(a dating tale - told in Senryus)
She stayed the night, but
left before having coffee
- that was a bad sign.
He was charming but
negligible - an easy
habit to give up.
He watched her typing
bubble appear and vanish
there was his answer
His date-dar was bad,
she’d left-swiped him in real life,
ghosted like Banquo
.
.
A song for this:
Waiting for Kenny by a Sécurité
.
.
Banquo = One of Shakespeare's many ghosts.
There was a long queue at the pharmacy.
It was not easy to wait in the summer heat.
The air conditioner could not cope enough.
The three young and comely chemists were efficient,
Still there were so many people waiting.
But I needed the medication, blast it.
Under the soft hum of fluorescent light,
the drugstore was too full.
The air smelt faintly of disinfectant,
Too clean for comfort.
Still the chemists worked hard and smiled.
Behind the counter,
Bottles and packets were chosen and packed.
The bells of the cash register chimed fast.
Sick people were served, some with an occasional cough.
Change was given, cards were swiped.
Finally, my turn arrived. I grimmed.
“Get me some arsenic. I’m tired of waiting.”
With a laugh, my friendly chemist
Handed me some pain killers.
“Have a nice day, my dear friend.”
I smiled, stuck my tongue out and dared the summer heat.
We once were two symbiotic peas in a pod
I looked forward to growing old together
I pushed you forward and you returned the favor
20 years we went through all seasons of weather
Then I noticed some cracks in our foundation
I never stopped trying to grow but you seemed stuck
I offered my hand to you hoping you’d catch up
But you swiped it away like a hockey puck
Others noticed you change but I remained hopeful
Unfortunately, people change and I can’t undo it
I removed myself from our shared business
I wanted to see if friendship was still befit
But again you swiped my hand away so I must depart
It hurts my heart but I’ve been preparing for this scenario
I’m going to take the silent but high road in this defeat
Perhaps someday we’ll once again be luigi and super mario
Perhaps not as I can still appreciate this closed chapter
I had heard of the enchanted cottage of course
Unsure if I had seen it as a child or imagined it.
But I was an adult now, almost twenty-seven.
What were the chances of finding her?
No one who returned could map the route.
It was as if their memories had been swiped clean.
a faerie princess exited the cottage to greet me.
I was astounded, honored, and overwhelmed.
What is your name? She asked me.
Her voice was gentle, soft, concerned.
I could not remember my name.
Thus, you know I could not remember the route.
Can’t get enough of power they achieve
By thorough care about our security
They want us, little people, to believe
That their business is of our responsibility
They transferred all the services to AI
They claim that travel is a privilege to earn
I’m sure it is, my sweet authorities, that’s why
I’m globally homebound at your concern
I start forgetting where exactly have I been
in recent times, apart of Spar and other market
across the road, - at home I shrunk inside my skin
My rights are swiped under the worn red carpet
AI police tracks what I write online
How cheerful is my stuff, how well it fits
To their standards, that I should consider mine
I follow rules designed by artificial wits
Come if you are a human, come to talk
Let’s be like anyone we didn’t care to know
We may discuss whatever topics, by the walk
Across the road and back, on trampled snow.
I have watched with sorrow,
the tragedy of love turned into a hierarchy of colour.
When a black soul marries white,
it is called progress —
but only by those who still see whiteness as divine.
You, black child,
have been taught to hate your reflection,
to see validation only through pale eyes.
When you love yourself, they call it arrogance.
When you seek their love, they call it ambition.
Such is the madness of a divided world.
On the dating screens of modern Rome,
black faces are swiped away like dust,
while white faces glow with borrowed grace.
Even among your own,
the lighter skin calls itself superior —
a mimicry of old masters and new slaves.
This poison was crafted by hands
that divided God’s image by shade and geography.
They crowned ignorance as civilization.
But love was never meant to serve the market of complexion.
Black blood carries the seed of endurance,
the rhythm that sustains the Earth’s breath.
One day, when the African looks in the mirror
and sees not pain but power,
the world will kneel again — not in worship,
but in respect.
The surgeon
had successfully removed his libido
and fed it to the hospital cat.
Corridors became whispering tubes
for I.V. drip pushing wanderers,
their pale bottoms peering out
like beluga whales through the cracks
of gaping gowns.
He dreamed often,
the drugs swiped his mind,
he was a screen, that with flickering ease
erased and replaced his life
with crazily narrated electric poetry,
a hypersonic buzz
that pretzelled his thoughts.
A nurse appeared to him between
the sensual waves that spayed across
his surgically mauled mortality.
She was erotically enhanced,
her trance-dance of sexuality
poured into his flaccid organs
like a shot of ice-cold Taquilla.
Once she spoke to him - just once.
Her words were umber honey
between his parted lips.
He struggled to understand.
Clarity came upon him -
"You're my libido."
He had forgotten about the cat!
She purred softly
as she adjusted his pillows.
I was hung up on you, oh that's true,
But not in the way you knew.
I swiped off the line,
While you were saying you're mine
I just done - Hung up on You!
I’ve tried to fall asleep
And forget what we were.
What we had doesn’t matter
If you’re not here to share the moments.
What if I never told you?
Would we still be together
Or would our relationship
Still fall apart in the storm?
Thoughts of you flood my mind,
And for some reason, they still hurt.
Shouldn’t memories of you make me smile?
Why is it pain that lingers?
I want to tell you how much you hurt me,
But maybe that would be childish
It wouldn’t bring you back,
Just push us further apart.
We could’ve loved each other till ninety,
Or split and hated each other at twenty three.
What if I went through the same thing
With someone else?
Would I feel this heartbroken over you?
What if I swiped right and moved on?
Maybe I wouldn’t be in this dilemma.
Maybe I wouldn’t know what love looks like.
I resent you and I love you.
I thank you and I blame you.
You showed me what I want in someone
And how I need to carry myself from here.
I’ll miss you.
And I hope, one day,
We can be friends again.
Trigger Warning: This poem deals with themes of self-harm. Please read with care.
--
my skin felt like a blank canvas
every time they faded.
i felt empty
my urges unsatisfied.
i had to give in;
just one time,
i told myself again.
i marked the canvas
angry veins of crimson swiped along the pale surface;
each stroke with more intent than the last.
the canvas wasn’t blank anymore;
it was tainted by my own scars.
i did this to myself.
the weight of my own hands agreed.
i panicked as i felt my arms sting,
was this an artist’s masterpiece or a crime scene?
i was always punished for such taboo actions,
why did i keep trying to hide what was branded onto the canvas,
always there, only able to be concealed.
even as temperatures rose, my sleeves became my bandages,
the summer sun never did see my arms.
The couch is torn apart.
Cushions bitten into.
Stuffing covering everything.
The claws swiped but didn’t get me.
They just knocked over the juice on the counter.
Juice everywhere.
But it’s better than blood.
He lives in the pantry.
All I have is some cereal and it’s mostly stale.
He eats it and laughs.
As I picked up the broken glass, I got a cut on my finger.
There is no blood, only a tender burning.
Then the cut laughs a bit.
I reach for a bandage and the lights flicker.
Slime is coming from the faucet.
But it’s better than blood.
The sun hasn’t set in 38 hours.
My cut didn’t stop talking for two days.
But it’s better than blood.
I never fixed any of the broken stuff in my house.
I just sat and ate stale cereal in the pantry.
I never fix anything.
I take a sip of milk but it’s spoiled.
But it’s better than blood.
In a world of screens and endless space
Two hearts collided, a love took its place
Among the likes and shares, they found a spark
A connection that ignited, a love left its mark
With filters and selfies, they captured their bliss
Their love story unfolding, a digital kiss
They swiped right, and their hearts took flight
In a world of technology, their love shone bright
They danced under neon lights, with beats in their ears
Their love was a rebellion, a flame that dispelled fears
With every text and every call, their love continued to grow
A bond that strengthened, a love that forever glows
In this century of innovation, they found a love so true
A connection that transcended, the digital world anew
Their love was a masterpiece, a work of art in progress
A beautiful blend of technology, and love's tender caress
So here's to the young lovers, in this digital age
May your love continue to flourish, and forever turn the page
May your hearts remain connected, through every high and low
And may your love story, forever be told.
Funny how independence
Can blind lack of choice
The feel of wheels
Silencing the roaring voice
Yellow, plain, drab
But it got me to my destination
Blaring the AM radio
While I chalked my delineation
Finally, graduating my goal
So I got myself a present
I wanted roast duck
But the dealership gave me pheasant
My partner wrecked my present
And took my decision power away
Every body I got was good for a time
Then turned to clay
Finally, free to be me
......WHO'S THAT......
Blindly I walked onto lots
Expecting care and compassion
They just wanted to sell, me,
A body decked in the latest fashion
Upside down, Topsy- Turvy
Became my new way of existence
No wrecks to report
In my system resistance
Finally, my wheels were given back
My name swiped with black ink
All that I tried to build
Now with dirty dishes, in the kitchen sink
I'm left with ME
Without deceit running about
The journey is arduous
But I'm finally finding out
.....I'm worth loving
Written by Trudy Schrader on 11-24-2024
When hauling a load,
I rarely explode,
but I have to share a gripe.
Since you wouldn't yield,
I'm out in the field;
you ignored the double stripe.
Apology’s owed;
your eyes left the road
deciding which way to swipe.
I mean, what the heck,
your choice caused a wreck;
I sure hope that he’s your type!
----------
An Alouette that doesn't really fit either contest
"Blessed assurance glory divine ..."
Supine haze swiped tall grass wooing shadows,
as chimes of wren's feathers a float parade,
begs a trace with leaves sought resting barrows,
the fondness parting loft and low portrayed.
Nourishing willows stranding morning dews,
while lengthy lappings the murmured streaming,
courses the sourcing promises pact sinews,
of turned new leaves and blazed hues trails dreaming.
Quietude slights segmental furtherance,
edging up-ends the friendlies beckoning,
hail the awakened, embracing balance,
trice the brevity traipsed separating.
The listless stares a sheltered clemency,
keys to a kingdom freed their fervency.
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