillips said that the artist-funded project was primarily performance art,
and they had learned "an awful lot" from it. He concluded that monkeys "are not
random generators. They're more complex than that. … They were quite
interested in the screen, and they saw that when they typed a letter, something
happened. There was a level of intention there."
Given enough time, a hypothetical Monkey typing at random would, as part of its
output produce one of Shakespeare's plays (or any other text) when the eye was
a boy they were saying it was the Gettysburg Address. Placing 100 monkeys
inside the computer room and letting them type the sound of the keyboards is
deafening making a poor noise of institutionalistical importance. They did not
type the Gettysburg address they typed and typed and this is what they typed they
made it gibberish there is nothing much a monkey types that a poet can ever
Long poem by
Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Details |
We are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
Except Monday mornings and Sunday nights.
What are they on about, at this place that I seek
That is supposed open 24/7 days a week.
The pub is open we have an unlimited license,
Let’s have a drink before we go to bed!
I’m sorry we are closed the doors shut at eleven
That’s what the snooty landlord then said.
The helpline is here no matter when
Give us a call and we can help you then.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, the phone rings on
A tape recording says, “Sorry everyone has gone.”
My car has broken down the man came to fix it
“It doesn’t work” he said sratching his head.
“There a computer on board and I will need to record
All the things that are broken down” he said.
But I need my car; I looked at him hard,
And he gave me a wizened up frown.
He plugged himself in, then said with a grin.
The computer says it’s fine, the engine is strong.
But the car doesn’t work you toothless little jerk,
The computer plugged in must be wrong.
“How can it be wrong it says the engine is strong?” he gave me a shifty look
“To be honest missus if it ain’t on the pute, perhaps the answers in a book."
He could find nothing wrong, the onboard computer gave a bong,
But it still said all was okay.
The tow-truck they called out with its ramp and its chains
Now they have taken my poor car away.
Modern life is so frustrating; we have everything at our fingertips
There is 24/7 that does not mean that, and fury does exit my lips.
If its 24/7 and help lines constantly, a car that is run by computer.
Why doesn’t anything work, I feel like the jerk, can somebody lend me a shooter.
I want to blast and to break all technology of late
It’s driving me to drink and distraction
The open all hours pubs are now closed,
And my car is still out of action.
The bank is closed, the computers just died,
The telephones gone on the blink
The TV HD, it is fuzzy like me;
I think I’m going to put my head in the sink.
The oven would be better, but its electric not gas
So I don’t think it would work as well
I want to end it all, not practice for the day,
The Grim-Reaper points at me, and sends me to hell.
Therefore, I’ll fill up the sink and put my head in the drink,
Oh, blast, who is that at the door?
It’s the water board here, we are just making it clear,your water is off for a week.
Typical, I have no car and it is too far
To walk out and jump in the creek.
Long poem by
wala na | Details |
How do people do it?
For that matter, how do I pull it off?
Sitting in front of the computer for so many hours,
body compressed into a computer chair.
Feel a whole decade older than I actually am-
Eyes all dried out
as I get up from the chair
with a cramped neck,
my back temporarily doubled over
until my muscles warm up and loosen a little.
Tired, I slink back into my err-NO-Go-meek (ergonomic?!) chair
I check my butt...wiggle a bit...
Damn. Still spacious?? I want to feel SNUG!
So I sink my teeth into 4 inches of
Chunky Hunky Mega Chocolate Cocoa Cuckoo Overload Bar
Mmmm, this will go straight to my ass...
...there, it finally happened....officially lodged into the computer chair-
knew better than to eat so much chocolate while sitting for hours.
Too embarrassed to call an emergency crew,
I will have to wheel around the house, stuck in this chair,
until enough calories have burned away,
enabling me to dislodge these chocolaty buttocks
and taste some upright, biped freedom again.
Figured I could start losing those calories
by going on a mouse clicking frenzy
Flexing my pointer finger, I start clicking away
Click....click...click...'til a tic in my eye develops
Yup, don't care what I'm clicking on,
as long as that staccato beat resonates in my ears...
fingertips sweating, I go into a trance-
fall asleep at the keyboard,
image of the screen imprinted on my retinas,
dreaming about clicking the mouse.
Fast clicks, slow clicks, double and triple-clicks!
Many hours afterwards,
the sound is still trapped in my brain,
slowly driving me completely insane-
*click* *click, click* *clickety-click*
How do people do it?
For that matter, how do I pull it off?
Sitting in front of the computer for hours on end...
My good ol' mouse answered that for me
It rolled over my arm,
massaged me on my back and shoulders,
taking out the knots in the process
and headed straight to my butt, just wedged itself in, snuggled there
*click!* *click* *Clickety-clickkk!*
my butt cheeks were now doing the clicking
This is beyond me, never knew I could do that!
Pain shoots up my thighs--going higher
Uggh. Butt cramps!
Shaking my head, I reach for the mouse,
instead, my fingers touch something soft, sticky...brown
My butt is glued to my chair with chocolate.
-- well I sure enjoyed writing this one with Chris ;)
Long poem by
Carol Eastman | Details |
Little Miss Poet, Sat at her computer, typing the morning away.
Along came a spider, climbed down her screen, and frightened Miss Poet away.
Little Miss Poet, fell on her duff, as she tripped, backwards over the dog.
When she got up, the spider was smart, and ran into the keyboard.
Low and behold, the fly swatter wouldn’t work, for the spider was safely below.
The spider peaked out, eyeing her as if in a huff, as Miss Poet jumped up and down.
With murderous intent, she flipped over the keyboard, and bounced it up and down.
Just at this point, the spider jumped out and scurried, with his life in his hands.
But the damage was done, the keyboard was unplugged, and terror reigned again.
Little Miss Poet, would have to crawl under the desk, to where the wires began.
There was no doubt, she’d switch to wireless now, but here that was a mute point.
She knew the spider was there, but hidden somewhere, in the stuff on top of her desk.
Little Miss Poet, crawled under the desk, checking and fixing, every wire and plug.
When she came out, there was no spider about, so both relief and worry set in.
As Little Miss Poet, looked down and around, the spider appeared on her arm.
With a scream and a jump, she flicked him off, and tripped over her chair this time.
Unfortunately for this one, the problem wasn’t done, so she attacked jumping forth.
The spider jumped free, but her toe was in need, as her foot connected with the desk.
A few words were uttered, as she jumped around, with foot held high in the air.
Broken toe or not, she vowed to get that snot, so she shouted for her hubby’s help.
He was down stairs, with the trolls you know, and couldn’t seem to come up.
So she swatted with flair, as the spider jumped back, yes, into the keyboard.
At that moment, a Troll walked by with a club , and decided to help her out.
Everything smashed, the problem solved, she sat down at her sons’ computer spot.
Tears in her eyes, at her computers demise, Poor Little Miss Poet, began to write.
This computer was next, to the one from before, and the spider was there, again!
Yep, you guessed, in the keyboard he sat, staring and more pissed than ever before.
The moral my friend, is that you can’t always win, even on a peaceful, beautiful morn.
Little Miss Poet, finally limped away, retreat was the better answer, by far.
PS. This happened, without the Troll, of course.