Best Keystrokes Poems
I know you're out there
I can hear you ... typing, rat-a-tat-tat
I echo it, but place with intent
each finger-step just SO
each notion a necklace of keystrokes
individually-knotted
pearlescent beauties, round ...
~ I squeeze my mind of chaos, tamped and blessed
Thoughts gossamer, these tapestries I've pressed
'Tween leaves of crimped reprieves, if dispossessed ~
I scream without a face
my voice of subtle silence howling windward
I scratch messages on cell walls
my red breath burnt with the truth of negligence
exquisite sculptures ...
the words dripping like stigmata
Madonna's bloody tears, each precious ...
~ I place these golden dreams in phrased bequests
Bright dazzled shining gems of hearts expressed
Adorned with tender odes to thrum their breasts ~
How do SUCH ears not hear?
How can such breath-embezzling eyes not capture?!?
Should your own gray matter dance a-tongue
its metallic tang of truth would be lost
I would BEG you hate me ... with every fibre
but that is not love's opposite
THAT demon is the monster called 'Indifference' ...
~ I knot the rope wrapped 'round my throat, aware
That you and yours are pleased to kick the chair
Is there naught ONE poetic soul ... should care?? ~
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Does Anyone Care" Poetry Contest, Emile Pinet, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
keystrokes, appreciation, introspection, poetry, society,
Form:
Free verse
What's worse than a malicious master of manipulation?
Two who join together to play Pin the Tail on their prey
Continuously and clamorously... asses love to bray
Cruelty is not always physical
Some take joy in messing with the mind
Blowing in like a blustering wind
with wicked words bringing them fame
of being labeled 'Keyboard Bullies'
Isn't that a repugnant name?
There's nothing casual about the pain
their cryptic cruelty causes, nor the disdain
Odious is the stench of ogres in the game they play
Beasts who feast on innocent folks
With a guileful grin they wound with keystrokes
Shots fired from wolves in sheep's clothing
They're gnashing teeth bite with loathing
Poisoned seeds of malice they sow
cawing to anyone who listens when they crow
With a nit-picking beak or crooked finger pointing,
they appoint themselves kings and queens,
then squat on a throne by self-anointing
Pathetic fools dwelling in a state of pretense
whose level of narcissism and bullying is immense
Sharpened are their tongues and pens used as tools
Quick to throw a gauntlet upon the ground
at what they presume is weak quarry
but how speedily they bay like injured hounds
when a righteous eye looks in their direction
Intimidation is a hallmark of their imperfection
The white flag wavers are filled with ire
Waffles, covering themselves in sweet syrup talk
claiming they're the victim. What a crock!
Their feet should be held in the fire
No one should be a casualty of their cruelty
Disparaging others is a painful assault
The fault of aggressors who crave attention
Keyboard bullies causing conflict and dissension
Living in their dark world... the cyber dimension
Categories:
keystrokes, bullying,
Form:
Rhyme
Dancing with Poppies
9/21/2023
In love with sunrises and sunsets, I began waltzing with poppies with glee.
Then came the stark realization, that someone might be
watching me!
For to express one’s spirit so fully is not appreciated in today’s
uptight, online society.
Even, the words “ online society” presented me with base, lonely , staccato keys!
Where we really do not know the other, sadly, only, the keystrokes, what totally, odd hegemony?
Who is real and who is not~ gives one plentiful food for thought aplenty!
These thoughts are always with me, and play a strange, melodic,haunting,
lonely , cacophony!
I decided to cast my fate to the winds,,dance in sunsets and poppies forever, my heart , its drumbeat, forever, dancing in glorious glee!
Categories:
keystrokes, celebration, flower, happiness, imagery,
Form:
Monorhyme
soft keystrokes on a typewriter
make the ink bleed and mark the page
steel-grey and ocean-spray were the colour of my lover's eyes
i remember looking into them and seeing our future together
i held her hand and put it up to my beating heart
i promised to never leave her side
i was always just a call away
i was always just a text away
eight-thousand two-hundred and ninety-nine days
then you said your final goodbye
you closed your eyes for the last time
and i couldn't believe that you were gone
you were the love of my life
you were my Everything
Categories:
keystrokes, angel, beautiful, beauty, first
Form:
Free verse
I know you're out there ...
I can hear you ... typing, rat-a-tat-tat
I echo it, but place with intent
each finger-step, just SO
each notion a necklace of keystrokes
individually-knotted ...
pearlescent beauties, round ...
~ I squeeze my mind of chaos, tamped and blessed
Thoughts gossamer, these tapestries I've pressed
'Tween leaves of crimped reprieves, if dispossessed ~
I scream without a face
my voice of subtle silence howling windward
I scratch messages on cell walls
my red breath burnt with the truth of negligence
exquisite sculptures ...
the words dripping like stigmata
Madonna's bloody tears, each precious ...
~ I place these golden dreams in phrased bequests
Bright dazzled shining gems of hearts expressed
Adorned with tender odes to thrum their breasts ~
how do SUCH ears not hear?
how can such breath-embezzling eyes not capture?!?
should your own gray matter dance a-tongue
its metallic tang of truth would be lost ...
I would BEG you hate me ... with every fibre
but that is not love's opposite
THAT demon is the monster called 'indifference' ...
~ I knot the rope wrapped 'round my throat, aware
That you and yours are pleased to kick the chair
Is there naught ONE poetic soul ... should care?? ~
... not one?
Categories:
keystrokes, analogy, care, metaphor, wisdom,
Form:
Free verse
Dead now, Jackie Walsh?
Smolderingly blonde like a strawberry,
protesting your stolen innocence; one snuffed candle.
So much promise you had, the favored cousin,
my own father loved you best.
All gone in an instant, one busy street, and one turn of the spoke
or hand at the wheel.
You could have been a draft pick or a scholar or a hired gun.
Go now to your brother Barry and father J.P., to cousin Jimmy Scanlon;
they sit waiting for you in easy chairs, sipping poteen.
Ghosts of Rawlings Avenue, let Aunt Madeline rest in peace.
I did not name my own son after you or your father consciously.
We drank the last can of Uncle Tommy’s Coors, all the way from Colorado.
It’s safe to share that secret now after 34 years.
Trading baseball cards by flashlight, remember, Jackie Walsh?
Staying up all night, waiting our parents and uncles out.
Their pot of Irish stew stirring and simmering,
their loud whispers sharp but glimmering.
Leaving them to point the finger at one another for all these years.
Passing the collection plate at Italian mass,
you knew the priest; we kept the silver dollars.
I have not really seen you since then (not even in my dreams),
except for a crazy subway ride
and a bank robbery, inside job, of course.
We all have a little larceny in our souls;
all to the sizzle and whiff of crackling eggs and Irish bacon.
I would ask where did you go, but I know it was that you stayed,
that little boy waiting for big brother's return.
Feeling jealousy and admiration for you at the same time,
then later, after, feeling lament for you and eventually contempt.
We could not fathom your loss because it was your own private property.
Stung to the soul you sorrowed and raged.
With tears on the keystrokes I offer this dirge too little, too late
for you now, to purge my own soul.
I missed you all these years, Jackie Walsh.
Sleep well now for this dream is over.
Categories:
keystrokes, death, death of a
Form:
Elegy
All my home remotes died today in Spring.
Dumbstruck by 'GreyTooth' the Pirate King.
Who like Harald 'Bluetooth', the Danish Monarch
had a dead blue-grey tooth in his head, a hallmark
of how smart a pirate he was to stage a scam demand
that I pay a ransom to release my remotes from remand.
So what do I do as nothing works without a remote?
I feel like a wader poking fingers down hole's throat,
hoping to get a reaction from my TV, Stereo and other devices,
that only work to the sounds of remote signal advice's,
made by Bluetooth in responses to keystrokes.
This reliance on remote devices really sucks, folks.
Categories:
keystrokes, computer,
Form:
Rhyme
the Octopus is strong
no longer lies beneath deep oceans
but lingers all around
tentacles flail through keystrokes of the fool
unaware
sunk
shipwrecked with ***********
we hear her diabolical roar
seeps under
stings with mighty suckers
we swim away only to be sideswiped by her medicine
her unholy device
no match for her biology
tangled in that
eight armed sinister swim
can we win?
eyes
not completely sure
but there's hope in our human resiliency.,
Categories:
keystrokes, conflict, culture, deep, earth,
Form:
Epyllion
A drone files free across an open border
The T.V. watches me
It's a new world order
My keystrokes tracked and my emails read
A terrorist threat if my thoughts were shared
How many times must we sit and cry
Another holy war and I wonder why
You say you want peace so you drop the bombs
You kill another father
You kill another son
Communism, ISIS, The Taliban
Always need a threat to keep control of man
Slowly take our freedoms
Yet you say we're free
I will never be a sheep
I will only be me
Categories:
keystrokes, freedom, political, rights, war,
Form:
Rhyme
The tale of the high kicking raspberries in two hundred lines of silt and steamed porridge oats.
Keynotes noted kissing keystones keep keystrokes kingly. But kingly is often not associated with kindness, kinship, or kept keepers keeping keys. It is the weeping of a solitary blade of grass that catches the attention of a wild anarchical lawnmower who's wild swooping on grass is a heavyweight chomp on many a bud spawned. One day as the blade grabbed a tissue carelessly discarded by a human hand it was considered to be a white flag. Waving. To say peace peace peace. To the bulldozers, mowers, and high stepping line dancing rakes. Pylons pulled piling pins profusely. How rather pious! And the building of a rat craft can really only be radically achieved under the main arch of a microspore whose antics with a slide causes great entertainment for microscopes who clap clap clap and roar approval in their bemused fashion. And so back to the upset blade of grass. It stood now shrouded by the tissue and frightened to leave the confines in case a heavy foot went by. Stomp. But no this was not the ending. Instead the beat of wings arrived with a squawk a Mohawk and a peck peck peck. Confused birdie thought he had found a piece of bread. Due to the tears the tissue had stuck to the blade of grass and so up it went with the border collie coloured birdie into the air and away. That was an ending found from under a stone. Perhaps a cone might signal the felling of the scraping scraps of sheet metal. Product placed peanuts. And the prowess of a Dutch infused marble cocktail is equivalent to a little vaporised milk carton. Moooooo then. A single scroll is a single scribe and a single scrolling scribe is setting sail on a magnificent lake with high towering mountainous vista scenes with ten scones. Z disambiguation. Z at three marshmallows singing to a tune of pan to twelve monkfish rotating in a septic water tank in a half pint cup. Quedos. *** z
Categories:
keystrokes, baby,
Form:
Politically correct I’m not; if you seek precision you ought,
find the time, to define the rhyme of perfection
in words you’ve sought.
A simplicity of words I am; I do not write for status or glam,
I pen my mind, whether thoughts callous or kind,
truthfulness you’ll find.
Paper is more powerful for me, not keystrokes of a PC you see,
a pen in hand, is more commanding and grand,
when writing on demand.
Following the norm is *****; I allow the pen and paper to steer,
a symphony of life, thru every memory and strife,
of a mother, daughter and wife.
Technological progress I dread, only because the pen is now dead,
so take heed in my words, though seemingly absurd,
but a poetic pen should always be heard.
Categories:
keystrokes, computer-internet, dedication, history, hope,
Form:
So here I am again
in redundancy I'll say hello
living life behind this screen
dreaming of a world most obscene
I wait, eager for response
Clicking refresh once more
My world inside a spider's web
in this fantasy I'm still no celeb
I can hear the sound of keystrokes
breaking the silence of a lost voice
Speaking only in the form of text
This part of me the world rejects
I'm at wits end words falling loose
and landing upon so bright a screen
breaking away the ever growing darkness
as my existence fades into evanescence
I'll take only this brief moment here
and wish those of you I remember farewell
For as this night descends to black
It is time that my real life is taken back
Categories:
keystrokes, angst, art, computer-internet, confusion,
Form:
46.
Poetic keystrokes
On my chest cavity
Meek records, not enough tallies
Yet the universe remains benevolent.
I am happy laughing philosphy
Gage the light
Breathe--exhale--precious
Courage can’t appear on a Powerpoint.
Categories:
keystrokes, computer-internet, dedication, universe,
Form:
Free verse
The skilled have fashioned melodies,
the keystrokes of the mind,
proclaiming hopes and verities,
extolling humankind;
colours unbeknown'st to us
do hover and distill,
and splash, now they're synonymous
with God's almighty will.
Might we as students of the art
assume a kindred tone,
interpret measures of the heart
'til theirs and ours are one;
re-craft with notes mellifluous
the stateliness of Brahms,
sonorities of Mahler,
noble men, brothers in arms?
Categories:
keystrokes, music,
Form:
Verse
Don't you dare call my home,
I have no time for you.
Instead, our information we give out merrily,
To Google, Facebook and others unseen,
Of these...there is no lack.
Worse, we don't care if our cell phones
follow our tracks.
Nor hundreds of ad clicks, those monkeys
on our backs.
Clack, clack, clack.
Add the government who
follows your keystrokes.
And cameras taking our
pictures like paparazzi.!
Google filming your home?
Sometimes I feel like we
live in the land of the KGB
or Nazis.
But bent out of shape are we
by robo calls?
And never a thought how equally
robotic are we,
When we cannot leave our
own voice, God gave us on own
our phone.
So relatives can hear that
damnable robot message voice.
Hardly,a chance to rejoice!
As humans are replaced more
and more,
I helplessly try to stop this
and find it a joy to talk to a
human in any store.
If you can find one, not on a cell
phone,that is,
That's hardly a call for yet more
technological fizz.
People still need to earn a
living, robots do not.
The list is long with those
out of jobs,
As we have become such
technological snobs.
Oh~ my God!
Panagiota Romios
3/4/2019
Categories:
keystrokes, inspiration, technology,
Form:
Rhyme