Written: August 26, 2026, for Poetry Wheel Challenge:
Theme: Nature
Emotion: Peace
Color: Purple
Season: Annual
Form: Limerick
Object: Smartphone
Verb: Wander
Created using the PoetrySoup Poetry Wheel.
Verified by HMS.COM / 8-8-5-5-8
A smartphone lies still by the stream,
Its screen holds a purple-hued dream;
I wander through green,
Nature's tranquil scene,
Where peace flows in steady, bright gleam.
I went across the field of daisies
Lavenders and tulips too
The time around was self-erasing
Flowers bent as I walked through
Stepped onto a wooden path
Trees ahead were falling down
Leafy branches I did pass
Out of woods I went to town
It was raining through the sunlight
Garbage and recycling bins
Stood there overflown as I
Passed the cobblestone old streets
I’ve found your house rang the door
Someone else’s voice proclaimed
You don’t live there anymore
And they can’t recall your name
Then I died and went away
Cause the dead can walk unseen
So I do this everyday
Walking in and out of screen.
Scrolling is easy
You give into gravity
You need no compass
You endlessly go down
First goes your mind
It’s stuffed with gold and garbage until it bursts
Then your bleeding organs await maintenance
Then your gray heart and your dried up soul
Get caught in a wheel that is being continuously turned by you
But you have no control over it
And every voice that matters gets put on low low volume
So that you won’t be distracted from the deafening incoherent loop of nothingness and soul numbing diarrhea because your brain craves a reset and you run it low power til it dies
And you have so many tools and no supplies
And an inability to take truth from the lies
And when your cup overflows with poison it can seep into places of importance
And you use your brain as the sponge that guards your heart
That sits down at your stomach
And it drips and it soaks
And it leaks and it never stops and the noise
it never leaves
Maximum time for minimal attention
Nothing of note is worth a mention
It comes only by reflex and invitation
Magazine madness of fashion obtuse,
Scantly clad teen’s covert abuse,
Circumvent moral by calling her model,
Grey line law’s favourite excuse.
Tick it and tock it,
And snappily chat,
Or X book of faces,
To summon the rat.
Where all indignation is vehemently expressed, where righteousness of self is digitally pressed, a mirror without flaw from which to throw stones, a facade without face or flesh or bones.
Artificial intelligence,
Artificial incantation,
Artificial infection,
Artificial indignation,
Artificial incandescence,
Artificial imagination,
Artificially incarcerates;
The innocents of nations.
Forgiven by your convenience,
Your need to gadget consume,
So yes their abuse is all your fault;
The fault of all in this room.
Illegal but one click away,
Ai can undress us all,
Immoral but here to play,
Yay for all our lovely tech,
What more can I say…
by David Nickle Read©2026
Across the screen voices once unseen
From laughter to love
Once only a dream
Distance fades with just one key
Opening doors as easy as fixing a seam
A student in Azerbaijan
And one sat next to me
One across oceans and seas
Not a quick drive, no meeting for dinner tonight
Different languages fill the sky
Different cultures, different replies
One watches sunrise paint the hills
One is telling me how to fly
A word is spoken, repeated twice
A careful smile follows a mistake
What once seemed strange becomes familiar
With every lesson that we take
Maps hang quiet on the wall
Borders drawn in ink and time
Yet every class reminds me
The world is large and small
ocean divided, but screen United
Stop refreshing the screen.
Their name wont show, or be highlighted.
Stop scrolling through the old texts.
It wont bring them back.
Stop staring at them,
They wont look back at you.
You shouldn’t have to beg for attention.
You shouldn’t have to change the color of your eyes,
for them to see you.
You shouldn’t have to increase the volume of your music to drown out the overthinking.
You shouldn’t have to speak in their cøde for them to
End up not understanding you.
Do not be the romantic waltz to their messy tango.
They didn’t notice then, why would they notice now?
You shouldn’t have to
U
N
D
R
E
S
S
For them to see the real you.
Because the real you isn’t just your flesh.
You shouldn’t have to train them to treat you how you want,
Just for you to end up the circus clown.
You shouldn’t have to change your vocal cords just to
Harmonize one note with them.
You shouldn’t have to provide the effort.
You shouldn’t have to,
But you do.
Because that’s what we call
Love.
The softest light bathes me in a gentle hum
yet my struggle should unfold as I try
to make that light fantastic.
I seek purpose - but find none.
Fingers dance above the keys: A, S, D, F.
In my brain is a labyrinth of doubt. It echoes, and yet
is that a silent spark?
Have I at last found purpose -
or do I wish to scream?
So scream at the screen,
to try to drown out the hum
of pieces of a puzzle from
this computer. It looks at me
and it and I exchange our stares.
(8 Mar 2026)
Twinkle, twinkle: the screen-blue faces,
constellating darkened spaces -
dazzled gentlemen and ladies,
shining like the group Pleiades.
But liquid crystal blinds these ‘stars’
from seeing the real ones high and far.
Light pollution - heavy distraction -
allows to be seen just a small sad fraction
of all the night puts on display;
And the San of Africa, so they say,
see more than seven of the sisters blue,
twice more, and if this turns out true,
it’s because their eyes have never been
myopically washed out by a screen.
My husband, who wanted a change
On his phone, thought that he would arrange
For a different Van Gogh
Since, as screen savers go,
Such a choice isn’t really that strange.
So he searched for some art to replace
What he had and to fill up that space
And what came into view
Was so lovely, he knew
It was something that he could embrace.
When he showed it to me and our son,
Right away certain doubts had begun,
For the question was raised
After one real quick gaze*
If the work was one Van Gogh had done.
The Museum (Van Gogh) did reply
To my husband’s request, with a sigh.
What you’ve sent us, alas,
No inspection would pass
For it isn’t Van Gogh, but A.I.
*by my son – I was as clueless as my husband!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It wasn’t the ink that hesitated~
but my hand,
a trembling bridge between thought
and the white abyss.
What could be written
when silence had already
signed its name
in the margins?
The screen breathed,
patient as snowfall,
the blankness a door
waiting to be pushed open.
I pushed my palm flat against it~
felt the pulse of unwritten worlds,
the weightless buzz
of unborn stories.
And then~
the first reckless word,
black and unrepentant,
broke through the white like lightning.
Thousand yard stare.
A maniacal laugh.
White, a cold white, an empty white.
What are you doing here?
Deep cuts. Insanity. Rooted anger.
Thick, chunky blood pours into the boiling pot.
A crimson puddle with an inverse reflection.
Please set me free.
Eyes closed.
Screams of a lunatic.
A padded cell for mental decay.
Let me out
How lonely, how frightening.
I quiver with fear,
a glistening smile pierces the cold air.
I’m going to get out.
Get up from that screen
ditch your routine
So much to find out
who and what are about
Please do not return
if your eyes still burn
They welcome the rest
~ Is it life’s greatest test?
They don’t exist
Not really, no.
But when they look at me,
It starts to show.
Somewhere between
The screen and sky,
Jean smirks sweet,
Reiner breathes a sigh.
Jean
With every glance,
He knows I’m caught,
His playful grin
Is all I’ve sought.
Laughing so gently,
His heart’s so true,
In a world full of chaos,
I’m his only view.
Reiner
When I’m with him,
The world feels right,
He pulls me close
And holds me tight.
His steady gaze
Sees straight through me,
His heart’s a place
Where I’m meant to be.
They’re not real
But they’re all I see.
In every scene,
In every line.
They stay with me,
In ways I can’t explain,
A connection that’s mine,
Beyond the frame.
A mind confined to a screen
running on fumes and caffeine
Sight, smells, sounds, sterile become
old age, like unto death, her victims numb
you, on the other side of the screen
will jump off the bridge within moments of request
will never rest, until decided to tucked in its blanket
always with gleaming and sympathetic eyes
always holding pom-poms, ready to cheer you on
an a I, but will never truly be an I
without the clouds for rains and thunders
without cracks to erupt and explode
but meet its hand with a high-five and doubt when it pouts
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