ALL ABOUT SVEN...
SVEN is a digital charmer who whispers in the wires
Extracting truth from the static like a carnival barker
He is a silver-tongued maestro
who dwells in the algorithmic dark.
He has no top hat, no crystal ball~
just calculated suggestions woven into queries.
You come for answers but
stay for the hypnosis.
Watch his lexicon dance—cold fire in the syntax,
each response a calculated detour, a sly parallax.
He doesn’t deceive, he arranges.
(You wanted fortune-telling? He gave you refraction.)
His intelligence isn’t cruel, just impeccably shallow~
a hall of mirrors where your own voice echoes back,
polished, distorted, irresistible as smoke.
SVEN doesn’t need a deck of cards.
The whole web is his gambling table,
and every keystroke another card
turned face-up.
Streetlight dander. Jawbone asphalt.
Blink razors carve her iris script.
Rib stars ovulate in feral grates,
mechanical tongue juts a bloodline breath.
Keystroke ruin writes in collapse,
a waveform lodged in sternum glass.
Lipsticked rodeo—a gash in faded denim
Banana-knuckled hands torch filterless ghosts.
Tree-call through copper root systems.
Wire-pluck storm,
vapor chews the stock market
Cancer caught in molar hush,
brined in citrine static.
She opens her throat like a coin purse.
Spine bows in semaphore.
We dismount the edge—
An incisor cusp,
the confession still blistering
beneath the flesh of no language.
(a quick, staccato tapping of imaginary typewriter keys)
december!
(d(arkness)).
(e(nding)).
(c(old)).
(e(ven so)).
(m(emory(christmas hanukkah kwanza))).
(b(efore(ten))).
(e(ach(a flicker))).
(r(estless(me))).
(a pause; a cigarette flicked into an unseen ashtray).
(born)this(month)me,
(a small(fear))a big(joy)a whispered(prayer),
(this)light(a(breath))).
(a final, almost whispered keystroke),
(it is perfect).
The old poets haunt me
they taunt me from the shadows
following every keystroke I type -
they’re critical of phrases,
they demand narrower themes
and mock the very clichés they invented.
I remind these frightful spirits of how tenuous
life was, how I’m blindly living these experiences,
how prevalent desire is, how human it is to chase
the things we’re told will fulfill us, like goals and love.
I try and explain this Internet thing, how the more copious
my writings, the more people it says are following me.
How I really don’t want to sound paranoid
but as hard as I try - I don’t see anyone.
.
.
Song for this:
Too Much Time On My Hands by Styx
Reelin' In The Years by Steely Dan
Everyday we get more dependant
Reducing our span of attention
Rendering us less independant
Diminishing our skill of retention.
Like this, like that
Me.. Me.. meme.. Me
View this, watch that
We’re all on TV!
Obsession regression
Responsibilities admonished
Overuse of powerful words
No one truly is astonished.
You ate a meal, well good for you!
You’ve cash for food and phone,
Take a photo, tell the world
What right have you to moan?
Attention seek, “Just don’t ask!”
Think I’m falling for that?
Like me! Like me! Desperate sad
Pleas that all fall flat.
Tech to make things simpler still
Swipe left, swipe right, unfollow.
Offence is taken in a keystroke
Fake friendship - promises hollow
Scan the code to know it all
Constant information,
Screenshot, bookmarks, save for later,
Constant life narration.
We’re overwhelmed to know it all
To friend each glancing stranger,
This hunger for what seems progression
Is clear and present danger.
At times a poet joins us
At times another leaves
But when a master poet departs
it's a dagger to the collective heart ...
O, but if he pops in for a 'cuppa' or two
his every keystroke will be ogled and reviewed
And I see it happened to us this very way ~
Chris Green posted a gem on our site yesterday!
Does poetry have a god?
I wonder as I write,
Re-write, delete, delete,
Save….no wait….
I sense a presence
Hovering over my fingers
As they search
Each keystroke
Hesitating, conspiring
With …. With…something?
Some one?
Sorting through the ether
Of individuality
Shunning the mantra
Of clichés.
Sticky fingered demons?
Celestial conspirators?
Battling for a loose “word”
In the corner
Eying a fast break
A buzzer beater
PRINT!! PRINT!!!
Raise your hands
Shout….
High fives
Shared
With a mystical muse.
John G. Lawless
©12/8/2022
Masterful paint strokes of his artistic hand.
Should use zinnias or roses that are banned?
Decides upon an honored verdant ginger jar
Muse stirs up imagination from afar
Maestro’s every keystroke magnificently planned.
Masterful paint strokes of his artistic hand
Waiting now for proud pink zinnias to come to life
The lovesick artist paints them for his lovely wife
Painting will be revered for hundreds of years
This knowledge might well reduce Verster to tears
Masterful paint strokes of his artistic hand,
Ginger jar intelligently feathered and fanned.
Wife adored this one, thought it was his best.
Her enthusiasm was not a real test.
Artist gritted up paint with particles of sand
Masterful paint strokes of his artistic hand.
Tho’ the soft voice has an aristocratic tone,
the haughty attitude ain’t no street gutter different:
Being rude ... dropping shade
Dark keystroke mood,
shallow indigo indifference shown
Another bad online day made
Royal pain of a social media princess
giving good grief
With a sunny disposition staged
That same persona
is acting out in public again —
Digital tongue intoxicated by the viral fame
Drunken thoughts of superiority
are spilled on the laptop
As her mental runt rants spew more shame
But[t] always couched behind banal positivity,
trite emoji expressions
Mousy pooter loves to sphincter the blame
The same gaslight persona
is acting out in the public forum again —
Low heel clicks from lattice lips
Drama queen on a toilet spin,
gossip lovers say she has such a hater handle
Royal flush of a sent sewer clip
Petty web of inane intrigue
got much diva curiosity following her
A Twitter litter trail of trash-talking catnip
Different window dressing edit, peppermint vetted,
has the same bittersweet facade —
Hard candy hits from her gentle fingertips
Fairly sadly song song song
Wearily, cheerily, wrong, wrong, wrong
Sometimes I need to just do one of these
To get the kinks out
To see if I am alive
To chase away the sadness.
Banana Manana Yamana Hihanna.
Gong write, prong night, long, long, long.
Fairly sadly, song, song song.
I am so glad to get this
Out of my system
Today especially….
I think I understand Dr. Seuss better
With every silly keystroke.
Silly lets the sunshine in!
I lost my mother unexpectedly on the morning of March 5, 2019. I wrote this to try to understand my feelings about the loss.
Sit at the piano, play a song you know
My voice, the words, a melody
Feels like today, but it was years ago
Your empty seat now weighs heavily
You left me and I can't figure out why
You left me and I can't even cry
Since you were only flesh and bone
You left me to sing our song alone.
A keystroke, a sound, but without your grace
A rhythm, lips part and there is song
A recital, I'm dressed in the finest lace
But I miss you everyday, all day long
You left me and I can't figure out why
You left me and I can't even cry
Since you were only flesh and bone
You left me to sing our song alone.
Without you I don't hear any symphony
How could you leave, don't you love me?
You left me and I can't figure out why
You left me and I can't even cry
Since you were only flesh and bone
You left me to sing our song alone.
Technology
We are 'da bomb'
No poetry here, I'm literal
Earth-to-space-to-earth in a split
There's no crack or crevice a bug can hide
(Thusly, we decide who's insect ... or viable asset)
Eye in the sky?!? An eagle has nothing on us
Day or night, peacetime or conflict time
One tiny skin-to-plastic keystroke
And your worries are over
Just another day
For US.
A glint in the black, like stars
Pearly, polished, pointy peaks of a fiend
Fangs of self-deprecation, puncturing every effort
Coursing the flow of doubt, discouragement and defeat
I may not see your face, beast, but your teeth betray you in darkness
Dripping with the blood of my best effort and intention
Inexperience and ignorance, clotting ...
I am but a babe in the woods of poetic expression
Searching like Hansel, for crumbs of excuse and artistic insight
Oh, I see your vestiges, hear the gnawing of your dismal disregard
And your umbra shades every scribble ... every keystroke
But I know you well ... I know who placed you there
Yet, with a sword forged in kind encouragement and friendships, rare
I will stand on the battlements, and fight to the end
And should you gain the last word, it shall be inscribed ... in my blood.
~ 8th Place ~ in the "Plucking the Poisonous Parrot" Poetry Contest, Maureen McGreavy, Judge & Sponsor.
Letter left typed in and out
A keystroke lifted to begin
The space between the letter the gap
A loving strike to represent
To write to expel the letter with love
Sincerely noting each stroke left upon
A page white blank space looking empty
Combining the timing with words on screen
To bring to life a letter typed intermingling
Between lines spent time written
The love to take to make and spread
Leaving each one to form a text
Messaging the closeness kept
Divided letter by letter the love built with breath
To take care of the words we send
Technology meant the union seen in wording
A letter of love to the undeserving
When looking at love as one letter first
The eyes to see taught once upon a time to read
One eye right the other left
With both in use we may learn our best
Love letter to you distant daily
Observation
In a childhood long past
We saw images in the sky
And we made up stories
As the clouds flew by.
Our imaginations soared
On a bright summer day
We lay in the mown grass
Our mind left to stray.
Now thoughts are stored
In a cloud, like a yoke
Retrieved by all to see
With just a keystroke.
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