Best Screens Poems
a breathtaking sight
Devil's Tower Wyoming
from Close Encounters
a breathtaking view
Valley of the Gods Utah
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Haiku#12,073-12,075.........................................SCREENS
Who's hostage to whom?
Addictions come and go, but
Boss screen runs the show.
I think of a book
Bringing therapy so free
The world would agree;
It lets you be you
Lets us pause and look around
And think of beauty.
*
Haiku #12,073-12,075
Who's hostage to whom?
Addictions come and go, but
Boss screen runs the show.
I think of a book
Bringing therapy so free
The world would agree;
It lets you be you
Lets us pause and look around
And think of beauty.
*
Minds turned into images
Barren moments, parched feelings
Drowned in haste and unease,
Self-indulgent and covetous
Desolate technology slaves
Imprisoned in closed cabins
Chained to the chairs
Eyes fixed on the screens
Human skeletons with dried hearts
Drained and deserted relationships
Torn emotions and tainted lives
Emptiness all around
Ruled by commerce and profit
Turning world in to market
With frozen conscience
Infringing the peace loving souls
Bred by craze, power and greed
Aimless swarms and awry crowds
Turning planet in to an oven
Yelling advancement and progress
Green turned into grey
Sky turned into smog
Breeze turned into beast
Violating nature’s chastity
Where are the relaxing rooftops
Trees and the chattering birds
Clear sky and the morning dew
Seducing sunsets and cozy evenings
Lost in the crew of human creatures
Serene, pure, tender and loving
Living in isolation and disenchantment
Waiting for the return of olden days
Seems a forlorn hope in mighty milieu
Crafted by the self-centered masters
Impervious to human virtues
But, the hope never dies
(Dylan Thomas, Oct 1914 – Nov 1953)
I as one who has never touched the shining Big Apple –
as ruthless then as it's ruthless now –
gaze at its romantic pictures
moving on my TV screen
depicting New York's glistening streets
of the nineteen fifties,
the decade Dylan died there.
Screaming lights and busy marquees
dance in the sparkling, winking streets;
cars hopeful and celebrating the light that is night
in a weaving street of what is temporary;
but, hell, what a street! –
one I would live in,
would love in, would die in,
but only after I would cry in it,
cry my happiness to all who would listen,
and think me mad
but know in our shared, hand-held joy
that one from afar loves the streets
of a city he thinks he will never touch.
The school bathroom is filled with cigarette smoke,
hold your breath or you’ll surely choke.
Trying to be down with the rest of the crowd,
smoking isn’t cool for crying out loud!
You think smoking makes you mature?
It makes you smell bad sort of like horse manure.
Maybe it makes you feel like you’re cool,
it’s killing you slowly don’t be such a fool.
The tobacco industry has done enough,
but they don’t force you to take that puff!
Then when you’re sick you expect to get millions,
those guys are smart they’re not the silly ones!
Heart disease, lung disease and high blood pressure,
the long-term effects are hard to measure.
You smoke to have friends and feel like you’re grown,
perhaps you’re better off just being alone.
Let’s be real it’s a terrible habit,
to make it worse you’re young and new at it.
Do whatever it takes for you to quit,
You’ll say: “I feel much better I have to admit.”
Words of wisdom for me to part with,
cigarette smoking don’t even start it!
(Author’s note: This poem is a humorous look at how the pandemic changed our technology, our relationships, and maybe even our spiritual quests.)
God’s on Mute
By Mark D. Stucky
We forgot how to talk
during the pandemic.
Glitches often bedeviled us,
and we erratically conversed.
Technology was cursed
but also godsent.
We had to learn new words
and new meanings of words
when Zoom burst from obscurity
to overnight ubiquity,
helping to (almost) satisfy
our lonely souls inside.
And now I want to Zoom with God,
typing questions in the chat box
because He seems to be on mute
and His camera is turned off.
But I want to see the face of God
and take screen selfies of Him with me
to start a Facebook killer meme
and blow up Instagram and Twitter.
Pray tell where I can find and click
a divine invitation link!
(First published with the title “On Mute” in Bearings Online, 30 Nov. 2022. See also my poems “Missing: God Incarnate,” “The Ascension (with Rewrites),” and “God Around the Corner.”)
(Photo by Chris Montgomery on Unsplash.com.)
Cultivate the ability to transcend for you were
born to rise
in the eyes of the creator from the beginning
Know that you're always winning as you're the
embodiment of the creative principal
that brings everything into being
What you're seeing is your inner self being projected
outwardly on a screen
In other words, you are the actor & director of
your life & it's various scenes
The fact is we're all holy beings to a degree
according to our views depending on
from where they hail
We're all on a sliding scale that weighs the intent
of the heart
& are assailed if intentions aren't pure
from the start
When you realize that you possess the creative spark
everything changes
Epiphanies come to light & within range through
dark nights & scattered dreams
bringing all things to attention
These light streams come from a sun that exists
in a dark space
putting all things in their proper place
& order
Be wary of those crossing your borders &
drawing lines
keeping you within the confines of
their thought projections
Screen these individuals & their intentions as to
ascertain their motives
without becoming emotive
Emotions can blind even those with the sharpest
vision binding them to blind missions
I have a suspicion that we're just the word
in motion
as nothing is ever at rest
We're alphabet soup on a planet that's heating up
& stirring emotions of the
half baked
The unrest will prove to be a catalyst & your
fate is dependent upon your
ability to keep moving
The planet is grooming those who are fit
to keep going
& fitting them with understanding
In the final analysis the only thing that matters
is the weight of our hearts
& the scale that weighs its balance
*Fiction/For Contest
They sat in the ice cream shop, sharing their favorite ice cream
Sweet on their lips, sweet as their love, that brightened the place
They smiled and laughed with ice cream sprinkles on their faces
Their sensitive love had blossomed many years ago, ready for a life time
They were meant for each other, complimenting each other in every way
They walked outside into the heat of the sun and got in their convertible
For a ride to the country, where they would spread their blanket on the hill
Their special place, where they first confessed their love to one another
They traveled as the music played in the flowing air, one hand in the other
As they went around the corner, suddenly there was a truck in their lane
Heading straight at them, within seconds, the crash of a life time happened
He woke from a daze, with his future wife laying on him covered crimson red
His own life flashed before him like a film and before he knew it, she was dead
His dreams lay shattered in bent metal and broken glass all around
As he wondered, if anything would be different if he had not held her hand?
He had only been holding the wheel with one hand, that’s all he could think
Then his reasoning took over and he knew there was no time for him to react
The only time he had now was to return to their hill and weep tears of grief
Flowing through the grass, knowing that he what he lost, he would never have
He picked a flower and plucked petals that he handed to the blowing wind
He knew that he never wanted to think of ice cream or that shop again
Then one day, she magically returned and appeared with light in his dreams
Her words reached him like a song, “Everything will be ok, in the light of your life”
It was then, he knew that he could still find happiness, as he embraced a new day
He would hold this dream until they meet again, for now he had a life to finish
--- Just as she would want it to be ---
Heidi Sands
9/26/17
Placed 2nd for Love for Movie Screens Contest.
God allowed us to invent them: chess, mancala, Ludo, CC-saga;
And Candy Crunch Saga claims to be played everywhere
Methinks "On all seven continents, including Antartica."
Earlier I wrote about Candy Crunch, got to Level 300. No caveat emptor
Since I am not an employee, nor am I advertising for CC-saga
H ere I am about to play Level 1291
Ooh a blast, blasting candies of every color, just by swipes -
With all games, there will be strategy, real wins, anger and angst
(
I really need my Dell computer
can’t live without a cell phone
to my ear
Anything to keep
me from being by myself,
alone
or from anyone growing too dear.
I commute to work at 8 am
I swear at the other cars
I seclude myself behind office walls
and wait all day to hit the bars
I have the latest model SUV
201 channels on my TV
don’t want anybody to talk to me,
I wear headphones at the gym
I got CD’s that line the walls
Voice mail to take my calls
a shopping service to hit the malls
I hug the tree and send others out on a limb.
I don’t want to be alone
Might have to ask myself some questions
I don’t want to answer why
Know if I took the time to ask myself
I know, sure as hell
I’d lie.
I can’t spare a single moment
not even to watch the setting sun,
Can’t smell the budding flowers
or embrace the thundershowers
I instinctively stay on the run
I need a new stereo system
need to blare loud music or
listen to books on disc
I need to crowd my life with merchandise
cause idle time all by myself
poses too much risk
I’ll exchange banter with the best of you
As I swill drink after drink at the bar
I laugh and joke and make suggestive remarks
But they don’t get me very far
Cause I don’t really know myself
And I don’t really want to know you
I just want to surround myself
with too much of nothing to do.
I really need my Dell computer
Can’t live without a cell phone
to my ear
Anything to keep
me from being by myself
alone
and facing what I fear.
Information Overload
Lost in data,
Lost in tears,
Empty words, promises,
Presented with flowers,
The Truth and the lies,
Together, hand in hand,
Information Overload,
From our waking to our sleep,
Words thrown to take our soul,
Lies raised up,
To the highest Throne,
And yet we know,
Our lives depend on them,
As slowly our Feet,
Sink deeper into Snow,
Information Overload,
With Flashing screens,
The Joker with his charming
Smile,
Waiting for his crown,
In his palace of lies,
Hoping that we will be,
to busy to see,
That the King,
Really,
Has no
Clothes on.
John Roberts
The obscure conceals,
all lights...
The luminous gleams,
all shadows...
In the twilight of a restless world, where minds are chained to glowing screens,
The machine-like hum of existence drowns the whispers of the soul,
People move like automatons, their essence eroded by the electronic tide,
A slow degradation of well-being, a quiet erosion of dignity, intolerable in the end.
In this programmed environment, where the air grows thick with indolence,
Eyes, once bright with wonder, now reflect only the cold, indifferent light,
Hearts, once fierce with passion, now beat slow and hollow,
Minds, once sharp and curious, now dulled by the narcotic glow of the screen.
The political tapestry unravels, threads of self-governance fray,
For in this digital haze, people cease to govern themselves,
They demand to be managed, to be told, to be led,
The spark of autonomy dims, replaced by the flicker of dependency.
Yet, even within this mechanized labyrinth, a glimmer of recognition remains,
Humans possess the profound ability to see themselves, to carve out sanctuaries of thought,
In the cool, verdant garden of personal growth, away from the machine's relentless grip,
We cultivate sweet fruit, a testament to our resilience, sufficient for our sustenance.
In this garden, the soul finds solace, the mind finds clarity,
Every thought a blossom, every idea a ripe fruit,
We nurture our essence, we reclaim our dignity,
And in this quiet haven, we gather enough fruit to share with others.
The machine hums outside, but here, in this sacred space,
We breathe deeply, we think freely, we exist fully,
For in the act of personal cultivation, we defy the mechanical mandate,
We reclaim our humanity, we restore our spirit.
So let the world outside buzz with its electronic cadence,
Within our garden, we find the rhythm of life,
A rhythm that nourishes, that sustains, that connects,
A rhythm that reminds us of who we are, beyond the machine's cold embrace.
In the twilight of a restless world, we find our sanctuary,
A place where the soul can breathe, where the mind can wander,
Where the heart can beat strong and true,
In this garden of personal growth, we find our magic, our melancholy,
And in the sharing of our sweet fruit, we find our purpose, our connection, our humanity.
I am not from the 'show me state' of Missouri, but I should have been.
One of my greatest weaknesses is that I tend to be a 'natural born sceptic'.
I believe in 'being shown' and not just told, to ease my feeling of being 'sold'.
Even after that, there is no certainty, because we are not always seeing what we see.
Sometimes, what appears in our eyes is neither a dream, mirage, or nightmare, but a smoke screen designed to create questions and alter our perception. It is a diversion, a distracter, a false-alarm; BUT IT IS ALSO AN OPPORTUNITY FOR US TO BE DISCERNING.
Did you hear about the man who came across a deadly snake? Cutting his head off, the man assumed the snake was dead and no longer a threat. Big mistake! The head of the snake is where the venom is located, and the head was not dead. The man was bitten, but fortunately, he lived to tell his own story, and no doubt learned a very great lesson about assumptions.
Sometimes we see things as dead that are still alive, and other things we see as alive but are dead. BEWARE OF THE SMOKE THAT GETS INTO OUR EYES.
112820PSCtest, It is what it is........Or is it???, John Lawless